Trump says he won’t accept a ‘pointless’ summit with Putin

October 22, 2025

Trump says he does not want 'wasted' meeting with Putin — US President Donald Trump's announcement came just days after he said he would meet Russian President Vladimir Putin in Budapest

The Summit That Fizzled: Diplomacy in the Time of Uncertainty

There are meetings that change the course of history, and there are meetings that never happen but still ripple through the world. Last week’s blistering arc — a presidential phone call, a sudden announcement that a summit would be held in Budapest, and then a quick reversal — felt like both.

“I don’t want to have a wasted meeting,” President Donald Trump told reporters from the Oval Office, a phrase that read at once like caution and a diplomatic shrug. Days earlier he had telephoned Russia’s Vladimir Putin and, speaking in an unusually optimistic tone, declared that a face‑to‑face in Hungary would follow within weeks. Then, almost as quickly, the White House put the plan on ice.

For anyone watching closely, the sequence was less about geography than about the fault lines in global diplomacy — the fragility of ceasefire talk, the weight of battlefield realities in Eastern Europe, and the human cost that stubbornly refuses to be sidelined by statecraft.

From a Call to a Cold Shoulder

The pivot happened fast. A White House aide said the leaders of the two countries now had “no plans” to meet in the immediate future. U.S. Secretary of State and Russia’s foreign minister also canceled a planned preparatory conversation. “Things are changing on the war front,” the president added, promising further announcements in “the next two days.”

But what really made diplomats and capitals sit up was not the choreography of talks, it was what unfolded at the smaller, quieter table inside the White House: a closed‑door meeting between President Trump and Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky that one Ukrainian official described bluntly as “tense.”

Pressure on the Edge: Donbas and the Price of Peace

To many in Kyiv, the encounter felt like a private negotiation about public fate. According to Ukrainian sources, the U.S. president urged President Zelensky to accept a deal that would have frozen fighting along the current lines — and to give up control of large swathes of the industrial Donbas region as part of any peace arrangement.

“He asked if we would consider stepping back from territory we still hold,” said a senior Ukrainian official who requested anonymity. “There was pressure. Understandable from a negotiator’s vantage, devastating from ours.”

Ukraine has consistently refused to cede the Donbas — the twin provinces of Donetsk and Luhansk that have been the center of fighting and tension since 2014. To Kyiv, those lands are not bargaining chips but the fabric of the nation: towns with Soviet‑era factories, rivers that run through working‑class neighborhoods,: family cemeteries and Orthodox churches.

Weapons, Warnings, and an Empty Hand

In return for talks, President Zelensky reportedly sought long‑range Tomahawk missiles — weaponry that Ukrainian commanders say is necessary to blunt Russian advances and protect cities from long‑range strikes. The request was denied.

“We came asking for the means to defend ourselves,” an aide to the Ukrainian delegation said. “We left with an outline for a ceasefire that would lock in the front lines — lines that do not reflect the lives of people who have been forced from their homes, who have lost fathers, mothers, children.”

Voices from the Ground: Cities and Kitchens

If this is a story about policy, it is more urgently a story about people. In Kharkiv, a city scorched repeatedly by shelling, neighbors pick through the rubble of a baker’s stall and compare lists of what was lost. An aid worker who has been driving food into northeastern villages for two years shook her head.

“They talk about lines on a map,” she said, “but I know an old woman who walked two miles to retrieve her dog from a basement and found her house burned to a frame. Will a line bring her a new roof?”

In a smaller town near Donetsk, a schoolteacher described the surreal calculus families now perform every morning. “We teach the children to duck and count,” she said. “Duck if you hear the drone, count if it’s far enough. This is what peace looks like to us: fewer explosions, more breakfasts.”

European Leaders Push Back

Across the continent, the nascent idea of trading territory for an immediate halt to fighting met resistance. A broad swath of European capitals — from Paris to London — publicly rebuked the suggestion that Ukraine should give up land as the price of silence.

“We support a ceasefire, and we support negotiations that start from the current line of contact,” a joint statement from a coalition of European leaders read. “But unilateral excisions of sovereign territory cannot be the precondition for peace.”

Numbers That Don’t Lie

It helps to put this human drama against the cold arithmetic of war. Russia launched a full‑scale invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022. Since then, fighting has devastated cities, damaged vital infrastructure, and upended millions of lives.

Territory: Russia currently occupies roughly one‑fifth of Ukraine’s internationally recognized territory, a complex mosaic of front lines, annexations, and controlled areas.
Displacement: As of mid‑2024, UN agencies estimated more than 8 million Ukrainian refugees had left the country, with several million more displaced within Ukraine.
Casualties: Estimates vary, but by mid‑2024 the war had claimed tens of thousands of lives among military personnel and civilians alike.

Those figures are not abstractions; they are the reasons diplomats hesitate and populations fear being asked to accept borders redrawn by force.

What This Moment Reveals

Diplomacy is rarely linear. It is an improvisation performed on the stage of power, where domestic politics, realpolitik, and human suffering intersect. The aborted Budapest summit is a symptom: leaders are searching for ways to stop killing without legitimizing conquest. Some want to freeze fighting; others insist any agreement must restore sovereignty and justice.

“The risk is that a frozen conflict becomes permanent,” said an international relations scholar in Brussels. “We’ve seen this elsewhere — frozen lines that last decades, where new generations grow up with walls and suspicion rather than memories of community.”

And there is the geopolitical undercurrent: NATO, an expanding coalition of European states, and the EU have all rallied around Kyiv in form and in rhetoric. Yet the transatlantic alliance also whispers of fatigue, of electoral cycles that bend policy, and of a world where powerful actors test the limits of rules that undergird the post–Cold War order.

Where We Go From Here

There will be more phone calls, more briefings, and more statements. A series of European summits is expected to discuss aid and strategy; leaders will posture, constrain, and console. And on the ground, people will continue to weigh the simple, stubborn truths of their lives: will the baker reopen his shop, will the children play in the square again, will a pensioner reclaim the roof over her head?

What do you think a durable peace looks like for Ukraine? Is it a frozen front line that saves lives today but hardens grievances for tomorrow? Or is it a longer path toward restitution, reconstruction, and a diplomacy that puts justice at its center?

