MEP Boylan appalled as EU pauses sanctions against Israel

October 23, 2025

MEP Boylan 'disgusted' by EU suspending Israel sanctions — Lynn Boylan voiced concerns about the operational oversight and legality of the proposed stabilisation force in Gaza as part of the peace plan

When Diplomacy Pauses: Ireland, the EU, and the Quiet Tension Over Gaza

There’s a dissonant hush in the corridors of Strasbourg and a worried hum in Dublin’s cafes — the kind of low-level noise that speaks of things unresolved. The European Union announced this week that it would not immediately push ahead with a package of sanctions aimed at Israel, citing a changed situation on the ground after a ceasefire. For many on the island of Ireland, and for voices across Europe who watched the conflict unfold, that decision felt less like prudence than a retreat.

“I’m deeply, deeply disgusted,” Sinn Féin MEP Lynn Boylan told RTÉ in a tone that cut through the bureaucratic polish of the European Parliament. “This is the very time when we need to ramp the pressure up on Israel. I’m scratching my head at the EU… They’ve just exited the international stage at a time when they should be front and centre.”

Her words landed hard in Dublin, where memories of Ireland’s own long struggles with peacekeeping, diplomacy, and principled stances are never far from the surface. In pubs and at kitchen tables across the city, ordinary people said they felt frustrated by what they see as a missed moral moment.

What the EU said — and didn’t say

On the podium, EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas framed the decision as tactical. “The ceasefire has changed the context,” she told journalists, adding that the EU would not “move with the measures now” while also keeping the threat of sanctions on the table. “Unless we see real and sustained change on the ground, including more aid reaching Gaza, the threat of sanctions remains on the table,” she added.

Those words are a diplomatic tightrope: a pause without a promise broken, a warning without the immediate sting of implementation. The proposed measures earlier put forward by the European Commission were significant — talk of curbing trade ties and blacklisting some ministers — and came after sustained pressure from member states fed up with what they perceived as inaction in the face of a protracted and devastating campaign in Gaza.

And yet, as one EU official speaking on background admitted to me, “Politics is timing. Sanctions are a blunt instrument; if you pull the trigger at the wrong moment you can make matters worse.” That pragmatic caution sits uneasily alongside the anguished pleas of those who feel diplomacy should amplify, not retreat, in moments of fragile ceasefire.

Voices in Ireland: Caution, Concern, and the Triple Lock

Regina Doherty, a Fine Gael MEP, offered a more measured response. “I’ve mixed views as to whether sanctions at the moment would be counterintuitive,” she said. “Maybe there’s a time and a place, and actually I think the time and place probably would’ve been months ago, not necessarily now. I think everything that we do now has to centre around keeping and holding the peace, and rebuilding lives for people who’ve gone through so much trauma.”

Her caveat highlights a broader Irish conundrum: the instinct to lead on peacekeeping and humanitarian action colliding with legal and political constraints. Ireland has a long and proud history of UN peacekeeping. At the same time, national rules — known as the “triple lock” — mean any deployment of 12 or more Defence Forces personnel overseas requires three approvals: the Dáil (Irish parliament), the Government, and a UN Security Council mandate.

Why this matters: the “triple lock” is designed to prevent unilateral entanglement in foreign conflicts, but critics say it can be impractical when the UN is paralysed at the Security Council.
Proponents of reform argue that Irish sovereignty and the ability to respond rapidly to global crises are hampered by the current arrangement.

“I would very much agree with Ireland taking a leading role in peacekeeping, as we have done before,” Doherty told me, but she also warned the “elephant in the room is the Triple Lock.” She has previously suggested it is time to reconsider that framework, arguing it no longer reflects the realities of modern diplomacy.

Questions about a new ‘International Stabilisation Force’

Attention has also turned to proposals for an International Stabilisation Force (ISF) as part of a comprehensive Gaza peace plan that has circulated in policy circles. The concept — to secure key areas, support reconstruction, and help train a new Palestinian police force — is straightforward on paper but thorny in practice.

“It’s not embedded in international law. It’s not embedded with the UN. Who is going to oversee this so-called stabilisation force?” Lynn Boylan asked, echoing concerns that have been raised by legal experts and activists alike. The absence of a clear mandate, a transparent chain of command, or a widely accepted legal basis raises hard questions about legitimacy and accountability.

For many in Ireland, the default response is cautious support for peacekeeping — coupled with a refusal to play along with arrangements that lack legal and moral clarity. “Any Irish involvement must be rooted in an international legal framework first,” Doherty insisted. It’s a simple sentence with profound implications.

On the Ground — and in the Headlines

Walk the streets around Leinster House in Dublin or the cobblestone approaches to Strasbourg’s parliament buildings and you’ll hear a familiar refrain: people want governments to act, but they want action that holds to law and to principle. A Dublin teacher told me over a cup of tea, “We don’t want token gestures. If we’re going to send our people, it must be for real peace, not for show.”

Across the Mediterranean, the landscapes where this diplomacy plays out are raw with human story. Gaza is home to more than two million people squeezed into just 365 square kilometres — a dense tapestry of families, markets, mosques, and schools. Years of blockade, conflict, and displacement have left infrastructure fragile and humanitarian needs immense. Aid groups repeatedly warn that temporary ceasefires, while lifesaving in the short term, do not substitute for sustained, structural recovery and a political solution.

One aid worker who has spent months coordinating relief convoys described to me the logistical maze: “Getting enough food, clean water and medical supplies across checkpoints and through damaged crossings is nightmarish. The ceasefire opens doors—but those doors can close again tomorrow if there’s no durable plan.”

Why this matters to the global public

We live in an era where foreign policy choices reverberate quickly. Sanctions, deployments, and diplomatic pauses are not abstract levers pulled in distant capitals: they have human consequences. They shape the lives of children in refugee camps, they influence migration patterns, and they test the credibility of institutions meant to prevent the worst excesses of war.

So ask yourself: when a regional conflict pauses, should the international community mount pressure — or step back to let wounds begin to heal? Is the EU’s patience a wise calculation or a moral retreat? And for countries like Ireland, how do you balance a proud peacekeeping tradition with legal constraints and political reality?

A moment of choice

The answers will not come neatly. There are no perfect options on the table, only trade-offs, compromises, and risks. What is clear is that in moments like these, silence is itself a decision. To step away from pressure is to change the dynamics of conflict; to lean in without a legal or ethical framework is to gamble with sovereignty and safety.

