Second Minneapolis death amplifies pressure and scrutiny on Trump

January 25, 2026

Second Minneapolis death heaps pressure on Trump — Alex Pretti's family said he wanted 'to make a difference' in the world

A cold street, a bright flash, and a life ended: Minneapolis after the second fatal federal shooting

It was the kind of cold that makes the breath look fragile and the pavements treacherous — an icy ribbon of asphalt beneath boots and a dozen flashlights. On that morning in downtown Minneapolis, the air smelled of chemical irritant and burnt rubber, punctuated by the bark of orders from masked federal agents. Within seconds, a 37‑year‑old intensive care nurse named Alex Pretti, who had come out to protest an aggressive federal immigration sweep, was on the ground and dead.

What followed was the now‑familiar choreography of headlines and outrage: an administration statement portraying a deadly encounter as an act of self‑defense; bystander video shared across social platforms that seemed to tell a sharply different story; and a community left to gather, grieve and demand answers.

Two deaths in three weeks

Pretti’s killing is the second death of an American citizen in barely three weeks tied to federal immigration operations in Minneapolis. The first was Renée Good, also 37, who was shot in her car on 7 January. The proximity of the two tragedies — in time, place and context — has ratcheted public anger to new heights and deepened existing cracks between local leaders and federal authorities.

Federal officials, speaking early and forcefully, said a pistol was found and argued that an agent fired in self‑defense after a struggle. But video reviewed by journalists and shared widely online shows a different, more troubling sequence: an agent appears to deploy chemical spray at close range; Pretti, phone in hand, is shoved and wrestled to the ground; agents strike him; a sidearm is drawn; then roughly ten shots.

Warning: the footage is graphic and distressing, and many who have watched it say it does not match the administration’s initial account.

Voices on the street

“Alex was a man who took care of others for a living,” said Dr. Dimitri Drekonja, a colleague from the Minneapolis Veterans Affairs hospital where Pretti worked. “He was the type of nurse who would stay late to make sure a patient’s family understood what was happening. We joked about getting a mountain bike ride in. There are no more rides.”

Pretti’s parents, raw with grief and anger, called the official story “a string of sickening lies.” “He has his phone in his right hand,” they said in a prepared statement. “His left is empty and raised as he tries to pull a woman to safety. He will not be caricatured as a violent criminal.” They asked the public to “get the truth out about our son. He was a good man.”

“How many more residents, how many more Americans need to die or get badly hurt for this operation to end?” Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey demanded at a press conference, echoing the exasperation felt by many who have marched in freezing temperatures in recent days.

Crowds and confrontation

Hundreds — and on an earlier day, more than 10,000 people — took to the streets, their signs bobbing in the gray light. Protesters clashed with the heavily armed, masked federal contingent: tear gas canisters arced into crowds, flashbangs thundered, and officers pushed into protest lines. The city’s cultural institutions closed for safety; an NBA game was postponed. National Guard members were called in to support local police at the request of Minnesota officials.

Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara described Pretti as a lawful gun owner with no criminal record beyond traffic violations. Nevertheless, state investigators say they were blocked from immediately beginning their review of the scene by federal agents — a move that has heightened suspicions and eroded trust.

What officials are saying — and not saying

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem — who has defended the agents’ presence but expressed a publicly altered tone after the video surfaced — told a television host: “I am grieved for the family.” Yet only a day earlier, she had described Pretti as someone “there to perpetuate violence.” Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche told NBC’s Meet the Press that investigators are still piecing together whether the gun was already under federal control when shots were fired. “I do not know. And nobody else knows, either. That’s why we’re doing an investigation,” he said.

For a community watching every angle of recorded video, such answers feel slow and insufficient. Governor Tim Walz, who has viewed the footage, called it “sickening” and said the federal government cannot be trusted to lead the investigation alone. “The state will handle it,” he added.

Local reactions and personal stories

Pretti’s co‑workers and neighbors describe a man who loved his patients and cared for veterans with steady hands and a soft laugh. “He was always, always putting others first,” one nurse told me, wiping at tears. “He would sit with families through the worst phone calls. That’s his whole life — caring.”

On a chilly block where candles now glow, a neighbor named Maria explained why she came out to protest despite the cold. “I worked nights last week,” she said. “I saw the footage and I couldn’t sit with myself. The sound of someone being shot — in the middle of the street — it doesn’t belong here.”

Wider patterns and uneasy questions

What is happening in Minneapolis is not just local drama. It’s a flashpoint in a broader debate about the federalization of immigration enforcement, the deployment of paramilitary tactics in American cities, and the accountability of officers who operate beyond the usual purview of city police departments. When federal agents — who are often masked, out of uniform, and resistant to local oversight — step into civic space, the friction with state and municipal authorities becomes almost inevitable.

