Madagascar placed under military rule after colonel’s power grab

October 15, 2025

Madagascar enters military rule as colonel seizes power — Crowds of people gather to demonstrate after soldiers entered the Presidential Palace

In the streets of Antananarivo: a nation holds its breath

On a clear morning in Antananarivo, the city’s red-tiled roofs and steep avenues looked unchanged—until you noticed the flags. Small Malagasy banners fluttered from tuk-tuks and rooftop terraces, and in the Place du 13 Mai, a crowd gathered not for a carnival but for a cautious celebration. Music spilled from a makeshift stage, but the rhythm was threaded with tension: applause between speeches, laughter edged with relief.

“We’ve been shouting for water and light for months,” said Fenitra Rakoto, 26, a captain of Madagascar’s national rugby team, standing near the market stalls on Analakely. “Now the shouting has changed form. We don’t know what will come next, but for the first time in a long time, I feel like somebody heard us.”

The twist: soldiers, a court, and a new name

What began as youth-led protests over basic services has turned into a dramatic transfer of power. Colonel Michael Randrianirina, an officer from CAPSAT—the elite Army Personnel Administration Center that once played a pivotal role in the 2009 upheaval—has announced the military’s seizure of key government sites and the dissolution of most state institutions.

In a terse address to journalists, the colonel said the armed forces had “taken responsibility” amid what he called a national emergency. The High Constitutional Court then publicly invited him to assume the presidency, and Randrianirina indicated a transitional committee—military-led—would govern for as long as two years before national votes were organised.

The move has already drawn a firm rebuke from continental partners: the African Union announced the immediate suspension of Madagascar from its 55-member bloc, a sanction that signals diplomatic isolation and potential suspension of regional cooperation and support.

How did we get here?

The flashpoint was less about a single misstep than a stacked pile of grievances. Demonstrations that began on 25 September over severe water shortages and power cuts broadened into an expression of youth anger at oligarchic rule and unmet promises. The marches swelled, and some elements of the security services refused orders to fire on protesters. That fissure in the ranks—combined with defections from the gendarmerie and police—left President Andry Rajoelina politically exposed.

There are reports, from diplomatic and opposition sources, that Mr Rajoelina left the country aboard a French military plane and is now in a secure location abroad, possibly Dubai. The presidency has called the unfolding events an attempted coup and declared that the president remains in office. The constitutional court’s invitation to Randrianirina, the presidency insists, was legally flawed and risks plunging the country into deeper instability.

Faces in the crowd: hope, fear, and pragmatic relief

On the ground, reactions are varied and vivid. Muriella, an entrepreneur in the northern port city of Antsiranana, wiped her hands on her apron and said, “I’ve paid bribes and begged for permits for years. If this shakes things up, maybe we’ll finally be able to build a shop without paying for someone’s weekend.”

Others are less celebratory. “We’re holding our breath,” said a taxi driver named Hery, who declined to give his full name. “The army has guns. We need services and jobs, not just a new face at the palace.”

A youth movement with a name and a demand

The protests that lit the fuse were spearheaded by an energetic Gen Z movement—digital-first, young in age and impatient in temperament. The group began with local activists mobilising around water pumps that had run dry and power grids that failed during heatwaves. Within days, the banners evolved from municipal grievances to a sweeping critique of entrenched elites who, many Malagasy feel, have hoarded resources while three-quarters of the population lives in poverty.

Madagascar is a young country: about 30 million people, and a median age under 20. That demographic reality, combined with long-term economic decline—World Bank figures show GDP per capita has fallen roughly 45% from independence-era highs to 2020—creates a combustible mix when basic services falter.

Regional fallout and the long shadow of history

The African Union’s swift suspension underscores how serious the continent regards military interventions. “The rule of law must prevail over the rule of force,” said an AU official at a regional meeting this week, echoing a refrain that has accompanied dozens of similar crises across Africa in recent decades.

Madagascar’s history looms large in the conversation. The island has been punctuated by political ruptures—most notably the 2009 coup that brought Rajoelina to power and led to years of frozen aid and investment. For many observers, the spectre of international isolation, the squeeze on development projects, and the knock-on effects for conservation and exports (vanilla, clove, seafood) are immediate concerns.

Population: ~30 million, median age <20
Poverty: about 75% of the population lives under the national poverty line
Economic trend: GDP per capita fell significantly between 1960 and 2020 (World Bank data)
African Union: 55 member states; suspension can carry diplomatic and economic consequences

What’s at stake beyond the palace

This moment is not only about who sits in the presidential residence. It’s about whether the demands that ignited protests—clean water, reliable electricity, an end to patronage—will be addressed. It’s about whether a young population will be offered meaningful participation or pushed further into frustration.

“If this is a reset, it must be a real reset,” said Dr. Jean-Rasoa Andrianirina, a political analyst based in Antananarivo. “Transitional governments too often become permanent fixtures. The international community should condition engagement on clear benchmarks: accountability, timelines, and credible plans for new, inclusive elections.”

Questions to keep watching

Will the transitional roadmap stick to two years, or will it stretch? Will aid donors tie future support to governance milestones? How will biodiversity and conservation programs—already under strain from climate and economic pressures—fare if funding is cut? And crucially: can a fractured security apparatus be rebuilt as a democratically accountable force?

For ordinary Malagasy, the answers matter as much as the drama. A mother in Antananarivo who sells rice at the market shrugged and said, “We don’t want politics. We want light to cook our food and water for our children. If leaders can’t give that, what purpose do they serve?”

Where the story might go

History shows transitions can take many shapes—peaceful transfers, negotiated settlements, or drawn-out standoffs. For Madagascar, the coming weeks will tell whether the mood in the crowd—equal parts euphoria and caution—hardens into a coherent political project or fractures under the weight of competing interests.