For now, the sanctions remain a spectre rather than a sword. The ISF remains a sketch on a briefing paper. And the people most affected—families in Gaza, diplomats in Strasbourg, voters in Dublin—are left waiting, watching, and wondering which way the wind will finally blow.

Whatever happens next, it will not be purely a matter of policy. It will be a moral and political choice, and those choices will ripple far beyond the pages of today’s headlines.

Sarkozy Shielded by Security Detail While Held in Jail

hanad

October 23, 2025

Sarkozy being protected by security guards in jail — Nicolas Sarkozy pictured with his wife Carla Bruni ahead of his arrival at the prison

A former president behind bars: the shock that rippled through Paris

It is a chilly morning in the 14th arrondissement, and the streets near La Santé prison shimmer with the ordinary smallness of life — a baker sliding a tray of croissants into a display case, an old man reading the sports page on a bench, a teenager tugging a backpack and glancing at his phone. And yet, just a few hundred metres away, France has begun to perform a scene its modern history has rarely seen: a former head of state held in detention.

Nicolas Sarkozy, the electrifying and polarising president who led France from 2007 to 2012, is now a prisoner at La Santé. At 70 years old, convicted last month in a case tied to alleged Libyan campaign funding, he faces a five-year sentence for criminal conspiracy. In a country that prizes liberté and the ritual of robust political contest, the sight of a man who once personified power dressed in the uniform of the incarcerated forces a recalibration of how we think about accountability and authority.

Up close at La Santé: routine, restrictions, and a small protective detail

La Santé is an old place. Built in the 19th century and long associated with both notoriety and grim routine, it sits like a weathered cliff face in the urban landscape. Inside its walls, the protocols are exacting: Sarkozy has been placed in the prison’s solitary confinement wing to limit contact with other inmates, prison staff say. Prisoners in that wing are allowed out for one solitary walk a day, usually in a small enclosed yard, and can receive visits up to three times a week.

There is another wrinkle to his detention: because of his status and the threats that have historically surrounded him, a protection arrangement has been maintained. Two security officers are stationed in a neighbouring cell, Interior Ministry officials confirmed. “Given who he is and what is at stake, special measures are unsurprising,” one senior official told me, speaking on condition of anonymity. “But we are balancing security, the safety of the institution, and equal treatment under the law.”

What this looks and feels like

Walk through the neighbourhood and you feel the contrast acutely. Café owners wipe tables, exchange jokes in clipped Parisian rhythms, and roll their eyes at the spectacle. “It’s shock, yes,” said one café owner who declined to give her name. “But we’re also very French about the rule of law. If he broke the law, then the law applies.”

Across the street, a student studying political science reflected on the symbolism. “You can’t help but feel history breathing differently here,” she said. “I grew up hearing my grandparents’ stories—this level of accountability for an ex-leader? It’s new for many of us.”

How we got here: the legal trail and the broader context

The conviction stems from allegations that funding for Sarkozy’s presidential campaign came from Libya — a charge that has dominated headlines and drained months of political oxygen. Alongside this case, the former president has been embroiled in a series of legal battles since his 2012 electoral defeat, with two prior convictions already on record. The accumulation of these judgements has transformed a familiar public figure into a litigant in a sprawling narrative about money, influence, and international interference in democratic processes.

Many in France see the judgment as a landmark moment: Sarkozy is the first former head of an EU state to be jailed, and the first French leader to be imprisoned since Philippe Pétain after World War II. That historical echo — a reminder of the weight presidential imprisonment carries in the national memory — has only heightened public interest and debate.

Voices in the street: a country arguing with itself

When big events land in small neighbourhoods, the local chatter becomes an atlas of opinion. On the pavement outside La Santé, viewpoints range from cautious pride to bitter scepticism.

“Justice must be blind,” said a retired teacher who has lived in the area for three decades. “If we want a healthy democracy, no one is above the law. That’s what we teach our kids.”

Others are less sanguine. “This isn’t just about the law — it’s politics in prison clothes,” muttered a man exiting a bakery. “It feels theatrical, like a punishment stitched in public.”

Legal analysts, meanwhile, urge caution about reading the moment purely as a moral victory. “A conviction of this kind raises important questions about evidence, process, and precedent,” noted a professor of law at a Paris university. “The legal system must remain meticulous; emotion should not rush justice.”

The global signal: rule of law, populism, and the erosion of political immunity

Beyond France’s boulevards, the image of a former president behind bars resonates with wider global themes. Around the world, democracies are testing the boundaries between political immunity and legal accountability. From corruption cases in Latin America to Europe’s own struggles with populism and institutional trust, Sarkozy’s imprisonment invites a larger conversation: how do democracies hold powerful people to account without descending into vindictive politics?

Consider the numbers. France’s incarceration rate sits at roughly 100 to 110 prisoners per 100,000 people — a mid-range figure among European nations — and prisons like La Santé have been repeatedly criticised for overcrowding and ageing infrastructure. Placing a high-profile detainee in such a context raises both operational challenges and symbolic questions about dignity, equality, and the nature of punishment.

What to watch next

There are immediate practicalities. Appeals may follow. Political life will continue to churn. For a man who once strode the corridors of power and commanded crowds, the rhythms of prison will be a hard new curriculum: regulated walks, scheduled visits, and the precisely organised tedium of incarceration.

But beyond the individual, the story will play out as a civic drama. Will the courts’ decisions strengthen public faith in institutions, or will they fracture into partisan narratives that erode trust? How will France balance the twin imperatives of security for high-profile detainees and the principle of equal treatment?

Questions for the reader

What do you think a democracy owes its leaders when they break the law? Is the spectacle of a former president in prison a sign of progress or a painful reminder of political decay? And how do societies ensure that accountability never slides into vengeance?

Final gestures: a city continues, history watches

As evening falls, the lights of Paris smooth over La Santé’s stone face. A woman in a bright scarf walks past, humming a song that could be old or new — it doesn’t matter. Life keeps its appointments, scandals enter the civic bloodstream, and the slow machinery of the legal system grinds toward its next movement.

Whatever happens next, France has been given a rare, clarifying moment: a test of how power is handled when it loses its shelter. History is watching, and so are the people who shuffle past the prison each day — couriers of small details that, stitched together, tell the larger story of a society wrestling with responsibility, memory, and the meaning of justice.