How should communities balance public safety with rights to protest? How much transparency should there be when federal agents are operating in civilian neighborhoods? These are not abstract policy questions. They are urgent, human ones: they start with a name, and end with a mourning family trying to understand how their son — a nurse — was reduced to a viral clip and a disputed narrative.

What comes next

Investigations have been announced by federal authorities; state officials say they will also conduct inquiries. The families, the city, and the nation will watch closely for details that can either confirm or contradict the accounts now circulating. Meanwhile, protesters remain on the streets at night, their chants echoing across asphalt and lake wind: “No more deaths,” “Justice for Alex,” “End the raids.”

In a neighborhood coffee shop near the hospital where Pretti worked, a barista who knew him only as a regular customer summed up the fragile mood: “People are tired. They want to breathe again. But when you see someone who does that for a living — a nurse — end up like that, it feels like a breaking point.”

Questions for the reader

What does accountability look like in an age of viral video and rapid federal response? Whose safety is prioritized when enforcement operations bypass local structures? And how do we, as a society, reconcile the need for law enforcement with the imperative to protect peaceful civic life?

These are hard questions — and they are not going away. As the city of Minneapolis waits for forensic reports and legal reviews, one reality is undeniable: a family is mourning, a community is scarred, and two lives were lost in a span of weeks to a policy that is now coming under fierce and rightful scrutiny.

For those who felt the cold and came anyway, for the veterans Pretti cared for, and for any of us who shop at the same corner store, these events are a reminder that public safety is not only about enforcement. It’s about trust, transparency and the profound human cost when that trust breaks down.

Syria, Kurdish Forces Extend Ceasefire to Allow ISIS Detainee Transfer

hanad

January 25, 2026

Syria and Kurds extend truce for IS detainee transfer — Kurdish forces have been in retreat in north west Syria

A Fragile Pause in the Desert: Why Damascus and the Kurds Have Agreed to a 15-Day Truce

Dust hangs in the air above an abandoned checkpoint east of Hasakeh, where the paint on a rusted sign peels under a furnace sun. An old tea stall that once served drivers and fighters sits empty, its samovar cooling in the midday heat. This quiet is not the calm of peace so much as the hush that follows a sudden rearrangement of power—breath held, waiting to see whether the silence will hold.

In the past few days, Damascus and the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) reached for that pause. Officials announced a 15-day extension to a ceasefire that had been due to expire, saying the goal was to create breathing space for the United States to move people held in SDF prisons—members and suspected affiliates of the Islamic State—into Iraqi custody.

“We extended the truce to allow for the secure and orderly transfer of detainees,” said a statement attributed to the Syrian defence ministry. “This is in support of international efforts to prevent a security vacuum.” The SDF confirmed the decision, calling the extension the product of international mediation and a step towards reducing violence and protecting civilians.

Why the Pause Matters

Short truces in northeastern Syria are not unusual, but they are rarely so tightly tied to a single, high-stakes logistical operation. The SDF controls a network of detention sites that house thousands of people—fighters, suspects, and family members—captured during the campaign that crushed the Islamic State’s territorial rule by 2019.

U.S. officials, the SDF and Iraqi authorities told news agencies that Washington planned to transfer thousands of detainees to Iraqi prisons. One U.S. announcement that circulated widely spoke of a plan involving as many as 7,000 detainees. The first convoy reportedly carried around 150 high-value detainees, including some Europeans; Iraqi officials said a second movement could include up to 1,000 people and that the transfer process would stretch over several days.

“Moving that many people without creating chaos is a logistical nightmare,” said Lina Haddad, an international security analyst who has followed detention dynamics in Syria. “You need safe corridors, vetted lists, medical checks, and, crucially, international and local buy-in. That’s why temporary ceasefires—however fragile—become a political tool.”

On the Ground: Fear, Relief, and the Weight of History

For residents of Hasakeh and nearby towns, the truce is both a relief and a reminder that decisions are often made far from their neighborhoods. “Every time the flags change, children stop going to school for a week,” said Ahmad, a grocer who asked that only his first name be used. “We want safety, yes, but also stability. When fighters move and checkpoints open and close, our lives are the ones that get rearranged.”

An abandoned SDF checkpoint—concrete blocks sat like chess pieces along a highway—tells that story plainly. Trucks pass cautiously now, engines revving past the ruins of a small market where Kurdish tea sellers once traded gossip for coins. A woman pushing a cart of flatbreads said she favors the truce despite reservations. “We can at least harvest without worrying about shells,” she said. “But when they carry prisoners out of the area, I worry about reprisals, about who will be held responsible if things go wrong.”

Numbers, Risks, Realities

Some context helps us measure the stakes. Islamic State fighters and sympathizers swept across large parts of Iraq and Syria in 2014, declaring a caliphate and overseeing atrocities that shocked the world. By 2019, coalition forces, local partners including the SDF, and regional armies had retaken most territory once controlled by IS. But victory on maps didn’t erase the problem. Tens of thousands of detainees, suspected fighters, and family members remained in makeshift camps and prisons—many under SDF supervision.