So ask yourself: when youth movements rise and the military steps into the vacuum, what does true change look like? Is it a new face in power, or a transformed system that guarantees everyday needs, opportunity, and dignity? The people of Madagascar are asking that question on a national scale—one that may hold lessons for many countries where young populations and worn institutions collide.

For now, the city hums along the river valleys and terraces that have sustained generations. People sell coffee and chiror’ombazaha (puffed rice snacks), children chase each other under baobab-like trees of the urban park, and the banners flap in the same wind that has lifted—and toppled—leaders before.

“We won’t be naive,” Fenitra said, looking toward the palace. “But we’ve learned how to gather. That might be the most important thing we have right now.”

Last year saw the largest annual rise in atmospheric CO2

hanad

October 15, 2025

Last year saw biggest increase of CO2 in atmosphere — Among the likely reasons for the record growth between 2023 and 2024 was a large contribution from wildfire emissions (file pic)

A Sky Heavy With Numbers: How 2024 Became the Year the Atmosphere Spoke Back

The air tasted of smoke and burnt earth on the day I walked through a charred patch of forest in southern Brazil. Ash dusted the leaves like a grief-struck confetti, and every breath felt like a small surrender. That smell, so intimate and ordinary, belongs to a planetary story told in parts per million and in headlines: last year recorded the largest single-year rise in carbon dioxide since scientists began keeping modern measurements.

Those measurements came from the World Meteorological Organization’s latest bulletin — a terse, urgent accounting: 423.9 parts per million (ppm) of CO2 in 2024, up 3.5 ppm from 2023. To non-specialists, numbers can feel abstract. To communities living under smoke and drought, they are a notice—sometimes a warning, sometimes an indictment. “We are breathing something that will outlast us,” said Ko Barrett, the WMO’s Deputy Secretary‑General, in a statement that read like both a diagnosis and a plea: “The heat trapped by CO2 and other greenhouse gases is turbo‑charging our climate and leading to more extreme weather.”

A Century in a Few Figures

Put those numbers into context and the pattern becomes unmistakable. When the WMO first published its bulletin in 2004, the global average CO2 reading from its monitoring networks was 377.1 ppm. Pre‑industrial levels—before the steam engines and the coal mines—were roughly 280 ppm. The climb is relentless: growth rates of CO2 have roughly tripled since the 1960s, from an annual average increase of 0.8 ppm a year to about 2.4 ppm a year in the 2011–2020 decade.

And then came the jump: 3.5 ppm in one year, the biggest annual increase since modern observations began at Mauna Loa in 1957. Methane and nitrous oxide, CO2’s notorious partners, also reached record concentrations. These are not isolated blips. They are signals from an atmosphere under stress, responding to heat, fire, drought and human combustion.

The Fires That Breathe With Us

Scientists point to a deadly duet: wildfires and weakened natural sinks. 2024 was, by multiple metrics, the warmest year on record. A strong El Niño amplified heat and redistributed rainfall patterns, drying soils and vegetation across wide swathes of the Amazon and southern Africa. Dry forests are tinderboxes. When they burn, they do something terrible and simple — they turn stored carbon back into CO2 and spew it into the sky.

“We saw flames move faster than we could run,” recalled Ana Martins, a rubber tapper who lost part of her community’s grove last year. “The smoke came in the afternoon like a closing curtain. The children coughed for days.” Her memory is the human echo of a global dataset: as forests emit more, the land and oceans absorb less. That reduction in sink efficiency means more of what we emit stays in the atmosphere.

Why El Niño Matters

El Niño years tend to be hot years, and hotter years undermine the ecosystems that usually soak up carbon. Drier vegetation is not only more flammable; it photosynthesizes less efficiently, so less CO2 is pulled from the air. The WMO links the 2023–2024 surge in CO2 to both wildfire emissions and a reduced uptake of carbon by land and ocean sinks — a feedback loop scientists fear could become self-reinforcing.

When Sinks Start to Falter

Oksana Tarasova, a senior scientific officer at the WMO, put it bluntly: “There is concern that terrestrial and ocean CO2 sinks are becoming less effective, which will increase the amount of CO2 that stays in the atmosphere, thereby accelerating global warming.” The implication is chilling. Earth has been quietly doing the heavy lifting for centuries — forests, peatlands and oceans keeping roughly half of human emissions from remaining airborne. If those natural buffers weaken, the pace of warming accelerates even if emissions were to plateau.

“Imagine your bank account suddenly being charged twice for the same withdrawal,” said Dr. Aisha Rahman, a climate scientist who studies carbon cycles. “We’ve relied on forests and seas as overdraft protection for our emissions. The WMO report suggests that overdraft is getting smaller at exactly the time we most need it.”

Faces on the Front Lines

Walk the dusty streets of towns bordering burned reserves and you’ll hear similar concerns, but grounded in daily realities. “Last year, we planted maize and half of it failed,” said Tendai Moyo, a farmer in southern Zimbabwe. “We used to wait on the rains for planting. Now we wait to see if the rains will come at all.” His family’s coping strategies — planting twice, cutting back on food, moving children to relatives — are the same measures described by countless households from Indonesia to Canada.

These are the same people whose lifeways and livelihoods are often framed as small in the global equations of CO2 emissions. But local losses scale up: the Amazon is not simply a collection of rubber groves and rivers; it is a global carbon reservoir. When it falters, the world feels it.

