Israeli strikes leave 12 dead as UN condemns mass killing

September 8, 2025

Israeli attacks kill 12 as UN condemns mass killing — A house is seen in ruins following an Israeli attack on the Nefaq neighborhood of Gaza City

Dawn over rubble: Gaza’s fragile morning

When the sun rose over Gaza City this morning, it found a landscape that looked more like a memory than a neighborhood: skeletal high-rises, streets littered with glass and twisted metal, and the thin, stubborn smoke that never quite leaves.

In the hours before dawn, medics in ambulances with dust-streaked windshields counted at least a dozen more people dead across the territory — neighbors, children, and one man known in the tight-knit community of Palestinian reporters as Osama Balousha.

“Osama would call me three times a day just to check in,” said a colleague who asked not to be named. “He was there where everyone else fled, trying to tell the world what was happening. Now he is gone.” His voice broke on the last syllable; outside, a mosque’s minaret sent up a lonely prayer.

Ceasefire terms and a tense pause

Against this backdrop of grief, a diplomatic gambit unfolded in Europe. Israel’s Foreign Minister announced in Budapest that the country was prepared to accept a ceasefire proposal presented by US President Donald Trump — a plan that, according to senior Israeli sources, would tie an immediate halt in fighting to the return of hostages and the disarmament of Hamas.

The essence of the proposal, as summarized by Israeli officials, would see all remaining hostages — 48 people according to the latest briefings — returned on the first day of a ceasefire, with negotiations to follow over the broader conditions for ending the conflict. Hamas said it was studying the plan, insisting any release must be bound to a definitive announcement that the war had ended and Israeli forces had withdrawn.

The exchange of proposals and counterproposals unfolded as airstrikes continued. For many in Gaza, diplomatic language offered little immediate comfort.

Threats, trumpets and the language of war

On social media, Israeli ministers sharpened their rhetoric. One senior figure warned that Gaza faced “a mighty hurricane” of strikes if Hamas did not release the hostages and surrender. Military communiqués and blunt warnings reverberated through the region’s already taut nerves.

At the same time, Hamas reiterated its willingness to free those being held, but only within a framework that would guarantee the withdrawal of Israeli forces and an end to what Palestinians describe as an existential assault on their homes and livelihoods.

On the ground: neighborhoods that once were whole

Residents described waves of explosions across Sheikh Radwan, Zeitoun and Tuffah — neighbourhoods where families have tried to rebuild amid ruins since the war’s most intense phases two years ago. Witnesses said the military detonated decommissioned armoured vehicles in city streets, a tactic that flattened clusters of houses and threw families into separate shelters.

“We came back because we have nowhere else to go,” said Fatima, a 42-year-old who has been living in a one-room makeshift shelter with her children. “If they tell us to leave again, where will we leave to? These are our graves.” Her hands kept tracing a burned pattern on the cot beside her.

The killing of the storytellers

The death of Osama Balousha is not an isolated headline — it is part of a devastating pattern. Palestinian authorities say nearly 250 journalists have been killed in Gaza during this war, a toll that makes this conflict one of the deadliest on record for members of the press.

Israel excludes foreign reporters from entering Gaza, meaning most — if not all — journalists killed inside the territory have been Palestinian. Palestinian officials allege deliberate targeting of media workers; Israeli authorities deny such claims, saying operations are aimed at combatants. The result, however, is the same: fewer independent eyes in a place where independent reporting has never been more vital.

Man-made famine and mounting suffering

Beyond bombs and broken buildings, Gaza is watching a slower, crueler enemy: hunger. The territory’s health ministry reported six more deaths from malnutrition and starvation in the past 24 hours, bringing the official toll from such causes to at least 393 — most of them recorded in just the last two months.

International monitors have been stark. The global Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC) has characterized the situation here as an entirely man-made famine. UN human rights officials have echoed that alarm, pointing squarely to policies that have blocked or slowed lifesaving assistance and choked off the steady flow of essentials.

“It’s as if the life sources of an entire population have been turned off,” a senior humanitarian worker in Rafah told me. “When aid convoys arrive, there are more mouths than parcels; the rationing is impossible.” He kept his eyes low, as if he carried the images of waiting children like stones inside him.

International law, the court of conscience

In Geneva this week, the UN human rights chief delivered a blistering critique, accusing Israel of mass killing of Palestinian civilians and of impeding the delivery of critical aid. He said the evidence mounting could amount to a legal case before the International Court of Justice — a claim that reverberates far beyond legal halls and into living rooms and refugee camps.

Scholars and international bodies have debated whether the legal threshold for genocide has been met; last week an association of genocide scholars concluded that it had. For many families in Gaza, however, these abstract judgments cannot answer the immediate question: how to feed a child, how to bury a loved one with dignity, how to find a quiet night.

