Hamas urges immediate hostage-for-prisoner exchange ahead of negotiations

October 5, 2025

Hamas calls for swift hostage-prisoner swap before talks — Palestinians wait with empty pots to receive hot meals distributed by charity organizations in the al-Mawasi area

Two Years On: A Pause, a Promise, and the Heavy Air Above Gaza

The resort lights of Sharm El-Sheikh were never meant to be a backdrop for hostage negotiations and the thin, brittle hope of families who’ve been waiting for answers for nearly two years.

And yet there, on the Sinai coastline, diplomats and negotiators gathered this week — a motley of envoys, aides, and officials — carrying the slender thread that could knit a fragile ceasefire into being: a plan to swap prisoners for hostages, to halt the bombing at last, and to begin the long, bruised business of recovery.

“This is a real opportunity to stop the killing and to begin returning people to their families,” an Egyptian foreign ministry official told reporters, their voice measured but urgent. “We will do everything we can to keep the talks focused on that narrow, necessary goal.”

What is on the table

At the heart of the discussions lies a stark arithmetic of suffering: militants seized 251 hostages during the October 7, 2023 attack; Israeli authorities say 47 remain in Gaza and that 25 of the captives are believed dead. Gaza’s health authorities put the Palestinian death toll from Israel’s campaign at a staggering 67,139 — a figure the territory’s Hamas-run ministry reports and which the United Nations treats as a key measure of the human cost.

Under the roadmap pushed by the United States, the proposed exchange is dramatic in scale: Israel would free 250 Palestinian prisoners serving life sentences and more than 1,700 detainees arrested in Gaza since the war began, in return for the remaining hostages. President Donald Trump, who helped craft the proposal, has promised to oversee a post-war transition — a technocratic authority that would manage Gaza’s administration while disarming Hamas.

“There can’t be a war going on in the middle of it,” a U.S. politician said on television, urging Israel to pause strikes to make the swap possible. “You can’t release hostages in the middle of strikes, so the strikes will have to stop.” Whether the pause comes and holds is the million-dollar question.

On the ground in Gaza: the lives between the lines

Walking the southern streets of Gaza City — or what remains of them — you see how a protracted war etches itself into the everyday. Markets are shrunken to a few stalls that sell what remains of fresh produce. The scent of za’atar and coffee mixes strangely with the acrid trace of smoke. Tents cluster where apartment towers once rose; whole families huddle in hallways meant for passing, not living.

“The decision to occupy Gaza, the collapse of multistorey buildings, and the intensity of IDF operations have forced nearly 900,000 people to the south,” Israel’s defence minister said, painting one picture of displacement and pressure. United Nations assessments put the pre-assault population of the territory at around one million — a statistic that underscores how many have been uprooted from their homes.

“There has been a noticeable decrease in the number of air strikes since last night. Tanks and military vehicles have pulled back slightly,” said Muin Abu Rajab, 40, who lives in the Al-Rimal neighbourhood. “But I believe this is a tactical move, not a withdrawal. We are tired of hopes that evaporate.”

This is the rhythm of life now: hopeful pauses and sudden ruptures. A child learning to count by the number of days since the last airstrike. A mother stitching newborn clothes in the shadow of a crumbled pharmacy. The human stories add up, unimaginable in their totality.

The human tally

Numbers matter because they are shorthand for loss: 1,219 people were killed in the October 7 attack, according to an AFP tally of Israeli official figures. Israel says dozens of hostages remain. Gaza’s health ministry reports tens of thousands of Palestinian fatalities. These figures are contested, verified imperfectly, and painful in any form.

“We want the prisoner exchange to happen quickly so Israel has no excuse to continue the war,” said Ahmad Barbakh from Al-Mawasi. His words are less a demand than a plea — the language of people desperate to put an end to a conflict that has hollowed out everyday life.

Negotiations, brinkmanship, and the politics of a ceasefire

Sharm El-Sheikh has seen peace talks before. It is a place of palm-lined avenues and hotels that cater to European tourists; now it hosts tense delegations and hurried bilateral meetings. Israel’s delegation arrived with cautious optimism, with Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu saying he hoped to see hostages freed “within days.” Hamas representatives, escorted into Cairo, insisted on an immediate start to the exchange and on having a voice in Gaza’s future — an insistence at odds with the U.S. roadmap, which stipulates that Hamas should play no role in post-war governance.

“Hamas is very keen to reach an agreement to end the war and immediately begin the prisoner exchange process in accordance with the field conditions,” a senior Hamas official said, speaking on condition of anonymity. That language hints at a willingness to compromise on sequence while guarding core political positions.

Conversely, U.S. and Israeli leaders have drawn hard lines. President Trump warned of “complete obliteration” if Hamas stays in power and urged the group not to delay. “When Hamas confirms, the ceasefire will be immediately effective, the hostages and prisoner exchange will begin,” he wrote online, all caps and urgency.

Who is mediating?

Egypt is the host and primary mediator, playing a role it has filled in previous rounds.
The White House said President Trump dispatched envoys — including Jared Kushner — to help shepherd the talks.
Other foreign ministers around the region and beyond have framed this window as a “real opportunity” for a sustainable pause in fighting.

The wider questions: justice, security, and rebuilding trust

Ask yourself: what does a sustainable ceasefire look like? Is it simply a pause in violence, a diplomatic freeze-frame to be broken again, or can it be the first stitch in a political fabric that holds?

Disarmament, the transfer of authority, accountability for atrocities, reconstruction funding, and the safe return of displaced people — these are not technical details. They are moral decisions. They require the kind of international patience and resources that have been in short supply for years.

