Syria names members of inaugural parliament following Assad’s rule

October 6, 2025

Syria selects members of first post-Assad parliament — Members of electoral committees count ballots at a polling station during Syria's first parliamentary elections since the fall of Bashar al-Assad's government

In the hush of a great library, a nation casts a curious ballot

The National Library in Damascus — once the Assad National Library, its marble facade a familiar silhouette against the old city skyline — felt like a living, breathing archive of a past that the country is still arguing over.

On a late afternoon in the capital, local committee members wound through its corridors, some carrying the dust of their towns on their shoes, others with the nervous polish of newcomers to public life. The air smelled of old paper, strong coffee and the faint metallic tang of ballots. A woman in a headscarf paused beneath a high arched window and laughed nervously to a friend. “We grew up with elections on television,” she said. “Now we have them in person and they feel like a rehearsal.”

What happened — in plain terms

In a process that critics call deeply flawed, local committee members across much of government-held Syria cast ballots to populate a transitional assembly meant to steer the country until a permanent constitution and full elections are held.

The numbers are stark and instructive: some 6,000 people took part in the selection; more than 1,500 candidates stood for office, but only around 14 percent were women; the assembly will have 210 seats, with a renewable 30-month mandate. Of those seats, the interim leader, Ahmed al-Sharaa, will directly appoint 70. Another two-thirds will be selected by the local committees — themselves appointed by an electoral commission formed on Mr. Sharaa’s watch. Thirty-two seats remain empty for now, representing the Kurdish northeast and southern Sweida province, regions outside Damascus’s immediate control.

The official line

From the steps of the National Library, Mr. Sharaa acknowledged the imperfections of the process. “It is true that the electoral process is incomplete,” he told those gathered, “but it is a moderate process appropriate for our current circumstances.” He reiterated a key justification given by the authorities: direct nationwide elections are impracticable while millions of Syrians lack documentation, with large numbers displaced internally or living as refugees abroad.

Hala al-Qudsi, 36, a member of Damascus’s electoral committee who is herself a candidate, framed the moment differently. “The next parliament faces enormous responsibilities — signing deals, ratifying accords, shaping foreign policy,” she said. “This is not a trivial handover; it will lead Syria into a new phase.” Her voice carried the urgency of someone balancing hope with caution.

Voices from the cafés and the neighborhoods

Outside, in a shaded café near Bab Touma, men played backgammon and sipped sweet tea. Louay al-Arfi, 77, a retired civil servant with a lifetime of ballots behind him, watched the proceedings with a wary loyalty. “I support the authorities and I will defend them,” he said. “But these aren’t real elections. It’s a necessity now, perhaps. But we want direct elections after — real choice, not appointments by a few men in offices.”

In Sweida, the Druze-majority province that endured sectarian bloodshed over the summer, many are watching from the sidelines. Burhan Azzam, a 48-year-old activist, called the process a hollowing out of political life. “They have ended political life in many ways,” he said. “How can you call it democratic when basic rules of participation are not respected?”

In the Kurdish northeast, the absence of representation is palpable. “Elections could have been a new political start,” said Nishan Ismail, a schoolteacher from the region. “But the marginalisation of whole communities shows that standards of political participation are not being upheld.” Negotiations to integrate Kurdish civil and military structures into a central framework have stalled, and for many Kurds the empty seats are proof of a process that skips parts of the country.

Critics: a process engineered for control

Human rights groups and exile organizations have been blunt. A coalition of more than a dozen groups warned that the selection mechanism allows Mr. Sharaa to “effectively shape a parliamentary majority composed of individuals he selected or ensured loyalty from.” “You can call the process what you like,” Bassam Alahmad, executive director of Syrians for Truth and Justice, told me over a brittle phone connection from abroad, “but not elections.”

There is also concern about representation. Ethnic and religious minorities — Kurds, Druze, Christians, and others — feel squeezed out. The first Jewish candidate since the 1940s, Syrian-American Henry Hamra, has stood for a seat, a symbolic nod toward pluralism, but critics say tokenism is not the same as power-sharing.

Who gets to decide?

At the heart of the dispute is a simple, stubborn question: in a transition from conflict to something like stability, who writes the rules? The interim constitution announced in March gives the incoming parliament legislative authority until a permanent constitution is adopted. But when the people who designed the selection system also pick its selectors, legitimacy becomes a matter of perspective.

“In transitions after civil wars, the temptation is always to prioritise order over inclusion,” explained Leila Mansour, a scholar of transitional governance. “What that often produces is a government that can pass laws and sign agreements — but not a government that many people feel represents them.”

Local color and a larger lesson

Walk through the old city and you notice the small signs of normalcy: vendors polishing copper trays, children chasing pigeons beneath the Umayyad Mosque, an old woman threading beads at a window. These details are reminders that state structures — however imperfect — sit atop lives people continue to live. But political processes that leave whole communities out risk translating peace into simmering grievance.

So what do we make of this moment? Is it a pragmatic pause — a staged compromise until the day when millions can finally vote freely — or the first step toward a managed, limited pluralism? The answer depends on whether the interim authorities can deliver not just stability, but trustworthy institutions that make people feel seen.

Questions for readers — and leaders

As you read this from wherever you are — a Mediterranean café, a commuter train, a quiet living room — ask yourself: when nations rebuild after conflict, should speed be prized over inclusiveness? Or does legitimacy require waiting, however painfully, until more voices can be heard?

Syria’s story is not just an isolated drama; it is a case study in the global challenge of rebuilding institutions after prolonged violence. The choices made now — who sits in those 210 seats, how the empty ones are filled, whether sceptics are invited in or shut out — will echo for years. For the people queuing at the National Library, and for millions watching from exile and displacement, those echoes are not abstractions. They are a question of identity, safety and hope.

