Denmark, Greenland delegations to hold talks with Senators Vance and Rubio in U.S.

January 13, 2026

Denmark, Greenland officials to meet Vance, Rubio in US — Donald Trump first floated ⁠the idea of a US takeover of Greenland in 2019 during his first term in office

Under the Midnight Sun: Why Greenland Has Suddenly Become the World’s Most Contested Island

On a wind-whipped street in Nuuk, a woman in a brightly painted parka pauses to watch a cargo plane make its slow turn above the harbor. The houses behind her—cheerful blocks of red, yellow and blue—lean toward the sea as if eavesdropping on the world. “We have always lived on the edge of the map,” she says, “and now everyone wants to redraw it.”

Tomorrow, that map will be discussed in a room with a heavy table and heavier history: the White House. Denmark’s foreign minister will sit down with a delegation from Washington that, according to Danish officials, includes the US vice president and the US secretary of state. The meeting is being framed as a rare, face-to-face effort to cool a diplomatic flare-up sparked by proposals—from once and future presidential circles—to treat Greenland as a bargaining chip in geopolitical chess.

Why a Meeting Matters

The Danish foreign minister described the request for the sit-down in simple, human terms: “We wanted to come to the table and look each other in the eye,” he told reporters. The symbolism is striking. Greenland is not merely a piece of territory on a chart. It is an autonomous people with a distinct culture, a government moving slowly toward self-rule, and a future that dozens of policymakers now claim to care about.

Greenland’s government, which won increased self-rule in 2009, controls many of its domestic affairs while Denmark continues to handle foreign policy and defense. But the island’s geopolitical gravity has expanded dramatically as the Arctic warms, ice retreats and new maritime routes and mineral prospects emerge.

The numbers that explain the fuss

Consider the backdrop: Greenland is the world’s largest island, roughly 2.16 million square kilometers, but only about 56,000 people live there—most in tiny coastal communities such as Nuuk, Sisimiut and Ilulissat. Nearly 80% of the land is buried under an ancient ice sheet that scientists estimate has lost around 3.8 trillion tonnes of ice since 1992, contributing measurably to global sea-level rise.

Economically, the island is sustained in part by a Danish annual subsidy—roughly DKK 3.6 billion (about $500–600 million)—and a fishing sector that accounts for around 90% of its exports. Yet beneath the ice and in the cold gravel plains lie deposits of rare earth elements, zinc, iron and possible hydrocarbons—resources that global powers increasingly view through the lens of strategic necessity.

Voices from the Ice

“We are not a pawn,” says a young Greenlandic politician who asked not to be named for fear of political fallout. “This is our home. We will decide our future.”

At a small café where coffee steams against the windows, an elderly fisherman stirs his cup and looks at a map on the wall with knitted brows. “When you live here, you learn the weather and you learn the sea. But you do not learn how to be taken,” he says. “We’ve seen outsiders come and go. This feels different—louder.”

Officials in Copenhagen have made their unease public. Denmark’s defence minister is arranging talks with NATO’s leadership to discuss Arctic security, while the European Union’s commissioner for defence warned that any military seizure would have consequences stretching beyond a single island: “An act of aggression here would not only test NATO, it would reshape our collective security arrangements,” he said at a conference in Stockholm.

The Washington Angle

The rhetoric in Washington has been raw and transactional. In 2019, the idea of buying Greenland made headlines and provoked bipartisan astonishment. This time congressional proposals have gone further, with at least one US lawmaker introducing a bill that would, in effect, authorize steps toward annexation and request detailed plans for how federal law would adapt to make Greenland the nation’s 51st state.

“Greenland is not a distant outpost we can afford to ignore—it is a vital national security asset,” one lawmaker said in a statement that encapsulates a view held in some strategic circles: that geography has become destiny, and whoever controls Arctic chokepoints and resources holds leverage in a warming world.

Is this realism—or revanchism?

For many observers, the debate exposes a larger question. Is the scramble to assert influence in the Arctic driven by legitimate concerns—defense, supply chains, climate adaptation—or by a revived great-power competition that treats remote communities as checkers on a board? The answer probably sits in the uneasy space between those ideas.

What’s at Stake

Security: Greenland sits astride the shortest trans-Atlantic air routes and provides strategic depth for missile early-warning systems and military basing. During the Cold War, the island’s importance was obvious; in a new era of strategic rivalry, it has revived.
Economy and autonomy: The desire for full independence is a long-standing political undercurrent among Greenlanders. Any external moves to alter governance could accelerate or stall those aspirations.
Climate and resources: Melting ice is opening potential shipping lanes and exposing mineral wealth, but it also threatens traditional livelihoods such as hunting and fishing that are central to Greenlandic identity.

A Local Perspective

“My son wants to be a pilot,” says a mother outside a school playground, watching children lob a snowball at a passing dog. “He hears about bases and soldiers and thinks of planes and jobs. But he also learns how to read the ice. When leaders talk of ‘doing what is necessary,’ we need to ask—necessary for whom?”

This tension—between opportunity and loss, between outside interest and local priority—echoes through Greenland’s small towns and capital. People here are pragmatic. They want reliable electricity, better healthcare, schools that prepare their children for a changing economy. They do not want to become the prize for other nations’ security anxieties.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The upcoming White House meeting offers a narrow but important opportunity: to move debate off headlines and into a room where faces can be seen and the messy, human aspects of sovereignty discussed honestly. “Talk is better than tweets,” a Danish diplomat said. “But talk must lead to respect.”

As readers halfway across the world, what should we take from this? Perhaps this: in an age when climate change redraws the contours of the possible, the choices we make about places like Greenland will be tests of our collective imagination. Will we center the voices of the people who live there? Will we treat valuable land and sea as strategic resources only, or will policy prioritize long-term stewardship and self-determination?

When a place at the edge of maps becomes the center of world attention, the rest of us should be paying attention—not because remote islands are novelties, but because the decisions made there will ripple across oceans. Are we ready for those ripples?