Numbers That Call for Action

Data alone won’t change behavior, but it can change minds. The chemical ledger is stark: 423.9 ppm of CO2, the highest since measurements began; methane and nitrous oxide at record highs; a 3.5 ppm jump in a single year. The global economy continues to emit on the order of 36–37 billion tonnes of CO2 from fossil fuels and industry annually in recent years, meaning the burden of change is immense and immediate.

So what do we do? The answers are familiar but urgent: deep cuts to fossil fuel use, massive scaling of renewable energy, protection and restoration of forests, and improved land management to reduce wildfire risk. Crucially, the WMO stresses improved, sustained monitoring. Better data leads to better decisions; better decisions can slow — and perhaps one day reverse — the worst of this trend.

What This Means for You and Me

It’s tempting to feel paralyzed. The numbers are global, the causes systemic. But the WMO bulletin is not just a ledger of loss; it’s a call to a different kind of civic attention. How we heat our homes, what powers our vehicles, how we protect landscapes — these are choices within human control.

Ask yourself: what will it mean for your community if the fires are more frequent, if droughts deepen, if storms grow fiercer? Who will you trust for leadership — the voices that call for immediate action now, or the ones that promise business as usual while the atmosphere quietly accumulates another half‑degree of warming?

Looking Ahead

The road ahead is not preordained. The atmosphere keeps precise accounts; it simply records what we decide to put into it. The WMO’s bulletin is a ledger, not a verdict. It insists that we watch, that we measure, and that we act.

“Sustained and strengthened greenhouse gas monitoring is critical to understanding these loops,” Tarasova said, a practical note threaded with urgency. To that I would add a plea from people like Ana and Tendai: let this year’s smoke be a lesson, not a new normal. The choices we make now — in policy rooms, corporate boardrooms, and living rooms — will determine whether 423.9 ppm becomes merely a chapter in the history books or the opening paragraph of a vastly more dangerous era.

So breathe deeply, then decide. What part will you play in the story the atmosphere is writing about our time on Earth?

PEDs and lucrative payouts drive athletes to join Enhanced Games

hanad

October 15, 2025

PEDs and payouts see athletes turn to Enhanced Games — Shane Ryan said joining the Enhanced Games is a financial decision

The Games That Broke the Rulebook

On a humid evening in Dublin, a veteran swimmer named Shane Ryan announced a decision that sent ripples across the sporting world: he would compete in a new, fiercely debated competition that explicitly allows performance-enhancing interventions. The news landed like a stone in a still pond—waves of praise, anger, curiosity and alarm fanning out in every direction.

“It felt like the easiest choice for my family and my future,” Ryan told a radio host, voice even but resolute. “I’ve raced clean for Ireland. That won’t change. But I spent years doing what others asked of me. Now I need to look after myself.”

His words illuminate the central friction at the heart of this story: autonomy versus tradition, money versus the sanctity of an amateur ideal, and the siren call of possibility against the thorny questions of safety and fairness.

A new kind of arena: what the Enhanced Games promises

Dubbed the Enhanced Games and slated for Memorial Day weekend in May 2026, the event positions itself as a laboratory and a spectacle. Organizers have chosen Resorts World Las Vegas as the host site, promising a four-day showpiece with a custom-built 50-metre, four-lane pool, a six-lane sprint strip and a purpose-made weightlifting platform.

The format is narrow and theatrical: short sprint races in athletics and swimming (50m and 100m distances), hurdles events, and the two classic Olympic weightlifting lifts—snatch and clean-and-jerk. Each individual event reportedly carries a half-million-dollar prize pool, with $250,000 to the winner and a $1 million bonus for select world records.

That kind of money changes the calculus for athletes. “I think of it like any other job offer,” said a coach in Limerick who asked not to be named. “If someone came and said, ‘We’ll pay you a sum you can’t refuse,’ you start to wonder how much loyalty should cost.”

Science, safety and the promise of oversight

Founder Aron D’Souza frames the Games as a forward-looking experiment: an arena where scientific methods—medical monitoring of heart, brain, blood and muscle—would allow competitors to pursue enhanced performance under medical supervision. Their Independent Medical Commission, organizers say, will include cardiologists, neuroscientists, endocrinologists and pharmacologists to assess safety and eligibility.

Class A recreational drugs, according to the organizers, will be off-limits. Athletes will also retain the option to compete without enhancements, creating a mixed field that supporters claim will showcase “choice” as much as speed.

“We live in an era of accelerated biomedicine,” D’Souza said at a public briefing. “From gene therapies to AI, the boundaries have shifted. Sport can either ignore that shift, or it can engage with it honestly.”

Money talks: who’s backing this—and why it matters

The Enhanced Games are privately funded. High-profile investors and tech-money players have surfaced in public filings and press reports. Venture capital interests, controversial public figures and Silicon Valley financiers—among them, names that have appeared in association with cash backing—have helped bankroll the project. The combination of private capital and astronomical paydays has already proved persuasive for some athletes.

“When you weigh up the risks and the rewards, some athletes are thinking of mortgages, kids’ tuition, life after sport,” said a sports financial advisor in London. “A guaranteed six-figure contract changes decisions that used to be identity-driven; now they are survival-driven.”

Who has signed up—and who says no

As of this month, a small but notable cohort of athletes has publicly associated with the Games. Names include sprinters, weightlifters and swimmers—retirees returning to competition, stars seeking a late-career payday, and a handful of rising talents. Several of these athletes previously represented their countries on the Olympic stage.

On the other side, the established global institutions have moved fast to draw bright lines. In mid-2024, World Aquatics enacted a bylaw aimed at protecting its regulatory framework: members who participate in events that endorse performance-enhancing practices could face suspension or disqualification from sanctioned competitions. National governing bodies—Swim Ireland, Sport Ireland and political leaders in several countries—issued sharp rebukes.

