Twelve officers would have faced misconduct proceedings in Hillsborough inquiry

December 3, 2025

12 officers would have faced misconduct over Hillsborough — Ninety-seven Liverpool supporters died in the tragedy on 15 April 1989

A truth that arrived late — and accountability that never did

The damp spring light that used to fall over Sheffield’s Leppings Lane on April 15, 1989 still cuts into the city’s memory like a blade. For the families who lost sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and partners that day, the air has carried more than grief for three decades: it has carried questions. Today another file is closed on those questions, and once again the answers are bittersweet.

After a years‑long examination, the Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) has concluded that 12 former officers would have faced gross misconduct hearings for “fundamental failures” during the Hillsborough disaster and for a subsequent campaign to shift blame onto Liverpool supporters. The report also upheld or found “cases to answer” in 92 separate complaints about police actions that day and in the weeks that followed.

But there is a dagger in the details: under the law as it stood during the decades of investigation, all of the officers named have since left active service. That technicality means none will now face formal disciplinary proceedings. For many in Liverpool and beyond, the report feels like truth without consequence—acknowledgement without accountability.

What the findings say — and what they leave behind

The raw facts remain stark. Ninety‑seven people died as a result of the crush at the FA Cup semi‑final at Hillsborough on 15 April 1989. The disaster began when police opened an exit gate to relieve overcrowding outside the turnstiles, then failed to manage the flow into the central pens. Fans were funnelled into confined spaces with nowhere to breathe. Decades later, inquests concluded in 2016 that those who died had been unlawfully killed.

IOPC investigators looked again at the actions of senior officers, commanders and operational staff, and at the narratives that were fed to the public in the aftermath. Their language is sharp. A senior IOPC official told me: “There was a systemic failure — in preparedness, in command and then, brutally, in the stories that were constructed to protect the force rather than the victims.”

Among the names flagged were high‑ranked figures who had decisively shaped the day’s policing: the match commander on duty, his second‑in‑command, and senior South Yorkshire officers. Several individuals were found to have evidence against them that would, if they were serving now, amount to gross misconduct. Others were noted for alleged attempts to mislead the public, or for failing to probe fully the catastrophe while it was still raw.

Yet the law forms an iron wall. Because the officers had retired before the IOPC and Operation Resolve investigations unfolded, disciplinary proceedings cannot be pursued. “This was the law when families were still fighting for answers,” said Anne Roberts, a solicitor who has worked with bereaved relatives. “The truth has been unearthed. But justice — in the sense of sanctions, of official penalties — remains out of reach.”

Key takeaways

97 people died at Hillsborough on 15 April 1989; inquests in 2016 ruled unlawful killing.
The IOPC found that 12 former officers would have faced gross misconduct proceedings.
There were 92 upheld or “cases to answer” for misconduct in other complaints.
No disciplinary proceedings can proceed because the officers had retired before investigations began.
Only one conviction has resulted from decades of probes: Graham Mackrell, the club secretary, fined £6,500 and ordered to pay £5,000 costs.

Voices from Liverpool — grief, anger and weary relief

Walk the docks and terraces of Liverpool and you’ll find grief that has been braided into the city’s identity. On the wall outside Anfield, bouquets still gather on anniversaries. On matchdays the chorus of “You’ll Never Walk Alone” sounds different now — softer, older, threaded with a certain wary pride.

“We finally have the truth,” said Joan Hughes, mother of a son who died that day. “But they can retire and go to the golf course and the fishing and that’s it. It’s like being told your house burned down and then getting a letter saying sorry, we can’t punish the arsonist because he’s moved away.”

A younger fan, twenty‑six‑year‑old Omar, grew up with Hillsborough as a story of injustice. “My family taught me the dates and the names before they taught me team tactics,” he said. “It’s in our recipes, in the way we sing. You can’t wipe it away. The report matters. The lack of consequences hurts.”

Not everyone was in Liverpool that day, but the city’s civic memory holds the moment like a wound that has scarred but will not close. “It’s preparedness, it’s hierarchy, it’s how institutions protect themselves,” said Dr. Elaine Martin, a criminologist who has studied public inquiries. “Hillsborough shows how small procedural choices cascade into catastrophe, and how narratives — not just actions — can deepen the harm.”

Why this matters beyond one stadium

At first glance, Hillsborough can seem parochial: a tragedy at an English football ground. But its echoes are universal. How do institutions respond when they fail catastrophically? How do they choose between protecting reputation and being faithful to victims? How do laws and procedural technicalities stand between truth and sanction?

Across the world, from police misconduct inquiries in the United States to inquiries into crowd disasters in India and the Philippines, the themes repeat: command failures, rushed narratives, and the painful lag between revelation and reform. The Hillsborough story forces us to ask whether systems of accountability are robust enough to punish misconduct even when decades pass.

There have been reforms. Campaigners note changes to how police complaints are handled and to the legal frameworks that govern disciplinary action. But for those who stood in hospital corridors in 1989, or for the friends who have kept vigil for thirty years, systemic change is cold consolation unless it is paired with real consequences for wrongdoing.

Where do we go from here?

For families and survivors, the IOPC findings are an important chapter — not the last word. Many legal challenges and coroner findings have already rewritten official memory: an independent panel in 2012 opened the gates to fresh scrutiny; the 2016 juries declared unlawful killing; and the IOPC has now named those who would have faced gross misconduct charges had they still been in uniform.

But naming without sanction leaves a peculiar residue. “We need institutions that admit error and accept the price of that admission,” said Professor Samuel Adeyemi, a scholar of public ethics. “When retirement becomes an escape hatch, the public’s trust erodes. The remedy here is structural: transparency, independent oversight that survives personnel turnover, and legal frameworks that don’t reward disengagement.”

So I ask you, reader: what do you expect from institutions that fail catastrophically? Do you accept truth without penalty? Or do you demand that a democracy’s guardians be held accountable, regardless of the calendar?

The Hillsborough families have been teaching the world a painful lesson about memory, responsibility and the stubbornness of truth. The report lands as validation of decades of campaigning. It will not, for many, feel like justice. But it is a moment that asks all of us — and our institutions — how we will reckon with failure, and what we will do so it never happens again.