President Congratulates Buckley on Remarkable Recognition, Hails Achievement

hanad

January 13, 2026

'Fantastic recognition' - President congratulates Buckley — Hamnet writer Maggie O'Farrell (in floral) dress and Best Actress winner Jessie Buckley pose with cast members and director Chloé Zhao and producer Steven Spielberg

When Killarney Applauded in Los Angeles: Jessie Buckley’s Golden Globe and the Quiet Power of “Hamnet”

It was barely daylight in Killarney when the cheers started, soft and surprised, like someone tapping the rim of a teacup and waiting for the music to begin.

At O’Malley’s Bar on Main Street, a television perched above the dartboard flickered to life and a handful of locals — farmers, a primary school teacher, a woman who’d once run a small guesthouse — drifted in to see the moment their fellow Killarney native, Jessie Buckley, had been crowned Best Actress at the Golden Globes.

“We all knew she’d be brilliant,” said Eamon Fitzgerald, the bar’s owner, wiping a glass with a rag thumbed by years of service. “But there was still that gasp when she won. It felt like watching one of our own climb a hill and plant a flag.”

A performance that crosses oceans

Buckley’s award was not merely personal triumph. It was a recognition of a film that reaches deep into grief, imagination, and history. Hamnet — adapted from Maggie O’Farrell’s bestselling novel — imagines the private life around one of history’s most luminous but enigmatic figures, William Shakespeare, portrayed in the film by Paul Mescal. Buckley, as Agnes, anchors the story with a fierce, tender intelligence that critics and audiences alike have described as incandescent.

“Jessie carries the role like someone carrying a small country,” said a film scholar I spoke with in Dublin, who asked to remain anonymous because she’s mid-revision on a book about contemporary Irish cinema. “She doesn’t just act; she translates a cultural memory into something we can feel in our ribcage.”

From the Kerry hills to the LA red carpet

The win in Los Angeles rippled back across the Atlantic. President Catherine Connolly issued a warm congratulatory statement, and the Taoiseach, Micheál Martin, took to Twitter to call the victory “richly deserved.” Their words mattered not because of ceremony but because they framed Buckley’s achievement as part of a larger national moment — a reminder that storytelling remains one of Ireland’s most persuasive exports.

Maggie O’Farrell, who won the Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2020 for the novel Hamnet, was in Los Angeles when the awards were announced. Speaking to reporters, she captured what many felt: that this film is less a singular auteur’s triumph and more a communal labor of love. “We’re all part of the Hamnet family,” she said. “This recognition is for everyone who breathed into the film.”

Who was nominated (and who went home with what)

Jessie Buckley — Golden Globe winner, Best Actress (Drama), Hamnet
Paul Mescal — nominated for Best Supporting Actor, Hamnet (winner: Stellan Skarsgård for Sentimental Value)
Maggie O’Farrell — nominated for Best Screenplay; director Chloe Zhao also nominated for Best Director (both awards won by One Battle After Another)
Element Pictures and Wild Atlantic Pictures — production companies behind Hamnet

Not every nomination became a trophy — such is the way of awards nights — but nominations themselves are markers, signposts indicating which stories are moving across borders and into conversations.

Inside the press room: tributes and small human things

After the announcement, Paul Mescal, his voice still soft from the rush of the ceremony, didn’t mince words. “Jessie carries grief and love in the same breath,” he said, according to a recording shared by journalists at the event. “She works like she’s carrying a lantern through fog, and she lights the way for everyone else.”

Back in Killarney, jars of turf smoke and the salty tang of the nearby Atlantic seemed to settle into the story as the town reflected on one of its daughters becoming a global symbol of craft and resilience. “She’s always been a quiet force,” said Mary O’Leary, who teaches local history. “We used to see her at the small festivals. She’d be gone for a while, and then suddenly everyone would be talking about her again.”

What Hamnet means beyond awards

Hamnet’s success sits at the intersection of several larger currents. It’s an adaptation that proves literary fiction can find cinematic life without diluting its intricacies. It’s proof that stories anchored in local specificity — in the smell of peat, the cadence of conversation, the way women grieve and protect — can resonate globally. And it’s another chapter in the growing influence of Irish storytelling in international cinema.

People often ask: why do these wins matter beyond the glamour? For one, recognition like the Golden Globe can open doors for funding, distribution, and future projects from smaller studios. Element Pictures and Wild Atlantic Pictures, both credited with producing Hamnet, are emblematic of a creative ecosystem that mixes international ambition with local roots. Such success can mean more crews hired in small towns, more film students inspired, and a stronger pipeline for telling diverse narratives.

Stories as cultural diplomacy

There’s also a diplomatic dimension. Cultural exports — films, music, literature — shape how countries are perceived. An Irish film that travels well tells audiences worldwide not just about Ireland’s past, but about its present: its filmmakers, its actors, its production crews, its marketplaces for ideas. “Soft power is quieter than armies or treaties,” an industry analyst in Cork told me. “It’s a song people remember when they meet you.”

And yet, awards season also forces a conversation about who gets the spotlight. Mescal’s nomination, O’Farrell’s screenplay nod, and Zhao’s director nomination (even as both awards went elsewhere) underscore ongoing debates about representation on and off screen — about whose stories are funded, whose histories are adapted, and who gets to tell them.

What to watch next — and why you should care

If you haven’t seen Hamnet, the film is an invitation: to sit with loss, to consider the slivers of history that give rise to myth, and to listen to performances that ask the audience to do more than look — to feel. If you have seen it, Buckley’s win is a moment to celebrate craft and the invisible teams behind every polished frame.

So where do we go from here? Perhaps the most useful question is this: what stories from your own town, your own family, have power beyond their borders? Who is doing the work of making them visible? That’s what wins like Buckley’s can do best — they remind us that the local and the global are braided together, that a voice raised in a Kerry pub can be heard in a Hollywood press room, and that a lifetime of quiet work sometimes ends in a single, incandescent second on stage.