“Sport isn’t just entertainment,” Sport Ireland’s chief executive said in an interview. “We have a duty of care. There are real, potentially irreversible health consequences associated with some of these interventions.”

Voices from the ground: passion, fear and pragmatism

In a quiet bar beneath neon lights in Las Vegas, a bartender named Tammi shrugged. “If people want to juice to be faster, who am I to judge? It’s Vegas—we’re built on taking bets.”

But in a Dublin pool hall, retired Olympic swimmer Nick O’Hare was blunt: “It’s a mistake. Young kids watch and think that winning has to come with shortcuts. It damages coaching pipelines and trust.”

Medical voices weigh in with caveats. Dr. Helena Ortiz, a sports endocrinologist, warned: “We have decades of data on the harms of anabolic steroids and hormone manipulation. Short-term gains can translate into long-term cardiovascular damage, endocrine disruption and psychiatric effects.”

Why this matters beyond medals

This clash is not only about a handful of athletes chasing bigger pay packets. It forces a global conversation on consent, inequality and the commodification of bodies. Who gets access to cutting-edge performance technologies—big-money professionals or only wealthy nations and private teams? Will enhanced athletes create performance chasms that make traditional competition obsolete? And how will society value records set under different biological regimes?

Consider the historical arc: sport grew around shared rules to allow apples-to-apples comparisons between athletes. When those rules fracture, the meaning of a world record changes. Is a record set under monitored enhancement the same as one set on the old terms?

Where do we go from here?

There are no easy answers. Regulators can ban and ostracize. Entrepreneurs can innovate and fund. Athletes will continue to make choices that reflect economic realities and personal ethics. The Enhanced Games’ promoters promise transparency and safety; skeptics see a marketplace trading on spectacle at human cost.

So what does fairness look like in an age of rapid biomedical change? Is the future of elite sport a controlled laboratory of human optimization—or a dystopian race where access determines destiny?

As Las Vegas polishes its lights for a new brand of Memorial Day weekend theatre, the rest of us will be watching—not just to see who touches the wall first, but to witness how a global community negotiates the rules of its playbook. And perhaps, to decide together what we are willing to celebrate.

Event: Enhanced Games, planned for May 2026 at Resorts World Las Vegas
Sports: Swimming, sprint athletics, weightlifting (selected short-distance events)
Prize structure: $500,000 prize pot per event; $250,000 to winners; $1,000,000 for select record breakers
Controversy: World Aquatics and multiple national bodies have issued warnings or bans

What would you do if offered financial security at the price of stepping outside the rules you once trained under? It’s a question this moment forces upon athletes—and on all of us as we watch the edges of human possibility redraw themselves.

Israel to reopen Rafah crossing; surge of humanitarian aid enters Gaza

hanad

October 15, 2025

Israel to open Rafah crossing, more aid moves into Gaza — Hundreds of aid trucks wait at the Rafah Crossing

Rafah reopens — a narrow corridor between aid and grief

The sun dropped low over Rafah and the convoy began to move. For weeks, the southern crossing between Gaza and Egypt has been a word on the lips of diplomats and aid workers — a lifeline and a bargaining chip. Now, after a grim exchange in which the bodies of four Israelis were returned, Israeli authorities cleared the way for trucks to enter once more.

“We will open Rafah,” one Israeli official told reporters, in a terse announcement that echoed along dusty roads and into the living rooms of anxious families. “Humanitarian assistance must reach those who need it.” The figure being discussed was stark: some 600 aid trucks, assembled under the coordination of the UN, approved international organisations, private sector donors and states, were expected to roll into Gaza.

A somber exchange: return of the dead, opening of a crossing

The exchange that precipitated the reopening was not a celebratory one. In the past 48 hours, after intense negotiations mediated by intermediaries, four bodies were transferred from Gaza to Israeli custody. Three of them were later identified by their families — Ouriel Baruch, a 35-year-old who vanished at the Nova festival last October; Tamir Nimrodi, an 18-year-old soldier taken from a border base; and Eitan Levy, a 53-year-old taxi driver found after dropping off a friend at Kibbutz Beeri.

“We prayed every night,” said a woman who identified herself as Baruch’s cousin, her voice tight with grief. “We imagined him coming home. This is not closure. It is a small mercy amid unbearable loss.”

Across town, a pale convoy of vehicles carrying the remains arrived at the National Centre for Forensic Medicine in Tel Aviv. Forensic teams moved methodically, the choreography of grief indistinguishable from the routine of laboratory work — names checked, DNA samples compared, families notified.

The fragile mechanics of a ceasefire

The latest returns were part of a broader, brittle deal negotiated in recent days: a temporary truce that envisaged the exchange of living hostages, the release of prisoners, and the transfer of remains — Israeli for Palestinian, body for body. Under the arrangement, Israel agreed to hand over the bodies of Palestinian detainees at a ratio reportedly of 15 for every deceased Israeli returned. The aim was to create reciprocation at the human level while larger political disputes remained unresolved.

But trust is a fragile thing in wartime. In the run-up to the transfer, Israeli authorities had announced a halving of humanitarian truck entries — a punitive measure they said was tied to perceived violations by Hamas of the surrender terms. Hours later, when the four bodies were delivered, the restriction was lifted and the engines of relief began to turn.

Who is being helped?