For now, the counting is underway. The hall is lit with the low buzz of lamps and anxious conversation. Outside, Damascus keeps breathing, waiting to see whether this new parliament will be a step toward genuine pluralism — or simply another roof under which the old politics restate themselves in new terms.

Gaza residents hold onto hope as ceasefire deal nears

hanad

October 5, 2025

Gazans cling to hope ceasefire deal is within reach — A young boy collects usable belongings from the rubble after the Israeli strike on Abu Hasira Street in Gaza City

On the Edge of Silence: A Fragile Pause Hangs Over Gaza and Israel

There is a certain hush that arrives before a storm that refuses to leave. In streets and alleys, in hospital wards and living rooms, people on both sides of the border are leaning toward that hush — hungry for a ceasefire, terrified it will evaporate. After two brutal years, the ordinary rhythms of life have been broken, stitched together by news bulletins and the thin thread of hope that diplomacy might finally translate into fewer bombs and more breathing room.

Diplomacy arrives in Cairo — and the world holds its breath

Delegations are reported to be gathering in Egypt for what many are calling a last-ditch effort to nail down a new truce. According to official briefings, US representatives including Special Envoy Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner are en route to finalize technical terms, from temporary halts in bombing to the mechanics of hostage releases. “If Hamas agrees to the plan, a ceasefire begins immediately,” President Donald Trump said in a statement that has been echoed across media feeds. “Act quickly or all bets are off,” he added, underscoring the political pressure behind the choreography.

The timing is raw with symbolism: talks are scheduled just before the anniversary of the brutal attacks that jolted the region two years ago. The memory of that day — roughly 1,200 people killed in the initial attacks, according to Israeli tallies — still shapes public feeling and policy. For families who lost loved ones, anniversaries are not markers of time but plunges back into mourning.

On the ground in Gaza: a humanitarian catastrophe

Gaza’s hospitals are still treating the kinds of injuries that never leave the body. Shelters are overflowing. The Palestinian health ministry says that more than 66,000 people have been killed across Gaza since the war escalated — a figure that has driven international alarm and a chorus of humanitarian pleas. UN agencies report millions displaced, food systems strained to breaking point, and health services functioning at a fraction of their capacity.

“We cook on whatever we can find, and sometimes we don’t cook at all,” said Aisha al-Masri, a mother of three living in Gaza City, her voice a mix of fatigue and brittle hope. “Children ask when school will come back. I tell them, when the sky stops breaking.”

Field workers describe scenes that are now dreadfully familiar: power rationed to hours a day, water contaminated, the constant logistics of moving the injured between facilities when ambulances are scarce. “You learn to prioritize differently,” said Dr. Rana Abu Suleiman, a medic with a humanitarian NGO. “Every day is triage — of bodies, of emotions, of hope.”

Tel Aviv nights: protests, frustration and a plea for hostages

Meanwhile in Israel, public life hums with anxiety of a different kind. Markets are open, cafés spill light onto sidewalks, but the mood is restless and often grief-laced. Tel Aviv has witnessed nightly demonstrations: people demanding the safe return of hostages and an end to a war that many say is hollowing out the economy. Small businesses shutter under the strain; unemployment and inflation squeeze families already stretched thin.

“We want our people back. That is non-negotiable,” said Eliav Cohen, a schoolteacher who joined a march last night. “But we also cannot see our sons and daughters sent back into danger without guarantees.”

That tension — between the immediate desire for hostages to be freed and the strategic demand for the demilitarization of Gaza — has hardened into the central obstacle of negotiations. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has insisted that any truce must include disarmament. “Hamas must be disarmed and Gaza demilitarized,” he said, framing it as the only durable path to security for Israelis.

What’s really at stake — beyond bombs and banners

This is not merely a tale of military movements and political posturing. It is a human story about long-term trauma, economic collapse, and the erosion of civic life. To cease the immediate suffering would be monumental — to build something lasting out of the rubble will require deeper, sustained engagement.

Consider the children. Education has been disrupted for years; UN agencies estimate that countless children in Gaza have missed significant portions of their schooling. The psychosocial scars are deep. “These kids will grow up with the expectation that peace is only an intermission between rounds,” said Professor Miriam Katz, an expert on conflict recovery. “Without investment in education and reconciliation, cycles of violence and despair harden into social architecture.”

And then there is the regional ripple effect. A ceasefire could relieve pressure on neighboring countries hosting refugees, ease the flow of humanitarian aid, and reduce the risk of wider escalation. Conversely, a collapse in talks could invite renewed offensives and greater regional instability — a possibility that keeps diplomats awake at night.

Why agreement is proving so stubborn

At the heart of the stalemate are irreconcilable priorities. For Israel, disarmament and guarantees that attacks will not resume are paramount. For Hamas, recognition, economic relief, and a political pathway out of isolation are non-negotiables. The proposed plan reportedly includes phased prisoner and hostage exchanges, temporary pauses in hostilities, and monitoring mechanisms — but the devil, as always, is in the implementation.

“You can sign as many papers as you like, but enforcement on the ground is key,” said Ambassador Michael Hart, who spent decades in Middle East diplomacy. “Mechanisms for verification, third-party guarantees, and an ongoing presence of neutral observers could make the difference between a ceasefire that lasts weeks and one that lasts years.”

Where might this lead — and how should the world respond?

There is room for cautious optimism, but caution must not become complacency. If a ceasefire takes hold, the immediate priorities are clear: secure and sustained aid corridors, a clear timetable and mechanism for hostage releases, and an international compact that addresses reconstruction, governance, and security in Gaza.