Trump Pardons Former Honduran President Linked to Drug Trafficking

hanad

December 3, 2025

Trump pardons drug trafficking ex-Honduran president — Former Honduran President Juan Orlando Hernandez was extradited to the US after his term ended in 2022

A Free Man at Dawn: What Juan Orlando Hernández’s Pardon Means Beyond the Gates

Before the sun broke over the ridged hills of Hazelton, West Virginia, a small white bus eased out of the federal prison gates and into an ordinary Monday morning. Inside sat a man whose name has been whispered in Honduran markets, shouted in congressional hearings, and printed in courtroom transcripts around the world: Juan Orlando Hernández. He had spent nearly four years behind those walls, serving a 45-year sentence for a constellation of crimes — drug trafficking, weapons charges and alleged corruption that a Manhattan jury found proved beyond a reasonable doubt.

Then, abruptly, he walked out. The Federal Bureau of Prisons registry registered his exit. A White House official confirmed a pardon. And in Tegucigalpa, Ana García — his wife — posted to social media: “After nearly four years of pain, waiting, and difficult trials, my husband Juan Orlando Hernández RETURNED to being a free man, thanks to the presidential pardon granted by President Donald Trump.”

The Pardon and the Timing

A presidential pardon is never merely legal housekeeping. It is a political scalpel. This one came days after a tense Honduran presidential election in which the conservative National Party’s candidate, Nasry Asfura, and the left-leaning Salvador Nasralla were essentially neck-and-neck, each hovering just under 40% of the vote in early tallies. Hernández’s own tenure as president from 2014 to 2022 was a time of tight collaboration between the National Party and Washington; his arrest shortly after leaving office in 2022, and his conviction in March 2024, seemed to many to render the party wounded but not defeated.

“You don’t hand a pardon out in a vacuum,” said Lucía Méndez, a political scientist in Tegucigalpa. “This is a message to Honduras, to the region, and to political allies. It reshapes the chessboard.”

Conviction: Guilty verdict by a Manhattan jury — March 2024.
Sentence: 45 years, served in Hazelton, West Virginia.
Release: Registered as released from federal custody this week following a presidential pardon.
Political backdrop: A tightly contested Honduran election occurring at the same moment.

Life, Liberty, and the Long Shadow of Drug Trafficking

Hernández’s case captivated U.S. prosecutors because it intertwined the corridors of political power with the routes traffickers used to move narcotics toward U.S. consumers. Prosecutors argued he accepted millions in bribes to protect shipments of cocaine bound for the United States — a charge that cut deep into the myth many politicians sell that being tough on crime and corruption is an unalloyed virtue.

“The harm was not just to institutions in Honduras,” said an attorney who worked on transnational corruption cases in Washington. “When you have a head of state shielding organized crime networks, the effects cross borders: violence, displaced people, and the normalization of illegal economies.”

For many Hondurans, drug-related violence has been a constant backdrop: neighborhood curfews, buses avoided after dark, families torn apart by emigration. “We knew drugs were there,” said Jorge Castillo, a bus driver from San Pedro Sula. “But to learn it was up top? It changes how you look at every leader.”

Voices from Tegucigalpa: Relief, Rage, and Resignation

In the capital, reactions were as varied as the city’s colors — from the chant of jubilant supporters to the quiet tears of those who say justice was denied. “He carried our votes, and he carried our hopes,” said Rosa Urbina, a woman clutching a faded campaign poster from Hernández’s first victory. “The pardon is like a balm for those of us who believed in his promises.”

Across town, outside the courthouse where Hernandez’s lawyers pledged to fight his convictions, a line of human rights activists held signs that read: “No to Impunity” and “The Rule of Law Matters.” “This pardon undermines international efforts to hold leaders accountable,” a human rights lawyer said. “We must protect democratic institutions from the idea that power can shield you from prosecution.”

Geopolitics, Guarantors, and the Wider Hemisphere

The pardon also reverberates beyond Honduras. President Xiomara Castro, in office since 2021, has cultivated closer ties with governments like Cuba and Venezuela — relationships that Washington has often criticized. For U.S. foreign policy strategists, the move will be read through a multipurpose lens: domestic politics, regional alignment, and an acknowledgment of the influence American pardons can exert on fragile democracies.

“A pardon like this is both a domestic act and an international signal,” said Dr. Kevin Morales, a Latin America analyst in Miami. “It feeds narratives on both sides — that the U.S. can protect allies, or that it intervenes selectively for political ends.”

Indeed, the Organization of American States and Washington said they were monitoring the Honduran election closely amid fears of contested results; international observers have long warned that close vote counts in polarized environments risk multiple claims to legitimacy. Whichever presidential hopeful secures a simple majority will govern Honduras from 2026 to 2030 — assuming a smooth transition, which is anything but guaranteed.

What It Says About Power and Accountability

When a president of one country absolves the former leader of another for crimes tied to international drug networks, the ripple effects are complex. There is relief for a family and supporters. There is frustration for victims of trafficking-related violence and for those who labored in the courts to hold power to account. There is geopolitics, too — a recalibration of influence in a region where politics, criminal economies, and foreign policy are intricately braided together.

Ask yourself: what do pardons mean in an age where borders are porous to both capital and crime? When does mercy for one become an affront to many? These are not rhetorical flourishes; they are practical questions about public faith in institutions.

Looking Forward

Hernández’s return to freedom will not erase the convictions, the testimony, or the photographs. It will, however, reopen conversations across Honduras and beyond about corruption, accountability, and the ways external actors influence domestic politics. The upcoming months will test whether Hondurans can negotiate this new chapter without further destabilizing the fragile social fabric.

“We need a country where the law applies to everyone,” said a schoolteacher in Tegucigalpa who asked to remain anonymous. “If we lose that, what do we have left to teach our children about fairness?”

For now, the bus has already become a memory and the man has crossed a threshold. What remains is the work of a nation and a region deciding how to balance mercy with justice, politics with principle, and the local human costs with the larger currents of international power. The story, for all its legalese and headlines, is ultimately about people — and the fragile promises that hold societies together.

Trump attacks Somali immigrants, saying “we don’t want them”

hanad

December 3, 2025

Trump oo ku Dhawaaqay in Mareykanka uu qabsaday Markab Saliid ah oo ku sugan Xeebaha Venezuela

The Day a Community Felt the Country Turn Its Back

On a cold afternoon in Cedar-Riverside, the neighborhood where Somali voices have threaded into Minneapolis’s daily life for decades, the scent of freshly made sambusas hangs over the corner. Men sip tea under the awning of a tiny grocery, and children race past murals of blue oceans and faraway cities. For many here, this is home — not a waypoint, not a story to be told about somewhere else, but the place they vote, work and raise their children.