600 trucks of aid are slated to enter Gaza, coordinated by the UN and other international bodies
45 Palestinian bodies held by Israel were transferred to the Nasser Medical Centre in Gaza
At least 67,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza, according to local health authorities; hundreds of thousands face severe food shortages

On the streets of Gaza: rubble, resilience, and the return of fighters

Drive through Gaza City and the landscape reads like a map of loss: flattened apartment blocks, schoolyards that have become cemeteries of toys. Bulldozers from Gaza’s municipality clear rubble beside the shattered facades of cafés and mosques where the call to prayer still rises, unnervingly ordinary in a place so unsettled.

“You come to the market and you know what used to be here,” said Rania, a shopkeeper who has spent the last weeks salvaging tins of food and mending clothes for neighbours. “The tea shop that my father ran is only a wall now. But people still gather. We still talk about the children.”

Since partial troop withdrawals, Hamas fighters have reappeared on Gaza’s streets. Locals report checkpoints and patrols, the silhouette of armed men threaded through routes intended for aid deliveries. Palestinian security officials say clashes between rival factions have left dozens dead in recent days — a chilling reminder that a ceasefire does not erase deeper fractures.

Names matter: stories behind the statistics

Numbers can feel abstract: 600 trucks, 67,000 dead, nearly 2,000 prisoners freed in other parts of the agreement, 251 hostages taken on October 7th. But names and faces restore the human weight behind each digit.

“Eitan was the kind of man who spoke to everyone,” a neighbour said of the taxi driver whose body was returned. “He brought tea for old men by the kibbutz gate. He fell on his way back that morning.”

Families of other returned bodies have framed photographs at home, placing them beside candlesticks and prayer books. In many Jewish homes, the custom of shiva — mourning — has been reactivated, ritual anchoring for communities that have lived under the long shadow of war.

Global echoes and the question of accountability

The cadence of the crisis reaches beyond Gaza and southern Israel. International leaders have weighed in with stark rhetoric. “If they do not disarm, we will disarm them,” U.S. President Donald Trump said at a press briefing, warning of rapid and potentially violent action. Such statements amplify regional anxieties and underline a larger question: how do nations reconcile the need for security with humanitarian law and the protection of civilians?

Humanitarian agencies warn that even when borders open, aid cannot instantly heal a collapsed infrastructure. The International Committee of the Red Cross has cautioned that searching through flattened buildings for the missing may take weeks, even months. Food scarcity is acute: famine-like conditions are reported for more than half a million people in Gaza, according to aid assessments.

What comes next?

For now, the Rafah crossing is open. Trucks will drive through with blankets, medical supplies, water purification units, and food. Aid workers will move from distribution points to neighbourhoods, trying to prioritize the most vulnerable — infants, the elderly, those with chronic conditions. But there are no guarantees the corridor will remain untroubled.

What responsibility do external powers bear when diplomacy hinges on exchanges of bodies and trucks? How long can a humanitarian pause stand in for a political solution? And above all, how do the living find a path forward when daily life is threaded through with loss?

“We want to go home,” whispered Fatima, a teacher in Khan Younis, as she handed out a small packet of flour to a young mother. “Home is more than a house. It is our dignity.”

Closing thoughts

The reopening of Rafah is, at once, a practical step and a fragile symbol — a corridor of aid stitched into an atmosphere of grievance. It is a reminder that even in the darkest hours, human compassion can still carve a route through politics and gunfire. Yet the exchange of remains that made the opening possible also unavoidably underscores the terrible cost of conflict: the people who will never return to their shops or to their children’s rooms, the towns that must make space for more tombstones.

As the trucks roll in and the forensics teams complete their work, the world watches. The question that follows those solemn deliveries is not merely about whether aid arrives, but about what kind of peace will be built around those lorries once the engines stop.

Read the complete official text of the Gaza declaration

hanad

October 15, 2025

Full text of the Gaza declaration — The declaration was signed following a summit in Egypt (Credit: Turkish Presidency/Mustafa Kamaci/Handout)

A summit beneath the Red Sea sun: a pact, a promise, and a fragile hush

Sharm el-Sheikh woke to a different kind of dawn — one punctuated not by the routine calls of fishermen but by armored convoys and delegations stepping out of black sedans onto the sun-baked promenade. The resort town’s familiar palette of coral reefs and tourist shops suddenly framed a rare, high-stakes diplomatic scene: leaders from the United States, Egypt, Qatar, and Türkiye gathered to endorse what they called a blueprint for ending a long, brutal chapter of violence in Gaza.

There was ceremony, but also something quieter and more human: faces in the crowd that had nothing to gain from photo ops. An elderly hotel doorman paused with a broom in hand. “We’ve had presidents before,” he said, eyes on the flags. “But people in Gaza sleep under rubble, not under flags. They need something real.”

What was signed — and what it tried to be

The document that emerged from the summit was presented as a comprehensive declaration — a commitment to halt hostilities, rebuild shattered lives, and pursue an inclusive political path forward. Its authors framed it as a “new chapter” for a region scarred by recurring cycles of violence and distrust. Signatories included the U.S. president, the Egyptian head of state, the Emir of Qatar, and the Turkish president, each affixing their names to a pledge that leaned heavily on diplomacy, shared security, cultural respect, and a public repudiation of extremism.

At its core, the declaration attempts three things at once: stop the bleeding; lay down a framework for political dialogue that includes both Palestinians and Israelis; and address the social conditions — education, opportunity, heritage protection — that are often overlooked in ceasefire deals. It reads as both optimistic and aspirational, a text designed to forge common ground among disparate interests.

Key commitments in plain language

Immediate cessation of military hostilities and a move toward longer-term security arrangements.
A pledge to address humanitarian needs and rebuild critical infrastructure in Gaza.
Commitment to combatting extremism through education, opportunity, and social inclusion.
Respect for religious and cultural sites and the communities they sustain.
A vow to resolve disputes through diplomacy rather than force.