That accumulation of detainees has been a pressing security and humanitarian issue for years. Overcrowding, poor sanitation and the risk of mass breakouts have made the facilities volatile. “Prisons can be incubators of extremism if they are not managed properly,” said Dr. Marcus Ellery, a British expert on counter-radicalization. “But deporting or transferring detainees en masse without proper legal procedures also creates long-term problems—statelessness, human rights abuses, and legal limbo.”

Reported planned transfers: up to 7,000 detainees (according to U.S. statements cited by local sources)
First move: around 150 senior detainees, including some Europeans
Second batch: reported up to 1,000 being transferred over the weekend
ISIS territorial defeat: largely achieved by 2019

Politics, Borders, and the Price of Control

At the heart of the ceasefire are not only security calculations but questions of governance. The truce followed sharp territorial shifts in which the Syrian government reasserted control over stretches of land previously held by Kurdish forces. Those moves reopened debates about who manages border crossings, who collects customs revenue, and how oil wealth—still a major prize in northeastern Syria—will be administered.

A Kurdish source told mediators, via a U.S. intermediary, they proposed that Damascus take charge of border crossings while allocating portions of the resulting revenues and some oil income to Kurdish-majority areas. “It’s a pragmatic proposal,” the source said. “We don’t want endless conflict. We want recognition—economic lifelines and local autonomy to manage our affairs.”

Whether Damascus will accept long-term compromises remains unclear. The Syrian state, fractured by years of war, is now engaged in a delicate dance: extending formal control while trying to reintegrate regions run by semi-autonomous administrations. For many in the area, the question is simple: who will fund schools, clear rubble, and pay teachers’ salaries next month?

What Comes Next?

The truce buys time. It opens a narrow window to move people, to negotiate terms, and to avoid an immediate clash that could reignite broader fighting. Yet time is also a pressure-cooker. Transfers of detainees could take days, maybe weeks, and each day increases the chance of friction—an intercepted convoy, a protest at a crossing, a hardline actor choosing violence.

“Temporary ceasefires are bandages, not cures,” Haddad said. “If we don’t pair them with a real political roadmap—legal status for detainees, a transparent accounting of resources, and guarantees for local governance—the vacuum will just reappear.”

So we ask the reader: what should come first—security or justice? Is it possible to safely move thousands of detainees while assuring due process and reconstruction funds for communities wearied by war? The answers will shape not only the future of northeastern Syria but also wider debates about how the international community handles the aftermath of extremist rule.

For the people in Hasakeh, the question is less theoretical. They want their children back in school, markets to reopen, and roads cleared. A ceasefire can give them yards of quiet to breathe in; whether that grows into something deeper depends on actors in tents, offices and embassies far from the tea stalls. For now, the desert holds its breath—and the rest of the world watches to see whether the pause will lead to durable calm or become merely another interlude in a long, painful story.

Trump’s Greenland bid spotlights growing Arctic security risks

hanad

January 25, 2026

Trump's Greenland goal puts spotlight on Arctic security — US Army Special Forces and Danish special operators at Fort Wainwright military base in North Pole, Alaska

When an Arctic Punchline Turns into a Diplomatic Cold Snap

Walk the harbour in Nuuk on a wind-scoured morning and you’ll hear a dozen small conversations layered over the slap of waves against rusted hulls: talk of fishing quotas, tour boats, a new gravel road, and—unexpectedly—of presidents who fancy buying islands.

“We joke about the tourists who think Greenland is a hotel you can reserve,” said Sara Ivalu, a fish-processing manager who grew up watching polar light paint the fjords. “But jokes fade fast when the world starts taking a keen interest in what surrounds our shores.”

What felt like a reckless, off-the-cuff proposition—world leaders publicly entertaining the idea that Greenland could be bought or heavily militarized—has done something unusual. It yanked the Arctic from the background of defence briefings and environmental reports and put it on the map of immediate global politics.

Why Greenland? Why now?

The answer is not a single sentence, it’s a swollen paragraph: warming seas, shorter voyages, hidden mineral wealth, strategic geography, and a new toughness in international rivalry.

The Arctic is warming faster than the rest of the planet—scientists call it “Arctic amplification.” Since the satellite era began in 1979, the late-summer sea-ice extent has shrunk by roughly 40 percent, with particular lows recorded in the 2010s and early 2020s. The result: passages that were once locked in ice for most of the year are opening for longer windows each season.

That change is rewriting commerce and conflict at the same time. Shipping companies are already testing the Northern Sea Route and the Northwest Passage. For container liners moving goods between East Asia and northern Europe, the time savings can be dramatic—sometimes two to three weeks shaved off a voyage that normally hugs the Suez or Cape routes.

“Time is money,” remarked a Copenhagen-based maritime analyst. “Cut three weeks off a route and you change fuel calculations, insurance, fleet deployment and even bargaining power between ports.”