As the leaders in Washington and Moscow circling the idea of Budapest, the real work will be done by diplomats who can marry immediacy with principle, by humanitarian workers who bind up the living, and by ordinary people whose daily courage keeps a country’s heart beating. Those are the meetings that matter most — even if they never make the headlines.

Sarkozy’s Dramatic Descent: From France’s Élysée Palace to Prison

hanad

October 22, 2025

France's Sarkozy: from palace to prison — Nicolas Sarkozy had already been convicted in two other cases but managed to avoid going to jail

A Sunken Throne: The Day Nicolas Sarkozy Walked Through Prison Gates

The morning air over Paris felt unusually thin — as if the city was holding its breath. Where once television cameras pursued a president with an almost feverish appetite for spectacle, now a small procession moved under the rain-slicked trees toward stark concrete and steel.

Nicolas Sarkozy, the once-electric leader who strode into the Élysée Palace in 2007 with a hunger for change, entered prison today. The image is one that European politics rarely produces: a former head of state, in the custody of the state he once commanded.

“It is not a former president of the republic being jailed this morning, but an innocent man,” he wrote on X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, hours before handing himself over. “This morning, I feel a profound sadness for France, which has been humiliated.” He told Le Figaro that he would take with him a biography of Jesus and a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo — a novel about wrongful imprisonment and the dark poetry of revenge.

A life in motion, a career in spotlight

Sarkozy’s trajectory reads like a film: son of an immigrant, a young man with a knack for legal argument, and then a politician who never quite resembled the archetypal French grandee. Born on 28 January 1955, he rose to the presidency at 52, with a hyperactive energy that courted both admiration and ridicule.

He was a man of contradictions: part football fanatic, part cycling aficionado; he had the brassy instincts of a populist and the social cachet of a cosmopolitan married to Carla Bruni, a superstar model and singer. His early presidency promised reform — tighter immigration controls, tougher security, a more assertive French posture abroad. But history delivered a reckoning he could not manage. The global financial crisis of 2008 dented his popularity, and by the end of his single term he left the Élysée with approval ratings that were, at the time, the worst for any post-war French president.

“He was a machine,” recalled Jean-Claude Lefèvre, 68, who runs a corner bistro in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the wealthy suburb often associated with Sarkozy. “He worked every hour. People loved that. And then they hated him. It was as fast as that.”

The legal saga

The arc from glamorous power to handcuffs has been long and increasingly public. Since losing the 2012 election — a bruising defeat that made him the first president since Valéry Giscard d’Estaing unable to secure a second term — Sarkozy’s political life unraveled into a series of legal battles. He was convicted in two prior cases but escaped jail time. This time, a judge last month sentenced him to five years for criminal conspiracy relating to allegations that he sought campaign funding from Libya’s then-leader, Muammar Gaddafi, for his 2007 campaign.

Today’s incarceration is seismic not only because of its symbolism but because of its rarity. France has not seen a former head of state behind bars since the dark aftermath of World War II — a fact that has sent scholars and citizens alike rummaging through history books. Philippe Pétain, the wartime leader, remains the grim reference point for such a fall from grace.

“This is a test for our institutions,” said Dr. Amélie Moreau, a political sociologist at Sciences Po. “Do we have a justice system that is blind — equally capable of prosecuting power as it is of protecting it? That question has been answered many ways across the world in recent decades.” She pointed to a global pattern: in democracies from Seoul to Brasília, accountability for former leaders has become a powerful, often polarising, force.

Voices in the street

Outside the prison gates and in cafés across the city, reactions were split along familiar lines. A right-wing activist, Pierre Garnier, 44, pressed a folded flag into my hand and said, “He’s being hunted for political reasons. You can’t have a democracy if every election loser ends up in chains.” On the other side of the boulevard, Nadège Bernard, 29, who teaches civic education in a Paris lycée, shook her head: “If a president broke the law, what else can you expect? No one is above the law.”

Carla Bruni, who has been by Sarkozy’s side for years and who accompanied him this morning, remains a figure who complicates the narrative — a fashionable presence who attracted press as much as policy did. When a reporter asked her for comment outside the Élysée earlier this week, she replied softly: “We are a family. We will face this together.” Her words, small as they were, carried the weight of private grace against public spectacle.

Beyond a single man: what this means

France must now reconcile two competing memories of Sarkozy. For some, he is the galvanising reformer who refused the old rhythms of French politics. For others, he is the emblem of an era when proximity to power turned into entitlement. That tension echoes wider global debates about leadership, accountability, and the rule of law.

“Every society must find its balance between justice and vengeance,” reflected historian Sylvain Dufour. “When a leader is tried, it forces us to ask: are we strengthening our institutions by holding them to account, or are we deepening political fractures by resurrecting old wounds?”

There are practical questions, too. What will incarceration mean for a man who remains a symbolic influence on the French right? How will his absence alter the conversations of upcoming elections and the shifting alliances that mark modern French politics? Emmanuel Macron, who hosted Sarkozy at the Élysée only days before the imprisonment — a meeting defended as humane and normal — now finds himself shepherding a presidency into uncharted territory.

After the gates

Sarkozy said he would “sleep in prison — but with my head held high.” Whether those are words of defiance, comfort, or resignation is for him alone to know. For the rest of us, the image is rich with meaning: a country watching, a leader stripped of office and title, and a democracy that is both tested and displayed.

What do you think matters more: the spectacle of a fallen leader, or the principle that no one should be above the law? Is this a hard-won triumph for accountability, or a dangerous moment of political revenge? France offers us a study in dualities — pride and shame, power and accountability — and asks the world to watch and judge.

In kitchens and cafés, in university halls and on news channels, conversations will continue. The scene outside the prison today was not just about one man’s descent. It was about how a nation confronts its past, polices its present, and imagines its future.

Japan elects Sanae Takaichi as country’s first woman prime minister

hanad

October 22, 2025

Japan elects Takaichi as first female prime minister — Sanae Takaichi has pledged to 'make Japan's economy stronger'

A New Prime Minister, an Old Country: Tokyo Wakes to Japan’s First Female Leader

When the speaker’s gavels fell and the parliamentary lights dimmed, Tokyo’s morning felt both new and strangely familiar. A first in Japan’s modern political history had arrived — a woman at the country’s helm — and yet the problems on her desk were as weathered as the cedar beams at a Shinto shrine. Sanae Takaichi now stands where a handful of men have stood for decades, inheriting a fragile coalition, a stalled economy and a population that is both greying and shrinking.