Those are promises, not laws. They depend on trust — the scarcest commodity in the region.

Along the shoreline: voices that matter

Walking the narrow alleys behind the beachfront hotels, the human texture of this summit came sharply into focus. A coffee seller named Amal — who has watched foreign ministers stroll by for years while she pours Turkish coffee into small cups — had a thought that was equal parts weary and hopeful. “We are tired of living in someone else’s headlines,” she said. “If this is the way to bring back our sons, our schools, then bring it.”

A Palestinian aid worker who had flown in from the West Bank, speaking quietly so as not to be recorded, described the complicated emotion the document stirred. “A line on paper is not a home,” she said. “But it can be a first brick.”

Regional analysts stressed the uneven incentives at play. “You can craft the most elegantly worded declaration, but if the incentives on the ground aren’t aligned — if power imbalances, economic desperation, and security fears aren’t addressed — it will be fragile,” said Dr. Leila Mansour, a political scientist specializing in Middle East peacemaking. “Durability requires institutions, money, and the daily administration of trust.”

Reality check: numbers, suffering, and the scale of the task

To appreciate what the declaration attempts to remedy, it helps to look at the scale of the human cost. International agencies have documented mass displacement, with hundreds of thousands of people uprooted, and essential services — hospitals, water systems, schools — damaged or destroyed. The United Nations and humanitarian groups cautioned that Gaza’s reconstruction will require billions in investment, extensive clearance of unexploded ordnance, and decades of social recovery.

That is not hyperbole: after protracted conflict, children go years with interrupted schooling, health systems collapse, and entire neighborhoods vanish from city maps. The declaration speaks to rebuilding — but rebuilding, experts point out, demands not just funds but long-term governance solutions that preserve dignity and rights.

The symbolism — and its limits

There is power in images: leaders shaking hands against the backdrop of the Red Sea, the flourish of signatures, the cameras capturing smiles. Such optics matter in diplomacy; they can catalyze momentum, attract donor pledges, and shift the tone from confrontation to conversation.

Yet symbolism alone cannot disarm guns or reopen hospitals. As one former diplomat present at the summit put it, “Photography creates a narrative of progress. But progress is a daily, stubborn grind. That’s where the hard work begins — negotiating passage for aid convoys, vetting reconstruction contractors, and making sure that security measures do not become a straitjacket on normal life.”

Questions that remain — and why you should care

Will this declaration translate into sustained ceasefire conditions on the ground? Can international guarantees be robust enough to prevent a relapse into violence? How will reconstruction funds be delivered and monitored so that they rebuild communities rather than bolster patronage networks? These are not rhetorical queries; they are practical ones that determine whether pages of pledges mean new homes and schools or simply press releases.

We should ask, too: what role do ordinary citizens play in this transition? For peace to endure, there must be social currents that run beneath elite agreements — teachers resuming classes, fishermen taking back the morning sea, market stalls re-opening in safe neighborhoods. Small acts of daily normalcy will be the true barometer.

From declarations to daily life: the long haul

There is a kind of moral urgency that the declaration leans into: a promise that future generations deserve more than the failures of the past. That is a sentiment easy to agree with and very hard to deliver. The pledge to counter radicalization through education and opportunity is meaningful, but it must be accompanied by measurable programs: vocational training, safe schools, trauma counseling, and reliable livelihoods.

As the delegations flew home, the town returned to its rhythms. Tourists drifted back to diving and dining, and local life resumed its quieter pace. But in Gaza and in homes across the region, the outcome of the Sharm el-Sheikh summit will be measured not by headlines but by whether lights switch back on in children’s classrooms.

Closing thought: what do we, far from the shore, owe this moment?

Diplomacy often asks us to imagine a future we cannot yet see. It invites external actors, donors, and ordinary citizens around the world to hold leaders accountable — not only for signing documents but for delivering results. So ask yourself: when a summit produces a pledge, how will you look for its proof? Will you follow the rebuilding plans and support credible humanitarian channels? Will you press for transparency and protection of rights?

At the end of the day, the truest test of any peace declaration is the quiet work that follows: the slow, stubborn return of daily life. If those first bricks are laid carefully, with local voices at the center, this moment on the Red Sea could be the start of something more than hope — it could be the first steps toward a life worth living again for millions.

Hamas Returns Bodies Following Israel’s Threat to Cut Humanitarian Aid

hanad

October 15, 2025

Hamas hands over bodies after Israel threatens aid cuts — The bodies were returned after Israel announced it would cut in half the number of humanitarian aid trucks allowed into Gaza to punish Hamas for what Israel called the militant group's violation of its agreement

At the border of grief and relief: bodies, trucks, and the fragile pause in Gaza

The night air at the border crossing tasted of diesel and dust, a metallic tang that clung to clothes and memories alike.

At Kissufim, where aid convoys have crawled like a lifeline into Gaza, the slow drama of an uneasy ceasefire played out in three acts: the grim return of coffins, the sudden haircut of aid, and the reappearance of armed men on Gaza’s streets.

“You cannot fix a wound by wrapping it in paper,” said Amal, a nurse in Khan Younis who asked that only her first name be used. “Bodies returned, trucks halted—people will die waiting for the second act of this agreement to arrive.”

What was exchanged — and what was not

In the last few days, Hamas has handed over several coffins believed to contain Israeli hostages killed in the October 7 attacks that detonated this long ordeal.

Israeli authorities say they have received four coffins at a meeting point in northern Gaza; other transfers were confirmed by both Hamas spokespeople and international intermediaries. Hamas officials, speaking through local channels, said their teams were “continuing to oversee the implementation of what was agreed upon.”