“You can’t rebuild homes without rebuilding trust,” said Dr. Lina Haddad, a Gaza-born humanitarian specialist now working with an international NGO. “Reconstruction is more than concrete and steel. It is education, health care, jobs, and, crucially, a credible political horizon. Without that, walls will rise where bridges should be.”

For the neighbors, the stakes are regional. A stalled deal could inflame tensions beyond Gaza. A swift, well-managed exchange could create breathing room for diplomacy elsewhere in the Middle East. For ordinary people in Gaza and Israel, though, the stakes are heartbreakingly local: a son returned home, a grandmother spared one more unbearable funeral, a child allowed to sleep at night.

What now?

Negotiators are racing against anniversaries and fatigue. Talks slated to start on the eve of the second anniversary of the October 7 attack are a reminder that time itself has become a pressure cooker. For people in Gaza and for Israelis whose relatives remain in captivity, each passing day is both countdown and torment.

Will the guns fall silent long enough for human beings to step back from the brink? Will promises be kept, and will exchanges be conducted with the dignity and safeguards families demand? These are the questions now traveling across the Red Sea to a seaside resort repurposed overnight as a forum of urgent mediation.

Perhaps the right question to end with is this: if you had to choose between a ceasefire today and an uncertain political future, which would you take? Families on both sides have already answered that question with their absence. The rest of us must decide how loudly to insist that their futures matter.

Populist leader Andrej Babis clinches victory in Czech election

hanad

October 5, 2025

Populist Babis secures Czech election win — Andrej Babis told reporters that his party is pro-Europe and pro-NATO

After the Cheers: What Andrej Babiš’s Win Means for the Czech Republic — and for Europe

On a cool Prague evening, the crowd outside the Forum Karlín swelled like a sea of navy caps. “Strong Czechia” baseball hats bobbed in the lights, a deliberately familiar echo of international populist branding. Inside, billionaire-turned-politician Andrej Babiš stepped up to the microphone and, with a mixture of relief and brio, announced what pollsters had already whispered all day: his ANO movement had emerged top of the ballot in the parliamentary election.

The numbers were stark and simple enough to summarize a complicated next chapter: with 99% of districts counted ANO led with 34.7% of the vote, while the centre-right coalition Spolu trailed at 23.2%. Projections put ANO at roughly 80 seats in the 200-seat lower house — a clear victory, yet one shy of an absolute majority. The incumbent prime minister, Petr Fiala, conceded. President Petr Pavel is now set to begin consultations to name the next government.

Promises that Pulled Voters In

Babiš’s pitch during the campaign was elemental and emotional: faster growth, higher wages and pensions, lower taxes, and targeted tax discounts for students and young families. In an electorate that has felt the squeeze of the past few years — inflationary shocks, rising energy bills, and stagnant real incomes — those promises land like an embrace.

“We want practical help,” said Martina Kovaříková, 34, who runs a small café in Brno. “When I wake up each day, I’m thinking about how to keep staff and pay rent, not about geopolitics. If someone says, ‘We will ease that,’ people listen.”

That listening was visible in the election returns. Many voters are weary of austerity rhetoric and are hungry for tangible relief. ANO’s economic pledges, though costly, echoed a broader European mood: a tilt back toward social support and away from the fiscal discipline that has dominated some capitals since the eurozone crisis.

Local Color: Why This Felt Like a Turning Point

In small towns outside Prague and Moravia, the election felt personal. At a market stall in Olomouc, an elderly woman wrapped a waxed apple in one hand and said, “We want dignity in our pensions. I didn’t vote for anyone before, but this time I did.”

Factory towns, too, reported a similar sentiment. “People are hungry for stability,” said Lukáš Dvořák, a union representative at a steel plant in Ostrava. “After years of price spikes, promises of higher wages matter — even if you suspect they may not pass unchanged into law.”

The Political Tightrope: A Win With Big Buts

Victory on election day, however, is just the beginning. Babiš faces a thicket of legal and political obstacles before a comfortable premiership could become reality.

He remains the owner — at least in public perception — of Agrofert, a sprawling chemicals and food conglomerate that has loomed over Czech business and politics for years. Conflict-of-interest rules, designed to prevent state power from tangling with private wealth, stand ready to test his ability to lead without ceding influence. On top of that, long-running fraud charges tied to the alleged misappropriation of an EU subsidy from over a decade ago still hang over his head, charges he has consistently denied.

“It’s not just about the votes; it’s about institutions,” said Jana Havel, a constitutional law professor at Charles University. “European legal norms and domestic anti-corruption frameworks will be central in the weeks ahead. The president has a role to play in gauging who can form a government without undermining the rule of law.”

Coalition Math and Compromises

With ANO short of a majority, conversation shifted quickly to partners and conditional support. Babiš said he would seek to govern alone but was open to talks. He has signalled an openness to discussions with smaller parties like the Motorists (opponents of the EU’s green policies) and the anti-EU, anti-NATO SPD — parties with starker, more divisive agendas.

Petr Macinka, leader of the Motorists, told a local station, “We will negotiate for common-sense policies — lower regulatory burdens and protection for drivers.” Radim Fiala, deputy chairman of SPD, added on television, “Our aim was to end the Fiala government. Supporting a minority ANO cabinet would meet that goal.”

But the more extreme pro-Russian lists underperformed compared with expectations. SPD captured just 7.8% and a resurgent far-left bloc built around the Communist Party failed to cross the 5% threshold required for parliamentary representation — a sign that fringe politics had limits on Election Day, even amid widespread disenchantment.

Europe, NATO, and the Razor’s Edge of Policy

Babiš has been an ideological chameleon: from once wanting to join the euro to his current euroscepticism; from a mainstream centrist to a figure aligned with Viktor Orbán’s illiberal camp in Budapest. He has publicly signalled support for President Donald Trump’s worldview and has allied with far-right voices in the European Parliament under the “Patriots for Europe” banner.