“It’s not the statue,” Eamon in O’Malley’s said later, turning the television off. “It’s the doors it opens — for Jessie, for our town, for the people who will now try.”

And in that small, stubborn hope, the evening belonged not just to an actress on a stage in Los Angeles, but to a community that has long known how to listen to stories. It belonged, too, to everyone who believes that art can be a bridge between the one and the many.

Minnesota Files Lawsuit Against Trump Administration Over ICE Operations

hanad

January 13, 2026

Minnesota sues Trump administration over ICE operations — Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison said 'thousands of poorly trained' ICE agents had poured into the state

A City in Vigil, a State in Court: Minneapolis After a Death that Changed Everything

The wind that evening carried the smell of melted wax and wet chrysanthemums. A weathered photograph of Renee Nicole Good—smiling, eyes steady—leaned against a traffic cone near a stretch of sidewalk turned suddenly into a communal altar.

People came and stood, some in silence, some talking in low, urgent voices. Candles guttered in the grey air. A woman in a knitted cap pressed her hand to the frame and said, “This could have been any of us.” It was not a slogan. It was a sentence heavy with the kind of recognition that stops conversation and starts protest.

What Happened — and Why Minnesota Is Suing

Last week, in the middle of a city that has trained the nation’s attention in past years for its fault lines—racial, political, social—an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent shot and killed 37-year-old Renee Nicole Good. Her death set off a cascade of grief and fury, and an escalation that moved from the sidewalk memorials to the courthouse steps.

On Monday Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison filed suit against the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), arguing that the federal surge of immigration officers into the state has “made us less safe.” “Thousands of poorly trained, aggressive and armed agents of the state, of the federal government, have rolled into our communities,” Ellison declared at a press conference. “This is, in essence, a federal invasion.”

Ellison’s choice of words is dramatic by design; he and his team say the lawsuit is both a legal move and a public rebuke. The claim alleges that the federal deployment targeted Minnesota not simply for enforcement, but because of its political leadership and diversity—grounds that the state says put it on a collision course with the Constitution and federal law.

Mayor Frey: “Targeted for Our Differences”

Jacob Frey, the mayor of Minneapolis, has also positioned the federal activity as political. “If the goal were simply to look for people who are undocumented, Minneapolis and Saint Paul would not be the place you would go,” he told reporters. “There are countless more people that are undocumented in Florida and Texas and Utah,” he said, pointing at a pattern—Minnesota is Democratic-led; many of those other states are not.

His words land differently depending on who’s listening. For community leaders, they confirm a sense of political targeting. For federal officials, they invite rebuttal. For families like Good’s, such legal chess feels distant. They are left with photos and civic processes and the slow work of grief.

Federal Defense and Local Doubt

From Washington, DHS Secretary Kristi Noem defended the actions of the ICE officer involved, saying the officer acted in self-defense when Ms Good’s car moved toward him. That account was met with immediate skepticism among local officials and community witnesses who say footage from the scene tells another story—one where the vehicle appears to be turning away from the agent, not toward him.

On national television over the weekend, Noem said hundreds more federal agents were en route to Minneapolis as unrest persisted, even as vigils and daily protests multiplied. “We are committed to enforcing the law,” she said. “And our personnel will follow legal standards.”

That language—“enforcing the law”—is itself freighted. Enforcement is a neutral verb that, in practice, skews heavy with decisions about who gets targeted, where resources are placed, and what tactics officers bring to neighborhoods that are already strained by trauma and distrust.

On the Ground: Voices from the Neighborhood

I spoke to a range of people in Minneapolis over two days: a barista who held a candle at the vigil, a Somali community organizer who had feared the arrival of armed agents since the first rumors of a federal surge, and a retired teacher who’d walked from her block to the memorial to “see what our city is becoming.”

“It feels like occupation,” said Malik Ahmed, a shop owner near the memorial whose mother emigrated from Somalia three decades ago. “Not because these are federal agents, but because they came in without any conversation. We weren’t asked what we needed.”

“My cousin is undocumented,” said Sofia Alvarez, 29, who works at a community health clinic. “He’s terrified. He won’t come to get his insulin. That’s not public safety.”

Experts Weigh In

A university-based immigration scholar I spoke with—who asked that her name be withheld to speak candidly—pointed out the broader pattern at work. “Data from groups like the Migration Policy Institute show that the largest populations of undocumented immigrants are concentrated in states such as California, Texas and Florida,” she said. “A federal focus on smaller, more politically liberal states like Minnesota raises questions—both about the selection logic for these operations and about the political calculations behind them.”

She added that federal interventions can have chilling public-health consequences: fewer people accessing medical care, declining attendance at community services, and a fracturing of trust between municipal authorities and residents who fear cooperating with institutions.

Legal Ripples: Illinois and Other States

Minnesota is not alone. Illinois, another Democratic-led state, filed a similar suit against the federal government. The litigation signals a growing trend of states pushing back against federal immigration tactics when those tactics intersect with local governance and civil-rights concerns.

Legal scholars say these cases could define new boundaries in federal-state relations—especially if courts rule that federal enforcement tactics violated constitutional protections or exceeded statutory authority. Yet litigation moves slowly, and for communities living day to day, the reflexive realities of policing and power arrive first.

What This Means Beyond Minneapolis

Read closely, this is not just a Minnesota story. It is a story about how we govern in a polarized era—about the tension between national priorities and local care, about which neighborhoods are deemed worthy of protection, and about how enforcement can compound the very insecurities it claims to remedy.

Consider three questions:

Who decides where enforcement happens, and with what oversight?
How should cities balance cooperation with federal agencies against protecting the trust of marginalized communities?
What mechanisms exist to ensure accountability when actions by one arm of government have lethal consequences in another jurisdiction?