“This is a moment for the country, but it’s not a moment of certainty,” said a pensioner named Koji, who had watched the late-night vote on a crackling shop radio in his neighbourhood near Ueno. “We need someone who’ll say ‘no’ when it’s right, not just someone who can make a show.” His voice carried the weary optimism of many older voters who have seen governments come and go but whose pensions remain a daily preoccupation.

How she got here

The path to the premiership was less cathedral than scramble: an 11th-hour coalition, a slim parliamentary majority in the lower house, and an uneasy deal with the Japan Innovation Party (JIP) after the Komeito — long the LDP’s junior partner — walked away. In the lower house vote, she secured 237 of 465 seats cast, and the upper chamber confirmed her in a runoff. Formalities remain — including a traditional audience with the emperor — but the political reality is in place: Japan has its first female prime minister.

That she rose after a recent leadership contest, and only days after becoming head of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), underscores the political turbulence beneath the surface. The LDP has dominated Japanese politics for nearly seven decades, governing almost continuously since 1955, yet public support has frayed. Polls this year showed rising disenchantment with stagnant wages, an overwhelmed social safety net and repeated leadership turnover; the country has already seen at least five prime ministers in as many years.

A coalition stitched together at the last minute

The Komeito split, citing discomfort with Takaichi’s conservative views and a corruption scandal, left the LDP scrambling. The bridge to survival was the JIP — a right-leaning, reformist party whose platform reads like a populist wish list: zero-rated consumption tax on food, a crackdown on corporate donations, and a cut in the number of lawmakers.

“We are trying to balance stability with reform,” an LDP aide told me, asking not to be named. “It’s clumsy. But politics is often messy glue.” The coalition is nonetheless a minority in both houses, which means the new cabinet will have to negotiate, bargain and sometimes surrender to pass anything of consequence.

The policy puzzle: economy, defence, and social choices

On the economic front, challenges are glaring. Japan is the world’s third-largest economy by nominal GDP — about $5 trillion — but it carries the heaviest sovereign debt burden among advanced economies, with public debt exceeding 250% of GDP in recent estimates. Inflation, wage stagnation and anemic productivity growth have left many citizens feeling that “Abenomics”, the stimulus strategy associated with Takaichi’s mentor Shinzo Abe, has run its course.

Takaichi has publicly pledged to “make Japan’s economy stronger and reshape Japan as a country that can be responsible for future generations.” In practice that may mean an aggressive combination of monetary easing and fiscal stimulus — the same levers that have been pulled for years with mixed results. The JIP’s promise to exempt food from the 10% consumption tax would be politically popular but would also leave a large hole in revenues; consumption tax has been a critical source of income for an ageing welfare state.

Meanwhile, foreign policy deadlines loom. Washington reportedly seeks clearer commitments on defence spending and energy diversification, and a proposed trade-related investment package — reported in some quarters to be as big as $500 billion — remains vague. A high-stakes state visit from US President Donald Trump is scheduled next week, according to parliamentary calendars; how Tokyo navigates pressure over Russian energy imports and American expectations will test the prime minister’s diplomatic instincts.

Security and neighbours

Takaichi, once a vocal critic of Beijing, has in the past said “Japan is completely looked down on by China” and advocated for greater defence cooperation with Taiwan. Since her rise she’s largely softened her tone, stepping back this month from the contentious symbolism of Yasukuni Shrine visits. But analysts warn that rhetoric can be restrained and policies still hawkish.

“She has signalled continuity in security policy but we should watch the details,” said a political analyst at a Tokyo university. “Japan is navigating a narrow strait between economic interdependence with China and a stronger security alignment with the US.” The choices she makes will ripple across East Asia and into global supply chains.

Gender, image and the paradox of symbolism

The story of a female prime minister should be a simple act of progress. But Takaichi’s platform complicates the narrative. She has spoken candidly about women’s health and her own experience with menopause — a rare and humanising note in political discourse — yet she opposes changing the 19th-century law that requires married couples to share a surname and supports keeping the imperial succession male-only.

“It’s possible to be a trailblazer without being a liberal on all fronts,” said Emi Tanaka, who runs a co-working space in Shibuya. “But for young women, it’s confusing. Do we cheer the first glass ceiling broken only to find the woman at the top upholding other ceilings?” The question hangs in cafés, in corporate elevator rides and on social feeds across Japan.

Local color and the mood on the streets

Walk Tokyo’s neighborhoods and you can see the contrasts. In Ginza, boutique owners politely applaud continuity. Near a pachinko parlor in Ikebukuro, older men shrug; they want steady pensions. Outside a ramen shop in Asakusa, a backpacker from Seoul remarked, “It’s historic, but nothing will change overnight.” Across the country in regional towns, faces tell a different story: empty playgrounds, shuttered shops and school bells that ring for ever smaller classes.

Japan’s population has fallen from a postwar peak — recent figures put it around 125 million — and nearly 30% of people are over 65. Those numbers are not abstract; they are the slow erosion of communities and a looming strain on healthcare, pensions and labour.

What comes next?

Takaichi inherits not only power but paradox. She is both symbol and status quo. She is the first woman to sit in a role long monopolised by men, yet she champions some of the oldest social scripts. Her minority coalition will force compromise. Her economic prescriptions will test Japan’s tolerance for more debt and bolder restructuring. Her foreign policy choices will be watched from Washington to Beijing and Taipei.

Will she be remembered as a watershed moment in representation, or as a footnote in the country’s long political shuffle? That question invites you to consider what real progress looks like. Is it simply a new face in an old chair, or the remaking of institutions to reflect a changing society?

For now, Japan waits. In the coming days, that waiting will be punctuated by meetings with foreign leaders, debates in two parliamentary chambers, and the quiet calculus of voters scanning supermarket receipts and pension statements. The ceremony with the emperor will offer a moment of tradition; the tougher tests are the quiet decisions she must make on hospitals, classrooms and diplomatic cables. Those choices will reveal whether this milestone translates into meaningful change.

So what do you think — does the arrival of Japan’s first female prime minister signal a new chapter, or a carefully staged page-turning? The answer may depend on whether the policies that follow match the symbolism that preceded them.