Yet he insists he will not pull the Czech Republic out of the EU or NATO. “We want to save Europe,” he told reporters on election night, adding that his party is “clearly pro-European and pro-NATO.” Still, there are clear markers of friction: he has opposed some European Parliament votes supporting Kyiv and has said he would end the “Czech initiative” — a coordinated effort that purchased ammunition for Ukraine with Western donor funding.

“This election tests Europe’s capacity to keep unity in the face of domestic discontent,” said Dr. Michael Rosenberg, a Brussels-based analyst on Central European politics. “If Prague shifts policy on Ukraine, even in small ways, it could ripple across EU cohesion on sanctions, security assistance, and solidarity.”

Questions That Go Beyond Prague

What should we read into a victory that mixes populist rhetoric with pragmatic promises? Is this the start of a broader swing in Central Europe, or a local reaction to economic strain? The answers matter for migration policy debates, climate ambition, and NATO’s eastern flank.

Consider the human scale: younger families who hope to buy a flat and older citizens worried about their pensions. These are the voters who propelled ANO forward. The policy trade-offs now — will promises be fiscally responsible or politically expedient? — will determine how that victory ages.

“We want respect,” said Miroslav Beneš, a 58-year-old electrician from Pilsen. “We want a government that looks after ordinary people. If Babiš can do that, we’ll support him. If not, what else do we have?”

What Comes Next

In the coming days President Pavel will meet party leaders to decide who gets the first shot at forming a government. Expect intense negotiations, legal scrutiny, and headlines that will stretch beyond the Czech borders. The choices made in Prague will reverberate through Brussels and NATO capitals, where officials will be watching to see if a traditional partner holds to commitments on security and European unity.

For citizens here, and for observers abroad, the real question is less about campaign slogans and more about outcomes: Will pledges of higher wages and lower taxes translate into stronger livelihoods, or into fiscal strain and deepened political polarization? Will Czech democracy strengthen through accountability, or fray under the pressure of concentrated wealth and populist momentum?

For a nation of about 10.5 million, tucked in the heart of Europe, the stakes feel both intimate and continental. As Prague settles from celebration into the hard work of coalition-building, the world watches: not merely for the fate of one government, but for clues about the trajectory of European politics in an era of economic anxiety and geopolitical stress.

What do you think — is this a corrective that will restore people’s faith in politics, or the beginning of a recalibration with deeper consequences? Pull up a chair. The debate has only just begun.

Trump Says Israel Agrees to Gaza Pullback Line

hanad

October 5, 2025

Trump says Israel has agreed to withdrawal line from Gaza — A view of destruction following an Israeli attack on Gaza City yesterday

A Fragile Breath: Diplomacy, Bombs and the Possibility of a Ceasefire in Gaza

They cheered beneath a hot, dust-streaked sky when the message flashed across cracked phone screens in Gaza’s tent camps: a tentative accord, a pathway to the release of hostages, an “initial withdrawal line” proposed by an outsider who has become, for better or worse, a central character in the drama.

US President Donald Trump posted that Israel had agreed to an initial withdrawal position for Gaza and that the line had been shared with Hamas. “When Hamas confirms,” he wrote, “a ceasefire will be effective immediately and a prisoner exchange will begin.” The words landed like a promise and a dare at once.

Negotiators on the move — and the clock ticking

Within hours Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said he had dispatched negotiators to Cairo to work through technicalities, and Cairo confirmed it would host Hamas representatives to hash out the exchange and “ground conditions.” The White House, meanwhile, sent two envoys — Jared Kushner and Steve Witkoff — to press the talks.

“We have to get them home,” Mr Netanyahu told the nation, speaking of the Israelis seized in the October attacks. “I instructed negotiators to finalize this. Hamas will be disarmed — either diplomatically via this plan, or militarily by us.”

Hamas issued a terse statement: it had approved the release of all hostages — living and remains — according to the exchange formula in Mr Trump’s proposal. The announcement, celebrated in some tents with cries of “Allahu akbar!”, was immediately hailed by President Trump as evidence that the militant group was “ready for a lasting PEACE.” He urged Israel to halt its bombardment; he warned Hamas to “move quickly” or “all bets will be off.”

On the ground, the violence did not pause

Celebration and fear sat side by side. While negotiators prepared their next steps, the rockets, shells and jets did not stop. Gaza’s civil defence agency — the rescue body operating under Hamas authority — reported dozens killed in strikes that continued despite the diplomatic momentum. “The death toll from the ongoing Israeli bombardment since dawn today stands at 57, including 40 in Gaza City alone,” Mahmud Bassal, a spokesman, said. Other reports and summaries during the day put the figure higher; the fog of war makes precise counts agonizingly difficult.

“Israel has actually escalated its attacks since the call for a pause,” said Mahmud Al-Ghazi, 39, who lives in the Al-Rimal neighbourhood with his family. “Who will stop Israel now? We need the negotiations to move faster to stop this genocide and the ongoing bloodshed.”

A medic in a Gaza field hospital, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, described the surreal tempo: “One minute, families are crying with hope that their children might return, the next we are running into the resuscitation tent. Hope and grief are woven together here — it’s unbearable.”

Numbers that refuse to be neutral

To understand the scale of this crisis is to live with numbers that become names. The October 7 attack by Hamas that set this terrible chain of events in motion killed 1,219 people in Israel, according to AFP’s tally of official figures — most of them civilians. In Gaza, the toll reported by the territory’s health ministry — a body the United Nations treats as a primary source in the enclave — has surpassed 67,000 dead since Israel’s retaliatory offensive began. The health ministry’s figures do not make a clear split between combatants and civilians; they do, however, note that more than half of the dead are women and children.