What role should external actors play? Critics argue that heavy-handed diplomacy without local buy-in will simply paper over the fractures. Supporters say external guarantees and economic assistance are necessary to give parties room to compromise. That tension is a recurring theme in modern conflict resolution: how to balance outside leverage with inside legitimacy.

So, reader, consider this: would you accept a fragile peace now if it promised years of incremental rebuilding, or is disarmament the price worth waiting for? How much risk is acceptable to end immediate suffering?

Final thoughts — a fragile promise

On both sides, people are weary. They have lived with grief, with ration lines, with the knowledge that tomorrow might bring both relief and rupture. A ceasefire would not erase the past, but it could give ambulances time to move, families time to bury the dead and to begin talking about rebuilds, not evacuations.

“If silence holds for a week, it will mean something,” Aisha whispered. “If it holds for a year, it will mean more.”

The coming days in Cairo may determine whether that fragile silence becomes a foundation for recovery or another brief silence before noise returns. For the families in Gaza and Israel, and for the wider region, the stakes could not be higher. The world will be watching — and hoping — as negotiators try to translate desperation into a plan that lives up to the moment.

Hamas urges immediate hostage-for-prisoner exchange ahead of negotiations

hanad

October 5, 2025

Hamas calls for swift hostage-prisoner swap before talks — Palestinians wait with empty pots to receive hot meals distributed by charity organizations in the al-Mawasi area

Two Years On: A Pause, a Promise, and the Heavy Air Above Gaza

The resort lights of Sharm El-Sheikh were never meant to be a backdrop for hostage negotiations and the thin, brittle hope of families who’ve been waiting for answers for nearly two years.

And yet there, on the Sinai coastline, diplomats and negotiators gathered this week — a motley of envoys, aides, and officials — carrying the slender thread that could knit a fragile ceasefire into being: a plan to swap prisoners for hostages, to halt the bombing at last, and to begin the long, bruised business of recovery.

“This is a real opportunity to stop the killing and to begin returning people to their families,” an Egyptian foreign ministry official told reporters, their voice measured but urgent. “We will do everything we can to keep the talks focused on that narrow, necessary goal.”

What is on the table

At the heart of the discussions lies a stark arithmetic of suffering: militants seized 251 hostages during the October 7, 2023 attack; Israeli authorities say 47 remain in Gaza and that 25 of the captives are believed dead. Gaza’s health authorities put the Palestinian death toll from Israel’s campaign at a staggering 67,139 — a figure the territory’s Hamas-run ministry reports and which the United Nations treats as a key measure of the human cost.

Under the roadmap pushed by the United States, the proposed exchange is dramatic in scale: Israel would free 250 Palestinian prisoners serving life sentences and more than 1,700 detainees arrested in Gaza since the war began, in return for the remaining hostages. President Donald Trump, who helped craft the proposal, has promised to oversee a post-war transition — a technocratic authority that would manage Gaza’s administration while disarming Hamas.

“There can’t be a war going on in the middle of it,” a U.S. politician said on television, urging Israel to pause strikes to make the swap possible. “You can’t release hostages in the middle of strikes, so the strikes will have to stop.” Whether the pause comes and holds is the million-dollar question.

On the ground in Gaza: the lives between the lines

Walking the southern streets of Gaza City — or what remains of them — you see how a protracted war etches itself into the everyday. Markets are shrunken to a few stalls that sell what remains of fresh produce. The scent of za’atar and coffee mixes strangely with the acrid trace of smoke. Tents cluster where apartment towers once rose; whole families huddle in hallways meant for passing, not living.

“The decision to occupy Gaza, the collapse of multistorey buildings, and the intensity of IDF operations have forced nearly 900,000 people to the south,” Israel’s defence minister said, painting one picture of displacement and pressure. United Nations assessments put the pre-assault population of the territory at around one million — a statistic that underscores how many have been uprooted from their homes.

“There has been a noticeable decrease in the number of air strikes since last night. Tanks and military vehicles have pulled back slightly,” said Muin Abu Rajab, 40, who lives in the Al-Rimal neighbourhood. “But I believe this is a tactical move, not a withdrawal. We are tired of hopes that evaporate.”

This is the rhythm of life now: hopeful pauses and sudden ruptures. A child learning to count by the number of days since the last airstrike. A mother stitching newborn clothes in the shadow of a crumbled pharmacy. The human stories add up, unimaginable in their totality.

The human tally

Numbers matter because they are shorthand for loss: 1,219 people were killed in the October 7 attack, according to an AFP tally of Israeli official figures. Israel says dozens of hostages remain. Gaza’s health ministry reports tens of thousands of Palestinian fatalities. These figures are contested, verified imperfectly, and painful in any form.

“We want the prisoner exchange to happen quickly so Israel has no excuse to continue the war,” said Ahmad Barbakh from Al-Mawasi. His words are less a demand than a plea — the language of people desperate to put an end to a conflict that has hollowed out everyday life.

Negotiations, brinkmanship, and the politics of a ceasefire

Sharm El-Sheikh has seen peace talks before. It is a place of palm-lined avenues and hotels that cater to European tourists; now it hosts tense delegations and hurried bilateral meetings. Israel’s delegation arrived with cautious optimism, with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu saying he hoped to see hostages freed “within days.” Hamas representatives, escorted into Cairo, insisted on an immediate start to the exchange and on having a voice in Gaza’s future — an insistence at odds with the U.S. roadmap, which stipulates that Hamas should play no role in post-war governance.

“Hamas is very keen to reach an agreement to end the war and immediately begin the prisoner exchange process in accordance with the field conditions,” a senior Hamas official said, speaking on condition of anonymity. That language hints at a willingness to compromise on sequence while guarding core political positions.