‘No Kings’ Protests Fueled by a Deeply American Impulse

hanad

October 22, 2025

'No Kings' protest driven by profoundly American impulse — A total of 2,600 rallies were held as part of the 'No Kings' protests across the US last weekend

On Pennsylvania Avenue, Inflatable Frogs and a Quiet, Growing Roar

The sun was generous that Saturday in Washington, but it was the crowd that warmed the city. Inflatable frogs bobbed like green islands amid a sea of earnest faces. A woman in a bright dinosaur suit posed for a teenager’s selfie; an elderly man in a Revolutionary War tricorne hugged a placard that read, “No One Above the Law.” The scene felt part carnival, part civic seminar — an unmistakable American hybrid: festive, purposeful, loud without being violent.

Organisers tallied the weekend’s nationwide turnout at roughly seven million people participating in some 2,600 rallies across the United States. Those are organisers’ figures — not police counts, and the truth in crowd estimation is often messier than the slogans printed on T‑shirts — but even allowing for wiggle room, the scale was notable. Many who had been in the streets in June, when organisers estimated about five million marched, said this felt larger: more suburban families, more small towns showing up in buses, more faces that looked like neighbors rather than rabble-rousers.

What the Numbers Tell Us

Numbers alone don’t make history, but they help map moods. The marchers in the capital were estimated by organisers at around 200,000, filing down Pennsylvania Avenue toward a rally point just below the Capitol. Local police in Washington and New York reported no arrests tied to the marches themselves; where arrests occurred, they were after hours and were categorized as public‑order incidents rather than political violence.

Polling, too, provides texture. The polling aggregator widely associated with Nate Silver put the president’s net approval in the negatives — a reminder that street energy sometimes reflects, sometimes precedes, electoral shifts. On pocketbook issues, the president fared far worse: approval ratings on inflation sat deep in the red, and perceptions of economic stewardship and tariff policy also tilted against him. Immigration, once a perceived strong suit, had cooled in the polls compared with earlier months.

The Mood: Constitutional Angst Dressed for Fun

Walk the route in Washington and you heard the same refrain in different cadences: references to the Constitution, to checks and balances, to “We the people.” “We didn’t come out here because we hate anyone,” said a marcher who gave her name as Clara, a middle school teacher. “We came out because we’ve read the opening lines of our Constitution in school and it keeps ringing in our heads. Someone’s got to look after it.”

That sense — not anti‑America but alarmed for America — seemed to be the engine. Speakers urged votes, petition drives, civic education, and legal challenges rather than violence. In a country where politics often admonishes nuance, the crowd’s disposition was mostly centrist and suburban; it was older on average, polite, citizenly. The megaphones spoke of legality and limits, not of revolution.

One Troubling Sign — And Why Context Matters

Only once did I spot a sign whose symbolism was disputed: “8647,” a number sequence that has been clipped into partisan lore. “86” in restaurant slang has meant to remove someone from service; more recently it has been reinterpreted — in the fevered corners of social media — as a call to do away with the 47th president. To a casual observer on the Avenue it read as an obscure provocation rather than a literal threat. Context matters: one odd placard among hundreds of thousands is not evidence of a violent movement, but it is a reminder of how easily symbols can be magnified.

Security, Satire, and the Theatre of the Moment

Security was visible but contained. I counted half a dozen National Guard troops standing well off the route; police presence was routine event management. Speakers on the dais addressed the crowd from behind bullet‑proof glass; atop the nearby gallery a couple of marksmen in olive observed the scene. The protective choreography was a reminder that in today’s public life, even non‑violent protest exists under the shadow of heightened threats.

Meanwhile, back on social platforms, the president spent his weekend at his Mar‑a‑Lago residence and posted a striking AI‑crafted image on his own social network: him, crown‑tipped, in a fighter pilot’s jacket, scattering what appeared to be manure over a gridded sea of protesters. “Satire,” House Speaker Mike Johnson later called it, adding that some protest signs advocated violence. Local and federal law enforcement officials, however, reported the opposite: overwhelmingly peaceful activity.

From Anticipation of Violence to Unexpected Levity

In the run‑up, public rhetoric dialed up the specter of chaos. Some officials labeled the day “Hate America Day” and warned of coordinated far‑left disruptions. Governor Greg Abbott mobilized National Guard personnel in Texas as a precaution. What arrived in most cities was the opposite: chalked sidewalks, family blankets, protestors trading jokes as easily as earnest conversations about executive power.

In Boston the inflatable frogs were particularly popular; in New York there were picket lines interspersed with accordion players. Across the country, protesters spoke about ICE enforcement, about the erosion of norms, about a legal theory many fear — the so‑called Unified Executive idea — that they believe concentrates too much power in the presidency.

Why This Matters Beyond a Single Weekend

Protest movements are both mirror and engine. They show what people feel now and can nudge what politicians pay attention to next. If established electoral channels seem clogged or unresponsive — a complaint I heard often from marchers frustrated by congressional gridlock — people look for other levers. The “No Kings” days are, in some ways, the unconventional counterweight to a presidency that often governs unconventionally.

But the deeper significance is cultural: the movement is powered by language and ideals — lines from the Constitution and civics classes — that reverberate through American identity. That gives it a resilience beyond party labels. “This is not about Democrat or Republican,” said Marcus, a suburban father from Virginia. “It’s about a system we all learned about in school. If that system gets hollowed out, we all lose.”

Questions for the Reader — And the Road Ahead

What should we make of millions of people taking to the streets in a single weekend? Is this the beginning of a sustained civic awakening, or a momentary expression of a frustrated electorate? Will the protests shift policy or reshape elections, or will they be another chorus easily dismissed by entrenched power?

There are no tidy answers. Movements rise and ebb; institutions adapt or ossify. What feels clear is that millions marching under the banner of “No Kings” is less a demand for chaos than a plea for restraint. As the country nears the 250th anniversary of its founding — a milestone that will be marked with parades and policy debates alike — that plea is likely to be heard again.

And so the question returns to you, reader: when citizens take to the streets en masse, what does democracy ask of its leaders — and of itself? If protest is the language of the concerned, perhaps the truest test is whether political systems can answer in kind.