Voices you will not see on television

Walk a few alleys away from the main thoroughfares and you hear the smaller sounds of survival: the hiss of a kettle over a salvaged stove, the faraway laughter of a child making a game of rubble. Trade stalls sell olives and prayer beads, fishmongers shout prices at dawn. These are ordinary rhythms unmoored by violence.

“I used to sell tea to the workers who repaired the electrical grid,” said Mahmoud, an elderly vendor near the rubble of a marketplace. “Now the grid has no workers and my tea kettle is a relic. Still, I come every day. People stop and talk. We need that.” His smile was a thin braid of defiance.

What do we do with what we know?

As readers from Berlin, Lagos, New York, or Tokyo, what are we to make of this sprawl of facts and faces? How do we measure the moment when law, diplomacy and desperate human need collide? How do we weigh the hard demand to return hostages and the equally vital demand to protect civilian life?

These are not questions with tidy answers. They demand, at minimum, that the world keep looking, keep speaking, and keep insisting on corridors for aid, safe passage for the vulnerable, and independent verification of what has happened. They demand that journalism — even when it is dangerous, even when it is forbidden to outsiders — is supported and protected.

At the crossroads

Whether the ceasefire proposal becomes a turning point or another temporary pause depends on decisions that will be made in conference rooms, on battlefields, and in the quiet hearts of leaders and fighters. For the families I met today, the measure of any agreement is simple: will it let them feed their children, mourn their dead, and rebuild a life?

You, reading this now, are part of that global conscience. What line will you draw? What question will you ask your representatives? How long can the world look away before the cost becomes unbearable? These are the hard questions — and the answers will shape more than headlines; they will shape lives.

Armed attackers kill six in shooting at Jerusalem bus stop

hanad

September 8, 2025

Six killed after gunmen open fire at Jerusalem bus stop — Two Israeli policemen walk past the windshield of a bus, riddled with bullet holes, at the scene of the shooting

Gunfire at the Ramot Junction: A Bus Stop, a Burst of Violence, and the City that Keeps Counting Losses

The scene at Ramot Junction felt, in the first moments, like a bad dream you couldn’t wake from: the staccato rat-a-tat of gunfire, the sickening thud of people falling into dust and pavement, a city’s ordinary rhythm ruptured in an instant.

Witnesses later described shards of glass glittering on the road where a commuter bus had stopped and passengers had been waiting on a routine weekday. Dashboard camera footage that circulated online showed people sprinting across the asphalt as gunshots cut the air. The bus’s windscreen and its windows were peppered with bullet holes—silent testimony to how fast normal life can become a headline.

“Suddenly I hear the shots starting … I felt like I was running for an eternity,” said Ester Lugasi from her hospital bed, one of the injured. “I thought I was going to die.”

Who Was Hurt, Who Survived

Medical teams and emergency services confirmed the dead numbered six, and the wounded totaled 11, six of them in serious condition with gunshot wounds. The ambulance service identified five victims—a 50-year-old man, a woman in her fifties and three men in their thirties—before a later confirmation of a sixth fatality. Names, identity details and families’ statements were still coming through as investigators worked the perimeter.

A paramedic who arrived early on described the eerie calm that follows such violence. “You move through shock—blank faces, a smell of copper, people whispering names,” she said. “It’s the same scene, different faces.” Her training kicks in, but none of that erases the weight of having seen lives split open by a few minutes of violence.

What Happened—According to Authorities

Israeli police say two attackers arrived by car and opened fire at the bus stop at Ramot Junction on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Several weapons, ammunition and a knife were recovered at the scene. A security officer and a civilian at the scene returned fire and neutralized the attackers, police said, and officers scoured the area amid an expanding cordon of blue-uniformed personnel and border guards.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, speaking at the scene, said forces were pursuing suspected accomplices. “We will not allow terror to set the rules of life here,” he told reporters, a refrain often heard after such attacks, intended to reassure but that also underscores how routine these briefings have become.

Militant Groups Praise the Shooting

Hamas praised the two individuals it called “resistance fighters,” while Islamic Jihad also issued statements of support. Neither group immediately claimed operational responsibility in the way they sometimes do—yet their quick and public praise adds a political tenor to the attack beyond the immediate human tragedy.

Lives Interrupted: Voices from the Street

On the pavement near the junction, a bakery owner swept away broken glass from his doorway and spoke of a neighborhood on edge. “We’re used to the tensions—everyone is—but not like this,” he said, lighting a cigarette and shaking his head. “You know half the people here; they buy their challah and cigarettes from me. It’s not numbers, it’s names.”

A young Arab woman who lives nearby stood with her hands wrapped around a thermos of hot tea. She had been late to work that morning and had seen the aftermath from a distance. “It doesn’t matter who you are in this city—this violence reaches every kitchen,” she said. “We fear for our families on the bus, in the markets. It’s tiring. It’s all-consuming.”