Conversely, U.S. and Israeli leaders have drawn hard lines. President Trump warned of “complete obliteration” if Hamas stays in power and urged the group not to delay. “When Hamas confirms, the ceasefire will be immediately effective, the hostages and prisoner exchange will begin,” he wrote online, all caps and urgency.

Who is mediating?

Egypt is the host and primary mediator, playing a role it has filled in previous rounds.
The White House said President Trump dispatched envoys — including Jared Kushner — to help shepherd the talks.
Other foreign ministers around the region and beyond have framed this window as a “real opportunity” for a sustainable pause in fighting.

The wider questions: justice, security, and rebuilding trust

Ask yourself: what does a sustainable ceasefire look like? Is it simply a pause in violence, a diplomatic freeze-frame to be broken again, or can it be the first stitch in a political fabric that holds?

Disarmament, the transfer of authority, accountability for atrocities, reconstruction funding, and the safe return of displaced people — these are not technical details. They are moral decisions. They require the kind of international patience and resources that have been in short supply for years.

“You can’t rebuild homes without rebuilding trust,” said Dr. Lina Haddad, a Gaza-born humanitarian specialist now working with an international NGO. “Reconstruction is more than concrete and steel. It is education, health care, jobs, and, crucially, a credible political horizon. Without that, walls will rise where bridges should be.”

For the neighbors, the stakes are regional. A stalled deal could inflame tensions beyond Gaza. A swift, well-managed exchange could create breathing room for diplomacy elsewhere in the Middle East. For ordinary people in Gaza and Israel, though, the stakes are heartbreakingly local: a son returned home, a grandmother spared one more unbearable funeral, a child allowed to sleep at night.

What now?

Negotiators are racing against anniversaries and fatigue. Talks slated to start on the eve of the second anniversary of the October 7 attack are a reminder that time itself has become a pressure cooker. For people in Gaza and for Israelis whose relatives remain in captivity, each passing day is both countdown and torment.

Will the guns fall silent long enough for human beings to step back from the brink? Will promises be kept, and will exchanges be conducted with the dignity and safeguards families demand? These are the questions now traveling across the Red Sea to a seaside resort repurposed overnight as a forum of urgent mediation.

Perhaps the right question to end with is this: if you had to choose between a ceasefire today and an uncertain political future, which would you take? Families on both sides have already answered that question with their absence. The rest of us must decide how loudly to insist that their futures matter.

Populist leader Andrej Babis clinches victory in Czech election

hanad

October 5, 2025

Populist Babis secures Czech election win — Andrej Babis told reporters that his party is pro-Europe and pro-NATO

After the Cheers: What Andrej Babiš’s Win Means for the Czech Republic — and for Europe

On a cool Prague evening, the crowd outside the Forum Karlín swelled like a sea of navy caps. “Strong Czechia” baseball hats bobbed in the lights, a deliberately familiar echo of international populist branding. Inside, billionaire-turned-politician Andrej Babiš stepped up to the microphone and, with a mixture of relief and brio, announced what pollsters had already whispered all day: his ANO movement had emerged top of the ballot in the parliamentary election.

The numbers were stark and simple enough to summarize a complicated next chapter: with 99% of districts counted ANO led with 34.7% of the vote, while the centre-right coalition Spolu trailed at 23.2%. Projections put ANO at roughly 80 seats in the 200-seat lower house — a clear victory, yet one shy of an absolute majority. The incumbent prime minister, Petr Fiala, conceded. President Petr Pavel is now set to begin consultations to name the next government.

Promises that Pulled Voters In

Babiš’s pitch during the campaign was elemental and emotional: faster growth, higher wages and pensions, lower taxes, and targeted tax discounts for students and young families. In an electorate that has felt the squeeze of the past few years — inflationary shocks, rising energy bills, and stagnant real incomes — those promises land like an embrace.

“We want practical help,” said Martina Kovaříková, 34, who runs a small café in Brno. “When I wake up each day, I’m thinking about how to keep staff and pay rent, not about geopolitics. If someone says, ‘We will ease that,’ people listen.”

That listening was visible in the election returns. Many voters are weary of austerity rhetoric and are hungry for tangible relief. ANO’s economic pledges, though costly, echoed a broader European mood: a tilt back toward social support and away from the fiscal discipline that has dominated some capitals since the eurozone crisis.

Local Color: Why This Felt Like a Turning Point

In small towns outside Prague and Moravia, the election felt personal. At a market stall in Olomouc, an elderly woman wrapped a waxed apple in one hand and said, “We want dignity in our pensions. I didn’t vote for anyone before, but this time I did.”

Factory towns, too, reported a similar sentiment. “People are hungry for stability,” said Lukáš Dvořák, a union representative at a steel plant in Ostrava. “After years of price spikes, promises of higher wages matter — even if you suspect they may not pass unchanged into law.”

The Political Tightrope: A Win With Big Buts

Victory on election day, however, is just the beginning. Babiš faces a thicket of legal and political obstacles before a comfortable premiership could become reality.

He remains the owner — at least in public perception — of Agrofert, a sprawling chemicals and food conglomerate that has loomed over Czech business and politics for years. Conflict-of-interest rules, designed to prevent state power from tangling with private wealth, stand ready to test his ability to lead without ceding influence. On top of that, long-running fraud charges tied to the alleged misappropriation of an EU subsidy from over a decade ago still hang over his head, charges he has consistently denied.

“It’s not just about the votes; it’s about institutions,” said Jana Havel, a constitutional law professor at Charles University. “European legal norms and domestic anti-corruption frameworks will be central in the weeks ahead. The president has a role to play in gauging who can form a government without undermining the rule of law.”

Coalition Math and Compromises

With ANO short of a majority, conversation shifted quickly to partners and conditional support. Babiš said he would seek to govern alone but was open to talks. He has signalled an openness to discussions with smaller parties like the Motorists (opponents of the EU’s green policies) and the anti-EU, anti-NATO SPD — parties with starker, more divisive agendas.