Two Dead After US Forces Strike Suspected Drug Vessel in Pacific

hanad

October 23, 2025

Two killed after US strikes alleged drug boat in Pacific — US Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth claimed those aboard the vessel were 'narco-terrorists'

When the Night Sky Over the Pacific Caught Fire: America’s New Maritime Campaign and a Region on Edge

It was the kind of video that lodges in your chest: a small, dark hull racing across a black sea, suddenly drenched in orange. Flames claw at the deck. People tumble into the water. The clip — posted by the U.S. Defence Secretary on X — shows a boat becoming an inferno in the middle of nowhere.

“There were two narco‑terrorists aboard the vessel during the strike,” Secretary Pete Hegseth wrote alongside the footage. “Both terrorists were killed and no U.S. forces were harmed in this strike.” He framed the operation as a continuation of a hardline approach: cartels, he said, are waging war on America and will find “no refuge or forgiveness.”

That strike, announced as the first U.S. attack on a vessel in the Pacific, is only the most recent episode in an escalating campaign. Officials say it brings the tally to at least eight strikes, and at least 34 people killed. It has also reopened old wounds about sovereignty, evidence, and the rule of law in a hemisphere where history is never far from the present.

From Shorelines to Headlines: Why This Matters

Ask a fisherman on Ecuador’s or Colombia’s Pacific coast and he will tell you that the sea is never empty. It carries commerce and culture, but it also ferries violence and profit — drugs, weapons, and the people who traffic them. Until now, most high‑profile U.S. interdictions were checkpoints, seizures, or partnerships with regional law enforcement. This is different: an overt use of U.S. military force at sea that raises thorny questions about evidence, jurisdiction, and international norms.

“We’ve always tried to keep the sea free for trade and safe for families,” said Eduardo Castillo, a 42‑year‑old fisherman in Buenaventura, Colombia, his hands still smelling of diesel. “Now boats go by and everyone looks up at the sky. We used to fear storms; now we fear being mistaken for something else.”

How Washington Sees It

The Trump administration has formalized a dramatic legal shift. In a notice to Congress, the White House declared the United States engaged in “armed conflict” with Latin American drug cartels — labeling them non‑state armed groups and designating some as terrorist organizations. The Pentagon described suspected smugglers as “unlawful combatants,” a term that carries implications for how captured individuals might be treated and whether they are afforded criminal trials.

“When you designate a group as effectively an enemy in a war, you change the playbook,” said a retired U.S. legal adviser who reviewed the notice. “That opens the door to kinetic, military responses beyond traditional law enforcement. But it also puts the burden on the government to show clear, credible evidence.”

What the Region Feels

Not everyone is persuaded. Colombia’s president, Gustavo Petro, has been publicly critical of the U.S. campaign — a rare and sharp rupture given Bogotá’s long history as a Washington partner in counternarcotics. Venezuelan authorities, already bristling at an unprecedented U.S. military presence in the Caribbean and off their coasts, fear the escalation could be a prelude to something worse.

“It smells to me like the old days, when foreign powers thought they could re‑draw governments as they pleased,” said Ana Ríos, a community organizer in the coastal town of Pedernales, Ecuador. “We’ve had occupations before. We promised ourselves never again.”

Evidence, Law, and the Question of Justice

One of the most pointed criticisms from international lawyers and human rights experts is the lack of publicly disclosed evidence. The U.S. has not released substantive proof that each struck vessel was actively smuggling narcotics or that those aboard posed an imminent threat.

“Under both international humanitarian law and human rights law, targeted killings — especially outside an armed conflict framework — require strict legal justification,” said Dr. Ana Morales, a professor of international law. “Even in an armed conflict, summary executions of persons who are hors de combat or suspected of ordinary criminality are unlawful.”

The campaign has produced at least one morally complicated moment: survivors from recent strikes were repatriated rather than prosecuted by U.S. authorities. Ecuador released one after finding no evidence of criminality, while Colombia prepared to try another who arrived severely injured. Those scenes — a man sedated, on a ventilator, another returned to the care of a state that may or may not hold him to account — underscore the messy legal realities on the water.

On the Ground: Stories from Coastal Towns

Local markets offer a counterpoint to the global rhetoric. In towns along the Pacific, life goes on with the steady rhythm of tide and toil. People speak of rice, fried fish, and the colour of the sea — details that make headlines human.

“My grandmother used to say the ocean brings us what we need,” said María López, 61, selling empanadas near the port. “Now it brings strangers with guns, and we don’t know whose children they are. We are tired of being battlegrounds.”

These are not voices out of the ether. They are the lived texture of a region where supply chains of illicit drugs intersect with livelihoods and where American policy decisions can reach into small harbors as easily as capitals.

Wider Ripples: Diplomacy, Fear, and the Global Drug Trade

What happens on the Pacific ripple into global conversations about migration, public health, and security. Colombia remains a central node in the global cocaine market — a fact that international agencies have repeatedly documented. Whether military strikes at sea reduce production or simply displace routes is a debate that will shape policy for years.

Will more naval enforcement reduce the flow of cocaine to U.S. streets, or will traffickers adapt faster than interdiction efforts can evolve?
How will Latin American governments balance sovereignty concerns with pressure to curb illicit flows?
And what precedent does military action at sea set for other kinds of transnational crime?

“We’re trying to meet a drug challenge with a military hammer,” said Carlos Mendes, an analyst at a Bogotá think tank. “But drugs are economic as well as criminal problems. Without demand‑side strategies — prevention, treatment, alternatives for farmers — you’re cutting off heads of a hydra.”

Questions for the Reader — and the World

As you watch that blaze on your screen, consider what you want from power in an era of porous borders and shadow economies. Do we prefer the blunt certainty of strikes or the slow, messy work of courts, communities, and cross‑border cooperation?

What kind of world do we endorse when a superpower declares an “armed conflict” with non‑state actors in a region that remembers interventions all too well? And finally: who counts as a combatant — and who counts as a human being deserving of due process?

There are no easy answers. There are only choices that will ripple across coastlines, law books, dinner tables, and elections. For the people who live where the sea meets the land, the consequences are immediate. For policymakers and citizens around the world, the consequences are moral and strategic.

In the end, perhaps the most urgent question isn’t whether the flames were justified in a particular strike. It is whether the international community can build a framework that prevents violence while upholding justice — for every coastal village and every life tossed into the dark water beneath the fierce light of a missile strike.