And yet, at a White House cabinet meeting thousands of miles away, an unmistakably different message was being sent: a nation’s leader publicly branded an entire diaspora as unwanted, calling them “garbage” and urging that they be sent back. The rhetoric landed like a cold wind, slicing straight through the life this neighborhood has built.

When National Politics Meets Local Lives

President Donald Trump’s remarks, delivered in blunt, inflammatory language, surfaced against the backdrop of a sprawling fraud investigation in Minnesota in which prosecutors say more than $1 billion was funneled to bogus social services programs — schemes prosecutors allege were largely orchestrated by individuals who identified as Somali American.

That nexus — a criminal probe in a state with a prominent Somali population and a president eager for a political wedge issue — created the conditions for sweeping condemnations that many here call scapegoating.

“We are a community of shopkeepers and teachers and mosque-goers,” said Amina Aden, who runs a small halal grocery on Riverside Avenue. “My father came here with nothing. My kids are American. When people say ‘go back where you came from,’ who are they speaking to? My son who wants to join the Army? My daughter who attends college?”

A Community’s Pride, and the Pain of Being Branded

For decades, Minnesota has been one of the primary American homes for Somali refugees fleeing civil war and instability. The Twin Cities region is often described by community leaders as the largest concentration of Somalis in the United States — a community that has brought restaurants, businesses, festivals and political energy to the state.

“You cannot separate a scandal from the many human stories of success and hard work,” said Imam Yusuf Farah of Masjid al-Mumin. “When one person steals, we do not say all pharmacists are thieves. Yet today an entire community is made to pay for the sins of a few.”

The soured rhetoric was matched with a policy move: the administration announced a pause on immigration processing for nationals of 19 non-European countries, including Somalia. The memorandum accompanying the policy cited national-security concerns and recent crimes involving immigrants as justification for a sweeping re-review of pending applications including green cards and naturalization interviews.

Countries named in the policy include: Afghanistan, Somalia, Iran, Libya, Yemen, Eritrea, the Republic of the Congo, Equatorial Guinea, Haiti, Burma (Myanmar), Sudan, Chad, Burundi, Cuba, Laos, Sierra Leone, Togo, Turkmenistan, Venezuela, and others.

Immigration lawyers and civil-rights groups warned that the pause — and associated canceled oath ceremonies and interviews — will create anxiety and disruption for families who have already navigated an arduous path to legal status.

Scandal, Responsibility, and the Trouble with Broad Brushes

There is a real criminal investigation at the center of this storm. Prosecutors in Minnesota say false billing schemes siphoned public funds, including during the pandemic when some groups falsely claimed they were feeding children — a particularly corrosive allegation because it touches on family, hunger and trust. Prosecutors have called the sums substantial: more than $1 billion, according to recent filings.

“If someone defrauds taxpayers, they should be held fully accountable,” said Laura Chen, a policy analyst who studies nonprofit compliance and fraud. “But it is a grave error for elected leaders to take the actions of individuals and cast suspicion over an entire people. There are institutional solutions — audits, strengthened oversight, better contracting rules — that don’t require ethnic profiling.”

Minnesota’s political leaders have been quick to push back. Governor Tim Walz, a Democrat, told national media that Minnesota does attract criminal activity like any prosperous state, but he rejected efforts to demonize communities based on the actions of a few. St. Paul Mayor Melvin Carter framed the rhetoric as more than policy — as an attack on the definition of who counts as “we the people.”

“The sacred question in America’s history has always been: who do we include?” Mayor Carter said. “When you call Somali-Americans ‘garbage,’ you aren’t just insulting a population — you’re tearing at the fabric of democracy.”

Voices From the Neighborhood

On the street, conversations skitter between outrage and weary endurance. Edris, a taxi driver who emigrated in the early 2000s, sips strong coffee and shakes his head at the idea of mass deportations.

“I have a mortgage,” he says. “I pay taxes. My neighbor is a nurse. My cousin teaches math. Are we to be punished because some people committed crimes? It is not right.”

Teachers in the local public schools report students who are suddenly anxious, asking whether they will be forced to leave the country where they were born and raised. Mosques are hosting more counseling sessions. Community organizations are scrambling to assist clients facing delayed immigration proceedings.

“People call us in tears,” said Fatima Noor, who coordinates family-support services at a nonprofit. “They fear their citizenship interviews will be canceled, their green card renewals delayed. For many, this is not abstract policy — it is about whether your grandmother will be able to stay.”

Beyond the Headlines: What This Moment Reveals

This story is more than a scandal and a speech. It reveals how fragile social trust can become when public life is mediated by sensational headlines and punitive policies. It raises urgent questions about justice: How do we hold wrongdoers accountable without dismantling the lives of the innocent? How do we enforce the rule of law without relying on ethnic stereotyping?

Ask yourself: what kind of country responds to alleged fraud by widening the net of suspicion? And who pays the price when that net catches families, students and frontline workers?

There are practical answers, too. Strengthening oversight of publicly funded programs, ensuring clearer procurement rules, and investing in community-based auditing can reduce opportunities for fraud. At the same time, leaders can choose to name criminals as individuals rather than as representatives of entire peoples.

Where Do We Go From Here?

In Cedar-Riverside, the life of the neighborhood pulses on. The bakery on the corner still fills the air with cinnamon. Schoolchildren still practice soccer behind the mosque. But the rhetoric from the nation’s capital has left a bruise.

“We want to be seen as Americans,” Amina says, carefully folding a receipt. “We want our children’s future to be here. We ask for fairness, and that is all.”

As the courts, communities and policymakers wrestle with fraud investigations and immigration policy, the human question remains: will this moment pull people together to build stronger, fairer systems — or will it be another chapter in a politics of division? The answer will shape not just Minnesota, but the meaning of belonging across America.