Italian rescue teams accused of facilitating illegal immigration at sea

hanad

October 21, 2025

Italian rescuers accused of assisting illegal immigration — The case centres around the Mare Jonio, a ship operated by Mediterranea Saving Humans

When a Lifeline Becomes a Courtroom Drama: The Trial of the Mare Jonio Crew

On a crisp winter morning in Ragusa, the kind of light that turns the baroque facades into honeyed stone, six people walked into a courtroom carrying more than their own futures. They carried a question that has been tugging at Europe’s conscience for years: when you reach out to save a life at sea, can that act be treated as a crime?

The six are connected to Mediterranea Saving Humans (MSH), an Italian charity whose green-and-white ship Mare Jonio sailed into headlines in 2020 after rescuing 27 people stranded on the Danish tanker Maersk Etienne. Now they stand accused of aiding illegal immigration — an allegation that has turned a clear-cut rescue into a legal and moral battleground.

The rescue everyone remembers

The facts at the centre of the case are straightforward and stark. For more than a month in 2020, 27 people were trapped on the Maersk Etienne, a commercial tanker, as they awaited permission to disembark. Both Italy and Malta refused to let them into port. Conditions on board deteriorated; the tanker’s crew made repeated calls for help.

That’s when the Mare Jonio arrived. Mediterranea’s crew transferred the migrants to their vessel and sailed toward Italy. Months later, Maersk made a payment of €125,000 to MSH, a sum the Danish firm described as covering some of the costs the rescuers had incurred. MSH called it a transparent donation. Prosecutors now point to that payment as evidence the operation had financial motives.

“This isn’t about invoices,” said Fabio Lanfranca, one of the defence lawyers, in the courtroom’s echoing chamber. “This is about people whose lives were in immediate danger. Turning an ambulance into a suspect opens a chilling new chapter.”

Legal minefields and murky lines

The prosecution’s charge—helping illegal immigration—rests on a law that criminalises aiding unauthorised entry into Italy. Yet the defence has mounted a broader argument: rescuing and giving medical care are fundamental human actions. They have raised technical objections already, focusing on the evidence itself. Among the most sensitive issues are wiretapped conversations the police recorded: private calls involving lawyers, journalists, bishops and members of parliament.

“If the state is listening to the voices of those who speak for the voiceless, where does that leave us?” asked Serena Romano, another defence lawyer, her voice threaded with exasperation. “You cannot prosecute compassion.”

It’s a legal tightrope walked in many jurisdictions: governments balancing border control and humanitarian duty, prosecutors asking whether there was a commercial incentive, and NGOs insisting that saving lives is beyond politics. In Ragusa, judges must weigh these competing claims against the grain of public sentiment and a shifting political landscape.

Voices from the quay

On the docks in Ragusa, fishermen sip sweet coffee and argue about the sea like it’s a member of the family — sometimes generous, sometimes cruel. “We see things the big papers don’t,” said Marco, a 58-year-old skipper who has hauled nets off Sicily since he was a boy. “A person in the water is not ‘illegal’. You help. That’s the law of the sea.”

Across from him, Lucia, who volunteers with a small charity that helps arriving families, folded a scarf around her hands and added, “These are people’s children. My neighbours helped a family last year. We gave them bread and blankets and then watched the news ask whether the volunteers were criminals.”

The church, too, has felt pulled into the story. Bishops and priests have often advocated for humane treatment of migrants, and references to communications with clergy have surfaced in the legal debate — a detail that has stirred unease among local faithful and secular observers alike. “When the voice of mercy is tapped in a criminal inquiry, you know the stakes are high,” one priest murmured.

Why this trial matters beyond Ragusa

There are very practical reasons the case is being watched closely. For one, past attempts to prosecute rescue crews in Italy have fizzled out during preliminary stages. This trial, the defence team says, is the first of its kind to reach this juncture in Italy — a legal precedent with reverberations for NGOs across the Mediterranean.

For another, the political backdrop is inescapable. Since taking office in 2022, Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni’s government has made reducing migrant arrivals a declared priority. Rescue NGOs have been repeatedly portrayed by some politicians as a “pull factor” — part of a narrative that rescue operations encourage dangerous crossings. The government has also enacted laws that effectively clip the wings of charities by shortening the time boats can remain at sea and increasing bureaucratic hurdles.

And yet the numbers complicate the rhetoric. While charity boats do save lives, they account for only a fraction of total sea arrivals. The International Organization for Migration and UNHCR routinely report that most crossings are carried out by smugglers using overcrowded, unsafe vessels. The Mediterranean remains one of the world’s deadliest migration routes; thousands have perished trying to reach Europe over the past decade.

Questions the sea won’t let us ignore

When a judge asks whether a rescue was motivated by profit, what is the appropriate response? When a volunteer hands a blanket to a shivering child and is later subpoenaed, what does that say about civic life? These aren’t abstract queries; they have human faces and salty hair and names that began on other shores.

“We’re not saints,” says a Mare Jonio volunteer who asked not to be named because of the trial. “We are tired, sure. But when someone asks for water and you have it, what choice is there? You give it.”

As the next hearing is scheduled — set for 13 January — the courtroom in Ragusa will likely again fill with a patchwork of people: activists in bright jackets, elderly locals who remember the war stories of the sea, lawyers with their folders, and above all, the families of those who were rescued. Each will carry a piece of the question the trial poses: Do our borders extend so far that they can criminalise rescue?

Places to watch

Ragusa court proceedings — will the defence’s objections to wiretaps succeed?
How will judges interpret the €125,000 payment from Maersk — donation or fee?
Policy shifts at national level — will laws continue to constrict NGO operations?

Across the Mediterranean, the tug-of-war between security and compassion will continue. But in Ragusa—on windswept mornings and under the warm Sicilian sun—the debate is no longer abstract. It lives in the faces of those who sailed aboard the Mare Jonio and those who argue in its defence, and it asks each of us to consider: in a world of borders, what does it mean to be human?

UN’s Vance expresses strong optimism Gaza ceasefire will hold

hanad

October 21, 2025

'Great optimism' Gaza ceasefire will hold, says Vance — JD Vance said the implementation of the ceasefire would require 'constant monitoring and supervision'

On the Tarmac in Kiryat Gat: Cautious Optimism Meets the Smell of Dust and Burnt Olive

When the US delegation’s plane touched down in southern Israel, the afternoon light turned the arid hills into a palette of ochres and rust. Cameras flashed; officials stepped down onto scarred concrete that still bears the faint black of past alarms. There was a ritual to the moment — handshakes, quick photo-ops, the polite choreography of diplomacy — but beneath the surface the mood was odd: hopeful, brittle, like thin glass warmed by sunlight.