Patterns, Context, and the Broader Picture

To understand this attack is to chart a worrying pattern. In recent years, bus stops and public transport hubs in Israel and the Palestinian territories have been targeted repeatedly, chosen for their concentrated civilian presence. In November 2023, two gunmen killed three people at a Jerusalem bus stop—an attack that Israeli security services said was linked to Hamas. In October 2024, a combined gun-and-knife attack in Tel Aviv claimed seven lives. These incidents are the mortar in a harder wall of daily fear.

And yet, the 2024 Gaza war remains the context no one can ignore. The October 2023 assault by Hamas that precipitated the war resulted in 1,219 deaths, mostly civilians, according to an AFP tally based on Israeli figures. Israel’s subsequent offensive has exacted an even larger toll in Gaza: the Hamas-run health ministry there reports over 64,000 dead, mostly civilians—a number the United Nations has said its agencies consider reliable. These numbers are not abstractions. They are the sum of parents, apprentices, students, neighbors—the people who used to stand at bus stops.

Experts Weigh In

Security analysts note that such attacks thrive on both local grievances and the larger theater of conflict. “This is tactical terrorism in an urban setting,” said Dr. Miriam Levin, a security scholar who studies asymmetric warfare. “There’s a calculable logic—target a civilian hub, maximize media impact, force a security response. But there’s also the social logic: when a community feels pushed against a wall, some individuals choose violence.”

Another expert, a psychologist working with trauma survivors in Jerusalem, stressed the ripples. “Survivors will carry this for years,” she said. “You see people who can’t ride the bus for months. Kids who were on that bus will feel distrust for public spaces. The social cost is enormous and undercounted.”

Small Details that Tell the Larger Story

Ramot, a neighborhood on Jerusalem’s northern ridge, is a mosaic—ultra-Orthodox synagogues sit near secular apartments, Arabic signs hang in shop windows, and the city’s ancient stones feel only a short walk away. It is not a place of abstract politics; it is a place where lunch is eaten, shoes are shined, and people argue about football.

On evenings after such attacks, shawarma stands and hummus shops fill with people exchanging theories and grief, sometimes in Hebrew, sometimes in Arabic. Children ask why their parents are sad. Older men recall other attacks as if they were yesterday. Ordinary rituals continue because they must; life and loss are braided together here.

What Now? Questions That Remain

Will the neutralization of the shooters end this episode of violence? Will arrests of alleged accomplices follow? Will political leaders find themselves once again moving the chess pieces of military response and security measures? Each answer conceals new problems: curfews, raids in the West Bank, military exchanges—measures that, in turn, ripple back to civilians on both sides.

And beyond immediate security operations, there are broader questions we rarely answer in the heat of the moment: How do communities rebuild trust after such public traumas? How do we measure success—by arrests, by fortifications, or by the quieter work of reconciliation and addressing root causes?

Summing Up: The Human Ledger

Deaths reported: 6 (early official tallies)
Injured: 11, with six in serious condition
Perpetrators: Two gunmen identified by Israeli authorities as Palestinians from the Israeli-occupied West Bank
Militant response: Hamas and Islamic Jihad praised the attack
Context: Part of a pattern of deadly urban attacks during a wider and devastating conflict between Israel and Gaza

More than numbers, what remains are the stories: the woman who bought a bus ticket and never made it home; the security guard whose quick action may have saved lives; the shopkeeper who keeps sweeping even when his hands tremble. In this city, grief is a public affair and resilience is private labor.

What do you think breaks cycles like this—tightened security, political negotiations, deeper efforts at coexistence, or something else? If we are to imagine a different future, we need to decide collectively which uncomfortable steps we are willing to take.

For now, the glazing sun over Jerusalem will cast its ordinary light over streets scarred by extraordinary violence, and people—wounded, wary, determined—will begin the slow work of living again.

Afghan survivor describes ‘total destruction’ after deadly earthquake

hanad

September 8, 2025

'Total destruction' - Afghan man on deadly earthquake — Sangar Hashimi said his cousin 'lost five of his family members'

From Roscrea to Noorgal: When an Earthquake Travels by Phone

When the phone lit up late one night in Roscrea, County Tipperary, it carried a different kind of time and place. The messages were short, urgent, and impossible to make sense of at first: a deep rumble, houses crumbling, people running into the dark. For Raoof Safi, 17 years in Ireland could not mute the sound of a homeland being torn apart.

“I felt every message like a small earthquake in my chest,” Raoof told me over a steaming mug of tea in his modest home. “You are 7,000 kilometres away but your ears are glued to every voice on the line. You listen to how someone cries, and you try to count the cost.”

The tremor he was hearing about struck the Noorgal District in Kunar province at roughly 11:45pm on 31 August — a 6.0 magnitude quake, according to local reports. Taliban authorities put the human toll in the thousands, saying thousands had been killed and thousands more injured. For families already battered by poverty, conflict and isolation, the numbers translate into a very simple cruelty: roofs that collapsed on sleeping children, walls that gave way while families lay in bed, and, in many places, entire villages rendered unlivable.