Hong Kong leader orders independent inquiry into recent city fire

hanad

December 3, 2025

Hong Kong fire puts spotlight on bamboo scaffolding risk — The fire spread rapidly across green netting covering the scaffolding erected around the complex

Hong Kong in Ashes: The Long Night After a Tower Blaze

There is a hush in the lanes around Wang Fuk Court that wasn’t there last week. Where markets once buzzed and old men played chess beneath flickering neon, the air now holds a bitter tang of smoke and the quieter, heavier smell of grief. Flowers pile up at cordons. Candles gutter in the wind. People who have never met exchange looks that say the same thing: this should not have happened.

Hong Kong’s deadliest fire in decades has left at least 156 people dead, about 30 still missing, and thousands displaced from a cluster of seven high-rise towers that together housed more than 4,000 residents. The numbers are brutal and blunt; they don’t capture the small stories — the mother clutching a charred shoe, a neighbour who carried an elderly man down six flights of stairs, the domestic worker who disappeared during a night shift.

What Went Wrong: Materials, Maintenance, and Missed Warnings

Investigators are pointing to renovation work as the spark that turned one building into an inferno. Samples of a green plastic mesh wrapped around bamboo scaffolding failed to meet fire-retardant standards, officials said, and insulation foam used in pockets of the work fed the flames. Authorities found that alarms in the complex were not functioning correctly. Contractors, according to senior officials, had placed substandard materials in hard-to-reach areas — effectively hiding them from routine inspections.

“The fire behaved like a living thing — it found the weakest seams in the building and ran,” said Eric Chan, the city’s Chief Secretary, at a press briefing. “Where materials were not up to standard, the consequences were catastrophic.”

Residents had warned about hazards more than a year ago. The Labour Department confirmed complaints from September 2024 about the potential flammability of the mesh. Officials responded at the time that the buildings faced “relatively low fire risks.” That judgment will now face the most intense scrutiny.

Fault Lines: Renovation, Regulation, and Responsibility

In a city built vertically, with narrow apartments and communal stairwells, the margin for error is slim. Hong Kong remains one of the world’s most densely populated cities, with about 7.4 million people packed into an urban landscape of towers and alleyways. That density makes mitigation and enforcement both vitally important and technically challenging.

John Lee, the Chief Executive, announced the creation of a judge-led independent committee to examine why the blaze started and spread so quickly — and to scrutinise the broader systems that allowed lethal materials to be used. “In order to avoid similar tragedies again, we will set up a judge-led independent committee to examine the cause and rapid spread of the fire and related issues,” he told reporters, pledging a transparent and thorough inquiry.

Yet transparency has been a flashpoint. Police have arrested 15 people on suspicion of manslaughter and the anti-corruption commission has detained 12 more in a probe into possible graft related to the renovations. It is unclear whether some individuals have been arrested on both counts. Rights groups warn that investigations should not become a pretext for muzzling criticism.

“Now is the time for authorities to show their work — to open the files, to explain the inspections and exemptions,” said Mei Wong, a local activist and former building inspector. “Silencing people who are asking questions will only deepen the wound.”

A City in Mourning: Faces Behind the Figures

Walk past the cordon and you see the human mosaic that made Wang Fuk Court more than a collection of floors: students studying late at a night table, grandmother shrines barely visible in the soot, migrant domestic workers who lived with families in the towers and now carry the same grief as everyone else. Among the dead are at least nine Indonesian domestic helpers and one worker from the Philippines — a stark reminder of the vulnerabilities shared by migrant communities who often live within the same walls as the families they care for.

“She called me in the morning and said there was smoke. I told her to get downstairs. She didn’t make it,” said Sari, an Indonesian woman who came to lay flowers, her voice breaking. “We work for others, but we are still family. Now we have lost sisters.”

Vigils have started to ripple beyond Hong Kong: similar gatherings are planned or already held in Tokyo, Taipei, and London, where the city’s diaspora has set up small altars with incense, notes, and yellow ribbons.

Rescue, Recovery, and the Long Tail of Displacement

Rescue teams have combed five of the seven buildings and will spend weeks on the remaining two, officials said, because these are the worst damaged. Images from inside — husk-blackened rooms, scorched furniture, safety suits and helmets reflected in broken glass — read like a catalogue of loss.

Nearly 1,500 evacuees have been rehoused into temporary housing, and another 945 placed in hostels and hotels. The government has offered an emergency grant of HK$10,000 (about €1,105) per household and expedited replacement of identity cards, passports and certificates for those who fled without documents. But money does not neatly buy back a life: keepsakes, photos, the smell of a home — all are irreplaceable.

“My grandchildren asked if our flats would ever be the same,” said Mr. Leung, a retired teacher whose third-floor home survived but who now sleeps at a relative’s flat. “There is a hole. You don’t heal by fixing plaster.”

Politics, Protest, and the Fragility of Public Space

This tragedy unfolds against a tense political backdrop. Beijing’s national security office warned against using the disaster to “plunge Hong Kong back into the chaos” of 2019 protests, and authorities have warned that any attempts to politicise the event will be “strictly punished.” A student and others have reportedly been detained on suspicion of sedition, stirring criticism from Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, which have urged authorities not to silence legitimate questions about the cause and aftermath of the fire.

“When grief is politicised — or when politics is weaponised against grief — trust collapses,” said Dr. Hannah Ortiz, a sociologist focusing on civic trusts in urban Asia. “People want explanations. They want accountability. And when institutions answer with force, it deepens trauma.”

What This Means for Cities Everywhere

As the smoke clears, Hong Kong’s catastrophe forces questions that echo far beyond its harbour: How do we regulate the safety of quick renovation booms that pop up across dense cities? How are migrant and low-income residents disproportionately exposed to risk? And how do governments balance the need for swift action with the equally important need for transparent investigations?

Across Asia, from Tokyo to Manila, cities are wrestling with aging building stock, the pressure to refurbish rather than rebuild, and a materials supply chain that sometimes favours cost over safety. The tragedy at Wang Fuk Court is thus at once local and global: a horror rooted in a particular place, and a warning to urban planners, regulators and residents worldwide.

Remembering, Reforming, Reckoning

In the days ahead, the judge-led committee will begin its work. Families will demand answers. Volunteers will continue to sort through donations and offer counselling. The displaced will count their losses and try to stitch together a future in temporary rooms.

Will the inquiry lead to real change? Will officials hold those who cut corners accountable? Or will the story slip into the archive of tragedies that led to speeches and not reform?