“We can breathe for a day, a week,” I was told by Daniela, a schoolteacher from a nearby kibbutz whose brother served in the reserves. “But every siren ghosts through my dreams. Optimism here is cautious. It’s stitched together out of prayer and paperwork.”

US Vice President J.D. Vance arrived as part of a small, high-profile mission to supervise the fragile ceasefire in Gaza brokered by President Donald Trump. The message from Washington was upbeat. “We’re in a good place,” officials echoed — yet the language that trailed behind that optimism was almost bureaucratic in its insistence: the truce would need “constant monitoring and supervision,” a phrase that translates, in practical terms, to boots on the ground, nightly briefings, and an endless flow of intelligence and good will.

The Deal and the Doubts

The ceasefire — a fragile pause after a brutal two-year conflict — reads on paper as ambitious: phased withdrawals, a partial Israeli pullback beyond the so-called “Yellow Line,” and a roadmap for Gaza’s future. In practice, its seams are already visible.

Under the agreement, Israeli forces have repositioned beyond the Yellow Line, ostensibly relinquishing control of Gaza’s urban centers while retaining control of borders and key transit points. That arrangement leaves the strip fragmented: half under direct Israeli security oversight, half managed or demarcated otherwise. Critics warn this is less a withdrawal than a reconfiguration of control.

Numbers illuminate the human ledger. Hamas had pledged to hand back 28 bodies of people killed or presumed dead; to date 13 coffins have arrived in Israel. That leaves 15 still unaccounted for — a raw arithmetic of grief that keeps families awake. On the other side of the ledger, Gaza’s health authorities, operating amid rubble and power cuts, say 45 Palestinians were killed in recent strikes following a deadly clash in Rafah that claimed two Israeli soldiers.

Who’s Watching the Watchers?

The US says it will supervise compliance. Two of Mr. Trump’s envoys — Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner — are already in the country. Their presence aims to steady a deal that, only days after being agreed, faced fresh violence in southern Gaza. “We’ve come to make sure words become deeds,” one senior US diplomat told me in private, not wanting to be named. “But deeds are slippery when everyone is jittery.”

President Trump, speaking in terse, theatrical sentences, also reminded the world that the deal comes with teeth: he declared that regional allies had told him they would be ready to send forces into Gaza at his request. The promise — posted loudly on his social media channel — shifted the conversation instantly from fragile diplomacy to the specter of new boots in a dense, devastated territory.

Voices from the Ground: Fear, Resilience, and the Logistics of Grief

In Gaza, relief workers and family members move amid collapsed apartment blocks and schools converted into makeshift clinics. “We are exhausted,” said Omar, a 34-year-old ambulance driver in Gaza City whose hands were stained with dust and old bandages. “But when bodies are returned, we stop to breathe. Then the waiting begins again for the rest.”

At a crossing point, Israeli officials and Red Cross teams coordinated the handover of remains. The choreography felt both solemn and hurried — medics in hazmat suits, waiting vans, the slow, formal transfer of coffins wrapped in cloth. For the families on both sides, these logistical exchanges are intimate moments of closure tinged with new sorrow.

Echoing across capitals, Egyptian intelligence chief Hassan Rashad’s presence in Jerusalem and Qatar’s sharp message to Israel — warning of “continued violations” and describing Gaza as nearing unlivable conditions — shows how quickly the ceasefire’s fate became a regional concern. Hamas leaders in Cairo, meanwhile, are talking about the difficulties of retrieving bodies from amid the devastation, insisting they remain committed to the deal.

Analysts’ Take: Between Diplomacy and Retribution

Think tanks and crisis specialists watch this fragile pause like entomologists studying a rare insect — close, fascinated, fearful of startling it into disappearance. Analysts argue the situation is a classic balancing act: Washington is trying to shepherd an agreement that checks Israel’s short-term security demands while offering, in theory, a pathway to stabilize Gaza. Yet the rhetoric on all sides — threats of eradication, the promise of punitive force — undercuts the patient, tedious diplomacy needed to make the truce durable.

“This deal is a stopgap,” a Middle East analyst at an international NGO told me. “It buys time, but time without robust reconstruction, without guarantees for movement of aid and people, will snap back to violence.”

Ceasefire brokered after two years of fighting; implementation supervised by US-led team.
13 of 28 bodies pledged by Hamas have been returned; 15 remain outstanding.
Recent Rafah incident reportedly killed two Israeli soldiers; subsequent strikes in Gaza killed some 45 Palestinians, per local health officials.
Israel has withdrawn beyond the “Yellow Line” but retains control over borders and about half of Gaza.

More Than Maps: The Human Geography of Uncertainty

Maps tell one story. People tell another. In a café outside Kiryat Gat, an elderly man who survived earlier rounds of conflict laughed a small, dry laugh when I asked how long this truce might last.

“You grow up learning how to live between alarms,” he said. “We plant lemon trees. You learn to water them between shelling and sirens. Hope becomes a practical thing—water, light, food. You schedule your life around small mercies.”

Across the border, families in Gaza measure hope differently. A mother who had just received news of remains returned to Israel stood quietly with her hands pressed to her mouth. “They tell us they will try to find our sons,” she said. “But the roads are rubble. The hospitals are tired. We need more than words.”

What Comes Next?

When you step back from the immediate choreography — the plane arrivals, the press conferences, the rapid-fire social media proclamations — what remains is a question for everyone, not just diplomats: can a ceasefire be more than a pause between battles? Can it become the scaffold for rebuilding trust, infrastructure, and dignity?

That will require not just monitoring teams and stern warnings, but sustained aid, transparent verification, and political will from a region exhausted by cycles of revenge. It will require a willingness to confront the unsettling truth voiced by critics of the deal: that a ceasefire without reconstruction and justice risks becoming merely a lull before the next storm.

So ask yourself, as you read this from wherever you are in the world: what responsibility do distant capitals and global citizens hold when an agreement keeps bodies waiting in the sand and families counting the unreturned? The answers are messy, international, and deeply human. And for now, they remain very much in play.