Still, according to statements coming from Israeli circles, only eight coffins have been transferred so far — leaving dozens unaccounted for in the eyes of families and officials. Israeli tallies say some 251 people were taken hostage on 7 October 2023, and Israeli investigators estimate around 1,200 civilians were killed in the initial attacks. Gaza health authorities, meanwhile, say at least 67,000 Palestinians have died in the hostilities, figures that have become part of the wider human arithmetic of this conflict.

“When a mother receives a coffin, she does not ask which calendar month brought it,” said Miriam Katz, whose relative remains listed as missing. “She just wants the name back. That’s all.”

Aid reduced, needs magnified

Counterintuitively, amid these transfers Israel announced it would halve the number of humanitarian trucks allowed into Gaza — a punitive move officials described as a response to what they call Hamas’ failure to fully comply with the agreement on handing over remains.

Before the ceasefire, plans called for roughly 600 aid trucks to enter Gaza each day to prevent what United Nations and aid agencies have for months called a looming famine. More than half a million Palestinians, aid organizations say, have faced severe food insecurity. Now, as the clock ticks, the promised flow of goods looks compromised.

“We were told to prepare for 600 every day,” an aid worker at the crossing told me. “Now we wait to see how many will come. You cannot run a hospital, a bakery, a life on promises.”

The reality on the ground is brutal: flattened apartment blocks where children once kicked mango pits; makeshift tents under the shadow of shell-blasted mosques; water-scarce homes and a hospital corridor that smells of disinfectant and exhausted hope. Bulldozers deployed by municipal authorities sweep through rubble, trying to open routes for aid convoys, but roads are dangerous and drivers wary.

Hamas back on the streets — in force

With the partial withdrawal of Israeli ground forces, Hamas fighters have reappeared in Gaza’s urban veins, deploying in uniforms and civilian clothes, manning checkpoints and staging patrols along routes intended for aid deliveries.

Local residents reported seeing hundreds of security personnel — an unmistakable sign that Hamas has rushed to reassert governance and control. But the return has not been peaceful; in one harrowing video widely circulated by both local witnesses and regional media, a group of men were shown bound, forced to kneel and executed in public. Multiple sources verified the location and timing, and a Hamas source later confirmed its fighters were involved.

“When an armed group returns, they bring both protection and fear,” observed Dr. Leila Haddad, a Gaza-based sociologist. “Communities feel safer from external attack, but internal tensions rise. The long shadow of suspicion—who did what during the occupation—comes back like a fever.”

Local security officials reported dozens killed in recent internal clashes between rival factions. In addition, Israeli drones struck several targets, killing civilians who approached truce lines or houses in precarious areas, according to Gaza health authorities and Israeli military statements.

Trump, threats, and the politics of disarmament

Across the ocean in Washington, and after a speech to the Israeli Knesset that declared a “historic dawn”, former US President Donald Trump warned that if Hamas did not disarm, “we will disarm them. And it will happen quickly and perhaps violently.”

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has insisted the war cannot end until Hamas relinquishes its weapons and cedes control of Gaza — demands that Hamas fighters and many Gazans alike have rejected outright. The result is a brittle bargain: a ceasefire punctuated by shadows of escalation, and a list of unfulfilled conditions on both sides.

“A ceasefire without accountability is simply the pause between two storms,” said Professor Isaac Ben-Ami, an expert in conflict resolution. “Weapons are only one element. The other is political will. Who will govern? Who will rebuild? And who will guarantee the next dawn won’t break into another night of violence?”

The human calculus

This is not just about missiles and militants. It is also about women in markets waiting for bread, about a schoolteacher trying to return to classes for the children who survived, about the forensic teams working in cold rooms to reunite names with faces. Gaza’s Civil Defence Service reported some 250 bodies recovered since the truce began — each recovery a story, each story a wound reopened for families on both sides.

“There is no checklist for grief,” said Omar, a volunteer with a local civil defence unit. “We mark recovery on paper, give a number, but for us it is still one person with a life, a list of things they loved.”

What does peace look like, really?

As readers, we must ask ourselves: what do we mean by an end to conflict? Is peace the absence of bullets, the return of hostages, or the slow, steady work of reweaving social fabric? The events at Kissufim show that the practical steps toward peace — safe corridors for aid, transparent exchanges of the dead, reliable governance — are as vital as summits and speeches.

Worldwide, the Gaza pause fits a larger pattern: asymmetric warfare where civilian life is the first casualty, hostage diplomacy that pressures negotiators, and humanitarian supply chains that hang by diplomatic threads. If the world has learned anything over the last two years, it is that agreements are fragile and that enforcement is messy.

“We should not trade dignity for speed,” Amal said, closing our conversation as the call to prayer echoed across the rubble-strewn skyline. “There are truths that must be faced. Otherwise, whatever bargain is made today may just be the cover for tomorrow’s fire.”

Where do we go from here?

For now, families wait. Aid convoys queue. Fighters patrol. Bodies are counted and not yet all returned. The calculus of life and death is being renegotiated in real time.

It is easy to be numb to numbers: 251 hostages taken, 1,200 killed on October 7, 67,000 Palestinians dead by local tallies, hundreds more missing and trapped under rubble. But behind every statistic is a face, a kitchen table emptied, a call that won’t be answered. For peace to mean anything, the world must do more than broker exchanges; it must ensure that survival and dignity outlast headlines.

What would you ask if you stood at that crossing for even one hour? What would you try to carry home?