Resources beneath the cold

Below those thawing surface waters and under permafrost lie mineral deposits, rare earths, and hydrocarbons that have pulled explorers and investors north. Estimates vary, but the U.S. Geological Survey and other bodies have long warned that Arctic basins may hold a significant share of the planet’s undiscovered oil and gas—along with critical minerals used in everything from smartphones to missiles.

Mining in the high north is brutal, expensive and often contested. Yet the lure of high-value deposits has increased interest from state-backed companies and private firms alike. That, inevitably, draws political and military attention.

The military map redraws itself

Look at any map with the North Pole centered and the strategic logic becomes stark. Eight nations touch the Arctic: Canada, Denmark (via Greenland), Finland, Iceland, Norway, Russia, Sweden and the United States. Seven of those countries are NATO members. Russia, by coastline and history, is the region’s heavyweight.

Over the past two decades Moscow has poured resources into the Arctic—reopening Soviet-era airstrips, positioning submarines and missiles, and building logistics hubs to support its Northern Fleet. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the once-calm Arctic security environment has shifted toward higher tension: unannounced military drills, close aerial encounters, and electronic interference have become more frequent.

“For us, the Arctic is not a footnote,” said a former Russian naval planner who requested anonymity. “It is a corridor for commerce and a buffer for defence.”

Western capitals have belatedly responded. The U.S. National Strategy for the Arctic Region (2022) and subsequent implementation plans identified gaps in capability—ice-hardened ships, more icebreakers, undersea sensing arrays, and resilient Arctic-ready communications. NATO practices, bilateral basing agreements and multinational exercises have multiplied in the North.

Greenland: sovereignty, self-rule and a third rail

Greenland complicates all of this. A self-governing territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, its population is roughly 56,000 and its capital, Nuuk, hums with the odd mix of Inuit traditions and Danish administration. Greenland’s strategic location—midway between North America and Europe—makes it uniquely valuable for basing and surveillance.

Denmark has been clear: sovereignty is a red line. Greenlandic leaders emphasize self-determination. “We decide our future,” said Malik, a community leader in Ilulissat. “We are not a bargaining chip.”

In practice, that has led to creative, if uncomfortable, proposals. One suggestion from European quarters has been a model akin to the British sovereign base areas in Cyprus—limited areas under foreign use while political sovereignty remains with the host. That idea calms one set of nerves while raising another: will such arrangements preserve self-rule or entangle Greenland in great power rivalry?

Missile shields and the illusion of containment

Presidentially-branded ambitions to secure a “golden dome” of missile defences over North America—drawing inspiration from systems like Israel’s Iron Dome—have also factored into the Greenland conversation. Missile defence is expensive and technically hard. A system that could protect large swathes of North America or Europe would need networks of sensors, interceptors and space-based assets, and that architecture inevitably hits Greenland’s strategic value.

But does one need to own a place to make it useful? Experts say not. Military basing agreements, shared sensor networks and long-term leases can achieve many of the same objectives without upending sovereignty. The diplomatic difficulty is trust—especially after public squabbles that fray alliances.

What the skirmish over an island tells us about the world

There is something almost cinematic about the idea of buying a chunk of Arctic land. But the real story is quieter and more consequential: climate change is rearranging strategic geography; supply chains are shifting; states are recalibrating to new threats.

Hard questions ripple outward. Can European unity survive headline diplomacy that treats allies like counter-parties? Will small communities in the high north be heard when their home is suddenly essential to global security? Can global governance keep up with the pace of environmental change and geopolitical rivalry?

“We are not against cooperation,” said a Danish foreign ministry official. “We are simply asking for a conversation that respects law, history and local voices.”

So here’s a question for you, reader: if climate change reshapes maps and markets, who gets to redraw the lines? Which values do we prioritize—sovereignty, security, local livelihoods, the climate itself?

What’s next

The short-term picture is messy. Expect diplomatic negotiations, quietly rewired defence pacts, new ice-strengthened vessels moving in and out of ports, and more legislation around Arctic shipping and environmental protection. Expect Greenlanders to speak louder about their future. Expect NATO and the EU to wrestle with a mix of opportunity and obligation.

In the end, the Arctic will not be decided over a single Davos handshake or an offhand tweet. It will be decided by years of policy, investment, local activism and climate realities we are only beginning to comprehend. And by the conversations we are willing to have—about fairness, about who gets to protect what, and about whether a warming planet should become yet another theatre for great power competition.

On a cold morning in Nuuk, Sara Ivalu shrugged and looked out at the ice-littered sea. “We can adapt,” she said softly. “But we don’t need to be sold to the highest bidder. Respect us first. That seems a modest request.”