Kaja Kallas labels possible Putin visit to Hungary ‘unwelcome’

hanad

October 21, 2025

Kallas says possible Putin visit to Hungary 'not nice' — Kaja Kallas said it ws important for Volodymyr Zelenskiy to meet Vladimir Putin

When Two Superpowers Meet in the Shadow of the Danube

Imagine Budapest at dusk: trams clattering past cafés, the river reflecting the spires of St. Stephen’s Basilica, and a city that feels at once ancient and unnervingly present. Now imagine that same city becoming, possibly, the stage for a meeting between two of the most polarising leaders of our age. It is the sort of geopolitical theater that turns heads and quickens pulses from Dublin to Delhi.

That possibility—of a summit between Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump on the soil of a European Union member state—has sent ripples through Brussels and across the continent. For many Europeans, the prospect reads like an ethical and diplomatic paradox: a place famous for classical music and paprika suddenly considered neutral ground for talks about a war that has scarred an entire region.

Diplomacy, Discomfort, and the Question of Legitimacy

At the heart of the unease is a legal and moral problem. The International Criminal Court has issued an arrest warrant for President Putin, a fact that complicates any warm welcome he might receive in an EU capital. “We cannot treat this as business as usual,” says a senior EU diplomat who asked not to be named. “There are legal obligations and moral responsibilities. Hosting a person under an ICC warrant in a European capital would be unprecedented and deeply controversial.”

Yet diplomacy rarely conforms to tidy moral binaries. For some, the allure of a ceasefire—even a fragile one—is worth confronting uncomfortable optics. Others worry that the optics will eclipse outcomes. “If a meeting brings concrete progress that saves lives, then it’s worth considering,” an international peace researcher commented, “but meetings for the sake of headlines are dangerous.”

Voices from the Street

Walk away from the ornate façades and into a neighbourhood café and you will hear the debate in microcosm. “If it helps stop the shelling, fine,” says Ágnes, a teacher, stirring her black coffee. “But we cannot pretend accountability vanishes when it’s convenient.”

At a nearby market, István, who runs a stall selling pickled peppers, offered a different tone. “People are tired,” he says. “We want peace, but real peace. You can’t build trust by ignoring crimes.”

These voices echo broader public anxieties—an uneasy balance between the desire for an end to violence and the need for justice and collective moral clarity.

What Would Be On the Table?

Reportedly, US diplomatic overtures aim to bring Russia back to the negotiation table, a role Washington has historically played with varying success. The US president has publicly expressed intentions to meet Mr Putin, and those efforts have been welcomed in some quarters—so long as Ukraine and European allies have a meaningful seat at any discussion about the future of the region.

“If the fate of a sovereign country is at stake, the sovereign must sit at the table,” says a former European minister. “If continental security is under discussion, Europeans should not be spectators.”

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy has signalled conditional openness: willing to engage if formats include trilateral talks or shuttle diplomacy that ensure Kyiv’s concerns are central. Behind the scenes, reports suggest tense bilateral meetings in recent days, with American and Ukrainian leaders navigating difficult trade-offs. Some briefings even suggest pressure was applied on Kyiv to consider territorial concessions—an idea that has alarmed many Western diplomats.

Law, Sanctions, and the Long View

The legal cloud over any Putin travel is not merely theatrical. The ICC’s warrant—issued over alleged war crimes—raises questions about immunity and state responsibility. One legal scholar notes, “A capital that hosts such a visit risks being complicit in undermining international criminal norms, especially if that country has signalled steps to withdraw from the Rome Statute.”

Indeed, Hungary’s recent moves regarding the ICC have fuelled debate. Critics argue that withdrawing from—or weakening ties with—international justice mechanisms to accommodate a guest sets a dangerous precedent. Supporters counter that such steps are sovereign decisions and should not derail efforts to stop the violence.

Meanwhile, sanctions remain a central instrument of EU policy. Officials have been preparing a new, 19th package of measures aimed at increasing pressure on Moscow. “Sanctions are blunt instruments, but they can constrain resources and choices,” one sanctions expert noted. Still, enforcement and unity across 27 member states are challenging—especially when economic and energy dependencies linger.

Weapons, Energy, and the Race for Security

On the battlefield side, Kyiv has been aggressively seeking air-defence systems to blunt aerial attacks. The procurement of Patriot missile systems—25 units reportedly being discussed—would represent a substantial boost to Ukraine’s ability to intercept ballistic missiles and protect cities and critical infrastructure. “Patriots are among the most capable systems for high-speed threats,” says a defence analyst. “They change the calculus of air defence.”

Energy policy also looms large. The EU has agreed—collectively—to phase out remaining gas imports from Russia by the end of 2027, part of a broader push to reduce dependency and accelerate green transitions. This shift is not just geopolitical; it is economic and social. Citizens in Germany, Italy, and across the bloc are learning that energy choices have consequences for household bills, industrial production, and long-term strategic autonomy.

Questions for the Reader—and for the Future

Where do your sympathies lie? Is the pursuit of an immediate halt to bloodshed worth engaging with leaders who are accused of atrocities? Or does justice require that diplomacy wait until accountability mechanisms have had their say?

These are not hypothetical academic questions. They determine whether a ceasefire could save lives tomorrow, or whether it could entrench impunity for years to come.

As citizens, we should ask: What does legitimacy look like in a world where legal institutions, popular opinion, and geopolitical interests collide? And how do democracies reconcile the urgent need to protect civilians with the equally urgent need to uphold international law?

Final Notes from Budapest

Back in the cafés and tram stops of Budapest, conversations continue—sometimes angry, sometimes weary, often sorrowful. A busker plays a slow, familiar folk tune by the river, and for a moment the city’s long history of negotiating empires, ideologies, and borders feels poignantly present.

Whatever unfolds, the coming days and weeks will test the durability of European unity, the resilience of international law, and the capacity of diplomacy to do more than stage-manage crises. The world will be watching—not just for whether leaders meet, but for what they do when they do. Will they salvage peace? Or will a photograph of them shaking hands become merely another image in a long, tragic archive?

France ramps up manhunt for suspects in Louvre theft

hanad

October 21, 2025

France intensifies hunt for Louvre thieves — The world-famous art museum remained closed following Sunday's robbery

Flowers, Footsteps and Fallen Diamonds: A Morning at the Louvre That Felt Like a Scene from a Heist Film

Paris on a late-spring morning: croissant steam curling into a pale sky, the glass pyramid gleaming like an invitation, and tourists—hoping for a brush with La Joconde—lined up beneath the Louvre’s classical arches. Then, in the span of a single breath, the museum’s centuries of security protocols were pierced, not by a cunning sleight of hand or inside job, but by a brazen, daylight raid that lasted seven minutes and felt, to many who watched, like a scandalous scene from a thriller.