Petr Macinka, leader of the Motorists, told a local station, “We will negotiate for common-sense policies — lower regulatory burdens and protection for drivers.” Radim Fiala, deputy chairman of SPD, added on television, “Our aim was to end the Fiala government. Supporting a minority ANO cabinet would meet that goal.”

But the more extreme pro-Russian lists underperformed compared with expectations. SPD captured just 7.8% and a resurgent far-left bloc built around the Communist Party failed to cross the 5% threshold required for parliamentary representation — a sign that fringe politics had limits on Election Day, even amid widespread disenchantment.

Europe, NATO, and the Razor’s Edge of Policy

Babiš has been an ideological chameleon: from once wanting to join the euro to his current euroscepticism; from a mainstream centrist to a figure aligned with Viktor Orbán’s illiberal camp in Budapest. He has publicly signalled support for President Donald Trump’s worldview and has allied with far-right voices in the European Parliament under the “Patriots for Europe” banner.

Yet he insists he will not pull the Czech Republic out of the EU or NATO. “We want to save Europe,” he told reporters on election night, adding that his party is “clearly pro-European and pro-NATO.” Still, there are clear markers of friction: he has opposed some European Parliament votes supporting Kyiv and has said he would end the “Czech initiative” — a coordinated effort that purchased ammunition for Ukraine with Western donor funding.

“This election tests Europe’s capacity to keep unity in the face of domestic discontent,” said Dr. Michael Rosenberg, a Brussels-based analyst on Central European politics. “If Prague shifts policy on Ukraine, even in small ways, it could ripple across EU cohesion on sanctions, security assistance, and solidarity.”

Questions That Go Beyond Prague

What should we read into a victory that mixes populist rhetoric with pragmatic promises? Is this the start of a broader swing in Central Europe, or a local reaction to economic strain? The answers matter for migration policy debates, climate ambition, and NATO’s eastern flank.

Consider the human scale: younger families who hope to buy a flat and older citizens worried about their pensions. These are the voters who propelled ANO forward. The policy trade-offs now — will promises be fiscally responsible or politically expedient? — will determine how that victory ages.

“We want respect,” said Miroslav Beneš, a 58-year-old electrician from Pilsen. “We want a government that looks after ordinary people. If Babiš can do that, we’ll support him. If not, what else do we have?”

What Comes Next

In the coming days President Pavel will meet party leaders to decide who gets the first shot at forming a government. Expect intense negotiations, legal scrutiny, and headlines that will stretch beyond the Czech borders. The choices made in Prague will reverberate through Brussels and NATO capitals, where officials will be watching to see if a traditional partner holds to commitments on security and European unity.

For citizens here, and for observers abroad, the real question is less about campaign slogans and more about outcomes: Will pledges of higher wages and lower taxes translate into stronger livelihoods, or into fiscal strain and deepened political polarization? Will Czech democracy strengthen through accountability, or fray under the pressure of concentrated wealth and populist momentum?

For a nation of about 10.5 million, tucked in the heart of Europe, the stakes feel both intimate and continental. As Prague settles from celebration into the hard work of coalition-building, the world watches: not merely for the fate of one government, but for clues about the trajectory of European politics in an era of economic anxiety and geopolitical stress.

What do you think — is this a corrective that will restore people’s faith in politics, or the beginning of a recalibration with deeper consequences? Pull up a chair. The debate has only just begun.

Trump Says Israel Agrees to Gaza Pullback Line

hanad

October 5, 2025

Trump says Israel has agreed to withdrawal line from Gaza — A view of destruction following an Israeli attack on Gaza City yesterday

A Fragile Breath: Diplomacy, Bombs and the Possibility of a Ceasefire in Gaza

They cheered beneath a hot, dust-streaked sky when the message flashed across cracked phone screens in Gaza’s tent camps: a tentative accord, a pathway to the release of hostages, an “initial withdrawal line” proposed by an outsider who has become, for better or worse, a central character in the drama.

US President Donald Trump posted that Israel had agreed to an initial withdrawal position for Gaza and that the line had been shared with Hamas. “When Hamas confirms,” he wrote, “a ceasefire will be effective immediately and a prisoner exchange will begin.” The words landed like a promise and a dare at once.

Negotiators on the move — and the clock ticking

Within hours Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said he had dispatched negotiators to Cairo to work through technicalities, and Cairo confirmed it would host Hamas representatives to hash out the exchange and “ground conditions.” The White House, meanwhile, sent two envoys — Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff — to press the talks.

“We have to get them home,” Mr Netanyahu told the nation, speaking of the Israelis seized in the October attacks. “I instructed negotiators to finalize this. Hamas will be disarmed — either diplomatically via this plan, or militarily by us.”

Hamas issued a terse statement: it had approved the release of all hostages — living and remains — according to the exchange formula in Mr Trump’s proposal. The announcement, celebrated in some tents with cries of “Allahu akbar!”, was immediately hailed by President Trump as evidence that the militant group was “ready for a lasting PEACE.” He urged Israel to halt its bombardment; he warned Hamas to “move quickly” or “all bets will be off.”

On the ground, the violence did not pause

Celebration and fear sat side by side. While negotiators prepared their next steps, the rockets, shells and jets did not stop. Gaza’s civil defence agency — the rescue body operating under Hamas authority — reported dozens killed in strikes that continued despite the diplomatic momentum. “The death toll from the ongoing Israeli bombardment since dawn today stands at 57, including 40 in Gaza City alone,” Mahmud Bassal, a spokesman, said. Other reports and summaries during the day put the figure higher; the fog of war makes precise counts agonizingly difficult.