How Russia Perceived the Greenland Dispute and Its Strategic Stakes

hanad

January 25, 2026

'We will not be Americans', Greenland parties tell Trump — The rare joint statement from the five party leaders, including Prime Minister Jens Frederik Nielsen, said they 'strongly oppose' any US takeover of Greenland

When a “Beautiful Piece of Ice” Became a Diplomatic Molotov

There is a particular light in Nuuk in late spring—a thin, pearly sun that makes the fjords glitter like shards of glass. Children skate on thawing inlets. Hunters mend their nets. In the cafés along the harbour, conversations drift from weather to politics the way tidewater drifts over stones: inevitable, shaping.

And then, like a sudden gale, a suggestion from halfway around the world swept through the town and the corridors of power in Brussels and Moscow: what if Greenland—the world’s largest island, home to roughly 56,000 people and governed within the Kingdom of Denmark—were to change hands?

That thought, tossed into global media as an offhand geopolitical wish, did more than provoke eyebrow raises. It cracked open seams between long-standing allies, emboldened adversaries, and forced Arctic residents into the glare of a debate that mixes climate, colonial history, mineral wealth, and raw strategic calculation.

Voices from the Ice

“We are not an item on someone’s shopping list,” said Aputi Jenssen, a fisherman in Sisimiut, his weathered hands folding around a paper cup of coffee. “Our elders have stories tied to this land. You cannot buy that.”

Across the island, reactions ran from bemusement to anger. An Inuit activist in Nuuk told me, “Greenlanders must decide our future. That is the only legitimate offer anyone should make.” The refrain echoed through meetings with municipal leaders and youth groups: sovereignty is not negotiable.

Greenlanders’ concerns are not abstract. The island is already contending with visible climate shifts—coastal villages watching sea ice fail to form on schedule, hunters having to travel farther, and infrastructure planned for a colder world showing its age. Warming here is not a distant scientific note; it’s a daily rhythmed change.

Why Capitals Beyond Nuuk Care

For Washington, Copenhagen, Brussels, and Moscow, Greenland is more than ice and culture. It is a strategic fulcrum.

There is Thule Air Base in northwest Greenland, established in 1951 and still operated by the United States, which monitors ballistic missile warning systems. There are the potential riches beneath the ground—the island is known to host deposits of rare earth elements, critical for everything from smartphones to military systems, and deposits such as Kvanefjeld have long attracted mineral exploration interest.

And then there are the shipping lanes. As Arctic temperatures trend higher—scientists point out that the Arctic is warming at roughly twice the rate of the global average—sea ice retreats may lengthen the navigation season across northern routes, shortening trips between Europe and Asia by as much as a third in certain scenarios. Those are futures that every maritime power is watching closely.

Numbers and Stakes

Consider a few anchored facts: NATO, which expanded to include Finland in 2023 and now counts 31 members, has long been a linchpin of transatlantic security. Greenland sits firmly within Denmark’s constitutional authority, yet the island’s geography places it on the frontline of Arctic geopolitics. Arctic sea ice minimum extent has declined significantly since satellite records began in 1979—altering coastlines, marine ecosystems, and strategic calculations.

Moscow’s Quiet Calculus

In Moscow, the response was measured and, to some, strategically restrained.

A senior analyst in St. Petersburg, Dmitri Volkov, explained over tea, “When old alliances wobble, new bargaining chips appear. If tensions rise between the U.S. and its European partners, Russia can exploit those divides in other theatres—Ukraine being the most immediate.”

Russian officials have publicly downplayed the idea of seizing Greenland, and the Kremlin’s tone suggested something else entirely: a willingness to let an allied squabble between democratic capitals fray the transatlantic partnership. “We favour any development that diminishes Western cohesion,” a foreign policy commentator close to policy circles told me. “A weaker NATO is a more pliable negotiating partner on Moscow’s terms.”

That is not mere geopolitics in the abstract. Analysts suggest Moscow may see advantage in a distracted or divided West when complex talks over territorial, military, and diplomatic outcomes—Ukraine chief among them—are on the table.

History, Colonial Echoes and Indigenous Agency

To thread today’s drama through history is to reveal uncomfortable continuities. Territories have been bought and sold before—the United States’ purchase of Alaska in 1867, Denmark’s sale of the Danish West Indies to the U.S. in 1917 are historical precedents. Yet Greenland’s present is shaped by a very different set of actors: the Kalaallit people and emergent self-government institutions that in recent decades have pushed for greater local control over resources and policy.

“We remember the past,” said Professor Nivi Jacobsen, a Greenlandic historian. “But we are not living in 1867. Any conversation about Greenland must begin with the islanders themselves. Colonial patterns cannot be repeated just because someone rephrases them as ‘strategic necessity.'”

What This Moment Reveals About the World

Here is the larger axis of meaning: climate change has made previously inhospitable places suddenly central to global strategy. It has given mineral and shipping value to landscapes that, a generation ago, were considered remote outposts. As a result, the old rules—where powerful capitals decided the fates of distant territories without local consent—face renewed testing.