Gale-force winds fan widespread wildfires across Australia and New Zealand

hanad

October 22, 2025

Strong winds fuel wildfires across Australia, New Zealand — People stand near a jetty in stormy weather in Melbourne

Spring’s Scorch: When the Wind Turned Hot

On a sun-bright morning that felt more like midsummer than October, a hot, dry wind ran through Sydney with a kind of impatient ferocity that made backpacks feel like ovens and sea breezes vanish like a trick. The city’s beaches—Bondi among them—were full of people in shorts and sun hats, but the usual relief from the ocean was absent. The wind didn’t cool; it seared.

“It’s not the breeze I expected,” said Tony Evans, a retiree visiting from England, wiping sweat from his brow as he stood on Bondi’s promenade. “It’s almost a blast of heat. You think the sea will save you, but today it didn’t.”

That blast came from a mass of hot air that had built across the outback and marched southeast, the Bureau of Meteorology reported, pushing daytime temperatures in Sydney’s central business district past 37°C, while suburbs farther inland—Penrith and Bankstown—neared 40°C. Those numbers are unusual for October, a month Australian cities normally use to shrug off winter and ease into spring.

Fires on the Edge: A Community Braced

The heat was accompanied by wind gusts strong enough to topple trees and raise the specter of bushfires. Authorities in New South Wales issued several total fire bans as gusts reached up to 100 km/h in exposed parts, and firefighting crews scrambled across multiple fronts.

At last count, 36 separate fires were active across the state, with nine still uncontained. Almost 2,000 properties reported outages as power lines strained against the wind. Firefighters worked in heat, smoke and dust, their silhouettes glimpsed on ridgelines like figures from an old story updated for a warming world.

“We are seeing conditions that rapidly escalate,” said a senior incident controller with the New South Wales Rural Fire Service. “A gust can turn a manageable burn into an emergency in minutes. Our crews are stretched, and communities need to heed advice now.”

The images were familiar to many Australians: ember clouds rolling like low fogs across paddocks, lines of plumes climbing the slopes, and volunteers racing along single-lane roads to lay hoses and clear vulnerable properties. For some, the heat was merely uncomfortable. For others it was life-altering.

“My neighbour lost power at midnight,” said Leila Matthews, who lives on a semi-rural fringe outside Sydney. “We gathered by the barbecue with torches and old blankets, worried about the lines and the kids’ asthma. You don’t expect this in spring.”

Across the Tasman: Red Alerts and a Different Kind of Fury

Across the Tasman Sea, New Zealand was battling its own weather extremes. MetService issued red-level wind warnings—the kind reserved for the most severe events—for central and southern regions, and the South Island’s east coast was braced for gusts that forecasters warned could reach 150 km/h. Around Wellington, winds of up to 140 km/h were forecast, alongside heavy rain.

Fire crews in Kaikoura on the South Island and in Hawke’s Bay on the North Island were fighting blazes stoked by the powerful winds. The fires destroyed several properties, including at least five homes, and prompted the government to declare a state of emergency in Canterbury to coordinate response efforts.

“We’ve had strong winds here before,” said a Kaikoura resident, pointing at a line of scorched mahoe and kanuka, “but this felt like a freight train. The sound of the wind was constant—like someone running a sheet of metal across the hills.”

The heartache was not limited to houses. Ingka, the parent company of IKEA, confirmed that some pine trees destined for furniture stock had burned, though it said the wider global supply chain would not be affected. For communities, the immediate cost—homes, livelihoods and a sense of safety—loomed largest.

Numbers, Patterns, and an Uneasy Context

One fire season statistic that haunts many Australians is the lengthening of the window of risk. While the traditional fire season runs from November to February, researchers and emergency services have repeatedly warned that seasons are starting earlier and finishing later in many areas. More heat, more drought, more wind—all the ingredients that compound risk.

A spokesperson from Australia’s climate service explained: “We are seeing more frequent and intense heat episodes in spring. These events are consistent with what scientists expect in a warming climate—more energy in the atmosphere, and more chance for rapid escalation from heat to fire.”

Globally, average surface temperatures have risen by roughly 1.1°C above pre-industrial levels, according to the latest assessments. That might sound modest, but when added to natural variability it means landscapes and communities are operating with a different baseline than they were a generation ago.

How to Think About It

So what does this day-by-day volatility mean for the person who shops, works and parents in these towns? For one: preparedness is becoming less optional and more civic duty. Local authorities urged residents to stay indoors during high-wind warnings, avoid travel, and prepare for possible power and communications outages.

Keep an emergency kit with water, medications and torch batteries.
Have a plan for pets and livestock; wind and fire can turn evacuation into a scramble.
Follow local warnings—those red flags from meteorological services are not theatrical; they’re a direct call to action.

Voices from the Ground—and a Wider Question

For locals, the weather is not an abstract trend. It is a texture in daily life: the timing of school sports, the smell of the air after a rain, the patience of power crews arriving to fix lines. “We always talk about the seasons,” said an older farmer outside Canterbury, “but the seasons are talking back now. They’re earlier. They’re louder.”

Emergency managers, scientists and residents all echoed a similar theme: events like these are not isolated curiosities. They are part of a pattern that stretches across continents—strong winds, abrupt temperature spikes, and the fires they fuel.

As you read this, ask yourself: How does your community prepare for weather that no longer behaves the way it used to? Are your local plans and infrastructure keeping pace with a climate that keeps rearranging the rules? These are not merely technical questions. They are civic and moral ones about how societies value safety, resilience and the lives of the most vulnerable.

For now, crews will continue to work the lines, residents will board up and check on neighbours, and the wind will do what wind does—move through landscapes and lives. But the memory of this spring day—hot, restless, and unexpected—will not quickly fade. It will be part of the conversation about how to live with a climate that has chosen to be more dramatic, and less forgiving.

Louvre Criticized for Insufficient Camera Coverage of External Walls

hanad

October 22, 2025

'Insufficient' camera coverage of outside walls - Louvre — Louvre Director Laurence des Cars said there was a plan to improve security

When the Louvre’s Heart Was Robbed in Daylight

There is a particular hush that settles over the Louvre at dawn — not the curated hush of galleries, but the city’s own: delivery vans rumbling past on Rue de Rivoli, a baker’s first baguettes steaming nearby, and the glass pyramid catching the early light like a shard of ice. It was in such light, under a Paris sky that had nothing to hide, that a brazen theft unfolded last weekend and left the museum, and a nation, stunned.