It was about 9:30 a.m. when four masked figures arrived with a truck whose extendable ladder might have been mistaken for moving-day hardware. They scaled the façade beneath the Apollo Gallery, cut through a window and made off with nine pieces of jewellery from the museum’s crown jewels collection. Some of those treasures are not just glittering items of personal adornment; they are stitched into the narrative of France—gifts from emperors to empresses, coronation diadems, and necklaces that once traced the necklines of monarchs.

Two-thousand people, seven minutes, a scattered crown

By the time alarms had fully rung out and museum staff marshalled visitors to safety, roughly 2,000 people had been evacuated. The thieves fled on scooters, disappearing into Paris’ labyrinth of boulevards and alleys. In their haste, they dropped the crown of Empress Eugénie—an object encrusted with 1,354 diamonds and 56 emeralds—on the pavement. The crown survived the tumble but was damaged; the thieves escaped with eight other items, including an emerald-and-diamond necklace from Napoleon I and a diadem studded with nearly 2,000 diamonds.

“The audacity of breaking in through a window in broad daylight—it leaves you with this hollow feeling,” said Carol Fuchs, an American visitor who had been waiting in the queue for nearly an hour. “Will they ever be recovered? I doubt it.” Across the courtyard, another tourist, Jesslyn Ehlers, spoke for many: “We planned this for so long. To see the museum closed… it’s heartbreaking.”

Investigators, footwork, and footage

Within hours, the hunt was on. France’s interior ministry confirmed that some 60 investigators were assigned to the case, following a working theory that an organized team was behind the raid. Police sifted through surveillance tapes—from inside the museum and across the main highways out of the city—piecing together a route that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“There are a lot of videos and this is one of the investigators’ lines of work,” said Interior Minister Laurent Nunez, underlining the sheer volume of digital evidence the teams face. Analysts combed feeds for scooter trajectories, license plates, and faces—tiny threads that could unravel a wider network.

Security questions: an elephant in the gallery

If the images traumatized visitors, the questions they raised angered officials. Justice Minister Gérald Darmanin did not mince words: “What is certain is that we have failed,” he told France Inter, citing not only the spectacle of the theft but the shocking ease with which the thieves set up a furniture hoist in central Paris and scaled the building. The political fallout was immediate; ministers ordered better protection around cultural sites.

A recent report by France’s Court of Auditors, covering the years 2019–2024, had already flagged a “persistent” delay in security upgrades at the Louvre, noting that video surveillance covered only a quarter of one wing. In a museum visited by millions—9.6 million people crowded the galleries in 2018, the last pre-pandemic high-water mark—such gaps feel less like oversights and more like systemic vulnerability.

The jewels: more than metal and stone

These items are historically laden. The necklace Napoleon I gave to Empress Marie-Louise, the diadem of Empress Eugénie, the necklace belonging to Marie-Amélie, the last queen of France—these are objects that carry stories, power, and identity. Alexandre Giquello, president of auction house Drouot, told me the theft will not simply feed the glittering fantasy of art thieves: in their current state, these objects are near-impossible to sell through legitimate channels. “Their histories and provenance make them radioactive on the market,” he said. “Someone can strip the stones, but then you have untraceable gems divorced from context.”

And yet, the prospects of resale or fragmentation into the black market remain unsettling. Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds can be recut, repurposed or laundered through illicit routes. The physical crown—dropped and damaged in the escape—may recover its form in a conservator’s hands. Its provenance, however, is harder to piece back together if the jewels themselves are dispersed.

Pattern or anomaly? Museums under pressure

This was the Louvre’s first theft since 1998, when a Corot painting vanished. But it is not an isolated blip in France’s cultural landscape. Last month, thieves slipped into the Natural History Museum in Paris and made off with gold samples valued at €601,650. Earlier this year, two dishes and a vase disappeared from a museum in Limoges—losses estimated at €6.5 million. These incidents point to a trend: cultural institutions are increasingly seen as targets, and many operate with security resources that lag behind their diplomatic and touristic stature.

“Museums are soft targets because they are open to the public, and that’s their mission,” said Dr. Amira Salah, a cultural heritage security expert based in Marseille. “Balancing accessibility with protection is complex, and it’s made harder by budgetary constraints and old infrastructure.”

What this means for visitors and cities

There’s an emotional toll too. For those who travel to Paris aspiring to witness the Mona Lisa, or to stand by the Venus de Milo, the idea that a museum can be breached so publicly is disorienting. For the city, it’s reputational. Tourism remains the lifeblood of Parisian neighborhoods—cafés, guides, small shops depend on the steady choreography of arrivals and departures. When the rituals of visiting, ticketing and security are disrupted, so too are lives and livelihoods.

“I’m a guide,” said Mathieu, a local who declined to give his last name. “People plan entire trips around the Louvre. When it closes, it isn’t just about art; it’s about jobs. It’s about stories we tell visitors about our history.”

Beyond the headlines: a question for readers

So where does this leave us? The spectacle of a crown trampled on a Parisian pavement is a single image that opens richer questions: What is the value of cultural heritage? How do we protect shared patrimony in an era of organized crime and digital surveillance? And how much should we sacrifice of openness to preserve what makes museums public?

If you could walk the galleries tomorrow, would you still go? Would you feel the same reverence, or a new unease knowing how fragile the protections can be? Museums, after all, are living spaces—where past and present meet. They must be safe without becoming fortresses.

Closing notes

As investigators continue to pore over hours of footage and traces left behind, the Louvre may reopen its doors, but the day’s images will linger: a crown on cobblestones, scooters melting into the city, a line of disappointed visitors rewinding their plans. Officials promise reforms; conservators and security experts will debate measures. Paris will bustle again, as it always does—cafés will refill, cameras will click—but for a while, there will be a sharper edge to the air near the museum’s pyramid. The jewels are part of France’s story. Their loss, or their return, will tell us something not just about thieves and the market, but about where we stand on protecting the things we inherit.

123...116 Page 2 of 116