Watch: Ancient dinosaur footprints unearthed at British quarry site

hanad

October 14, 2025

Watch: Dinosaur footprints found in British quarry

Steps from Deep Time: A 200-Metre Dinosaur Trail Emerges in an Oxfordshire Quarry

On a hot British morning this summer, a team of paleontologists and local quarry workers stood in silence as a new kind of road opened beneath their boots: a ribbon of ancient footprints, pressed into stone and laid out like a prehistoric boardwalk. The trackway runs more than 200 metres across a slab of rock at Dewars Farm Quarry in Oxfordshire — an extraordinary stretch of fossilised steps that reads like a page torn from a Middle Jurassic diary.

“You don’t just find something like this; you rediscover a place where creatures once moved,” said Dr. Kirsty Edgar, a palaeontologist from the University of Birmingham, who helped lead this season’s excavation. “It’s rare to get such a long, continuous record. It gives you a sense of movement, of behavior — not just an isolated footprint but a story that walks by.”

The discovery isn’t entirely out of the blue. Dewars Farm has been generous in the past: track fragments were first reported there in the 1990s and again last year. But this year’s find came from a different seam of rock within the same working quarry, a fresh canvas that revealed a long procession of impressions — punctuated, like punctuation in a long sentence, by the fossilised remains of sea shells and even a sea urchin.

Reading the Stones: What Footprints Reveal

Fossilised footprints — or ichnites — are paleontology’s most intimate records. A bone tells you what an animal looked like; a footprint tells you how it moved, how it distributed weight, whether it walked alone or in a group. From stride length, scientists can estimate speed; from spacing and direction, they can infer whether the animals were hunting, migrating, or simply meandering along a shoreline.

“These impressions are behaviour made permanent,” explained Dr. Duncan Murdock from Oxford University’s Museum of Natural History. “When we find shells and a sea urchin near these tracks, it gives us ecological context: this wasn’t a dense forest. It was likely a lagoonal setting — shallow water, mudflats — where dinosaurs and marine creatures shared the margins of life.”

To put this into global context: the Jurassic Period lasted from about 201 to 145 million years ago. Many of Britain’s renowned dinosaur fossils date to the Middle Jurassic (roughly 174–163 million years ago), when sea levels and climates were in flux and the landscapes that would become present-day Oxfordshire were a patchwork of lagoons, floodplains and shallow seas.

The Human Side of Unearthing

At the quarry, the mood is a mix of childlike wonder and the quiet reverence of people who have come to care for a place of layers. “You get used to finding stones and fossils, but when you step back and see a sequence of footprints like a frozen parade, it stops you,” said Jade Hollis, who grew up a few miles from the site and now works at the quarry. “Everyone on site came over. Even the diggers had to pause their machines.”

Local residents speak of the quarry as part workplace, part landscape memory. In nearby villages, the discovery has become dinner-table conversation. “My grandfather used to tell tales of the old pits,” said Alan Brooks, a retired farmer who walks past the quarry most mornings. “But to think of beasts the size of buses padding through what used to be our moor — it’s humbling. It’s like the land remembers.”

How Scientists Capture a Walk Across Deep Time

Excavating a trackway is equal parts archaeology, geology and forensic science. Teams gently remove overburden, document layers, and use high-resolution photography, lidar and photogrammetry to make 3D models that can be studied by researchers anywhere in the world. Plaster casts may be taken of the most significant impressions, and samples of the surrounding sediment are analysed for microfossils and chemical signatures.

Photogrammetry and 3D scanning preserve detail for future study and online exhibitions.
Microfossil analysis (foraminifera, spores) helps define the age and environment of deposition.
Trace fossils, like burrows or ripple marks, help reconstruct water depth and tidal influence.

Because trackways are surface features, they are vulnerable: exposure to the elements can erode them quickly. That’s why prompt documentation and conservation are essential. In recent years, digital archiving has allowed museums and universities to make these records public, sharing them with classrooms and citizen scientists worldwide.

Why This Matters Beyond Oxfordshire

There’s a human hunger in discoveries like this. We’re not merely adding a specimen to a cabinet; we’re connecting threads between deep time and our present moment. How did ecosystems respond to sea-level changes during the Jurassic? What can those transitions tell us about resilience and adaptability — lessons that are increasingly relevant as we confront climate change?

“Fossils are time capsules,” said Dr. Edgar. “They remind us that environments shift, that species adapt, migrate, or disappear. But they also remind us of continuity — that life leaves traces, and we, too, leave traces on the planet.”

The find also sparks a conversation about land use and heritage. Quarries are working landscapes — sources of stone and employment — but they can also be windows into the past. Balancing industry with conservation is a delicate act that requires local engagement and scientific stewardship.

What the Trackway Could Tell Us Next

Researchers will be analysing the track spacing, footprint depth and associated fossils over the coming months. Those metrics could suggest whether the animals were bipeds or quadrupeds, whether they were travelling quickly or slowly, and whether the surface was firm or waterlogged when the impressions were made.

There are broader questions too. Could this be a multi-species corridor? Are there signs of hoofed mammals or crocodyliforms mingled among the dino prints? Each answer will reshape our portrait of an ancient Oxfordshire coastline.

Listen: The World Underfoot

Next time you walk along a hedgerow or across a field, consider the thin skin of time beneath your shoes. What will we leave on the world for future eyes to read? The Dewars Farm trackway is a reminder that our world is an archive, always being written and rewritten by acts of geology and life.

So, what do you think deserves to be preserved for future generations — the stories written in stone, or the landscapes we still shape today? If a strip of mud 165 million years old can bridge a gap between a quarry worker and a palaeontologist, perhaps we can do the same for other urgent conversations about stewardship, history and our shared planet.

For now, the footprints lie open in the quarry, a long, silent sentence from another age. Scientists will study them, the public will marvel, and the land will keep its slow, patient watch.

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