What was stolen was not just glitter and historical ornamentation. Eight pieces, including an emerald-and-diamond necklace gifted by Napoleon I to Empress Marie-Louise and a diadem once worn by Empress Eugénie — a crown-like treasure studded with nearly 2,000 diamonds — were taken in a theft now estimated to cost roughly €88 million.

The Heist, as the Story Is Emerging

Investigators pursuing an increasingly vivid trail say the raid was carried out with the kind of precision that suggests planning and muscle. “We are working on the theory that members of an organised crime group climbed a ladder mounted on a truck to reach a balcony on the Apollo Gallery,” said one senior investigator to reporters, describing a sequence that reads more like a film than reality.

Witnesses saw something else: a glittering object, perhaps a crown, dropped in the confusion as the thieves fled. “It fell and shone in the street,” said Claire Martin, a nearby café owner. “Customers pointed, some laughed nervously — we thought maybe it was a prop, like from a movie shoot. It was only later I realised it was real.”

What was taken

Napoleon I’s emerald-and-diamond necklace to Empress Marie-Louise
A diadem that belonged to Empress Eugénie, with nearly 2,000 diamonds
Six other pieces from the historic crown jewels collection

For a museum that welcomes roughly nine million visitors a year, the image of thieves scaling its walls by daylight was a jarring inversion of the ordinary — the ordinary being tourists clustered at the pyramid, camera phones raised, children pressed to viewing barriers, security measured and discreet.

Cameras, Gaps, and a Director’s Confession

In the days that followed, the Louvre’s director, Laurence des Cars, stood before France’s Senate culture committee and uttered a phrase rarely expected in such a place: “Our perimeter cameras are ageing.”

She elaborated with bluntness: coverage is “highly insufficient,” not extending to all facades. On the Apollo Gallery side — the very site of the break-in — the only camera aimed westward did not capture the balcony that became an entry point for the thieves. The image was of a security system built for an earlier era, not for the vector of today’s organised property crimes.

Des Cars also revealed that she had tendered her resignation after the raid — a symbolic act more than an administrative one — only to have the culture ministry refuse it. “You feel the weight of responsibility,” she told senators. “And yet you also feel the weight of the institution and the people who make it run.”

Planned upgrades — and disputed glass

She said there had been a plan in place: to extend video surveillance to every façade and to install fixed thermal cameras, a measure meant to catch movement in low light and across blind spots. The museum defended the glass display cases that protected the jewels — installed in 2019 — insisting they represented “a considerable improvement in terms of security.” Still, critics and commentators pointed out that improvements in one area do not substitute for blind spots in another.

Politics, Reopenings, and a Closed Gallery

President Emmanuel Macron ordered an acceleration of security measures after the theft, and the Louvre reopened its doors to visitors, a gallant signal that art and public life must go on. Yet the Apollo Gallery, the scene of the crime, remains closed — a wound in a building that is otherwise a living, breathing place.

Interior Minister Laurent Nuñez reassured the public: “More than 100 investigators have been mobilised. I have full confidence that we will find the perpetrators.” It is worth remembering that confidence and resolution are different things; investigations into art thefts can be long, labyrinthine affairs.

The Wider Picture: Museums, Tourism and Organised Crime

This is not an isolated story about a single failure. It sits at the intersection of several global currents: the booming value of cultural property on illicit markets, the increasingly sophisticated logistics of organised crime, and the pressure on public institutions to remain open and accessible even while threats evolve.

The Louvre is the world’s most-visited museum. Last year it saw around nine million visitors. That scale — the ceaseless flow of people, deliveries and maintenance — makes comprehensive fortress-like security unrealistic without compromising the museum’s mission to welcome the world.

“Security is always a negotiation between openness and protection,” says Dr. Amara Singh, a security expert who has advised cultural institutions across Europe. “Museums must be public spaces. But when a crown worth tens of millions sits behind glass in a gallery that faces a public street, you must rethink perimeter strategy, not just vitrines.”

Why cultural theft matters beyond price

Cultural objects are repositories of identity and history.
The loss is not only economic; it’s symbolic, especially for items tied to national narratives like the French crown jewels.
Illicit sales of high-profile objects fuel wider criminal economies and can fund further illegal activity.

Think also of precedent. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist in Boston (1990), which still ranks among the largest art thefts in history, reminds us how artifacts can disappear into shadow economies and remain missing for decades. The very anonymity and mobility that once helped art circulate in the digital age also makes it easier for these objects to vanish.

Parisian Voices: Between Awe and Anger

Walk a few blocks from the Louvre and you hear different refrains. A young guide, Jules, who leads tours in three languages, said: “People come for the Mona Lisa and stay for the stories. This is a story the museum did not need. There’s sadness, yes, but also anger — we feel our history has been violated.”

An older concierge on the Rue de la Monnaie, Madame Fournier, expressed something quieter: “The city goes on. Children still play by the Seine. But there’s a bruise. When I pass that gallery, I see empty light.”

Questions That Remain

What does it mean to protect common patrimony? Who bears the cost when the treasures of a nation sit vulnerably in public view? Are museums required to become fortresses, or can technology, policy and community vigilance find a middle path?

As the investigation continues and security upgrades are rushed forward, these questions matter beyond Paris. They should concern anyone who believes that art — fragile, luminous, human — belongs not only to vaults but to people.

What to Watch For

Updates from French prosecutors about arrests or leads in the organised crime theory.
Public disclosures of the planned security upgrades, including any timelines for façade cameras and thermal imaging installation.
Discussions at UNESCO and cultural heritage bodies about best practices for protecting publicly displayed artifacts.

For now, the Apollo Gallery sits darkened, an almost theatrical silence where once crowns and diadems caught the light and the gaze of millions. The jewels themselves are not just commodities — they are touchstones to a complicated history. Their absence leaves a scar that is, in many ways, harder to document than a police report.

What would you do if you were in charge of security at one of the world’s great museums? Increase barriers and limit access, or innovate with technology and openness? The answer will shape how future generations encounter the fragile, shimmering objects we choose to preserve.

UN chief warns climate crisis is pushing Earth toward a dangerous tipping point

hanad

October 22, 2025

Global warming pushing planet to brink, UN chief warns — Antonio Guterres said: 'No country is safe from fires, floods, storms and heatwaves' (Stock image)

A planet on a knife-edge: inside the Geneva alarm bell

The conference room in Geneva smelled faintly of espresso and printer ink. Outside, the Alps wore the soft gold of an autumn afternoon; inside, delegates clustered around screens that looped images of flooded villages, scorched earth and smoke-torn skies.