Small Scenes, Large Stakes

At dusk, people continued to gather near Renee’s photograph. A teenage boy handed out hand-lettered flyers calling for a community safety council. An older woman sang a hymn, voice threading through the murmur like a call. In a city that has seen too many such scenes, the ritual of vigil and protest is both a refusal and a request: do better; explain; be human.

One organizer who has been working with immigrant communities for years told me, “We don’t want fewer laws. We want better laws. Laws that respect dignity. Policies that don’t treat people like collateral in a political fight.”

That demand—quiet in its simplicity, radical in its humanity—might be the only consensus left in a conversation otherwise split by strategy and authority. How the courts answer Minnesota’s suit, how the federal government responds to public scrutiny, and how communities weather the aftermath will tell us something about where we stand as a nation.

Where Do We Go From Here?

There are no easy fixes. But there are things to watch for: transparent use-of-force reviews, independent investigations, meaningful dialogue between federal agents and community leaders, and data-driven assessments of where enforcement truly does the most good and the least harm.

As you read this, imagine your own neighborhood under similar strain. What would you want from elected officials? What would make you feel safer: more enforcement, or a different kind of investment—housing, healthcare, community policing? The answer may reveal what kind of country we intend to build: one that punishes and polices, or one that protects and heals.

For now, Minneapolis stands at a crossroads—mourning, litigating, demanding answers. The photograph of Renee remains taped to a lamppost, not merely a relic of grief but a small, persistent beacon asking a large, urgent question: whose safety are we really securing?

Trump Imposes 25% Tariffs on Countries Trading with Iran

hanad

January 13, 2026

Trump announces 25% tariffs on Iran trading partners — US President Donald Trump said the new levies are 'effective immediately'

When the city refused to be quiet

Tehran at dusk is a city of layered sounds: the call to prayer, the rattle of buses, the constant churn of conversation in teahouses. But in recent nights an edge has crept into that familiar soundtrack — the low thrum of chanting, the thud of boots, the sudden crackle of silence where, for stretches of time, the internet simply stops.

Walk through Enghelab — Revolution — Square and you can still see the banners, the carpets of flowers laid where funerals were held, the faces in the crowd alternating between anger and exhaustion. “We are tired of being told our lives are less important than a slogan,” said Leyla, a 34-year-old schoolteacher who asked that only her first name be used. “But we are not going away.”

That determination sits at the center of a geopolitical storm that this week has found new and jolting expression: an unprecedented U.S. proclamation of sweeping trade penalties aimed not only at Iran but, critically, at any nation that keeps doing business with Tehran. The result is a dangerous confluence — a domestic uprising met by a government’s iron hand, and a world that suddenly has more incentives to pick a side.

The tariff that landed without a map

On social media, the message was blunt: a 25% tariff, immediately applied to imports from any country that trades with Iran. The announcement — issued by the U.S. presidency on its own platform — left more questions than answers.

Tariffs are meant to be blunt instruments: a tax at the point of import, paid by the business bringing the goods into the United States. But who would shoulder the cost this time? Would these levies target all of Iran’s trading partners or only a shortlist? On paper, Iran’s biggest economic ties include China, Turkey, the United Arab Emirates and Iraq. In practice, trade webs are messy, indirect and often shielded by intermediaries.

An administration official who spoke on the condition of anonymity summarized the legal blank space: “We’ve issued a policy posture — but the mechanism to enforce it is not yet public. The message is as much political as it is economic.”

That ambiguity matters. If implemented, a 25% levy could ripple across supply chains, hitting American importers and consumers as much as the foreign firms nominally targeted. For countries that maintain fragile economic ties with both Tehran and Washington, the choice to continue business with Iran will suddenly be squeezed by tariffs and geopolitics alike.

What the number could mean in practice

25% tariff: an immediate added cost to goods arriving in the U.S., levied against importers.
Primary trade links: China, Turkey, UAE, Iraq (major partners identified by economic trackers).
Distributional effect: higher consumer prices in the U.S.; firms in friendly countries forced to reassess deals with Tehran.

On the ground: a crackdown and a blackout

The protests themselves began, as so many do, with a single spark — economic distress and a long-simmering discontent over rights and daily hardship. But they have swelled into something more: a nationwide challenge to a system that has governed Iran since 1979.

Human rights monitors, trying to piece together a picture in the dark, paint a bleak portrait. The Norway-based Iran Human Rights group (IHR) says it has so far been able to confirm the deaths of at least 648 people during the unrest, including children. But the group warns that the true toll could be far higher, with some estimates suggesting casualty figures into the thousands and thousands of arrests — figures that are impossible to validate under an almost total internet blackout.

“When they pull the plug on communications, they also pull the plug on accountability,” said Mahmood Amiry-Moghaddam, director of IHR, in a recent statement. “The international community has a duty to protect civilian protesters against mass killing by the Islamic republic.”

Families like Leyla’s know the human face of those numbers. “My cousin disappeared after a protest,” she said, fingers trembling over a cup of tea. “The phone goes dead. The next day you hear a rumor. Then someone posts a photo and the phone goes dead again.”

Silence as strategy

Information blackouts have become a playbook: when governments fear liability, they choke off the flow of data. “Net shutdowns are an effective way to limit the spread of images and eyewitness testimony,” said Dr. Sara Bellamy, an academic who studies digital repression. “They also create deliberate fog, making it much harder for humanitarian groups and journalists to verify what is happening.”

In that fog, both sides fashion narratives. State media has been broadcasting images of large pro-government rallies and smooth traffic flows. The supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei — who has led Iran since 1989 — hailed the pro-government turnout as proof the protest movement had been defeated and warned foreign powers against interference.

Rallies, rhetoric and the building of a siege mentality

In official speeches and public demonstrations, Tehran’s leadership has framed the unrest as part of a multi-front assault: economic pressure, psychological campaigns, military threats, and, increasingly, domestic insurrection described as “terrorism.” Parliament speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf spoke of a “four-front war,” listing the economic, psychological and military pressures, plus the domestic upheaval.