“Israel has actually escalated its attacks since the call for a pause,” said Mahmud Al-Ghazi, 39, who lives in the Al-Rimal neighbourhood with his family. “Who will stop Israel now? We need the negotiations to move faster to stop this genocide and the ongoing bloodshed.”

A medic in a Gaza field hospital, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, described the surreal tempo: “One minute, families are crying with hope that their children might return, the next we are running into the resuscitation tent. Hope and grief are woven together here — it’s unbearable.”

Numbers that refuse to be neutral

To understand the scale of this crisis is to live with numbers that become names. The October 7 attack by Hamas that set this terrible chain of events in motion killed 1,219 people in Israel, according to AFP’s tally of official figures — most of them civilians. In Gaza, the toll reported by the territory’s health ministry — a body the United Nations treats as a primary source in the enclave — has surpassed 67,000 dead since Israel’s retaliatory offensive began. The health ministry’s figures do not make a clear split between combatants and civilians; they do, however, note that more than half of the dead are women and children.

These are not abstractions. Each number is a small universe of loss: a child who will not grow, a healer gone, a home turned into rubble. And they are central to a negotiation that seeks to trade human lives for terms, turn the unthinkable into a ledger.

Who governs Gaza after the guns fall silent?

The proposal on the table carries a controversial clause: it bars Hamas and other armed factions from playing any role in the governance of Gaza after the ceasefire. Instead, administration would be handed to a technocratic body overseen by a transitional authority — the plan even suggests a role for President Trump himself.

For many Palestinians, the idea that their future might be mapped out by outsiders — or that their political representatives would be sidelined — is galling. “Who decides what is best for us, if not Palestinians?” asked Jamila al-Sayyid, 24, from Al-Zeitoun. “Trump announced a ceasefire. We cheered, but the warplanes did not stop.”

There are global implications to such a blueprint. Can external actors impose governance structures in the wake of war and expect legitimacy? What does disarmament mean when armed groups are embedded within the civilian fabric of a besieged territory? These questions have echoes in conflicts from Libya to Afghanistan and speak to a broader debate about sovereignty, agency and reconstruction after catastrophe.

Voices from beyond the battlefield

International reactions were swift. Ireland’s Taoiseach Micheál Martin described Hamas’s announcement as “very welcome news” for families waiting almost two years for the return of loved ones and urged an immediate ceasefire and surge of humanitarian aid. Tánaiste and Foreign Minister Simon Harris called for the bombing to stop and for assistance to flow into Gaza, stressing Ireland’s support for a two-state solution as the only way to durable peace.

In Tel Aviv, thousands gathered to press for a deal — not out of simple optimism, but out of exhaustion. “We want our people back,” said one demonstrator, a mother clutching a photograph of a son still missing. “Not a theatrical victory. Not a slow-motion negotiation. Bring them home.”

What happens next?

Negotiators were bound for Cairo to finalize “technical details,” diplomats said. Hamas had conditionally signaled acceptance of the terms; Israel had agreed to an initial withdrawal line. But until signatures appear and the first hostages walk free, the scene is precarious.

Can a ceasefire take hold amid continued strikes? Will aid reach the people lined up with empty buckets outside makeshift kitchens? Can a political architecture crafted by external powers win acceptance among a population that has been battered, displaced and humiliated?

These are not academic questions. They are the immediate concerns of families in Gaza’s tented camps, of Israelis who have watched their towns scarred, and of global citizens watching satellite images and counting the dead. They also force a larger reckoning: when war ends, who measures justice? Who rebuilds trust?

Looking forward, cautiously

For now, the world waits on a few fragile verbs — confirm, cease, exchange. Each carries a cascade of consequences. If Hamas confirms the deal, the prospect of hostages returning during the upcoming Sukkot holiday will be a rare, wrenching relief for families on both sides. If talks falter, the drumbeat of violence may simply resume, louder and more destructive.

What would you call plausible in such a moment? A permanent peace? A temporary respite? Or another chapter in a long, sorrowful cycle?

As negotiators shuttle between capitals and tents, remember that diplomacy is not merely a set of signed papers. It is human work — the art of turning outrage into terms people can live with, of matching grief with guarantees and of stitching together societies that have been torn apart. Whether this effort succeeds will depend as much on the care taken to protect civilians, deliver aid and recognize dignity, as it does on lines on a map or on promises posted to social media.

For now, the region breathes — briefly, anxiously — on the promise that, this time, the pause might hold long enough for people to come home.

Nationalist Sanae Takaichi Poised to Become Japan’s First Woman Prime Minister

hanad

October 5, 2025

Nationalist Takaichi set to be Japan's first female PM — Sanae Takaich speaks following the party's leadership election at the its headquarters in Tokyo

When the old guard crowned a new face: Japan at a crossroads

On an autumn evening in Tokyo, the fluorescent lights of the Liberal Democratic Party headquarters hummed like a city that never quite sleeps. Supporters and staffers clustered around television screens, phones pressed to ears, eyes tracking the number that would decide the direction of a nation long guided by cautious continuity. When the announcement came — Sanae Takaichi had been chosen as the LDP’s leader — the room released a collective exhale: a mixture of triumph, trepidation and, for some, a dawning hope.

Takaichi, 64, now stands poised to become Japan’s first-ever female prime minister should she win the parliamentary confirmation vote set for 15 October. It is a milestone that carries both symbolic weight and concrete consequences for a country wrestling with persistent economic anxiety, aging demographics, geographic tensions, and a restive younger generation.

Who is Sanae Takaichi — and what does she want?