Antonio Guterres rose to speak with a journalist’s bluntness and an elder statesman’s urgency. “Every one of the last ten years has been the hottest in history,” he told the packed hall. “Ocean heat is breaking records while decimating ecosystems. And no country is safe from fires, floods, storms and heatwaves.”

The words landed like a bell. They were not an abstract scolding but a report from the front lines: from subsistence farmers in the Sahel to fishers in the Pacific, from city planners juggling evacuation routes to insurers recalculating risk. The United Nations had convened this extraordinary meeting to mark 75 years of the World Meteorological Organization and to push a basic question into stark relief: how do we protect people now, not sometime in the distant future?

Warnings that mean the difference between life and loss

There is a deceptively simple answer that keeps resurfacing in these conversations: good warnings, given early enough. Guterres urged countries to build and fund comprehensive disaster warning systems. “They give farmers the power to protect their crops and livestock. Enable families to evacuate safely. And protect entire communities from devastation,” he said.

It is more than rhetoric. Studies and models show that being warned 24 hours before a hazardous event can reduce damage by up to 30%. Already, since a global push launched in 2022, more than 60% of countries have introduced multi-hazard early warning systems, an important uptick toward a 2027 target for universal coverage.

But the coverage is uneven. In the hall, delegates from island states talked about coastal sirens that fail during storms when electricity is down. A coastal mayor from Fiji—lean, with a sun-tanned face that had spent a lifetime on the water—leaned in during a lunchtime discussion and said, “A siren without a roof to run to is only a noise. We need shelters, boats, roads that don’t wash away.”

The World Meteorological Organization issued a sobering reminder: over the last fifty years, weather, water and climate-related hazards have killed more than two million people—and 90% of those deaths were in developing countries. The inequality burned through the numbers like salt on an open wound: those who contribute least to global warming are by far the most likely to die when the climate’s fury arrives.

Methane: the quick burn we keep forgetting

If early warnings are the first line of defense against immediate harm, methane is the short, sharp weapon in the climate fight that global leaders keep under-using. A UN observatory that stitches together data from more than 17 satellites reported that nearly 3,500 methane plumes were flagged across oil and gas operations—but only about 12% of those alerts resulted in any acknowledged action.

“We are talking about tightening the screws in some cases,” said Inger Andersen, executive director of the UN Environment Programme, which oversees the observatory’s Methane Alert and Response System. “We can’t ignore these rather easy wins.”

The point is technical but urgent: methane doesn’t stick around as long as carbon dioxide, but in the near term it is a far more powerful heater—roughly eighty times more effective at trapping heat over a 20-year window. That makes cutting methane a fast track to slowing near-term warming. More than 150 countries signed a 2021 pledge to reduce methane emissions by 30% this decade—yet the commitments are not translating into rapid fixes on the ground.

Satellite technology, once the exclusive province of space agencies and defense contractors, is now being used to shine a spotlight on leaks. The International Methane Emissions Observatory’s system integrates dense satellite coverage to find plumes and send alerts to governments and companies. But the observatory found only 12% of alerts triggered a response—an improvement over last year’s 1%, yet still a fraction of what scientists say is necessary.

Giulia Ferrini, who heads the observatory, noted the potential in turning these alerts into quick wins: “We documented 25 instances where notification led to a large emissions event being fixed. Imagine scaling that up.”

Where the low-hanging fruit is—and why it’s still there

The oil and gas sector represents the largest, most straightforward opportunity to cut methane quickly: reducing venting, fixing leaks, stopping flaring where feasible. Investors have noticed. Earlier this month, representatives of asset managers holding more than €4.5 trillion urged the European Union not to weaken methane rules amid debates that hinted at rolling back standards to facilitate trade in liquefied natural gas.

Beyond fossil fuels, the observatory plans to broaden its gaze toward other major emitters—metallurgical coal used in steelmaking, agricultural sources, and waste. Each of these has a different fix timeline and cost profile, but the principle is the same: targeted detection plus swift repair yields outsized climate benefits.

Local voices, global implications

Back on the streets of Geneva, a delegate from Bangladesh—a delta nation shaped by tides—told me that an early warning system he helped install had cut losses from cyclones dramatically. “We used to lose whole harvests,” he said. “Now, if the alert goes out, families move animals to higher ground, children are moved to school shelters. It’s not perfect, but it saves lives.”

Across town, a climate scientist I met over coffee—white-haired, a little wearily hopeful—said, “We have the technology and the evidence. What we lack is the politics and the will to act at the speed the science demands.”

That lack of will is not just a moral failing; it’s a strategic mistake. Early warning systems and methane reductions are cost-effective. They protect livelihoods, stabilize markets, and reduce the human tragedy that reverberates in waves: displaced families, broken schools, and the slow erosion of trust in institutions that can’t keep people safe.

What now? A choice that will define this decade

The conference in Switzerland was not a moment for platitudes. It was a call to action executed in real time: to build shelters and sirens, to fund satellites and repair crews, to make the political choices that prevent avoidable suffering. The question for readers is both intimate and vast: what would you prioritize if you had to protect your community tomorrow?

Some answers are technical—fund local meteorological services, train emergency responders, mandate rapid-response teams for methane leaks. Some are structural—invest in resilient infrastructure, equitable insurance, and climate adaptation funds targeted at the most vulnerable. All of them require money, coordination, and a willingness to reorder priorities.

We face a simple arithmetic of survival: more warnings, earlier and clearer, mean fewer lives lost. Faster methane action means cooler air in decades that matter to this generation. The tools exist. The science is clear. The question now is whether societies, leaders and markets will move with the urgency the moment demands.

When you close your browser tonight, consider this: in a world where an alert can buy a family a day to flee a flash flood or a repair crew can stop a massive methane plume from turning into a warming catastrophe, inaction becomes a choice. What will you choose to support—voices for preparedness, or the slow erosion of safety?

Ukraine Reports Six Dead After Overnight Russian Missile Strikes

hanad

October 22, 2025

Ukraine says Russian overnight strikes kill six — Ukrainian officials said the attacks ran through most of the night

Night of Fire: Kyiv and a Nation Left in the Dark

They woke to sirens and ash. By dawn, much of Ukraine had been stitched with smoke, half the capital blacked out, and a grieving country counting bodies and broken lives.