Stories You Can’t Ignore

Raoof’s phone became a conduit for grief. First came the disorienting accounts — a neighbour’s voice, breathless; a cousin sending shaky video from beneath a tarp. Then came the lists of names. In the days after, the hazy tally of loss hardened into reality: members of his extended family among the dead.

“I remember when my uncle called. He kept saying, ‘We have nothing. The house is nothing. The walls, they have fallen,’” Raoof said. “The thing that haunts me is that we had no time. People woke up and the ceilings were on them.”

Not every story carried the same shape of sorrow. Sangar Hashimi, a journalist who has worked for Kabul’s 1TV Media and insists on returning to report from remote valleys, described scenes that read like pages from a cruel, intimate novel.

“I stood in front of a mass grave and counted blankets instead of bodies,” Sangar said. “A man told me he lost 14 members of his family. A little girl I filmed was the only one left in her household. These are not numbers on a map. They are the faces I have known.”

Homes of Mud and Memory

Across Kunar, many dwellings are built of mud-brick and unreinforced stone, materials that are cheap and available but unforgiving under seismic stress. When the ground moves, these homes do not flex — they fall.

“We built our houses like our fathers did, with mud and stone,” said Abdul Hadi Sarwari, who watched his home in Bar Noorgal village tilt and then collapse. “Now we sleep in the open. Twenty-two of us are on my uncle’s farm. We sit under trees at night. If the wind comes, it feels like everything could be taken again.”

There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of similar makeshift encampments across the affected valleys, where families have clumped together on fields and hillsides to escape the shadow of another aftershock. Tents are scarce; many are simply too remote to have received emergency supplies in the first days. Children play amid rubble, their games edged with a new fragility.

Winter Is Coming — and So Is the Hardest Test

The calendar is more than a convenience in Afghanistan’s highlands. Winter can be a matter of survival. Temperatures in these parts routinely fall below freezing; when snow comes, isolated communities can be cut off for weeks. For the displaced, the threat is immediate and sharp.

“When you lose your home before winter,” said Dr. Leila Mahmoud, who has worked with humanitarian agencies in eastern Afghanistan, “you lose your shield against the cold. Blankets and stoves are good, but they are tiny bandages when entire villages have been leveled. Hypothermia, chest infections, diarrhoea—these are the next wave.”

Humanitarian access is a familiar problem here: steep terrain, narrow footpaths, and intermittent communications make relief operations slow and costly. Aid workers who did reach the worst-hit communities had to walk long distances, sometimes for days, carrying food, blankets and medical supplies on their backs.

Voices That Won’t Be Silenced

Closer to home in Ireland, Raoof has become something of an informal coordinator — a son who wants to speak for those whose words cannot cross the mountains. “I feel responsible,” he said. “Not because I am heroic, but because I can call, I can write, and other people can hear.”

Across the world, that voice matters. It pushes a story beyond an item in a newsfeed and into the messy, human work of response: donations, pressure on decision-makers, and the steady churn of journalists and aid workers trying to reach the inaccessible.

“We must not only mourn,” Sangar added quietly. “We must remember that rebuilding is a moral choice. Who will help rebuild those homes when attention moves on?”

Why This Scares Us — and Should Make Us Think

There are broader lessons here. Natural disasters rarely occur in isolation; they intersect with politics, poverty and neglect. In Afghanistan, decades of conflict have left infrastructure weak and social services fragmented. When the earth moves, it finds those fault lines and exploits them.

Ask yourself: how would your community fare if a quake hit tonight? Do you have the social safety nets, the infrastructure, and the will to rebuild equitably? These are uncomfortable questions, but the kind worth asking.

What People Need Now

Immediate shelter: tents, tarpaulins, warm blankets.
Food and clean water: to prevent disease and malnutrition.
Medical care: for the injured and for those at risk from hypothermia and infection.
Longer-term aid: materials and tools to rebuild safer homes, and psychosocial support for trauma.

Local leaders, relief workers and diaspora communities are trying to respond. But resources are finite. Voices like Raoof’s can help translate grief into action.

Where Do We Go From Here?

If you find yourself moved by these stories, consider supporting well-established humanitarian organizations that operate in Afghanistan and the region. Small gestures—donations, raising awareness, or even urging your local representative to support humanitarian channels—can expand the circle of care.

Raoof himself is carrying a quieter mission. “When I speak about Noorgal,” he told me as dusk pooled in his living room, “I am carrying my childhood with me. I want people to see the fields where we played, not just the collapsed walls. I want them to know that when houses fall, memories fall too.”

Earthquakes rearrange landscapes, but they also reconfigure obligations. They force distant relatives to become advocates, neighbours to share what little they have, and the international community to choose whether it will answer. In the weeks and months ahead, the real measure of this crisis will not be the headline figure on day one, but how many lives are made whole again.