“They want to break our will,” a middle-aged man at a government-organized rally told a state broadcaster. “We will not allow outsiders to tell us what to do.”

The rhetoric is elastic — designed to rally supporters and to justify hard measures. The government has declared a period of national mourning for members of the security forces killed in clashes, and funerals themselves have become sites of state-led messaging.

Diplomacy at the margins and reactions around the world

Amid the internal tumult, the international response has been uneven. European leaders signaled sympathy with protesters and warned of possible sanctions. The European Parliament banned Iranian diplomats from its premises. Ireland’s Taoiseach said he favored additional punitive measures; France’s president condemned what he called indiscriminate violence against demonstrators.

On the other side, Tehran’s allies framed the unrest as foreign meddling. The Kremlin warned against outside interference, arguing that such comments only validated the government’s narrative.

All of this unfolds under the shadow of increasingly personal pressure from the United States — which has not ruled out the use of force while simultaneously saying it prefers diplomacy first. That dual posture is exactly the tension that terrifies many inside Iran: a fear of being both abandoned by the world and crushed by it.

So what now — and what can the world do?

Here are the questions that keep returning: Can the international community protect civilians without fueling further violence? Will sanctions pressure the leadership or further punish ordinary Iranians? How does a global trading order respond to unilateral tariffs that reach beyond target states to ensnare neutral partners?

For people in Tehran, the calculus is immediate and intimate. “We are not asking for anything grand,” said Reza, a delivery driver who lost friends in the protests. “We want to be safe. We want to work without fear.”

For the rest of the world, the moment asks for moral clarity and strategic thought. The tools available — sanctions, diplomacy, public condemnation, civil society support — can be used to defend rights or to deepen isolations that harden regimes. Which path will be chosen? Which lives will be weighed in that decision?

As night falls again over Enghelab Square, the lights come up on flags and faces. The chants — measured, defiant — rise and fall like waves. Somewhere beyond the square an official returns a call. Somewhere else a parent searches for a phone that won’t ring. It is in that interplay of human need and geopolitical design that the story of this moment is being written. Will we read it properly?

Trump to meet opposition leader Machado amid mounting pressure on Venezuela

hanad

January 13, 2026

Machado will not receive Nobel Peace Prize in person — Maria Corina Machado gestures during a protest in Caracas in January

Outside El Rodeo: Waiting, Hope and the Politics of a Prisoner Release

On a dusty stretch of road about 30 kilometres west of Caracas, tens of relatives sleep in the stubborn buzz of fluorescent lights and the occasional bark of a security guard’s radio. Tents, folding chairs and the smell of strong coffee mix with an undercurrent of something harder to name: the brittle hope that, today, their loved ones might finally come home.

“I’ve been here four nights,” Maria Torres tells me, rubbing the rim of a thermos as she speaks. “You learn how to count small mercies—someone who brings breakfast, a guard who looks the other way—but what we really want is what was promised: our sons and daughters.” Her eyes sharpen. “We are not asking for relief, we are asking for justice.”

A White House Meeting and an Unsteady Thaw

In Washington, the White House quietly confirmed that Venezuelan opposition figure María Corina Machado is expected at the White House this week. The announcement lands in the middle of a tense diplomatic recalibration: the United States is reportedly pushing hard for the release of political prisoners as part of a fragile engagement with Venezuela’s current interim leadership.

For months, the dynamic in Caracas has been unusual even by Venezuelan standards. Since a dramatic turn of events in early January, US policy toward Venezuela has been asserted with uncommon gusto, and Washington has alternated between courting opposition leaders and negotiating with acting president Delcy Rodríguez and the officials who remain in power.

“We are trying to ensure that human rights are at the front of any discussions,” a US official close to the talks told me on condition of anonymity. “At the same time, there are strategic calculations — energy, regional stability — that make this a complicated dance.”

The Numbers — What We Know (and What We Don’t)

Details on prisoner releases have been uneven and contested. Caracas has announced that 116 people detained after last year’s disputed election have been freed; rights groups estimate the total number of political detainees ranges from roughly 800 to 1,200. UN experts and opposition interlocutors say only about 50 prisoners have been released so far in a verifiable way.

Official number of reported recent releases: 116 (as announced by Venezuelan authorities)
Rights groups’ estimate of political prisoners: 800–1,200
UN-verified released prisoners so far: approximately 50

The contrast — announced releases versus independent verification — has deepened frustration among families camped outside facilities such as El Rodeo. “We see them whisked out a back door,” says Manuel Mendoza, who drove six hours overnight. “We want to meet our sons in the light, not through a rumor.” His voice is quiet but firm; he says he travelled for the simple, stubborn reason that only a parent can understand: “You don’t leave your child when they need you.”

Local Texture: Ritual, Resilience and the Call to Rome

Venezuela’s civic life blends ritual, faith and politics in ways that are impossible to separate. Small, improvised altars stud the gates of the prison: rosaries, photos, hastily written names on cardboard. A neighbourhood baker brings arepas to the waiting crowd; someone sets up a portable radio that hums with boleros between bursts of anger; a priest from a nearby parish walks among the families blessing hands and listening to stories that have become unbearably long.

María Corina Machado has taken her appeal beyond Caracas. In a private audience at the Vatican, she asked Pope Francis to intercede “for those who remain disappeared and detained,” according to people close to the meeting. “I asked him to look upon Venezuelans as fellow humanity, not a political bargaining chip,” a spokesperson for Machado said.

The symbolism of that trip is not lost on anyone here. Venezuela is a deeply Catholic country where a papal nod can open moral doors that formal diplomacy cannot. But for families at El Rodeo, symbolism is small comfort without a hug, a borrowed shirt, or a chance to see a son walk free.