Last night’s barrage — a mix of ballistic missiles and kamikaze drones — left six people dead, including two children, and knocked out electricity across broad swathes of the country, officials said. Debris from downed weapons rained over Kyiv, sparking fires in at least half of the city’s districts and turning familiar streets into scenes of chaos and rescue.

Where the city met the sky

In Dniprovskyi district, neighbors converged in their slippers and coats as smoke bled from a high-rise. Firefighters worked against a backdrop of emergency lights and the distant, ceaseless thud of anti-aircraft defenses. Ten people were pulled from the blaze; a child among five patients admitted to hospitals across the city.

“I smelled something like metal and burnt paper and then the windows shattered,” an elderly woman who lives two blocks from the damaged building told me, still holding her shawl tight. “We’ve had air raids before, but tonight it felt… larger. Closer.”

Fires flared in Desnianskyi, Darnytskyi and the Pecherskyi district — the latter home to the Kyiv Pechersk Lavra, a centuries-old monastery whose golden domes are a symbol of Ukrainian spiritual endurance. Smoke curled in the winter air, a dark ribbon over a place where people have prayed through worse storms.

The human toll

Ukraine’s emergency services reported two people killed in Kyiv itself. Four others, including two children, were killed in strikes on areas surrounding the capital. In the southeastern frontline region of Zaporizhzhia, rare but relentless overnight shelling wounded 13 people, according to regional governor Ivan Fedorov.

These are numbers that flatten faces into statistics — until you meet the families, the firefighters with soot-tracked cheeks, the children in hospital corridors. “People think numbers are easy to swallow,” said a volunteer medic who treated burn victims through the night. “But every number is a life: a mother, a son, a schoolteacher. That’s what keeps me going.”

Lights out: an energy system under siege

As the strikes unfolded, Ukraine’s energy ministry reported widespread emergency outages — in Kyiv and “most regions” of the country. Svitlana Hrynchuk, the energy minister, pledged on social media that emergency teams were responding, but offered few immediate details. In Poltava region, oil and gas installations in Myrhorod district were damaged, the regional governor said.

Power grids, substations, and energy plants have been recurrent targets since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion on Feb. 24, 2022. Analysts say attacking infrastructure aims to degrade civilian resilience — to make winter colder, hospitals more vulnerable, and everyday life intolerable.

“Electricity is not just a convenience here — it’s a lifeline,” explained an energy engineer in central Ukraine who asked not to be named for security reasons. “When you cut heat and light, you cut water pumps, medical refrigeration, communications. It’s a multiplier.”

Recent rounds of attacks have left hundreds of thousands — and in past waves, millions — without power or running water at once. For families with small children, the elderly, or those on life-sustaining medical devices, the stakes become acute within hours.

Voices on the ground

In a kitchen warmed only by a gas stove and the hush of a single lamp, a young mother wrapped her child in a blanket and said: “We’ve had cold winters, but never this many broken nights. The kid asks why the lights are gone, and what do you tell a five-year-old?”

Kyiv’s mayor, Vitali Klitschko, confirmed rescues and hospital admissions and appealed for calm and solidarity. “Our city is scarred today,” a municipal spokesperson told reporters, “but people are helping one another — emergency crews, volunteers, ordinary neighbors.”

From a war-weary frontline village near Zaporizhzhia, a teacher leaning on the fence of her burned-out school said, “We teach kids to read and to dream. Now we teach them to hide in basements. It’s not the kind of lesson any of us wanted to give.”

What officials are saying — and what it reveals

Kyiv’s leadership has repeatedly urged stronger, collective international action; one senior Ukrainian official lamented that global responses have yet to be sufficient to halt what he called “the killing.” Diplomacy and summits have become uneven instruments in the face of continued strikes — a fact underscored by reports that a planned summit between the U.S. president and the Russian leader was put on hold after Moscow rejected calls for an immediate ceasefire.

“We proposed a pause; instead, the killing continues,” said a government aide. “That tells you where we are and how urgent the call for collective deterrence has become.”

Beyond tonight: a pattern, a strategy

There is method in this destruction. Attacking energy infrastructure during autumn is not random — it is a strategic attempt to sap morale as temperatures fall. Winter has repeatedly been used as a pressure point in conflict, from the trenches of history to modern information warfare. The recent strikes appear to be a continuation of that grim logic.

Analysts warn that systematic damage to power networks can take months and significant resources to repair, especially when repeated attacks target the same systems. “You can rebuild a substation,” an international security analyst said, “but not the confidence of a population that must sleep with a bag packed and a torch under the pillow.”

Small acts of defiance

And yet, amid the blackout, small things spark hope. Volunteers gather hot meals in school cafeterias that double as shelters. Municipal utility crews, sometimes working from phone flashlights, mark out damaged lines and coordinate repairs. Artists and neighbors hang lamps and candles in windows, not just for light but as a communal signal that life refuses to be extinguished.

“We bake bread on a makeshift oven and share it,” a volunteer baker said quietly. “You’d be surprised how much a warm loaf and a cup of tea can stitch the soul back together.”

Questions to sit with

How does a society sustain itself when its most basic services are weaponized? What responsibility does the rest of the world bear when civilian infrastructure becomes a battlefield? And most urgently: as winter approaches, what must be done to protect hospitals, schools, and the elderly?

These are not rhetorical flourishes — they are policy dilemmas that require immediate, concrete answers. They demand coordination of humanitarian relief, international engineering assistance to harden energy systems, and a political will to push for safer avenues of negotiation.

Moving forward

Tonight and in the nights to come, Ukraine will measure loss and resilience in equal parts. The flames will be doused, power crews will repair what they can, children will be cradled through another fear-filled sleep. But the scars — on trees, on buildings, on people — will remain.

As the country grieves and rebuilds, the world watches. Will the international response be calibrated to prevent the next blackout, to protect the next monastery, the next school? Or will tonight’s ash become tomorrow’s memory, another line item in a ledger of suffering?

When the lights come back — whenever and however they do — Ukrainians will still be asking harder questions about safety, sovereignty, and solidarity. For now, they hold one another a little closer, cook a little more soup, and refuse, stubbornly, to hand over their nights to fear.