What would you do if a single phone call could mean the difference between being heard and being forgotten?

European leaders travel to U.S. for talks on Ukraine conflict

hanad

September 8, 2025

European leaders to visit US to discuss war in Ukraine — Rescuers use a crane to clear rubble after an attack in Kyiv

On a Knife’s Edge: After the Largest Air Raid, Hope for Talks and the Weight of Uncertainty

When Donald Trump stepped off Air Force One and into the glare of New York’s late-summer sun, photographers still had the echo of tennis crowds in their ears — he had been at the US Open. But the mood shifted immediately from sport to war. “Certain European leaders are coming over to our country on Monday or Tuesday individually,” he told reporters, adding that he would soon speak with Vladimir Putin. “The Russia-Ukraine situation, we’re going to get it done,” he said, a blunt promise that landed like a small, unstable raft in a very rough sea.

Those words were part reassurance, part diplomatic preview. Who, exactly, would travel to Washington and why remained unstated. The White House did not immediately clarify. In a world where every handshake and corridor conversation is scanned for meaning, the vagueness is its own message: diplomacy is sprinting and stumbling at the same time.

A night of sirens and smoke

Across Ukraine, the evening after Mr. Trump’s remarks was quieter only in the literal sense — the constant hum of drones, the whump of interceptors, the distant rumble of ordnance. Ukrainian officials described what they called the largest air assault since the full-scale invasion began: a barrage of missiles and drones that left smashed facades, gutted apartments and, by official tallies that night, four dead.

Cities from Zaporizhzhia to Kryvyi Rih and port-washed Odesa reported damage. In Kyiv, flames licked the government building; rescue workers in helmets and orange vests worked to douse hotspots while residents wrapped in quilts and blankets clustered on sidewalks, like a small, tired flock counting what remained.

“We woke up to a flash, like a firefly that turned malignant,” said Iryna, a teacher who stood on a block strewn with glass. “The kids are asking if the world will end. I tell them no, but I am not sure I believe it.”

President Volodymyr Zelensky, speaking in his evening address, voiced a plea that was both political and primal: “It is important that there is a broad response from partners to this attack,” he said. “We are counting on a strong response from America. That is what is needed.” The request echoed across Kyiv and along the lines where soldiers and volunteers watch for the next shadow in the sky.

The human arithmetic behind the headlines

Four deaths were the immediate, tragic count. The stories that fill the margins are the slow-burn ones: relatives piecing together where a family member slept that night; an elderly man who refuses to leave his block because the bread shop two doors down has his “lucky” patronage; a volunteer driver who has moved more bodies to safety than friends can name.

Since the conflict’s escalation in 2022, the human toll has been staggering: millions displaced, towns hollowed out, and economies bent to war-time shapes. Exact numbers shift with each report, but the unmistakable pattern is one of sustained civilian suffering. Aid convoys—small bridges of relief—try to thread through the ruins. They are an imperfect solution to an immense problem.

Immediate casualties: Authorities reported four fatalities in the recent barrage.
Regions impacted: Assaults were reported in Kyiv, Zaporizhzhia, Kryvyi Rih, Odesa, Sumy and Chernihiv regions.
Humanitarian picture: Millions displaced and sustained civilian infrastructure damage since 2022 have compounded hardship.

Washington’s calculus: sanctions, diplomacy and the heavy leash of geopolitics

Back in Washington, Mr. Trump’s language toggled between frustration and optimism. “I’m not happy” about the state of the war, he admitted. Yet he also said he was prepared to move to a “second phase” of sanctions on Russia — the clearest indication yet that his administration would consider escalating economic pressure.

What a “second phase” looks like was not spelled out. Sanctions can mean a spectrum: targeted freezes of assets, bans on technology exports, or broad restrictions on energy and finance that ripple through global markets. Each choice carries risks: political, economic, and humanitarian. The world remembers previous rounds of sanctions that battered economies but did not always change leaders’ calculations.

“Sanctions are a tool, not a silver bullet,” said an unnamed European diplomat waiting to board a plane. “They must be timed, coordinated, and big enough to bite—but not so broad they close the window for dialogue.”

There is a geopolitical backdrop that complicates the arithmetic. Russia has deepened ties with China, creating new economic and political buffers. For Moscow, that partnership offers alternative markets and diplomatic cover; for Kyiv and its backers, it narrows options. NATO states have reinforced political and material support, and billions in military and humanitarian aid have flowed into Ukraine since early 2022—a fact that both steadies and strains alliances.

Allies’ positions and the thorny subject of boots on the ground

European capitals issued swift condemnations of the latest attack and pledged continued support. But when the conversation turns to troops, the rhetoric grows cautious. The prospect of foreign soldiers operating inside Ukraine remains a red line for many governments wary of a direct military confrontation with Russia.