At the same time, the Greenland episode underscores how fragile alliances can be when rhetoric outruns diplomacy. A single provocative suggestion—embarrassingly public or offhand—can fray relationships that took decades to knit. It asks of citizens and leaders alike: what are the limits of statecraft when spectacle starts to replace steady negotiation?

Questions to Sit With

Who has the right to decide the fate of a place: outsiders who have strategic interests, colonial heirs, or the people who have lived there for millennia?

How do we balance national security concerns with the rights of indigenous communities, climate justice, and long-term stewardship of fragile ecosystems?

And finally, do the fractures exposed by this skirmish over snow and stone signal merely a blip in transatlantic relations, or a deeper realignment in which the Arctic becomes an arena where old alliances are tested and new ones formed?

Closing Scene: Ice, Coffee, and Resolve

Back in Nuuk, as the sun dips behind a jagged skyline of ice and mountain, a young teacher named Malene smiles ruefully. “Politicians in far capitals will argue about maps and history and power,” she said. “We will keep living here. We will keep telling our stories. That is our resistance.”

Her words are both simple and profound. They remind us that global strategy must eventually reconcile with the lives of ordinary people—their histories, livelihoods, and hopes. Otherwise, the rhetoric of great power politics will be nothing more than loud wind over a beautiful piece of ice.

Greenland population: ~56,000
NATO members: 31 (including Finland, 2023)
Arctic warming: roughly twice the global average

U.S. winter storm knocks out power for 230,000 homes

hanad

January 25, 2026

US winter storm leaves 230, 000 without power — Massive ice formations are seen on the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago

When the Sky Fell Cold: How One Winter Storm Stretched Across a Continent

Airports turned into quiet cathedrals of lost plans. In ticketing halls, children clutched stuffed animals beneath scarves, business travelers stared at departure boards frozen mid-update, and flight crews folded up their schedules like maps that would never be used. More than 4,000 flights were scrubbed as a sprawling winter system—equal parts snow, sleet and bone-deep cold—raced from the Rockies toward the Atlantic seaboard, threatening to pin down life across two-thirds of the United States.

At 2 a.m. EST, PowerOutage.com counted roughly 217,000 customers without electricity, the bulk in Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas and Tennessee. Federal emergency declarations now blanket a swath of states—South Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina, Maryland, Arkansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Indiana and West Virginia—with at least 20 states plus Washington, D.C. announcing states of emergency. Transportation officials warned that up to 240 million people could feel the storm’s reach. Numbers like these don’t just describe a weather event; they sketch the contours of disruption.

Neighbors, Not Headlines

Walk into any neighborhood affected and the big statistics sharpen into human detail. “My generator stutters, then sings,” said Maria Jimenez, 62, from a dimly lit kitchen in Baton Rouge, where an oak tree bowed under a coat of ice. “I’m heating water on a camping stove, and my neighbor across the street brought over a pot of caldo. We’re fine as long as we’re together.” Her voice carried the strange warmth that surfaces when people confront the cold together.

In Greenville, South Carolina, a highway sign flashed an austere message: “DRIVE WITH CAUTION.” Local sanitation crews—bundled in reflective jackets, their breath steaming in the air—labored to clear sidewalks and push stranded cars out of suburban driftways. “We don’t get snow like this every year,” said Malik Thompson, a crew foreman, rubbing his gloved hands. “In the South, an ice storm can make a whole city stop. It makes you plan differently—your barbecue turns into a neighborhood tea party.”

Power Grids, Data Centers, and the Thin Margin of Comfort

The storm has strained more than thermostats. Grid operators took preemptive measures to ward off rotating outages. The Department of Energy issued an emergency order allowing the Electric Reliability Council of Texas to deploy backup generation to critical sites, including data centers. Dominion Energy, which serves a huge concentration of data farms in Virginia, warned that if ice forecasts hold, operations could face one of the largest winter impacts in recent memory.

“Our critical infrastructure is only as resilient as the weakest link,” said Dr. Aisha Khan, an atmospheric physicist who studies extreme-weather impacts on utilities. “When ice coats transmission lines and temperatures plummet, the risk of cascading failures rises. The question isn’t ‘if’ but ‘how quickly’ operators can isolate trouble and restore service.”

And time is a merciless currency. In the northern tier, the National Weather Service warned of wind chills plunging toward -45°C, conditions that can cause frostbite in minutes. New York Governor Kathy Hochul urged people to stay inside, reminding residents that “five or six minutes outside could literally be dangerous for your health.” Such warnings are not abstract; they translate into hospital triage, frozen pipes, and the brittle calculations of whether to pull an elderly neighbor into your living room.