North Korea Launches Ballistic Missile, South Korea Military Confirms

hanad

October 22, 2025

North Korea fires ballistic missile - S Korea military — People sit in front of a television screen showing a news broadcast with of a North Korean missile test

Morning Smoke Over the Sea: A Quiet Launch, a Loud Reminder

It was the kind of morning that presses itself into memory: a pale sky over the East Sea, fishermen tending nets along a rocky coast, a city preparing for a string of high-profile visitors. Then, somewhere beyond the horizon, a plume of vapor stitched the air and a single, distant echo rolled across the water.

South Korea’s Joint Chiefs of Staff would later describe the event in clinical terms—an “unidentified” ballistic missile flew east—but the human story is never that tidy. For residents of the coastal towns who watched the contrail vanish into the clouds, the launch felt like the brittle end of a frayed promise: a reminder that the Korean peninsula’s tensions, though sometimes dormant, are never far from the surface.

Timing and Theatre: Why This Launch Matters

The timing could not be more loaded. The firing came less than a week before APEC leaders were due to arrive in Gyeongju—a city already bracing for the diplomatic choreography of presidents, prime ministers, and a throng of international media. Among the expected attendees was former US President Donald Trump, who, according to public statements, has hoped for another meeting with North Korea’s Kim Jong Un.

“This is not just about hardware,” said a defence analyst in Seoul who asked not to be named. “Every missile, every parade, is a message—internally to the regime, externally to capitals watching for weakness or opportunity.”

What We Were Told

South Korean officials confirmed the launch and said the projectile flew east into open waters. North Korean state media, meanwhile, has been increasingly theatrical in recent months—showcasing what it billed as its “most powerful” intercontinental ballistic missile at a military parade earlier this month, and touting the Hwasong-20’s boundless range. State outlets also reported a successful ninth test of a solid-fuel engine for long-range missiles, suggesting a full test-fire of a new ICBM could be imminent.

From Streets to Strategy: Voices on the Ground

In the fishing hamlet of Pohang, a woman named Min-jung, who sells dried squid on a street corner, paused her work and looked toward the sea. “We hear these things all the time now,” she said. “You get numb, but you don’t forget. You worry for your kids.”

A municipal official in Gyeongju, who was arranging security logistics for the summit, spoke in quieter tones: “We prepare for the spotlight, but security is always layered. A launch like this adds urgency to everything—evacuations, airspace management, communication channels.”

Across the line of control in Pyongyang’s state media, the message is different: strength, resolve, and sovereignty. “If we have these weapons, it is because we see them as the guarantor of our survival,” a defector-turned-activist in Seoul told me. “To the regime, this is not a bargaining chip; this is insurance.”

Hard Numbers and Harder Choices

Put plainly, the technical developments are important. Intercontinental ballistic missiles, depending on design, can exceed ranges of 10,000 to 13,000 kilometres—enough, in some configurations, to reach parts of the continental United States. Solid-fuel missiles, compared with liquid-fuel models, cut preparation time dramatically: liquid-fuel systems can require hours of fueling and safety checks that expose them to being detected or disrupted, while solid-fuel variants can be fired on far shorter notice and concealed more easily.

North Korea has been under successive rounds of United Nations sanctions for more than a decade; UN resolutions have sought to curtail the flow of materials and revenue that fund missile and nuclear programs. Yet sanctions have had mixed effects on curbing weapons development. According to public estimates from international monitors, North Korea has continued to iterate on missile technology through the 2010s and into the 2020s.

ICBM range estimates: often cited as 10,000–13,000 km for potential North Korean designs.
Launch readiness: solid-fuel missiles can reduce launch prep time from many hours to minutes.
Sanctions: North Korea has faced dozens of UN measures since 2006, yet program advances have persisted.

Diplomacy on a Knife Edge

There is a paradox at the heart of North Korea’s posture: on one hand, relentless development of deterrent capabilities; on the other, intermittent openness to talks. Kim Jong Un and former US President Donald Trump met three times in high-profile summits, the glamour of which masked the hard limits of negotiation. The Hanoi summit of 2019 collapsed over disagreements about sanctions relief and the scope of denuclearization—an impasse that persists.

“Kim’s rhetoric this year has been oddly accommodating in one breath and immovable in another,” said a former diplomat who served in Northeast Asia. “He has said he’s open to meetings, but he also insists he will not give up his arsenal.”

Indeed, North Korea’s state media conveyed a recent message from Kim about “fond memories” of his meetings with Trump and signalled a willingness to engage—provided the United States abandons what Pyongyang calls a “delusional obsession” with denuclearisation and instead accepts coexistence as a premise for talks.

Beyond the Peninsula: Global Ripples

This is not merely a regional matter. The actors watching closely include not only Washington and Seoul, but Beijing and Moscow—both of which were portrayed in state parades and coverage as spectators to Pyongyang’s outreach. Each has its own calculus: China worries about instability on its border and the precedent of a denuclearised Korean Peninsula; Russia views the Korean dynamic through a lens of great-power rivalry; the United States sees extended deterrence and alliance credibility at stake.

The launch underlines a broader trend: an erosion of the cooling-off period that followed the diplomatic spritzes of 2018. It raises questions about whether arms control in Northeast Asia can be resurrected or whether incremental advances will continue to be met with incremental security responses—and the potential spiral that brings.

What Comes Next?

For now, the practical measures are familiar: monitoring, diplomatic notes, discussions in back rooms and on phone lines between foreign ministries. For ordinary people on both sides of the border, the calculus is more immediate. A teacher in Busan told me she now spends time in school drills explaining to students what different sirens mean. “You want to give them facts without fear,” she said. “But fear sits in the corners.”

As we watch this small plume of smoke settle into the record of an uneasy morning, it’s worth asking: what would lasting security look like here? Can deterrence and dialogue coexist without one swallowing the other? And perhaps more importantly, how do ordinary lives—markets, schools, seaside cafes—navigate the gap between headlines and daily routines?

There are no easy answers. The launch is a piece of a larger mosaic—a mix of military capability, domestic politics, and international posturing. It is a reminder that in a world of flashpoints, much of the true work is patient, slow, and often invisible: diplomacy, confidence-building, humanitarian ties, and the mundane acts of governance that keep lives steady through turbulent times.

For now, the sky over the East Sea has cleared. The summit in Gyeongju approaches. Leaders will speak in ornate halls, but the conversation that began with a single, solitary plume will continue well after the cameras pack up. What will they do with that conversation? That question now belongs to policymakers—but it belongs to the rest of us, too. How much risk are we willing to live with? And what, truly, is the price of peace?

1...161718...132 Page 17 of 132