“We will bolster Ukraine’s ability to defend itself,” one European foreign ministry official said, “but that doesn’t mean we are ready to send a brigade over the border. There are limits to what public opinion will stomach, and limits to the calculus of escalation.”

Every head of state who considers a trip to Washington, every minister who drafts a statement, is wrestling with this same tension: stand firm and risk widening the war, or step back and risk Kyiv losing vital allies at a decisive moment.

What to watch next — choices that matter

In the coming days, there are three things to watch closely:

Which European leaders meet Washington and what commitments they coordinate.
Whether the United States follows through with a defined “second phase” of sanctions and what those measures target.
How Ukraine’s civilian and military resilience evolves in the face of targeted strikes and ongoing supply challenges.

These are not abstract items for policy wonks; they shape the daily life of people in Kyiv, Odesa and countless other places—who wake to sirens, relearn the route to the nearest shelter and measure hope in the arrival of a delivery truck carrying generators or medicine.

Why this matters to you

Beyond the borders of Eastern Europe, this conflict tests the scaffolding of international order: alliances, trade, energy security, and the rules that try to limit war’s reach. It forces nations and citizens to answer uncomfortable questions about intervention, sovereignty and the global appetite for risk.

What do we, as a global community, owe to those living under the shadow of daily bombardment? How do we balance the moral imperative to act with the practical limits of geopolitics? These are questions that echo in the quiet rooms of displaced families and the marbled halls of diplomacy alike.

As you read these words, consider this: decisions being shaped behind closed doors in capitals and airplanes will ripple outward into streets where people wash shards of glass from their doorsteps and try to coax normalcy back into a coffee cup. The path from policy note to human consequence is short—far shorter than many of us imagine. What kind of world are we willing to create, and what are we prepared to do to protect it?

Trump threatens trade probe after calling Google ruling unjust

hanad

September 8, 2025

Trump threatens trade probe over 'unfair' Google ruling — US President Donald Trump previously threatened to retaliate against the European Union for any push against Big Tech (file photo)

When Regulators and Presidents Clash: The Google Fine That Echoed From Brussels to Washington

There are moments when a line on a page—an official notice, a terse legal order—becomes a story that ripples through boardrooms, backrooms and breakfast tables across continents. This was one of those moments: Brussels had just told Alphabet’s Google that its ad-technology practices crossed a line, slapped a nearly €3 billion fine on the company and demanded an end to what it called “self-preferencing.” Within hours, the dispute had moved from legal briefs to diplomatic posturing, and from the ears of publishers to the feed of the U.S. president.

The European Commission’s decision to levy a €2.95 billion penalty marked another chapter in a decade-long tug-of-war between the EU and one of Silicon Valley’s largest players. It accused Google of skewing the market in its favour—tilting auctions, advantaging its own tools and crowding out rivals and independent publishers. The Commission gave Google 60 days to outline how it would comply, and left the door open to structural remedies, including possible divestments.

A signal and a warning

“Digital markets exist to serve people,” an EU official told me in Brussels, speaking on condition of anonymity. “When platforms become gatekeepers and games are rigged, public institutions have to act.”

For many in Europe’s publishing sector, the decision came as vindication. In a dimly lit café near the Commission’s roundabout, a small publisher from Lisbon—who asked to be identified only as Ana—told me, “We lost out for years. Our ad revenue is the thin bread on which our newsroom survives. If someone at the top is playing for themselves, that’s not competition. That’s theft.”

She is not alone. The complaint that triggered the investigation came from the European Publishers Council, a group representing newspapers and magazines worried about how programmatic ad markets shifted revenues away from traditional local media. Across the continent, publishers have watched market share of ad tech aggregate into a few hands, and the conversation shifted from irritation to alarm.

Washington reacts

Across the Atlantic, reaction was immediate and pointed. U.S. President Donald Trump took to his Truth Social platform to excoriate the ruling, framing it as an assault on “American ingenuity.” He warned of retaliation, invoking Section 301 of the U.S. Trade Act of 1974—a powerful tool the United States has used in the past to impose tariffs in trade disputes.

“We cannot let this happen to brilliant and unprecedented American ingenuity,” he wrote. “If it does, I will be forced to start a Section 301 proceeding to nullify the unfair penalties being charged to these taxpaying American companies.”

The tweet-readers in Brussels and Washington both understood the subtext: this was not only about ad tech. It was about the geopolitical leverage of tech giants, the instruments of trade policy, and the delicate choreography of U.S.–EU relations.

Google’s stance

Google responded swiftly, vowing to challenge the decision in court. “The European Commission’s decision about our ad tech services is wrong and we will appeal,” a company representative said. “It imposes an unjustified fine and requires changes that will hurt thousands of European businesses by making it harder for them to make money. There’s nothing anticompetitive in offering services for buyers and sellers, and alternatives to our tools are more numerous than ever.”