Oil, Power and Geopolitics: Why Washington Is Watching

At the heart of the diplomatic push is one blunt fact: Venezuela sits atop some of the world’s largest proven oil reserves. For decades, that wealth — measured in the hundreds of billions of barrels in geological surveys — has been both a blessing and a curse. Mismanagement, underinvestment and sanctions have reduced actual production to a fraction of what the fields could yield; industry estimates in recent years put output well under 2 million barrels per day, often nearer to the lower end of that range.

That gap — between geological potential and real production — is the leverage Washington and other external actors are keen to exploit. A reopening of embassies, a thaw in diplomatic relations and assurances about investor security could translate into new investment, new output, and a new constellation of geopolitical ties in the region. Yet many here worry that that calculus will once again prioritize crude over people.

“We cannot be a story of recovery that forgets the disappeared,” says Alejandra Molina, a human-rights lawyer in Caracas. “Economic openings must be accompanied by truth and justice. Otherwise, the cycle repeats.”

Political Cross-Currents: Machado, Urrutia and Rodríguez

The internal political map is jagged. María Corina Machado, long a prominent opposition leader, has seen her role change as international actors shift their bets. Edmundo González Urrutia, who ran for the opposition in the contested election after bureaucratic disqualifications sidelined others, is recognized by many at home and abroad as the democratic victor.

Acting president Delcy Rodríguez — a staunch ally of the previous administration — has nonetheless engaged in negotiations on several fronts. In recent days she has overseen ministerial reshuffles, installing trusted aides in key posts. Some view these moves as an attempt to stabilize the apparatus of the state; others read them as consolidation that could make concessions on rights harder to secure.

“Every hour without progress is a new injury,” Urrutia told a group of family members during a visit earlier this week. “We are measured not by press releases but by the names we restore to their families.”

What Would Meaningful Progress Look Like?

For those on the ground, the answer is pragmatic: transparent, documented releases; access for independent monitors; fast and fair judicial reviews; and a sustained roadmap for those still detained. For international actors, the dilemma is whether to tether engagement to human-rights benchmarks or to pursue a phased rapprochement that could open political space but risk rewarding bad actors.

So what should come first: restoring diplomatic relations that might unlock humanitarian aid and investment, or insisting on immediate and verifiable human-rights steps even if that slows broader negotiations?

There are no easy answers. There are, however, people waiting outside prisons in the dark, counting nights and small mercies. There are families who will remember not the statements of presidents but whether someone came home. And there is a country whose future will be decided in living rooms, in parliaments, and in the slow, often painful work of holding power to account.

Questions to Consider

When the world watches a country of oil fields and deep suffering, what should be the balance between realpolitik and human dignity? And when diplomacy arrives at a prison gate, whose faces should be the priority: the negotiators at the table, or the families in the cold?

As the talks continue and the number of released prisoners ticks slowly upward, one thing is clear: any durable solution must center the people whose lives have been paused by detention. Otherwise, the next night outside El Rodeo will look much like the last.

Irishman Wrongfully Detained in Iran Says Locals Live in Fear

hanad

January 12, 2026

Irish man wrongly imprisoned in Iran says 'people scared' — Bernard Phelan was held in Iran after being accused of providing information to an enemy country in 2022

Seven Months Behind Bars, a Survivor Returns with a Simple Plea: Watch Iran’s People

The man who walked back into Dublin from an ordeal in Iran carries more than a passport and a battered suitcase. He carries a story that smells of diesel and tea, of carpet dust and hospital antiseptic — a story about a country awake with anger and a regime sharpening its teeth.

Bernard Phelan spent seven months in Iranian custody after being accused of passing information to a foreign power. He was held in 2022, arrested in October and emerged after more than 200 days behind bars — a stretch of time that left him bruised, bewildered and physically marked by a stroke he now believes was triggered by post‑traumatic stress.

“They used any excuse,” he told me, voice steady but winded by memory. “You learn quickly that fear is a currency there. You trade it, you hoard it, and sometimes it buys you nothing at all.”

On the Streets, a Different Kind of Fear — and Defiance

When Phelan speaks of the protests swelling across Iran, his tone tilts between sorrow and a cautious kind of hope. He remembers being tangled in earlier demonstrations in Tabriz — the city’s great bazaar a tangle of voices, merchants, and the smell of freshly roasted tea — and says what’s happening now feels larger, fouler, more combustible.

“People are burning cars and government buildings,” he said. “It’s not just shouting anymore. It’s an eruption of all the anger that’s been bottled up for years.”

That anger has many sources. A rising cost of living — bread, fuel, housing — has bled into a deeper contempt for the Revolutionary Guards, whose sprawling business interests in energy, construction and telecommunications have been estimated by analysts to be worth billions. For many Iranians, the Guards are less a military force than a commercial empire and an omnipresent political instrument.

Human rights organizations have recorded a sharp uptick in arrests and executions in recent years. Rights groups say hundreds were executed last year alone, and thousands more were detained during crackdowns on dissent. Those figures are not just numbers; they are the bones of personal tragedies that ripple through families and neighborhoods.

Voices from the Ground

“People here are living on the edge,” said Laleh, a shopkeeper in Tabriz who asked that only her first name be used. “If the price of flour rises, a family’s dinner changes. If the phone lines are cut, we can’t organize. The Guards control everything. My nephew says he is afraid to post a poem on social media.”

A young protester in Tehran, wrapped in a wool coat against a damp night, told me: “We are tired of promises and of the same faces. We don’t want them to replace one leader with another puppet. We want to be seen.” His eyes glittered with defiance and exhaustion in equal measure.

Power, Profit, and the Price Paid by Ordinary People

The Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC) is not merely a military force; in Iran’s political economy it functions as a commercial super‑entity. From oil pipelines to mobile networks, the IRGC and its affiliates hold stakes that analysts say give them leverage over the country’s wealth and its future. That concentration of power means protests over bread quickly become protests over who controls the bread ovens.