These are not abstractions. Each number is a small universe of loss: a child who will not grow, a healer gone, a home turned into rubble. And they are central to a negotiation that seeks to trade human lives for terms, turn the unthinkable into a ledger.

Who governs Gaza after the guns fall silent?

The proposal on the table carries a controversial clause: it bars Hamas and other armed factions from playing any role in the governance of Gaza after the ceasefire. Instead, administration would be handed to a technocratic body overseen by a transitional authority — the plan even suggests a role for President Trump himself.

For many Palestinians, the idea that their future might be mapped out by outsiders — or that their political representatives would be sidelined — is galling. “Who decides what is best for us, if not Palestinians?” asked Jamila al-Sayyid, 24, from Al-Zeitoun. “Trump announced a ceasefire. We cheered, but the warplanes did not stop.”

There are global implications to such a blueprint. Can external actors impose governance structures in the wake of war and expect legitimacy? What does disarmament mean when armed groups are embedded within the civilian fabric of a besieged territory? These questions have echoes in conflicts from Libya to Afghanistan and speak to a broader debate about sovereignty, agency and reconstruction after catastrophe.

Voices from beyond the battlefield

International reactions were swift. Ireland’s Taoiseach Micheál Martin described Hamas’s announcement as “very welcome news” for families waiting almost two years for the return of loved ones and urged an immediate ceasefire and surge of humanitarian aid. Tánaiste and Foreign Minister Simon Harris called for the bombing to stop and for assistance to flow into Gaza, stressing Ireland’s support for a two-state solution as the only way to durable peace.

In Tel Aviv, thousands gathered to press for a deal — not out of simple optimism, but out of exhaustion. “We want our people back,” said one demonstrator, a mother clutching a photograph of a son still missing. “Not a theatrical victory. Not a slow-motion negotiation. Bring them home.”

What happens next?

Negotiators were bound for Cairo to finalize “technical details,” diplomats said. Hamas had conditionally signaled acceptance of the terms; Israel had agreed to an initial withdrawal line. But until signatures appear and the first hostages walk free, the scene is precarious.

Can a ceasefire take hold amid continued strikes? Will aid reach the people lined up with empty buckets outside makeshift kitchens? Can a political architecture crafted by external powers win acceptance among a population that has been battered, displaced and humiliated?

These are not academic questions. They are the immediate concerns of families in Gaza’s tented camps, of Israelis who have watched their towns scarred, and of global citizens watching satellite images and counting the dead. They also force a larger reckoning: when war ends, who measures justice? Who rebuilds trust?

Looking forward, cautiously

For now, the world waits on a few fragile verbs — confirm, cease, exchange. Each carries a cascade of consequences. If Hamas confirms the deal, the prospect of hostages returning during the upcoming Sukkot holiday will be a rare, wrenching relief for families on both sides. If talks falter, the drumbeat of violence may simply resume, louder and more destructive.

What would you call plausible in such a moment? A permanent peace? A temporary respite? Or another chapter in a long, sorrowful cycle?

As negotiators shuttle between capitals and tents, remember that diplomacy is not merely a set of signed papers. It is human work — the art of turning outrage into terms people can live with, of matching grief with guarantees and of stitching together societies that have been torn apart. Whether this effort succeeds will depend as much on the care taken to protect civilians, deliver aid and recognize dignity, as it does on lines on a map or on promises posted to social media.

For now, the region breathes — briefly, anxiously — on the promise that, this time, the pause might hold long enough for people to come home.

Nationalist Sanae Takaichi Poised to Become Japan’s First Woman Prime Minister

hanad

October 5, 2025

Nationalist Takaichi set to be Japan's first female PM — Sanae Takaich speaks following the party's leadership election at the its headquarters in Tokyo

When the old guard crowned a new face: Japan at a crossroads

On an autumn evening in Tokyo, the fluorescent lights of the Liberal Democratic Party headquarters hummed like a city that never quite sleeps. Supporters and staffers clustered around television screens, phones pressed to ears, eyes tracking the number that would decide the direction of a nation long guided by cautious continuity. When the announcement came — Sanae Takaichi had been chosen as the LDP’s leader — the room released a collective exhale: a mixture of triumph, trepidation and, for some, a dawning hope.

Takaichi, 64, now stands poised to become Japan’s first-ever female prime minister should she win the parliamentary confirmation vote set for 15 October. It is a milestone that carries both symbolic weight and concrete consequences for a country wrestling with persistent economic anxiety, aging demographics, geographic tensions, and a restive younger generation.

Who is Sanae Takaichi — and what does she want?

To understand the moment, picture Takaichi as a political artisan: conservative, unflinching, and unapologetically nationalistic. A long-time LDP fixture and a former minister in charge of economic security and internal affairs, she has endorsed the free-spending spirit of “Abenomics” while railing against recent tightening at the Bank of Japan. “We will put the people’s daily anxiety first,” she declared during the final round of voting, her voice steady, eyes fixed on an audience hungry for change.

She declared Margaret Thatcher a hero — a statement that reveals the ideological spine beneath her rhetoric: robust executive leadership, market-friendly public investment, and a muscular national identity. On foreign policy, she has not shied away from controversy. Regular visits to Yasukuni Shrine — a site that honors Japan’s war dead but also evokes deep wounds in neighboring Korea and China — and suggestions about closer security ties with Taiwan have already triggered diplomatic ripples.