The Long, Oval Reach of the Polar Vortex

At the heart of the blast of cold sits a stretched polar vortex: an Arctic pocket of low-pressure air that, when it elongates, funnels frigid air southward. Scientists caution that while natural variability plays a role, the increasing frequency of polar-vortex disruptions is a puzzle that may be linked to climate change. “The polar regions are changing fast,” Dr. Khan said. “That throws curveballs into the jet stream, and those curveballs show up as unusual winter extremes.”

The political conversation has been brisk, too. President Donald Trump issued federal disaster declarations for a dozen states and posted on Truth Social, urging Americans to “Stay Safe, and Stay Warm.” On the other side of the debate, public-health officials and environmental scientists used the storm as a reminder that extreme weather demands both short-term preparedness and long-term resilience investments.

Travel, Commerce, and the Ripple Effect

Airlines urged travelers to check itineraries; airports became holding pens for uncertainty. When flights pause, the economy shudders in tandem: freight delays, canceled surgeries because specialists couldn’t make it, perishable goods stranded in trucks. “We saw a domino effect in 2014 when a big snow squall hit Chicago; flights canceled there mean empty shelves elsewhere,” said Lena Rodriguez, a logistics planner in Atlanta. “In a globalized supply chain, weather in one place is a problem everywhere.”

And for communities in the American South—where many city services and infrastructure are built for milder winters—the shock is cultural as well as mechanical. Live oaks glaze into chandeliers of ice. High school football coaches debate whether to move practice to the gym. Churches turn into warming centers. The South’s relationship with cold is always negotiated anew during a storm like this.

Practical Steps and Human Choices

When forecasts go dire, preparation matters. Simple actions—insulating pipes, checking on elderly neighbors, having a charged phone and a week’s supply of nonperishable food—can mean the difference between a hard night and a crisis.

Check local emergency alerts and confirm evacuation or warming center locations.
Keep a list of emergency contacts and one hard copy in case phones fail.
Avoid driving unless absolutely necessary; black ice and downed limbs make travel deadly.
If you must run a generator, place it outdoors and away from windows to prevent carbon monoxide poisoning.

Beyond the Storm: A Call to Rethink Resilience

Storms like this expose more than chilled pipes; they expose our choices. Which communities have robust heating assistance programs? Which utilities have upgraded lines and tree-trimming budgets? Which cities have warming shelters that are both accessible and well-publicized? The answers point to inequality as much as meteorology.

“Natural disasters don’t hit everyone equally,” said Kareem Ali, director of a community nonprofit in Memphis. “The folks who are most at risk are often the ones with the least capacity to prepare. That’s a policy decision, not fate.”

As the snow piles and the ice-laden trees bow, ask yourself: who will you check on? What can your city do differently next season? How do we transform a moment of shared discomfort into long-term change? The storm will pass, as storms do. But the choices we make now—about infrastructure, emergency response and community care—will determine whether the next one is merely a headline or a catastrophe.

Tonight, across split-level homes, apartment towers and farmhouse kitchens, people are lighting candles, wrapping pipes, and knocking on doors. They are the quiet counterweight to the statistics: neighbors trading blankets, volunteers running soup to the housebound, airline ground crews staying late to help travelers find a bed. These are the small acts that make a cold world warmer. Will you be part of them?

Trump Reawakens ‘Manifest Destiny,’ Stoking American Expansionist Ambitions

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'Manifest destiny' - Trump revives US expansionism — A man walks his dogs while looking over a fjord in Greenland - Donald Trump walked back his most aggressive threats on the island

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Russia launches massive strike targeting Ukrainian drones and energy infrastructure

hanad

January 25, 2026

Russia in massive strike on Ukrainian drone, energy sites — Ukrainian emergency personnel work to extinguish a fire at the site of an air attack in Kyiv

A Peace Table Under Fire: Diplomacy Interrupted by Missiles

On a cold night when negotiators sat in chandeliers and whispered formulas of compromise in Abu Dhabi, the sky above Kyiv and Kharkiv erupted with a different kind of negotiation — one conducted in steel and fire.

Ukraine’s Foreign Minister Andriy Sybiga did not mince words when he took to X the next morning: “Cynically, Putin ordered a brutal massive missile strike against Ukraine right while delegations are meeting in Abu Dhabi to advance the America-led peace process. His missiles hit not only our people, but also the negotiation table.” For many Ukrainians that image — a physical blow to diplomacy — felt painfully literal.

By dawn, rescue crews and firefighters were sifting through the rubble of a damaged apartment block in Kyiv. Across the city, hospitals filled with the injured, and social media feeds filled with video of electricity pylons blackened by explosions. Officials reported one person killed and at least 23 wounded in the raids that hammered the country’s two largest cities.

The Scale of the Strike: Drones, Missiles, and a Targeted Strategy

Ukraine’s air force put a chilling number to the attack: 375 drones and 21 missiles launched against Ukrainian targets in the early hours. The pattern was familiar — sustained assaults on energy infrastructure designed to do more than destroy metal and concrete. They aim to remove light and heat from homes, to make the winter itself an instrument of suffering.