“When economic grievance intersects with concentrated power, you get politics that is both social and existential,” explains Dr. Miriam Khosravi, an analyst who studies Iran’s political economy. “The IRGC’s financial footprint means the costs of dissent are commercial as well as personal. People who wince at prices are also confronting an oligarchy that enriches itself with impunity.”

Across the diaspora, governments are watching closely. The European Union has considered sanctions in response to crackdowns on demonstrators, while international human rights organizations continue to document abuses. Sanctions are often pitched as both a moral rebuke and a lever for change — but they can also have complex, sometimes unintended consequences for ordinary citizens.

What Would Change Look Like?

Phelan is blunt about his doubts. “I don’t know what happens if the supreme leader goes,” he said. “The Guards who arrested me are potent. Will they give up their businesses? Who would fill the gap? A puppet? A technocrat? A violent vacuum?”

He’s not alone in his uncertainty. Revolutions and uprisings are messy: sometimes they topple figures and rearrange the furniture; sometimes they extinguish one flame and light another. Iran’s history since 1979 is testament to both possibilities — sweeping social change and the persistence of powerful institutions.

Recovery and a Complicated Love for a Country

Phelan’s recovery has been slow and stubborn. The stroke at the end of August last year — which doctors linked to severe psychological stress — left him relearning small freedoms, like the ability to drive. “I drove yesterday for the first time since August,” he said with a grin that betrayed a weariness deeper than the grin. “I feel positive about the situation — not just about me, but about the people.”

He insists his love for Iran is undimmed. He talks about tea houses where conversations run like rivers, about poets quoted in market stalls, about the layers of Persian history folded into every ruined tile. “Iran is a fantastic place — culturally, historically, intellectually,” he said. “It has enormous potential if it shakes off the regime that’s squeezing it.”

Why This Matters to the World

These protests are not only an Iranian story. They touch on global themes: the long shadow of authoritarianism, the power of state‑affiliated interests to shape economies, the role of diaspora communities in demanding accountability, and the ethics of foreign governments who balance human rights against geopolitical strategy.

When citizens take to the streets because they can no longer afford staples or believe they cannot breathe under political pressure, the alarm crosses borders. The question becomes: how should the international community respond in ways that support human dignity without deepening hardship?

Millions of Iranians live in urban centers where inflation bites hardest.
Rights monitors report hundreds of executions and thousands of arrests in recent years.
Analysts estimate IRGC‑linked businesses control assets worth many billions, affecting everyday life and political decisions.

Where Do We Go From Here?

There are no simple answers, only hard choices. Will protest morph into reform, or will entrenched power find new ways to survive? Can international pressure be calibrated to protect civilians rather than punish them? And perhaps most importantly: what do we owe the people who, like Phelan, return home carrying stories that ask us to look, to care, to act?

Listen to their voices. Read their poetry. Watch the markets and the mosques and the empty chairs at family tables. The images are easy to scroll past; the histories are not. What would you do if your neighbor’s bread cost a month’s rent? What would you risk to be seen?

Phelan’s final words linger: “People are very afraid — and very brave. Watch them. Don’t look away.”

Swiss court extends custody of bar owner following fatal blaze

hanad

January 12, 2026

Swiss court keeps bar owner in custody after deadly fire — Jacques Moretti and his wife Jessica Moretti

Crans-Montana’s New Year: A Night That Turned from Celebration to Tragedy

The bells of the Alps had barely rung midnight when a routine celebration in a mountain resort bar in Crans-Montana turned into a wound that will not quickly heal. On New Year’s Day, a blaze tore through a packed basement venue, killing 40 people and leaving a tight-knit community — and a nation — asking how a night of music and champagne ended in such ruin.

In the days since, the legal machinery of the Valais canton began to turn. A Swiss court has ordered the provisional detention of one of the bar’s co-owners, 44-year-old Jacques Moretti, for an initial three-month period — a measure that can be adjusted if precautions like a security deposit are offered to offset any risk of flight, the court said. Prosecutors have launched a criminal investigation that lists manslaughter by negligence, bodily harm by negligence and arson by negligence among the possible charges.

“We will cooperate fully”

Outside the courthouse, Jacques’s wife, Jessica Moretti, spoke with the sort of weary composure only weeks of media glare and private mourning can produce. “This will not prevent us from cooperating,” she told reporters. “We are shattered. We have nothing to hide, and we will answer every question.”

“This authority has taken into account the unconditional commitment of Jessica Moretti and her husband not to evade the legal proceedings they will be facing together,” a court statement added — a phrase that echoed Jessica’s determination but did not sway the judge from ordering custody for the time being.

From Sparkler to Inferno: What Happened in the Basement

Investigators say the blaze likely began when celebratory sparklers — the handheld, crackling kind often used to ring in New Year’s — ignited acoustic soundproofing foam attached to the ceiling of the bar’s basement. That combination is tragically familiar to fire experts: decorative pyrotechnics and highly flammable foam are a dangerous pairing.

“When certain foams burn, they don’t just go up in flames — they release a cocktail of toxic gases,” said Dr. Sophie Keller, a fire-safety engineer at a Swiss technical university. “Polyurethane-based acoustic foam can produce hydrogen cyanide and massive amounts of carbon monoxide. People can be overcome in seconds, especially in a crowded, poorly ventilated basement.”

First responders arriving at the scene described a fast-moving, choking fire. Questions are now being asked about the club’s emergency preparedness: Were fire extinguishers present and accessible? Were fire exits clearly marked and unobstructed? Did the venue comply with local building codes? Those are among the details prosecutors are working to establish.

What the law says — and what the community feels

Swiss law enshrines the presumption of innocence until a final conviction is pronounced, a legal cornerstone stressed by officials while public anguish simmers. Still, the decision to detain a co-owner is an unmistakable sign that authorities view the incident as more than an accident until proven otherwise.