For now, Hong Kong is a city sitting in the same uneasy silence as many other places that have lost lives to preventable disaster. It is a place of flowers, of numbers, of smoke, and of small human acts of kindness: a neighbour with a blanket, a volunteer handing out tea, a stranger who carries an elderly aunt down a stairwell. If the rest of us watch, let’s ask not just what happened, but what we will do to make sure it never happens again.

D.C. National Guard shooting suspect now faces murder charges

hanad

December 3, 2025

DC National Guard shooting suspect charged with murder — Portraits of National Guard members Sarah Beckstrom (2nd from L) and Andrew Wolfe (L) opposite one of suspected shooter Rahmanullah Lakanwal

A Shot That Echoed to the White House: Grief, Fear and a Nation Reckoning

It was supposed to be another ordinary morning in the shadow of power — coffee cups, courier vans, joggers weaving through the iron fences that guard the president’s house. Instead, a single burst of violence turned Pennsylvania Avenue into a corridor of horror and questions that will not be easily answered.

On a block just blocks from the White House, two members of the US National Guard were ambushed. Twenty-year-old Private Sarah Beckstrom was killed. Private Andrew Wolfe, 24, remains hospitalized in critical condition. The suspect, identified in court filings as 29-year-old Rahmanullah Lakanwal, appeared remotely from a hospital bed this week as a judge ordered him held without bond on murder and other charges.

There is something jarring about violence so close to the symbols of American democracy — so close, literally, that the marble columns and dignified tourists now rub up against grief in a new way.

The court room that felt like a hospital room

Lakanwal’s first court appearance was not the polished, theatrical affair of criminal justice dramas. He appeared in a hospital gown, eyes half closed, the proceedings filtered through a translator who relayed the judge’s words in hushed sentences. Magistrate Judge Renee Raymond’s observation was blunt: “It is fairly clear that he came across the country, 3,000 miles, armed, with a specific purpose in mind.”

Prosecutors say he yelled “Allahu akbar!” as he opened fire — a claim that has since been part of charging documents that include first-degree murder and assault with intent to kill while armed. Defense counsel pointed to his lack of criminal history and urged release; the judge disagreed, citing the “sheer terror” of an attack so near the center of government.

In the moments after the shooting, accounts suggest the balance of fate shifted several times. A major in the Army National Guard reportedly fired at Lakanwal, and other service members alongside a Secret Service officer were credited with subduing him. In a city that rehearses security for state visits and protests alike, ordinary vigilance — and extraordinary courage — contained further harm.

Who was he, and how did he get here?

The man accused of carrying out the attack is an Afghan national who, according to federal filings, entered the United States in 2021 as part of the large evacuation and resettlement effort that followed the fall of Kabul. Hundreds of thousands of headlines and policy memos followed that moment, but no single image captures the complexity of what followed: families resettled across the nation, services strained, lives rebuilt.

“We welcomed roughly 70,000 to 80,000 Afghans in those months,” said Dr. Elena Cortez, a migration scholar who studies resettlement programs. “Some were Special Immigrant Visa recipients, some were paroled, but many came with trauma and urgent needs. We must not reduce entire communities to moments like this.”

That plea for nuance is not just academic. Around the country — in church basements, in municipal welcome centers, among volunteers who helped newcomers navigate school systems and jobs — people are struggling to reconcile two realities: grief for a slain soldier and the human story of people who helped the United States abroad and then sought refuge here.

“He came through my town before heading to DC,” said Josue Rivera, a volunteer with a resettlement group in Washington State. “I remember seeing him at the bus stop. He seemed quiet, always keeping to himself. This entire thing has shaken our shelter — we feel angry, we feel guilty, we feel confused.”

Politics and pain — a combustible mix

The shooting has been quickly folded into a broader and uglier national argument about immigration and security. Within hours, it became a talking point for politicians who insist on tighter borders and deeper scrutiny of refugee and parole programs. For others, the incident is a warning against scapegoating entire populations for the actions of one person.

Former President Donald Trump seized on the controversy and broadened it, turning from an Afghan suspect to denunciations of Somali immigrants — language that, for many, sounded more like a political crusade than reasoned policy debate. In a cabinet meeting reported by multiple outlets, Mr. Trump reportedly said, “Their country’s no good for a reason.”

His words landed like a blow in communities that have already felt the sting of suspicion. “We came here to build a life,” said Amina Warsame, a Somali-American shop owner in Minneapolis, where a separate scandal over fraudulent billing has recently roiled local politics. “To be told we don’t belong because of where we’re from — that’s personal.”

That scandal in Minnesota — prosecutors say more than $1 billion went to fictitious social services through fraudulent billing schemes — has been seized on by critics of immigration to suggest a correlation between newcomers and corruption. Experts caution against oversimplification: criminal networks exploit many vulnerabilities, and many fraud cases involve individuals across demographic groups.

Voices on the street

In downtown Washington, you can feel the tension in small things. A tour guide pauses when asked to explain the shooting to a group; a uniformed National Guard member adjusts her helmet and keeps walking. Neighbors leave flowers. People argue in cafes about whether the answer is more policing, more screening, or something quieter: more social care, better mental-health supports, and a public conversation less inclined to demonize.

“We saw a young woman in uniform, and then a part of us died,” said Michael Adler, a longtime Washington resident. “But we can’t convert grief into prejudice. That’s exactly what extremist narratives want.”

Immigration advocates point to longer-term facts: many Afghan evacuees were paroled for humanitarian reasons after helping US efforts in Afghanistan; many have since contributed to communities around the country. Meanwhile, national security experts warn that headline-driven policy changes can make the system less secure by driving people underground and reducing trust between immigrant communities and law enforcement.

What comes next?

The legal process will follow its course: arraignments, possible plea negotiations, and, if the case proceeds to trial, the painstaking work of uncovering motive, opportunity and state of mind. But beyond the court docket is the political and emotional adjudication that takes place in the public square.

How do we grieve without scapegoating? How do we keep places like Washington — where the ceremonial and the mundane sit cheek by jowl — both open and safe? Can policy respond to violence without feeding into narratives that degrade entire communities?

“This is a test of our civic muscles,” said Dr. Cortez. “We can respond with reflex and retribution, or we can respond with laws that are targeted, with community engagement, and with an insistence on facts over fear.”

For now, there are flowers, hospital monitors, and a nation watching as justice unfolds. There is also the quieter work of mourning a life ended too soon, and the harder work of ensuring that a single act does not become a verdict against millions.