What she proposes — and what it might mean

Takaichi speaks in big, practical strokes: more government spending to lift the economy, a renewed emphasis on national defense, and a willingness to amend Japan’s postwar pacifist constitution. For everyday voters tired of pinched wallets and slow wage growth, this can feel like the promise of decisive action.

For markets and policy wonks, however, the math is less flattering. Japan’s public debt remains the highest among major economies — around 260% of GDP by most measures — and the country’s aging population intensifies pressure on pensions and healthcare. Investors, already jittery over global interest-rate cycles, worry that renewed fiscal largesse could push borrowing costs higher and complicate the Bank of Japan’s path.

“If the new leader leans into expansive fiscal policy without a plan for long-term consolidation, credit markets will react — and not necessarily kindly,” said Aiko Matsumura, a Tokyo-based sovereign debt analyst. “This is the paradox: voters demand relief now, but the bills arrive later.”

A party in retreat, and voters who want something different

The LDP has dominated Japanese politics for most of the postwar era — a political monolith since its formation in 1955 — but its sheen has dimmed. Under the outgoing leadership, the party and its coalition partner lost their majorities in both houses, a stinging rebuke fueled by public frustration with rising prices and stuttering growth.

Newer parties — including the expansionist Democratic Party for the People and the anti-immigration Sanseito — have chipped away at LDP strongholds, winning traction among younger voters with sharper messages on jobs, identity and immigration. In the streets of Shibuya and at university lecture halls, the sentiment is clear: “We want change — but not this antiseptic kind of change,” said Yui Nakamoto, a 28-year-old gig economy worker who voted in a recent local poll.

Markets, alliances and the global reverberations

Financial markets were quick to read Takaichi’s arrival as a new variable in global calculations. Before the party vote, traders had priced in about a 60% chance that the Bank of Japan might raise short-term interest rates this month. After her election, that probability fell. “Her stance has definitely altered the market’s trajectory,” said Naoya Hasegawa, chief bond strategist at Okasan Securities. “Investors are recalibrating — anticipating a more dovish BOJ or at least a pause on tightening.”

On the diplomatic front, the United States moved fast with a conciliatory tone. “We look forward to strengthening the Japan-US partnership on every front,” the U.S. ambassador to Japan said in a social media post, underscoring the strategic importance of Tokyo in a region where China’s assertiveness and the fate of Taiwan are central concerns. Taiwan’s president, too, publicly welcomed Takaichi, calling her a “steadfast friend.” In Beijing and Seoul, however, her nationalist gestures and shrine visits can be read as provocation rather than outreach.

Voices from the ground: fear, relief, curiosity

In a small izakaya near Yurakucho, a regular — Takashi Suzuki, 62, a retired salaryman — shrugged over a bowl of simmered mackerel. “We need someone who will act,” he said. “Prices are up, and my pension doesn’t stretch like it used to. If she spends to get the economy moving, I’m for it.” Across town, in a co-working space near Roppongi, 24-year-old app developer Mai Fujimoto echoed a different concern. “Her views on identity and security worry me,” she said. “I want outward-looking Japan. I worry about the division this could cause.”

And in rural Nagano, a local mayor, daub of sweat on his brow after a day of town visits, offered a measured hope: “We need better support for small towns. Maybe a bold leader can reconnect policy with people beyond Tokyo.”

Why this matters beyond Japan’s shores

Ask yourself: what happens when a leading democracy with a major economy tilts toward a more nationalistic, fiscally ambitious project? The answers matter for global trade, for regional security architectures in East Asia, and for investors who thread the world with capital every day. Japan’s choices will influence semiconductor supply chains, defense planning in Washington, Tokyo and Taipei, and the broader debate about how aging societies remain prosperous.

There’s also a symbolic dimension: a woman at the top of Japan’s government would be historic, a crack in decades of a glass ceiling that many had assumed was immovable. Takaichi herself invoked that image, promising to “work, work, work” and travel abroad to declare “Japan is back.” But symbolism is only part of the ledger. Whether she can translate rhetorical force into policies that balance short-term relief with long-term sustainability will define her legacy.

What to watch next

The parliamentary vote on 15 October — the formal step that could make Takaichi prime minister.
Bank of Japan policy signals and whether markets interpret them as a pause or pivot.
Diplomatic responses from Seoul, Beijing and Washington, especially any shifts in joint security cooperation.
Domestic reaction from the youth and opposition parties: will they mobilize or drift toward new movements?

Change in Tokyo is rarely neat. It arrives in fits and starts, a mosaic of policy pronouncements, street-level anxieties and global ripples. As Japan faces the next chapter — with a woman at the helm for the first time — the world will be watching to see whether the nation leans into renewal or retreats behind familiar certainties. Which outcome do you think will serve Japan — and the wider world — best?

UK police to intensify questioning of synagogue attack suspects

hanad

October 5, 2025

Police to question UK synagogue attack suspects further — Forensic teams work at the scene of the attack in Manchester

They Came to Pray — and the Street Became Battlefield: A Community Reels After the Manchester Synagogue Attack

It was supposed to be a morning of reflection. Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, had drawn worshippers to the modest building at Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation in Crumpsall — a north Manchester neighbourhood where generations have kept ritual and community alive.

Instead, the quiet was shattered. A car ploughed into the kerb outside the synagogue and a man armed with a knife tried to force his way in. Screams, the crunch of metal, then the decisive crack of gunfire as armed police engaged the attacker. By the end of it, three worshippers lay dead or dying and the entire city was left holding its breath.

What Happened

Counter Terrorism Policing North West (CTPNW) leads the fast-moving investigation. Authorities say the assailant — identified in court papers as Jihad Al‑Shamie, 35 — was shot dead at the scene after police officers confronted him. Officers discovered a device attached to his torso that, after analysis, was confirmed to be a hoax.