“We must balance respect for legal rights with the urgency of this investigation,” said an unnamed Valais prosecutor in an official briefing. “There are serious questions of negligence that must be answered. Detention at this stage is a tool to secure the process.”

Outside the realm of courtrooms and indictments, the town of Crans-Montana — an alpine resort usually known for ski slopes, sun-drenched terraces, and après-ski revelry — has folded into grief. Scattered around a makeshift memorial outside the charred venue, candles gutter in alpine wind. Bouquets of Edelweiss and roses, handwritten messages in French, German, Italian and English, tell of lost lives and halted futures.

“He was a great friend. We danced together last summer…. I can’t believe he is gone,” said Marc, 31, a ski instructor who left a scarf at the memorial. His voice cracked. “Why were there sparklers? Why foam on the ceiling?”

Holding the Line: Safety, Regulation and Accountability

This tragedy raises painful, universal questions about nightlife safety and regulatory oversight. Nightclubs, bars and event spaces worldwide have learned — often the hard way — that a single negligent element can cascade into catastrophe.

Globally, catastrophic nightspot fires have prompted stricter regulations. The 2003 Station Nightclub fire in the United States, which killed 100 people, led to a major reevaluation of pyrotechnic use and exit access rules.
In Argentina, the 2004 República Cromañón tragedy, which killed nearly 200 people, triggered national reforms around capacity limits, permits and enforcement.

Swiss cantons have authority over building and safety inspections, and critics are already asking whether regulations were enforced consistently in Crans-Montana. Inspectors will now comb through licensing paperwork, maintenance logs, and eyewitness testimony. Video from smartphones and CCTV could prove decisive in reconstructing the timeline of the fire and the speed with which staff or patrons tried to escape.

Voices from the town

Locals speak with a mixture of sorrow and searching anger. “We trust our hosts to keep us safe,” said Elodie, who runs a pastry shop near the resort’s main square. “People come here to celebrate life. To think that a night could end like this — it will change how we look at every party.”

Others point to systemic issues: short-staffed inspections, corners cut for profit, or a culture that downplays risk. “We must ask if safety was sacrificed for atmosphere,” said Tomasz Novak, a veteran fire inspector from a neighboring canton. “It’s not about blaming the hospitality industry wholesale. It’s about enforcing standards that save lives.”

Grief, Questions, and the Long Road Ahead

There are practical, immediate concerns — the criminal process, possible charges and eventual trials — and there are deeper, human ones. Families are planning funerals. Friends are sifting through photos and voicemail. The people who were at the bar that night, some injured, many terrified, will relive the moment in nightmares and in courtrooms.

The Morettis have said they are devastated and will cooperate with investigators. Whether that cooperation, combined with financial guarantees or travel restrictions, will be enough to see Jacques Moretti released from custody remains to be seen. For now, the court has opted for a cautious approach, keeping him detained while the inquiry continues.

As the world watches, this Alpine town faces the same questions cities and villages have faced after other terrible fires: How do we balance celebration with safety? How do we translate sorrow into policy that prevents recurrence? And who will be held responsible when regulations fail?

What would you change about how public venues are regulated in your community? How do we honor those we’ve lost while making sure their deaths force meaningful reform? These are not easy questions. They are necessary ones.

For Crans-Montana, for the families and friends of the 40 people killed, and for the survivors carrying physical and invisible scars, the answers cannot come soon enough. In the meantime, the memorial grows, the legal case moves forward, and a town that salutes the mountains now mourns in their shadow.

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Under the Midnight Sun: Why Greenland Has Suddenly Become the World’s Most Contested Island

Why a Meeting Matters

The numbers that explain the fuss

Voices from the Ice

The Washington Angle

Is this realism—or revanchism?

What’s at Stake

A Local Perspective

Where Do We Go From Here?

Further Reading and Context

When Killarney Applauded in Los Angeles: Jessie Buckley’s Golden Globe and the Quiet Power of “Hamnet”

A performance that crosses oceans

From the Kerry hills to the LA red carpet

Who was nominated (and who went home with what)

Inside the press room: tributes and small human things

What Hamnet means beyond awards

Stories as cultural diplomacy

What to watch next — and why you should care

A City in Vigil, a State in Court: Minneapolis After a Death that Changed Everything

What Happened — and Why Minnesota Is Suing

Mayor Frey: “Targeted for Our Differences”

Federal Defense and Local Doubt

On the Ground: Voices from the Neighborhood

Experts Weigh In

Legal Ripples: Illinois and Other States

What This Means Beyond Minneapolis

Small Scenes, Large Stakes

Where Do We Go From Here?

When the city refused to be quiet

The tariff that landed without a map

What the number could mean in practice

On the ground: a crackdown and a blackout

Silence as strategy

Rallies, rhetoric and the building of a siege mentality

Diplomacy at the margins and reactions around the world

So what now — and what can the world do?

Outside El Rodeo: Waiting, Hope and the Politics of a Prisoner Release

A White House Meeting and an Unsteady Thaw

The Numbers — What We Know (and What We Don’t)

Local Texture: Ritual, Resilience and the Call to Rome

Oil, Power and Geopolitics: Why Washington Is Watching

Political Cross-Currents: Machado, Urrutia and Rodríguez

What Would Meaningful Progress Look Like?

Questions to Consider

Seven Months Behind Bars, a Survivor Returns with a Simple Plea: Watch Iran’s People

On the Streets, a Different Kind of Fear — and Defiance

Voices from the Ground

Power, Profit, and the Price Paid by Ordinary People

What Would Change Look Like?

Recovery and a Complicated Love for a Country

Why This Matters to the World

Where Do We Go From Here?

Crans-Montana’s New Year: A Night That Turned from Celebration to Tragedy

“We will cooperate fully”

From Sparkler to Inferno: What Happened in the Basement

What the law says — and what the community feels

Holding the Line: Safety, Regulation and Accountability

Voices from the town

Grief, Questions, and the Long Road Ahead