That defense will land in a courtroom sooner or later. It is a familiar playbook—argue that proprietary integration is efficient and benefits consumers, and that any remedy risks fragmentation of a smoothly functioning digital economy. But regulators counter that what looks like convenience to users can mask systemic barriers for competitors.

Why the fine matters

The financial muscle of the penalty—€2.95 billion—is substantial, but not unprecedented. It joins a string of past EU sanctions against Google: €2.42 billion in 2017, €4.34 billion in 2018, and €1.49 billion in 2019. Those earlier cases touched search shopping, Android, and search advertising respectively. What makes this latest ruling noteworthy is less the size of the fine than the Commission’s demand that Google change the architecture of its business.

2017: €2.42 billion (shopping services)
2018: €4.34 billion (Android)
2019: €1.49 billion (search advertising)
2024/25: €2.95 billion (ad tech self-preferencing)

The regulator’s preliminary view that a divestment might be necessary signals a willingness to go beyond mere financial punishment toward structural fixes. It’s a stance that asks a broader question: when tech platforms are both platforms and players in the same marketplace, can markets remain fair?

On the ground: publishers, advertisers and the human cost

Walk into any newsroom in Europe and you will find a mosaic of anxiety, stubborn optimism, and old-fashioned tenacity. “Every ad euro we lose is an hour of investigation we can’t fund,” said Tomas, editor of a regional paper in Poland. “The more power the intermediaries have, the less we can do real journalism.”

For advertisers, the picture is mixed. Some welcome stricter rules as a way to increase transparency and reduce the layers between budget and audience. Others worry that forced unbundling might fragment supply chains, raise costs, and complicate campaign planning.

“We want trust and clarity,” said Petra Müller, head of digital buying at a Berlin agency. “If platforms are making both the rules and the game, transparency becomes impossible. But we’re also worried that sudden changes could disrupt campaigns and metrics we rely on.”

A window onto bigger debates

This dispute is also a prism through which to view larger global trends. Governments are increasingly comfortable challenging big tech power—Europe through regulation and litigation, the U.S. through trade levers and domestic probes. The result is a patchwork of rules and threats that could reshape global markets. Do we want global digital commons governed by rules that protect competition—even if those rules ruffle national champions? Or a laissez-faire digital order where market concentration is “corrected” by winners and losers?

Ask yourself: should a platform be allowed to run the marketplace and be the largest seller within it? And if answers differ between economies, what happens to global digital commerce?

What happens next

Google has 60 days to present a compliance plan. If regulators deem it insufficient, stronger remedies—including divestment—could follow. And if Washington pursues a Section 301 investigation, the matter could escalate into a broader trade spat between allies.

“This is a test of transatlantic trust,” said a trade analyst in London. “If a domestic trade response emerges, it will recalibrate how the EU regulates tech companies headquartered outside its borders—and how the U.S. protects its digital champions.”

Closing thoughts

The headline is about a fine. The deeper story is about power—who holds it, who checks it, and who pays for its consequences. For the small publisher in that Brussels café, for the advertising executive in Berlin, and for the policymaker pacing in Brussels’ corridors, this case is a pivot point.

It asks whether modern democracies can shape the destiny of digital markets before those markets reshape us. It asks whether law and policy can keep pace with technology without turning into protectionist blunt instruments. And it asks us, the readers and consumers, to consider what kind of marketplace—and what kind of public square—we want in the digital age.

China’s military parade: Do goose steps herald a new world order?

hanad

September 7, 2025

China military parade: Goose steps to a new world order? — Chinese soldiers march during military parade in Beijing

When Parades Become Proclamations: Beijing, Bluster and the New Geopolitical Dance

Walk through central Beijing the morning after the spectacle and you will find more than confetti in the gutters. There are conversations—sharp, curious, sometimes frightened—about what the footage meant, and what it will mean for the rest of the world.

At a street stall near Qianmen, an elderly tea vendor named Mrs. Zhang sips a steaming cup and watches a looped clip of the parade on a tiny phone. “They made it look eternal,” she says, fingers stained with tea, eyes on the screen. “But power is like tea—boiling now, cooling later. Nothing stays hot forever.”

That image—the theatrical projection of state power, set against tableaux of intercontinental missiles, synchronized troops, and sleek new weapons—wasn’t just domestic pageantry. It was a diplomatic broadcast, a message to audiences at home and abroad: that the axis of influence in global affairs is shifting, and fast.

Flags, Formations and the New Coalition

In Tianjin, not far from Beijing, leaders and delegations shuffled through the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation summit with a mixture of frank commerce and theatrical solidarity. Once dismissed as a sleepy, regional forum, the SCO now brings together a constellation of states that collectively wield serious economic and demographic weight.

Analysts estimate SCO members are responsible for roughly 30% of global GDP and together account for a sizable share of the world’s population—figures that matter in an era when geopolitical muscle increasingly follows economic heft. That numerical reality is part of why the gathering felt like more than a meet-and-greet: it was an attempt to knit alternative institutions and norms to the fabric of global governance.