Two civilians — reported in initial accounts as Adrian Daulby, 53, and Melvin Cravitz, 66 — were killed as they tried to stop the man from entering the synagogue. A number of others were seriously injured and are being treated in local hospitals.

In the days since, warrants were granted to allow investigators extra time to question four people arrested on suspicion of preparing acts of terrorism. Two further suspects remain in custody while inquiries continue. Police say those held were arrested in residential locations across Manchester, including Prestwich and Farnworth.

Official Lines and Local Voices

“Our investigation into the appalling terrorist incident that took place outside the Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation Synagogue is continuing at pace,” Greater Manchester Police said in a statement, underscoring the scale of the counter-terror resources now engaged.

Laurence Taylor, head of counter‑terrorism policing, told reporters investigators believed the attacker “may have been influenced by extreme Islamist ideology,” while also confirming that the explosive device was fake. The Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) has opened a separate probe into the use of lethal force by firearms officers — including whether police action may have contributed to the death of one of the men who intervened.

National political figures arrived in Manchester to offer condolences and to gauge the mood on the ground. Prime Minister Keir Starmer urged restraint, writing that this “is a moment of mourning” and pleading with anyone planning protests to “respect the grief of British Jews.” Conservative Party leader Kemi Badenoch, who visited the scene alongside Greater Manchester Mayor Andy Burnham, struck a sterner tone, saying Jewish families were telling her they were “leaving to go to Israel” because they felt unsafe.

“Jewish people right now are telling me that they are leaving to go to Israel,” Ms Badenoch said. “Israel is at war. How can people be leaving the UK to go to a war zone and think that they’ll be safer there? We need to bring back safety to our streets.”

Grief, Anger and the Weight of History

Walk the cordon now and you will see flowers, prayers scribbled on torn paper, candles that will keep guttering until someone cleans them up. A grey-haired neighbour I spoke with held a plastic bag of challah bread and a stunned look that said what words could not.

“I’ve lived here forty years,” she told me. “We look out for each other. To think someone would come to hurt people while they pray — it’s beyond belief.”

Another local, a shopkeeper who’d known one of the victims, squeezed my hand and said, “He would stand at the door on holidays and greet everyone. People like that are the heart of our streets.”

For Manchester’s Jewish community — already on edge after a year marked by international tensions and a surge in antisemitic incidents — this attack landed as both shock and confirmation of their fears. Dave Rich, director of policy at the Community Security Trust (CST), told national broadcasters that incitement and anti‑Jewish rhetoric had intensified since the events of October last year, leaving many to ask: “OK, the sympathy is great, but where’s the action?”

On the Ground: How a City Responds

There are practical, visible changes: patrols have increased around synagogues, community centres and schools. Security guards are being briefed; places of worship have temporarily altered service times and access points. Old Trafford — an emblem of Manchester’s cultural life — will observe a minute’s silence at the next Manchester United match, players expected to wear black armbands.

“We want to show support,” said a football fan outside the stadium. “Sport brings people together; it’s where we can mourn and also say we stand with those targeted.”

Questions That Won’t Easily Go Away

How does a free society balance the right to protest with the duty to protect vulnerable communities? When does political debate slip into dangerous incitement? And perhaps most urgently, what does it take to prevent someone radicalising in plain sight?

“Radicalisation is rarely a sudden conversion,” explained Dr. Naomi Feldman, a terrorism researcher at a Manchester university. “It’s usually a process — social media echo chambers, personal grievances, criminal behaviour that isolates a person. Intervention is possible, but it requires intelligence, community trust and early action.”

Statistics from groups that track hate crime and antisemitism show a worrying upward trend in the years following major international flashpoints. Community organisations urge more robust responses not only from police but from social platforms and civic institutions that can spot and counter online harm before it becomes offline violence.

Beyond Manchester: A Mirror for the Times

This isn’t just a Manchester story. It’s a story about fracture lines that are widening across many democracies: the intersection of terror, identity, community security and the politics of protest. It’s about how a single, violent act instantly ripples across neighbourhoods, national debates and international headlines.

Many here want to preserve the finer details of communal life — the synagogue teas, the elderly man who always saves a place for newcomers, the volunteer who locks the doors after services. Their actions are small, stubborn defences against a world that sometimes feels big and hostile.

“We will still pray,” said a rabbi, voice taut with sorrow. “We will still light the candles. That is what they would have wanted — not fear, but continuity.”

What Comes Next

Investigators will piece together motives and connections, the IOPC will examine police conduct, and the courts will take their slow, exacting course. Meanwhile, families bury their dead, worshippers return to altered services, and a city wrestles with grief and the work of reassurance.

As you read this, ask yourself: what role do we play in preventing hatred from seizing public life? How can communities be safer — practically and spiritually — without surrendering the freedoms that allow us to gather, to pray, to protest?

Those questions do not have neat answers. But in a small synagogue in Crumpsall, amid candles and floral tributes, a community is beginning the long work of answering them together. That, perhaps, is where the story of resilience and recovery must begin.

US budget standoff masks a broader political, ideological battle

hanad

October 5, 2025

The US budget row that's not about the budget — The last government shutdown came in 2018 and lasted for 35 days

Washington’s Empty Hallways and the Politics of a Shutdown

There is a strange hush in the corridors of power: fluorescent lights glow over largely darkened offices, coffee machines gurgle in the distance and the echo of hurried footsteps is replaced by the quieter thrum of worry. The federal government has hit a familiar snag — the legal authority to spend taxpayer dollars was not renewed in the Senate — and with it much of the machinery that keeps a modern superpower humming has idled, paused or been furloughed.