375 drones and 21 missiles reported by Ukraine’s air force
One civilian killed, at least 23 injured
Approximately 800,000 Kyiv residents reported without power
Temperatures in the capital hovering around -10°C (14°F)

“They bombed the substations, not the factories,” said Olena, a nurse in central Kyiv whose building lost heat at 2 a.m. “This is winter warfare. You don’t just break infrastructure — you break people’s routines, their ability to keep children warm.” Her voice, raw and exhausted, carried the weary resignation of someone who has already survived multiple blackouts this season.

Winter at the Brink: Cold, Darkness, and Daily Life

There is a particular cruelty to strikes on power lines in the middle of winter. At around -10°C, loss of electricity means loss of heat and hot water, which quickly turns apartments into brittle spaces. Residents huddle under layers of blankets, line up at battery-charging stations and, where possible, light stoves that may be prohibited in high-rise buildings because of fire risk.

“We went from an argument about what to cook for dinner to arguing about how to keep our baby from getting hypothermia,” said Bohdan, a father of a six-month-old in the Shevchenkivskyi district. “You can negotiate with diplomats as much as you like, but here at home we’re negotiating with the cold.”

Emergency shelters opened in community centers and churches, their halls filled with the muffled cacophony of people and portable heaters. Volunteers — often young people in puffy jackets and wool hats — ferried hot tea, batteries and blankets to stairwells and elderly residents. “We keep busy so we don’t think too much,” said Katya, a volunteer who has been part of a neighborhood response network since 2022. “Every delivery is an act of resistance.”

Energy as a Weapon

Targeting electricity and heating infrastructure is a known tactic in contemporary conflicts: it inflicts immediate civilian harm, increases public pressure on governments, and strains emergency services. Ukrainian officials, including President Volodymyr Zelensky, underscored a related, pressing demand — that agreements on air defence discussed in Davos this week be implemented in full.

“If what was discussed at Davos is to mean anything,” said an anonymous Western security analyst working with Ukrainian counterparts, “it must translate into tangible air-defence capacity on the ground — more interceptors, more integrated sensors, faster intelligence sharing. Otherwise, the same holes in the sky will be exploited again and again.”

Diplomacy in Abu Dhabi: Talks Shadowed by Demands and Denials

The missile barrage landed as negotiators from Russia, Ukraine and the United States entered the second day of meetings in Abu Dhabi — a tightly choreographed trilateral effort described by some Western officials as the most concrete break in frozen diplomacy in months. The optics were jarring: a room of diplomats trying to sketch a path out of almost four years of conflict while towns back home were aflame.

Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov reiterated Moscow’s long-standing stance that Ukraine must cede control of the Donbas, the industrial heartland comprising Donetsk and Luhansk regions. That demand was reported prior to the strikes and remained a red line for Moscow, complicating any near-term settlement.

Inside Abu Dhabi, diplomats sometimes move in two parallel universes: the lacquered quiet of conference rooms and the messy, violent realities they seek to address. “There is a kernel of sincerity in some delegations and outright posturing in others,” said a diplomat attending the talks who requested anonymity to speak candidly. “But the missiles tonight were a brutal reminder: you can’t negotiate in a vacuum of violence.”

What Justice and Accountability Look Like

Ukrainian officials were quick to call for accountability. Minister Sybiga wrote that incidents like these show “Putin’s place is not at the board of peace, but at the dock of the special tribunal.” Legal scholars watching from abroad warn that proving intent and obtaining enforcement in international courts is long and arduous, yet vital for a postwar reconstruction of norms.

“International law can be slow, but it’s also a moral ledger,” said Dr. Miriam Alvarez, an international humanitarian law expert. “Documenting attacks on civilian infrastructure creates the basis for future prosecutions and for the reparations societies will need to rebuild.”

Looking Ahead: Can Talks Survive the Sound of Explosions?

There is an uncomfortable question now: can a peace process proceed meaningfully while strike sorties continue to punish civilians? For negotiators, the answer may require a temporary ceasefire, verified humanitarian pauses and a tangible reduction in attacks on civilian infrastructure — not simply words exchanged over round tables.

For ordinary Ukrainians, the calculus is more immediate. Will their children sleep warm tonight? Will the hospital still have power when an ambulance arrives? Will a family’s fragile savings be enough to replace a burned-out boiler?

As winter wears on and the Abu Dhabi talks press forward, the world is confronted again with a persistent tension in modern conflict: diplomacy’s slow, hopeful gestures on one side, and the instantaneous, brutal logic of military force on the other. Which will define the next chapter?

We can watch from afar, reflect, demand accountability and push for concrete support — or we can pretend negotiations and night-time strikes are separate stories. Which would you choose? How should the international community reconcile urgent humanitarian needs with the slow machinery of diplomacy? The answers will shape not just Ukraine’s future, but how the world responds to wars that increasingly target the bones of everyday life.

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