To understand the moment, picture Takaichi as a political artisan: conservative, unflinching, and unapologetically nationalistic. A long-time LDP fixture and a former minister in charge of economic security and internal affairs, she has endorsed the free-spending spirit of “Abenomics” while railing against recent tightening at the Bank of Japan. “We will put the people’s daily anxiety first,” she declared during the final round of voting, her voice steady, eyes fixed on an audience hungry for change.

She declared Margaret Thatcher a hero — a statement that reveals the ideological spine beneath her rhetoric: robust executive leadership, market-friendly public investment, and a muscular national identity. On foreign policy, she has not shied away from controversy. Regular visits to Yasukuni Shrine — a site that honors Japan’s war dead but also evokes deep wounds in neighboring Korea and China — and suggestions about closer security ties with Taiwan have already triggered diplomatic ripples.

What she proposes — and what it might mean

Takaichi speaks in big, practical strokes: more government spending to lift the economy, a renewed emphasis on national defense, and a willingness to amend Japan’s postwar pacifist constitution. For everyday voters tired of pinched wallets and slow wage growth, this can feel like the promise of decisive action.

For markets and policy wonks, however, the math is less flattering. Japan’s public debt remains the highest among major economies — around 260% of GDP by most measures — and the country’s aging population intensifies pressure on pensions and healthcare. Investors, already jittery over global interest-rate cycles, worry that renewed fiscal largesse could push borrowing costs higher and complicate the Bank of Japan’s path.

“If the new leader leans into expansive fiscal policy without a plan for long-term consolidation, credit markets will react — and not necessarily kindly,” said Aiko Matsumura, a Tokyo-based sovereign debt analyst. “This is the paradox: voters demand relief now, but the bills arrive later.”

A party in retreat, and voters who want something different

The LDP has dominated Japanese politics for most of the postwar era — a political monolith since its formation in 1955 — but its sheen has dimmed. Under the outgoing leadership, the party and its coalition partner lost their majorities in both houses, a stinging rebuke fueled by public frustration with rising prices and stuttering growth.

Newer parties — including the expansionist Democratic Party for the People and the anti-immigration Sanseito — have chipped away at LDP strongholds, winning traction among younger voters with sharper messages on jobs, identity and immigration. In the streets of Shibuya and at university lecture halls, the sentiment is clear: “We want change — but not this antiseptic kind of change,” said Yui Nakamoto, a 28-year-old gig economy worker who voted in a recent local poll.

Markets, alliances and the global reverberations

Financial markets were quick to read Takaichi’s arrival as a new variable in global calculations. Before the party vote, traders had priced in about a 60% chance that the Bank of Japan might raise short-term interest rates this month. After her election, that probability fell. “Her stance has definitely altered the market’s trajectory,” said Naoya Hasegawa, chief bond strategist at Okasan Securities. “Investors are recalibrating — anticipating a more dovish BOJ or at least a pause on tightening.”

On the diplomatic front, the United States moved fast with a conciliatory tone. “We look forward to strengthening the Japan-US partnership on every front,” the U.S. ambassador to Japan said in a social media post, underscoring the strategic importance of Tokyo in a region where China’s assertiveness and the fate of Taiwan are central concerns. Taiwan’s president, too, publicly welcomed Takaichi, calling her a “steadfast friend.” In Beijing and Seoul, however, her nationalist gestures and shrine visits can be read as provocation rather than outreach.

Voices from the ground: fear, relief, curiosity

In a small izakaya near Yurakucho, a regular — Takashi Suzuki, 62, a retired salaryman — shrugged over a bowl of simmered mackerel. “We need someone who will act,” he said. “Prices are up, and my pension doesn’t stretch like it used to. If she spends to get the economy moving, I’m for it.” Across town, in a co-working space near Roppongi, 24-year-old app developer Mai Fujimoto echoed a different concern. “Her views on identity and security worry me,” she said. “I want outward-looking Japan. I worry about the division this could cause.”

And in rural Nagano, a local mayor, daub of sweat on his brow after a day of town visits, offered a measured hope: “We need better support for small towns. Maybe a bold leader can reconnect policy with people beyond Tokyo.”

Why this matters beyond Japan’s shores

Ask yourself: what happens when a leading democracy with a major economy tilts toward a more nationalistic, fiscally ambitious project? The answers matter for global trade, for regional security architectures in East Asia, and for investors who thread the world with capital every day. Japan’s choices will influence semiconductor supply chains, defense planning in Washington, Tokyo and Taipei, and the broader debate about how aging societies remain prosperous.

There’s also a symbolic dimension: a woman at the top of Japan’s government would be historic, a crack in decades of a glass ceiling that many had assumed was immovable. Takaichi herself invoked that image, promising to “work, work, work” and travel abroad to declare “Japan is back.” But symbolism is only part of the ledger. Whether she can translate rhetorical force into policies that balance short-term relief with long-term sustainability will define her legacy.

What to watch next

The parliamentary vote on 15 October — the formal step that could make Takaichi prime minister.
Bank of Japan policy signals and whether markets interpret them as a pause or pivot.
Diplomatic responses from Seoul, Beijing and Washington, especially any shifts in joint security cooperation.
Domestic reaction from the youth and opposition parties: will they mobilize or drift toward new movements?

Change in Tokyo is rarely neat. It arrives in fits and starts, a mosaic of policy pronouncements, street-level anxieties and global ripples. As Japan faces the next chapter — with a woman at the helm for the first time — the world will be watching to see whether the nation leans into renewal or retreats behind familiar certainties. Which outcome do you think will serve Japan — and the wider world — best?

UK police to intensify questioning of synagogue attack suspects

hanad

October 5, 2025

Police to question UK synagogue attack suspects further — Forensic teams work at the scene of the attack in Manchester

They Came to Pray — and the Street Became Battlefield: A Community Reels After the Manchester Synagogue Attack

It was supposed to be a morning of reflection. Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, had drawn worshippers to the modest building at Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation in Crumpsall — a north Manchester neighbourhood where generations have kept ritual and community alive.