As you read this, consider what kind of country you want to live in when the news headlines fade and the daily acts of neighborliness — teaching, cooking, driving the school bus — remain. Will we allow fear to define us, or will grief and resolve lead to policies that are both safer and more humane?

White House Declares Second Strike on Venezuelan Boat Lawful

hanad

December 2, 2025

Second strike on Venezuelan boat legal - White House — US President Donald Trump told journalists he had spoken to Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro recently

At Sea and on Edge: How a “Double‑Tap” Strike Set Off a Storm in the Caribbean

Imagine dawn on the open sea: a thin pale light, the hum of engines, the salt tang in the air. Now imagine that tranquility ruptured not once but twice—first by gunfire and then, moments later, by a follow‑up assault on the survivors. That is the image seared into the narratives coming out of a recent US operation in Caribbean waters—a strike and a subsequent “double‑tap” attack that killed 11 people and helped push the death toll in a months‑long campaign against alleged drug traffickers to more than 80.

“We trained to hit a threat and move on,” said a retired Coast Guard intelligence officer who reviewed footage of the strikes. “But when you strike people who might already be incapacitated, you start stepping into territory that’s legally and morally fraught.”

What Happened: A Chronology

According to statements from the White House and reporting by US outlets, an initial strike on September 2 targeted a boat accused of smuggling drugs. Survivors of that attack were reportedly struck again in a follow‑on order. The White House has said that Admiral Frank Bradley, commander of US Special Operations Command, acted under the authority of Acting Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth in ordering the second, lethal engagement.

White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt told reporters that Admiral Bradley “worked well within his authority and the law directing the engagement to ensure the boat was destroyed and the threat to the United States of America was eliminated.”

President Donald Trump—who has framed the U.S. posture in the region as a fight against “narco‑terrorists”—later acknowledged the details in a brisk exchange with reporters aboard Air Force One, saying simply he “wouldn’t have wanted that — not a second strike.”

Numbers that Matter

Eleven people were killed in the two strikes tied to that operation; human rights advocates place the cumulative toll of this anti‑narcotics campaign at more than 80 dead over several months. Those figures have reopened a debate about what constitutes lawful use of force in maritime interdiction and whether lethal measures are being used against suspected traffickers at sea—not in court.

Voices from the Water and the Street

On the docks of a small Caribbean port, fishermen and residents reacted with a mixture of fear and weary resignation. “You don’t know when the next plane will come,” said Miguel, a 47‑year‑old fisherman, who asked that his surname not be used. “We’re not part of this, but every time the war comes to our waters, we lose a neighbor, a cousin.”

In Caracas, the strikes have been weaponized by President Nicolás Maduro’s government as proof, they say, that Washington is using the drug fight as a pretext for intervention. “They claim to be battling drugs while courting regime change,” a government spokesperson told a local radio station. Maduro himself has insisted publicly that Venezuela is a transit country, not a producer, and that the US rhetoric masks political aims.

Human rights groups—both local NGOs and international organizations—have been blunt. “The pattern suggests extrajudicial killings,” said a human rights lawyer in Bogotá who has tracked interdiction operations across the Caribbean. “There are legal frameworks that prohibit attacking shipwrecked persons. Orders to do so would be unlawful.”

Law, Policy and the Fog of War

The Pentagon’s own Law of War Manual is explicit in its prohibitions: firing upon shipwrecked individuals is described as clearly illegal. Yet US officials argue the strikes were lawful, framed under counter‑narcotics authorities and the broader concept of self‑defense against non‑state actors who, they say, pose direct threats.

“We have to weigh immediate danger to U.S. personnel and to Americans at home against the obligation to protect human life,” said a former military prosecutor based in Washington. “That balance isn’t always easy, and it’s precisely why lawyers are involved up and down the chain of command.”

Still, the optics are stark. In a conflict that sits somewhere between policing and war, the distinction between insurgent and civilian can blur quickly—especially at sea, where visibility is limited and evidence can slip beneath the waves.

Regional Ripples: Diplomacy, Tension, and an Uncertain Sky

Washington has also deployed heavy air and naval assets across the Caribbean, insisting they are dedicated to counter‑narcotics work. The presence of US carriers, surveillance aircraft and special operations platforms has, predictably, raised tensions with regional governments—most pronouncedly with Caracas.

President Trump raised the temperature further by suggesting that the airspace over and around Venezuela “should be considered closed in its entirety,” a comment that stirred anxiety in Caracas and among regional airlines. When pressed, he downplayed the remark. “Don’t read anything into it,” he said—while also confirming a phone call with President Maduro that left observers wondering whether belligerence and diplomacy are now being mixed in equal measure.

Broader Questions: The Drug War, Migration, and Human Costs

What does this moment tell us about modern counter‑narco policy? For one, it exposes a long‑running trend: the militarization of what was once primarily a law‑enforcement problem. Second, it raises uncomfortable questions about sovereignty, due process, and the global appetite for kinetic solutions to addiction, demand and organized crime.

And there are domestic reverberations. The same administration has also signalled sweeping changes to asylum and migration policy—announcing an indefinite pause on asylum decisions that critics say will exacerbate humanitarian suffering. “We’re trading legal process for expediency,” said an immigration advocate in Miami. “It’s a short‑term fix with long-term damage.”

What Should We Ask Next?

As readers watching from around the world, we must ask: what standards do democracies apply when they use lethal force beyond their borders? How do we protect human rights while confronting transnational threats? And who holds accountable those who authorize follow‑on strikes that leave survivors counting bodies, not answers?

These are not easy questions. They demand transparency from governments, a sober public debate about the limits of force, and a renewed commitment to international law. They also require humility: the sea is vast, and its dark waters do not always tell the whole story.

Closing Drift

Back onshore, Miguel casts his net with practiced hands. “We mend what we can,” he says, eyes on the horizon. “But some holes you can’t sew.”

That image—of torn nets and torn laws—may be the one that lingers. In the coming weeks, investigations, legal reviews and more reporting will either stitch those holes or leave them gaping. As the debate swells, we should all watch closely: for the lives lost, for the laws that protect us, and for the norms that govern how states use force in an interconnected world.