On paper it reads as a procedural failure, a dry bit of fiscal housekeeping gone wrong. In practice it looks like an argument everyone can see but no one can untangle: a fight staged in public about much more than line items on a ledger. You can call it a budget standoff; you can call it a partisan showdown. Either way, it belongs to the age-old American drama where money is the stage prop and identity, power and fear are the actors.

It’s Not Just About Dollars

When lawmakers debate spending, they talk about ceilings, appropriations and continuing resolutions — the technical language of governance. But people in grocery lines, on factory floors and in suburban kitchens don’t care about procedural names. They care about a simple, vivid sting: will their family lose access to affordable health care? Will an essential worker be paid?

At the heart of this dispute is health insurance. After pandemic-era subsidies temporarily eased premiums for millions, Washington set a date to let those top-up payments expire. According to public-health analysts, roughly 20–24 million Americans rely on expanded subsidies introduced during and after the Covid crisis; without them, premiums could rise dramatically for many households. The Kaiser Family Foundation has published numbers suggesting the average U.S. family is paying in the ballpark of $2,000 a month for health insurance — a figure that snaps like a rubber band around the finances of ordinary households.

And yet, paradoxically, the country that spends more on health care — nearly one-fifth of GDP by some measures — often lags behind other wealthy nations on outcomes. That mismatch makes the fight especially resonant: high cost with uneven results, and a political argument that promises solutions but often delivers gridlock.

“This is about people’s lives, not just ledger lines,”

a nurse in Ohio told me, folding her hospital jacket into a neat square during a rare break. “My patients ask me if they should skip medications because the subsidy ended. They’re choosing between insulin and rent — that’s not an abstract number.”

The Power Struggle Underneath

Strip away the policy paper and you find the raw political calculus. This standoff is not simply a quarrel over whether to extend subsidies. It has become a test of wills — an effort to contain or consolidate influence in a partisan era where norms are fragile. For many Democrats, forcing a confrontation over health coverage is also a way of testing a shift in the balance of power; for the President and his allies, any sign of yielding feels like political surrender.

“If you back down, the brand of governance that built this campaign evaporates,” a former senior White House aide said in a long, quiet conversation. “That’s why compromise — the old Washington craft — feels almost foreign to some of the current players.”

The Senate’s arcane rules amplify the spectacle. With 60 votes often required to move major legislation, a small coalition of senators can prevent a bill from crossing the finish line. In a chamber divided narrowly along party lines, that makes short-term funding measures the last battleground before the calendar flips over and new fiscal commitments need to be made.

Voices from the Ground

In downtown Philadelphia, a small café buzzed with local color. A barista — juggling tips and a second job — sighed when asked how a prolonged shutdown would land on her life.

“If the subsidies go, my sister, she’s paying more than half her paycheck for insurance,” she said. “She’s a teacher. That’s two paychecks we’re talking about gone for basics.”

An air traffic controller in Atlanta, who asked not to be named, was blunt. “We’re essential. We show up. But we’ve got mortgages, kids, car payments. You can only say ‘we’ll get through it’ for so long.” He added, voice low: “In 2019 some of us were at the limit. The job is different now. Fewer people, more strain. That’s dangerous on a runway.”

When Politics Becomes Persona

There is, too, the personal theater. Modern political entrepreneurs sell themselves on the promise of being anti-establishment, not beholden to the backroom compromises and the slow churn of legislative give-and-take. That posture makes a negotiated middle ground politically costly for those who built advantage on the narrative of disruption.

“The man at the top — he built a career telling people he won’t blink,” a political strategist who has worked on Capitol Hill said. “You can’t have him quietly sign off on something that looks like capitulation. It would contradict the brand.”

Whether that posture is leadership or posturing depends on your vantage point. For voters caught in the immediate fallout — parents, small-business owners, hourly workers — it feels like the elite once again playing chess with lives as pawns.

The Bigger Picture: Trust, Markets and the Global Stage

This is not only a domestic quarrel. America’s fiscal health matters globally: investors around the world watch Washington’s stability. The country’s ability to finance deficits at historically low rates has been a pillar of global markets. If political brinksmanship corrodes that reliability, the ripple effects are real — higher borrowing costs, shaken confidence and tougher choices for policymakers everywhere.

Here’s the crux: systems survive only as long as people believe they will. When routine procedures become battlegrounds for existential fights over identity and power, it erodes that trust.

Where Do We Go from Here?

There are ways out that do not require grand theatrical gestures: temporary measures to preserve subsidies while leaders hammer out a longer-term plan, or targeted relief for vulnerable populations. Yet each compromise risks fueling narratives of weakness on one side or betrayal on the other.

So I ask you, the reader: when governance is as much spectacle as policy, how do we restore room for the kind of quiet, effective problem-solving that keeps planes flying, hospitals open and families solvent? What would you be willing to do to bring politics back from the ledge?

One thing is sure: the corridors will not stay quiet forever. The question is whether those who return will sit across the table to trade drafts and concessions — or use the silence as a prelude to the next act in an unending political theater. Either way, the human cost will be counted long before the final vote is taken.

UK police to step up questioning of synagogue attack suspects

hanad

October 5, 2025

Suspect among three dead following Manchester attack — Members of the public react as they gather near the Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation Synagogue

A day of prayer turned to terror: Inside the Heaton Park synagogue attack

It was supposed to be a day of stillness. Yom Kippur — the holiest day in the Jewish calendar — brings a hush that settles over families and communities: fasting, reflection, a folding of ordinary life into something quieter and intenser. In Crumpsall, Manchester, a small congregation gathered in the Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation to observe the fast. Instead, they found themselves at the centre of a night of violence that has left a community stunned, grieving and demanding answers.