Instead, the quiet was shattered. A car ploughed into the kerb outside the synagogue and a man armed with a knife tried to force his way in. Screams, the crunch of metal, then the decisive crack of gunfire as armed police engaged the attacker. By the end of it, three worshippers lay dead or dying and the entire city was left holding its breath.

What Happened

Counter Terrorism Policing North West (CTPNW) leads the fast-moving investigation. Authorities say the assailant — identified in court papers as Jihad Al‑Shamie, 35 — was shot dead at the scene after police officers confronted him. Officers discovered a device attached to his torso that, after analysis, was confirmed to be a hoax.

Two civilians — reported in initial accounts as Adrian Daulby, 53, and Melvin Cravitz, 66 — were killed as they tried to stop the man from entering the synagogue. A number of others were seriously injured and are being treated in local hospitals.

In the days since, warrants were granted to allow investigators extra time to question four people arrested on suspicion of preparing acts of terrorism. Two further suspects remain in custody while inquiries continue. Police say those held were arrested in residential locations across Manchester, including Prestwich and Farnworth.

Official Lines and Local Voices

“Our investigation into the appalling terrorist incident that took place outside the Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation Synagogue is continuing at pace,” Greater Manchester Police said in a statement, underscoring the scale of the counter-terror resources now engaged.

Laurence Taylor, head of counter‑terrorism policing, told reporters investigators believed the attacker “may have been influenced by extreme Islamist ideology,” while also confirming that the explosive device was fake. The Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) has opened a separate probe into the use of lethal force by firearms officers — including whether police action may have contributed to the death of one of the men who intervened.

National political figures arrived in Manchester to offer condolences and to gauge the mood on the ground. Prime Minister Keir Starmer urged restraint, writing that this “is a moment of mourning” and pleading with anyone planning protests to “respect the grief of British Jews.” Conservative Party leader Kemi Badenoch, who visited the scene alongside Greater Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham, struck a sterner tone, saying Jewish families were telling her they were “leaving to go to Israel” because they felt unsafe.

“Jewish people right now are telling me that they are leaving to go to Israel,” Ms Badenoch said. “Israel is at war. How can people be leaving the UK to go to a war zone and think that they’ll be safer there? We need to bring back safety to our streets.”

Grief, Anger and the Weight of History

Walk the cordon now and you will see flowers, prayers scribbled on torn paper, candles that will keep guttering until someone cleans them up. A grey-haired neighbour I spoke with held a plastic bag of challah bread and a stunned look that said what words could not.

“I’ve lived here forty years,” she told me. “We look out for each other. To think someone would come to hurt people while they pray — it’s beyond belief.”

Another local, a shopkeeper who’d known one of the victims, squeezed my hand and said, “He would stand at the door on holidays and greet everyone. People like that are the heart of our streets.”

For Manchester’s Jewish community — already on edge after a year marked by international tensions and a surge in antisemitic incidents — this attack landed as both shock and confirmation of their fears. Dave Rich, director of policy at the Community Security Trust (CST), told national broadcasters that incitement and anti‑Jewish rhetoric had intensified since the events of October last year, leaving many to ask: “OK, the sympathy is great, but where’s the action?”

On the Ground: How a City Responds

There are practical, visible changes: patrols have increased around synagogues, community centres and schools. Security guards are being briefed; places of worship have temporarily altered service times and access points. Old Trafford — an emblem of Manchester’s cultural life — will observe a minute’s silence at the next Manchester United match, players expected to wear black armbands.

“We want to show support,” said a football fan outside the stadium. “Sport brings people together; it’s where we can mourn and also say we stand with those targeted.”

Questions That Won’t Easily Go Away

How does a free society balance the right to protest with the duty to protect vulnerable communities? When does political debate slip into dangerous incitement? And perhaps most urgently, what does it take to prevent someone radicalising in plain sight?

“Radicalisation is rarely a sudden conversion,” explained Dr. Naomi Feldman, a terrorism researcher at a Manchester university. “It’s usually a process — social media echo chambers, personal grievances, criminal behaviour that isolates a person. Intervention is possible, but it requires intelligence, community trust and early action.”

Statistics from groups that track hate crime and antisemitism show a worrying upward trend in the years following major international flashpoints. Community organisations urge more robust responses not only from police but from social platforms and civic institutions that can spot and counter online harm before it becomes offline violence.

Beyond Manchester: A Mirror for the Times

This isn’t just a Manchester story. It’s a story about fracture lines that are widening across many democracies: the intersection of terror, identity, community security and the politics of protest. It’s about how a single, violent act instantly ripples across neighbourhoods, national debates and international headlines.

Many here want to preserve the finer details of communal life — the synagogue teas, the elderly man who always saves a place for newcomers, the volunteer who locks the doors after services. Their actions are small, stubborn defences against a world that sometimes feels big and hostile.

“We will still pray,” said a rabbi, voice taut with sorrow. “We will still light the candles. That is what they would have wanted — not fear, but continuity.”

What Comes Next

Investigators will piece together motives and connections, the IOPC will examine police conduct, and the courts will take their slow, exacting course. Meanwhile, families bury their dead, worshippers return to altered services, and a city wrestles with grief and the work of reassurance.

As you read this, ask yourself: what role do we play in preventing hatred from seizing public life? How can communities be safer — practically and spiritually — without surrendering the freedoms that allow us to gather, to pray, to protest?

Those questions do not have neat answers. But in a small synagogue in Crumpsall, amid candles and floral tributes, a community is beginning the long work of answering them together. That, perhaps, is where the story of resilience and recovery must begin.

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