Brazilian beef recall renders existing safety safeguards redundant, officials say

hanad

December 2, 2025

Recall of Brazilian beef leaves safeguards 'redundant' — Authorities in a number of countries have removed affected products from sale (stock photo)

A shipment, a recall and a country’s heartbeat: what the Brazilian beef scare reveals about trade, health and trust

It began with a routine scan through a cold chain and ended up reverberating through farms, kitchens and parliamentary corridors across Europe. Earlier this month, consignments of frozen beef from Brazil were flagged by European authorities after tests detected hormone residues that are banned in the EU. Supermarket shelves were emptied in a dozen countries; consumers were left with questions; farmers, furious, demanded answers. And in Ireland — where meat is not just an industry but an identity — the story took on a particular heat.

The recall that woke up a continent

Austria, Belgium, Cyprus, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Germany, Greece, Italy, the Netherlands and Slovakia all reported withdrawals or recalls. The United Kingdom — including Northern Ireland — also pulled affected products. The European Commission says the shipments came in earlier this month. Details are still being clarified, but the headline is simple and alarming: a banned growth-promoting substance found in meat that has already crossed oceans and borders.

“If any product that ends up on Irish plates may contain substances we outlaw for public health reasons, that’s not just a compliance question — it’s an emergency of trust,” said a representative of a national farmers’ group I spoke with in a rain-dampened yard in County Mayo. He asked not to be named; his hands still bore the smell of silage and diesel.

Farmers fear competition — and contamination

On country roads and in village pubs across rural Ireland, the recall resonated like a bell. For years, Irish farmers have argued that the Mercosur trade deal—an agreement under negotiation between the EU and the South American bloc of Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay—threatens prices and livelihoods by opening the EU market to cheaper meat.

“It’s not just the price,” said Maeve Ní Dhúill, who runs a small dairy and beef farm near Killarney. “It’s the principle. We invest in traceability, veterinary records, animal welfare. We take pride in that. If cheaper meat, produced under different rules, floods the market and then comes with health questions, who bears the cost? The farmer does. The consumer does.”

For context, the proposed Mercosur beef tariff quota would allow up to 99,000 tonnes of beef to enter the EU at a reduced tariff (reportedly around 7.5%). For poultry the figure discussed has been as high as 180,000 tonnes. These numbers may sound technical, but for a small island economy with a strong beef and dairy sector, they translate into real anxieties about incomes and markets.

Politics on the pitch: who says what?

The recall landed at an awkward time politically. Calls grew for clarity from Ireland’s leaders. “We need the Tánaiste and our party leaders to spell out where they stand — now,” a union official told me in Dublin. “This isn’t abstract. This is our food, our farms, our children’s lunches.”

Not everybody sees the moment in apocalyptic terms. “Mercosur isn’t solely about beef,” said an MEP with links to Ireland’s centre-right who believes trade can broaden opportunities. “These are economies of 250–270 million people. There are sectors — pharmaceuticals, machinery, medical devices, dairy — that stand to gain from deeper access. Trade deals have winners and losers; the job is to manage both.”

That tension — protection of sensitive domestic sectors versus the promise of export growth — is the political drumbeat of this debate. It crosses party lines and stirs public emotion. In local cafes I visited, people spoke of pride in Irish standards and unease about invisible risks: antibiotic resistance, hormone residues, and a perceived erosion of regulatory certainty.

Science, safety and gaps in oversight

Public health specialists point out two overlapping issues: the immediate risk of banned substances entering the food chain, and the long-term erosion of confidence in supply chain controls. “The European Union’s rules on growth promoters are strict for good reasons,” said Dr. Aoife Brennan, a food safety scientist at a university in Cork. “When those rules are breached it raises two questions: how did it get through the pre-export checks, and is our detection and recall infrastructure fast enough to protect consumers?”

Dr. Brennan noted that no food system is flawless. “Inspection regimes rely on sampling, documentation and on-the-ground traceability. If any one of those pillars fails, contamination can slip through. The fact that these consignments were identified and recalled is evidence our system can act. The fact that they entered at all suggests the system is imperfect.”

Local color: markets, pubs and the smell of stews

Walk into any Irish market and you’ll see posters of cattle breeds, families trading recipes, and butchers who can name the field a cut came from. “We like to know where our meat comes from,” said Seán, a third-generation butcher in Limerick. “Customers ask me if the beef was raised in clean pastures, if it was fed properly. That’s part of the trust we sell.”

That trust is not only economic. It’s cultural. Roasts for Sunday dinner, stews shared at funerals, and the bargaining of calves at mart—all are threaded through generations. For many, the Mercosur debate thus feels like something that could alter more than ledgers: it could reshape a way of life.

What’s at stake beyond the steak

Ask yourself: do you want a world in which standards are lowered to win market share, or one in which trade is accompanied by enforceable standards and transparency? This is the moral and political question underpinning the row.

Environmentalists add another layer. Deforestation in parts of South America, linked to cattle ranching, has been a long-standing worry. “A trade deal that increases demand for beef without binding environmental and social clauses risks encouraging practices at odds with EU climate goals,” said an adviser from a European environmental NGO.

Where do we go from here?

The immediate step is clear: tighten controls, review how consignments were cleared, and ensure swift recalls when problems are identified. Politically, negotiators must reconcile two truths: trade can lift industries, but it cannot be at the cost of public health or fair competition.

For farmers, the fix will require more than reassurances. “Words won’t fill a bank account,” one farmer in County Cork told me. “We need measurable protections: enforceable quotas, stronger on-site checks in export countries, and penalties that stick.”

Questions to ponder

How can importing and exporting countries build mutual trust without sacrificing consumer safety?
Should food products be carved out of broader trade deals if risk profiles differ so sharply?
And finally: what price are we willing to pay for cheaper food if it erodes the standards many of us take for granted?

The recall of Brazilian beef is more than a supply-chain hiccup. It is a live demonstration of the frictions that arise when global trade rubs against local norms, public health and environmental concerns. It has set politicians, farmers and food-safety experts against one another in a debate that will shape policy and plates for years to come.

Whatever your view of trade deals, take a moment next time you sit down to a meal: consider the journey your food made to get there. Behind every steak, every carton of milk, there is a chain of decisions — political, economic and ethical. The present controversy asks us to scrutinize those choices with urgency and care.