“This is the attempt to show that multilateralism need not look a certain way,” says Dr. Amina Rahman, a political economist who has studied rising regional coalitions. “When powers like China and India move in concert—even if imperfectly—the calculus for Washington, Brussels and Tokyo changes.”

Not a Monolith, but Not a Sideshow

Make no mistake: the forces on display are not a lockstep alliance of identical aims. New Delhi’s handshake with Moscow—warm in photographs but transactional under the surface—illustrates that point. India buys Russian oil and refuses to be boxed entirely into any one camp. Pakistan, Central Asian republics and even some African and Middle Eastern partners watch with a mixture of interest and wariness.

“We are trading partners, not foot soldiers of anyone’s court,” says a senior Indian diplomat who asked not to be named. “Countries pursue their national interests—sometimes the map looks like alignment, sometimes like coincidence.”

Rhetoric, Reality and the Rules of the Game

Words weigh heavy in this moment. In speeches and policy papers, the language has shifted away from abstract liberal universalism toward “sovereignty,” “development cooperation,” and “non-interference”—phrases that ring differently depending on whether you sit in a small island state or a capitals’ defensive planning room.

China’s leader framed his vision as a call for a “reformed UN” and a multipolar world where the powerful institutions better represent a world that no longer mirrors the post-1945 architecture. He spoke of “rejuvenation” and warned against the “law of the jungle.”

Behind the rhetoric, Beijing has been busy building alternatives: the Belt and Road Initiative, the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank, and a steady roll of trade deals. The aim is clear—create pathways for influence that don’t run through Washington, London, or Brussels.

But the Old Order Didn’t Retreat Without Leaving Scars

Washington’s recent turn inward—withdrawals from the Human Rights Council, reduced engagement with some multilateral bodies and a rip-and-restore approach to alliances—has left gaps. In practical terms, the U.S. remains an economic titan and security guarantor, but its selective embrace of international rules has created credibility costs in some quarters.

“If you pick and choose the rules, others will too,” notes Marco Bellini, a Brussels-based analyst. “We are already seeing a world where norms are contested and alliances are malleable.”

Between Conspiracy and Convenience: What These Partnerships Mean

It would be tempting—and comforting—to simplify the new arrangement as a neatly defined bloc poised to replace the U.S.-led system. The truth is messier. There are partnerships of convenience, points of friction and divergent long-term visions. Russia, China, North Korea: a tableau of mutual interests but also mutual suspicions.

“There is a lot of theatre,” says Dr. Mei Lin, a historian in Beijing. “But there are also real transfers of technology, trade flows and security cooperation that underpin those scenes. That is what policymakers really look at.”

Consider the case of dual-use technology transfers and energy purchases: these are not romance—they are lifelines. Russian oil sales help keep Moscow’s economy afloat; China’s purchases and shipments feed industries and military modernization. These ties complicate the calculus for European policymakers scrambling to reconcile values with strategic realities.

Local Color, Global Consequences

In Vladivostok, a ferry captain mutters about shipping routes and fuel costs more than ideology. “We sell what they buy,” he says. “Politics changes, but ships still need bunkers. People still need to eat.”

On the other side of the map, a market vendor in Karachi worries about loans and infrastructure projects jammed with strings. “They build roads,” she says. “But who owns the tolls later?”

So What Should Europe—and the Rest of Us—Do?

Europe is at a crossroads. Some leaders call for strategic autonomy: investing in defence, creating resilient supply chains, and speaking with one voice on trade and human rights. Others urge caution, reminding us that raw geopolitical rivalry will reshape economies and livelihoods in ways that hit ordinary people hardest.

“If Europe wants to be a moral and geopolitical actor, it has to be consistent,” says Kaja Müller, a policy adviser in Brussels. “You cannot credibly call for rules-based order while appearing to apply double standards.”

And the wider question hangs in the air: what kind of world do we want? One where might makes rules, or one where multilateral institutions—reformed, inclusive and effective—mediate conflicts and distribute opportunities?

Ask yourself: do you want global governance run like a club with exclusive membership, or like a city square where different voices are heard and negotiated? The answer will shape the next decades of trade, security, technology and human rights.

Closing, for Now

The banners will come down, the missiles will be returned to hangars, and the footage will feed endless commentary. But beneath the visuals, deep and durable shifts are quietly unfolding—trade lines being rerouted, institutions reimagined, and alliances that are sometimes adhesive, sometimes brittle.

History will have the final say about whether this week marked the beginning of a new, stable order or simply a particularly vivid episode in an ongoing struggle for influence. For now, citizens and leaders alike must navigate a world that refuses simple binaries—where theatre and transaction, symbolism and strategy, collide on the same stage.

How are you reading the signals? And more importantly, how will your country answer the questions being asked in capitals from Beijing to Brussels?

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