On Thursday afternoon a car mounted a pavement outside the synagogue and a man armed with a knife tried to force his way into the building. Three people were killed — the attacker and two men who tried to stop him — and at least three others remain in hospital with serious injuries. The attacker, identified by police as a 35‑year‑old man who had been on bail for an unrelated allegation, was shot dead by armed officers at the scene.

Faces and names

Names become anchors in moments like this. Reports say the two men who died intervening to protect worshippers were aged 53 and 66. Both have been described by neighbours as familiar figures: volunteers who helped in the community, the kind of people who turn up at the synagogue not for headlines but because it is their life. “He was always there — holding doors, making sure everyone was safe,” said a woman who lives nearby. “You expect people like that to be invisible, and now they are the ones we notice most.”

Three others remain in hospital, including a security guard with injuries consistent with being struck by a vehicle and a worker from the Community Security Trust who suffered stab wounds. Authorities say a device attached to the attacker’s torso was later confirmed to be fake, and investigators are examining whether the assailant was motivated by extremist Islamist ideology.

Six people questioned, warrants granted

Counter-terror police are leading a sprawling investigation. Over the weekend warrants were granted allowing four people already in custody to be held for up to five more days while officers seek to untangle what appears to have been an attempted mass-casualty attack. Those detained include two men in their 30s and a woman in her 60s arrested in Prestwich, plus a woman in her 40s arrested in Farnworth. Separately, an 18‑year‑old woman and a 43‑year‑old man remain in custody in Farnworth for questioning.

“We are treating this as an appalling terrorist incident and our priority is to establish the full picture,” a Greater Manchester Police spokesperson said. “Significant resources from across the national Counter Terrorism network are in place.”

A community on edge

Walk the streets around Heaton Park and you can feel the tension. Shops are open, kids still play in the parks, but there is a new wariness in the air: more police patrols, more uniforms, more questions. A bakery owner on Crumpsall Lane paused while kneading dough to say, “Everyone knows everyone here. On Yom Kippur we are quieter than usual — you could hear a pin drop. To have this happen… it’s like a wound that won’t stop aching.”

The Community Security Trust, which monitors antisemitism in Britain, says the past years have seen a sharp increase in recorded incidents. Many British Jews say they have felt more vulnerable since international conflicts elsewhere stoked tensions here at home. “People worry less about parcel deliveries and more about whether they can attend their local shul safely,” one synagogue volunteer told me. “That shouldn’t be the case in 21st‑century Britain.”

Questions for the police watchdog and the public

The Independent Office for Police Conduct is probing the use of lethal force by Greater Manchester Police firearms officers, including whether police action may have contributed to the death of one of the intervenors. This inquiry is now central to public trust: when community members put themselves in harm’s way, did our systems — the law, bail procedures, policing tactics — protect them?

Prosecutors and counter‑terror investigators are also probing the attacker’s recent history. Police have said the man had a non‑terrorist criminal record and had been arrested recently on a serious allegation that resulted in bail. That fact has revived familiar debates about bail conditions, risk assessment and how the justice system balances individual liberty against public safety.

Leaders, vigils and the politics of protection

Political figures flocked to the scene in the days after the attack. The leader of the opposition urged people to “respect the grief of British Jews,” warning that large-scale demonstrations could deepen the pain of mourners. Other politicians called for increased security for Jewish communities, saying some people were even considering leaving the UK for Israel because they feel unsafe.

“People are telling me they feel they must go where their identity will be protected,” a member of the congregation said quietly. “That is a heartbreaking decision to contemplate.”

But public life cannot freeze for fear. Demonstrators in London — insisting on their right to protest — sought permission to march. Organisers argued that cancelling peaceful protests would give terror a victory, while others said timing and sensitivity were paramount. It is a fraught balance: the right to assemble and the duty to protect mourners and vulnerable communities.

Voices from the ground

At a candlelit vigil outside the synagogue, people of different faiths gathered to sing, to pray, to hold each other. “We came because we needed to be seen,” said one young man, his voice barely audible over the wind. “We came because silence would feel like consent.”

A local imam came to pay respects, laying a wreath and speaking of shared responsibility. “In communities like ours, it is ordinary people who bridge the gaps,” she told me. “If politics and policy fail to keep people safe, neighbours must not fail each other.”

Wider questions: radicalisation, community safety and the social media echo chamber

This attack sits at an uncomfortable crossroads. We are witnessing the dangers of lone‑actor violence that can be amplified by online radicalisation, the strain on social cohesion created by global conflicts, and the challenges law enforcement faces in pre‑empting such attacks. Experts warn that these are not isolated problems and that solutions will require work across policing, social services, faith groups and tech platforms.

“Prevention is more than intelligence; it is social glue,” said a university lecturer in counter‑extremism. “When communities are connected, when people report worries early and services respond, the risk is reduced. But those systems are under pressure.”

What now? Questions for readers and a call to action

How do we mourn without retreating? How do we protect the right to protest while safeguarding those in mourning? What does community resilience look like when the fear of targeted violence grows?

These are not academic questions. They are practical and messy, and they demand answers from politicians, police leaders, community organisers and each of us. Want to help? Consider volunteering with local groups that support survivors of hate crime, donate to organisations that work on community safety, or simply reach out to your neighbours — sometimes the quietest actions matter most.

In the days to come Manchester will hold more vigils, investigators will comb through evidence, and a community will try, against its better instincts, to find a way forward. For those who were there on Yom Kippur, the memory will be burned into ordinary days: the rustle of prayer books, the sudden burst of sirens, the names of neighbours who stood in harm’s way. That is the human story beneath the headlines — and it is one that asks us, collectively, to be better custodians of each other.

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