Pope Appeals to Lebanese Crowds to Heal Their Crisis-Hit Nation

hanad

December 2, 2025

Pope urges crowds in Lebanon to fix troubled country — Pope Leo XIV was in Lebanon as part of his first overseas trip since his election as pontiff

Beirut at Dawn: A Pope, a City, and a Fragile Hope

The Mediterranean sun had barely cleared the skyline when the waterfront of Beirut came alive with flags, umbrellas and a kind of brittle joy that only a city accustomed to survival can display.

It was not just any crowd. Tens of thousands—Vatican figures put the number at 150,000—had gathered where modern glass meets Ottoman stone to hear Pope Leo XIV, the first American elected to the papacy, deliver what felt less like a homily and more like a plea: for unity, for justice, for a country that can remember its better angels.

“Cast off the armour of our ethnic and political divisions,” he implored, voice steady under the hot sky. “We must unite our efforts so that this land can return to its glory.”

Scenes from the Waterfront

Students, shopkeepers, priests in cassocks and pensioners in sun hats clustered along the esplanade. They waved tiny Vatican and Lebanese flags in the same palm as their phones. Men and women shielded themselves from the strong Mediterranean light with umbrellas that fluttered like small sails.

“We came before dawn,” said Maroun al‑Mallah, a university volunteer with a tired, hopeful smile. “You can feel it’s a reset. Even if it’s a small one. We’ve had pain after pain—especially after the port blast. Today felt like the city was saying, ‘Maybe we can breathe again.'”

The scene was cinematic: the pope touring the crowd in an enclosed popemobile, stopping to bless, to nod, to meet faces lined with history. The spectacle masked the deeper, quieter weight that every Lebanese soul carried—grief, anger, and an almost scientific exhaustion at promises unkept.

At the Edge of Rubble: Memory and Demand for Justice

Hours before the mass, Pope Leo paused at the scar of Beirut’s 2020 port explosion, laying a wreath at a memorial where photographs of the dead fluttered in the wind. The blast, which killed more than 200 people and caused billions of dollars in damage, still sits in the national consciousness like an unhealed wound.

He walked slowly among survivors and relatives from different faiths, greeting them and offering rosaries tucked in pouches embossed with his coat of arms. A woman who lost her brother reached out to embrace him; she sobbed. He embraced her back.

“He will raise his voice for justice, and we need justice for all the victims,” said Cecile Roukoz, who holds a photograph of her brother like a small, stubborn lantern. “We need someone to say we will not forget.”

When Faith Meets Accountability

The pope’s gesture at the blast site carried symbolic weight. Investigations into the explosion have been repeatedly delayed or obstructed, and no one has been held accountable. For many Lebanese, ritual without remedy feels like salt in an old wound.

“Faith can comfort, but faith cannot replace the work of institutions,” said Dr. Leila Haddad, a Beirut‑based political scientist. “Religious leaders can convene a conversation across sectarian lines, but the hard, technocratic steps—justice, reforms, rebuilding—must follow. Otherwise, this momentum fizzles.”

Lebanon’s Intertwined Crises

It is impossible to paint the pope’s visit without tracing the tangle of crises that brought Lebanon to this moment. The country hosts roughly around a million Syrian and Palestinian refugees, a demographic pressure that has strained public services. Since late 2019, Lebanon has endured a dramatic economic collapse: the local currency has lost much of its value, unemployment has soared, and a large proportion of families now live in multidimensional poverty, measured not just by income but by access to health, education and basic utilities.

Then add the spillover of regional conflict. Last year’s intense exchanges between Israel and the Iran‑aligned Hezbollah left neighborhoods shattered and nerves raw. The threat of renewed hostilities hangs like a low, constant thunder.

2020 Beirut port explosion: over 200 fatalities and billions in damages (official estimates vary)
Refugee presence: approximately one million Syrian and Palestinian refugees in Lebanon, placing strain on infrastructure
Economic collapse: currency depreciation and widespread poverty since late 2019 with long‑lasting social effects

Voices on the Ground

“People ask, ‘What can one visit change?’” said Father Georges Nassar, a Maronite priest whose parish sits in a neighborhood scarred by the explosion. “Change isn’t instant. But when a global religious leader kneels where we knelt and names what’s wrong—corruption, impunity, division—it validates our grief and puts pressure on those who govern.”

“This place has long been a mosaic of religions,” said Nour al‑Amin, a teacher who keeps a small icon in her classroom. “We are Christians, Muslims, Druze. But that diversity has been used as a political lockbox. Can faith free us from that lock? Maybe. But faith has to be paired with courage from politicians and accountability from institutions.”

Experts Weigh In

“Religious leadership can act as a bridge in fragmented societies,” said Dr. Michael Turner, an expert in conflict resolution at an international think tank. “But bridge building must be followed by structural investment—transparent courts, functioning public services, and economic opportunity. Without those, the bridge becomes a spectacle, not a pathway.”

Beyond Beirut: A Mirror for Fragile States

Lebanon’s story resonates well beyond its shores. It is a compact case study of how climate, conflict, economic mismanagement and displacement can conspire to hollow out a country’s institutions. It is a cautionary tale and, to others, a call to empathy.

How do societies stitch themselves back together after trauma? Can religious figures catalyze political redemption? In an age where populism and sectarian politics are surging in many parts of the world, Lebanon asks a question we all must answer: what do we owe each other when the systems we trusted fail?

The pope’s visit did not produce policy roadmaps or immediate indictments. It produced something quieter, and perhaps more crucial: a public naming of pain, a shared mourning, and, for a moment, a crowd that believed—just for a day—that unity was possible.

What Comes Next?

After the crowds dispersed and the last flags were folded, Beirut settled back into the difficult business of daily life. The port’s ruins remain, the economy still teeters, and political rivalries endure. But the visit left behind small sparks: survivors who felt seen, volunteers who felt emboldened, politicians gently nudged by the optics of global attention.

Will those sparks catch? Can rhetoric be translated into reform? Those are questions that will be answered in months and years, in courts and parliaments, in hospital wards and classrooms.

As you read this from wherever you are—city, suburb, or island—ask yourself: when a nation asks for unity, what does solidarity mean in practice? How do you show up? Lebanon’s story is an invitation to consider the hard work of rebuilding trust, brick by brick, prayer by policy.

For now, the memory endures: a waterfront awash in flags, the pope’s steady voice, a woman’s desperate embrace, and a city that refuses to let go of hope. That, perhaps, is the most human thing of all.

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