Moscow Denies Any Role in Drone Incidents Near Denmark

September 25, 2025

Russia denies involvement in Denmark drone incidents — Passengers checking a flight information board at Copenhagen Airport on Tuesday

Night Lights Over Jutland: When Small Drones Spark Big Questions

On a cool, late-summer night in western Denmark, residents looked up to find the sky punctuated not by stars, but by a cluster of eerie green blinks. For a few hours, the ordinary rhythms of life around the Jutland peninsula — school runs, late shifts at the ports, the steady thrum of aircraft taking off from regional hubs — were interrupted by something small, silent and unnerving.

“I saw three green lights hovering right above the runway,” said Morten Skov, a resident near Aalborg, still shaking his head days later. “They hung there, not moving much. It felt like someone was watching us. It was one of those moments you can’t quite explain.”

What Happened

In the last 24 hours, at least five airports and an air base on Jutland — Billund, Aalborg, Esbjerg, Sønderborg and Skrydstrup — experienced drone incursions that forced temporary closures and the grounding of flights. Billund, Denmark’s second-busiest airport and a gateway for families heading to LEGOLAND and business traffic alike, was closed for around an hour. Aalborg, a dual commercial and military hub, was closed for roughly three hours. Skrydstrup, home to some of Denmark’s F-16 and F-35 fighters, also reported sightings.

Denmark’s defence minister, Troels Lund Poulsen, used a stark term to describe what officials are calling a deliberate and coordinated action: “This is what I would define as a hybrid attack using different types of drones.” He added that while there’s no immediate direct military threat to people on the ground, Denmark will strengthen its ability to “detect” and “neutralise” drones.

Political Ripples

Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen said she had been in contact with Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte and NATO leadership, calling the incidents “serious.” On social platform X, Mr Rutte echoed the alarm, saying allies were “working together on how we can ensure the safety and security of our critical infrastructure.” NATO officials, who have increasingly warned member states about low-cost, asymmetric threats, described the events as being taken “very seriously.”

Denmark’s national police linked the events to earlier drone activity that had halted flights at Copenhagen airport earlier this week — the most serious disruption yet to the country’s critical aviation infrastructure. Yet despite the force and coordination implied by the pattern, officials have been careful about attribution.

Russia’s embassy in Copenhagen dismissed “absurd” allegations of involvement and called suggestions the incidents were anything other than a “staged provocation” a pretext for escalating tensions. Russia’s ambassador to Denmark, Vladimir Barbin, personally denied involvement in the Copenhagen incident.

Why Attribution Is Tricky — And Why It Matters

There’s a gap between suspicion and proof. “Attribution in the drone era is notoriously difficult,” said Dr. Anna Sørensen, a security analyst who studies hybrid threats at a Copenhagen research centre. “Drones can be bought off the shelf, modified with open-source software and operated remotely. Signals can be masked. Sometimes the signature you’re looking for just isn’t there.”

That ambiguity is precisely what makes such operations attractive to actors who may want to intimidate or probe defences without triggering a conventional military response.

Yet the impact is tangible. For airports, even brief shutdowns have ripple effects: passengers miss connections, cargo is delayed, airlines absorb costs and confidence is dented. In a country like Denmark — a compact economy with extensive global linkages — interruptions at regional hubs can echo beyond local inconvenience.

Local Color: Jutland Between Pastoral Calm and Strategic Importance

The towns around Jutland are a study in contrasts: wind-swept farmland and fishing harbours, sophisticated industrial clusters, family-owned farms, and a coastline laced with NATO-relevant infrastructure. Billund is better known for bright plastic bricks and family holidays than for geopolitical headaches, which made the closure there feel surreal to locals.

“You don’t expect to have your holiday plans disrupted by lights in the sky,” said Lise Rasmussen, who had been preparing to pick up relatives at Billund. “But it made everyone feel small and exposed, like we’re part of someone else’s chess game.”

Voices From the Ground

“It was unsettling,” said a worker at Aalborg airport. “We prepare for storms and fog, but not for things hovering silently over the runway.”
“We need better detection,” a local politician told me. “This is about protecting our people and our economy.”

Broader Trends: Drones, Hybrid Warfare and Critical Infrastructure

What played out in Jutland is part of a broader pattern across Europe: drones are increasingly being used to probe air defences, test political reactions and, occasionally, cause physical damage. Aviation regulators and defence ministries have flagged such incidents for several years, and institutions like the European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) have issued guidance to airports and airspace managers on mitigating drone risks.

“We’re in a new era where low-cost technology can have outsized strategic effects,” Dr. Sørensen said. “The challenge for democracies is to protect open societies while not letting fear drive knee-jerk authorisation of invasive countermeasures.”

There’s also a legal tangle: who is responsible for policing low-altitude airspace? How do international laws apply when the perpetrator can remain anonymous? Answers are still emerging, shaped by politics, technology and public tolerance for intrusive defences.

What Denmark Is Doing — And What Comes Next

Officials in Copenhagen are moving quickly to shore up defenses. The defence minister promised investment into detection and neutralisation systems — radar upgrades, electronic countermeasures, and improved intelligence-sharing with allies. NATO’s response is likely to emphasize collaborative protection of “critical infrastructure” — a broad term that now includes regional airports, maritime ports and even energy installations.

“We will not allow our civil infrastructure to be used as a testing ground,” Troels Lund Poulsen said. “We will work with partners to ensure security.”

But there are practical limits. Deploying counter-drone systems at every small airfield is costly, and some solutions risk collateral damage — jamming can interfere with legitimate systems, and kinetic options carry their own dangers over populated areas.

Questions for the Reader

How should societies balance openness and security in the face of cheap, proliferating technologies? Are regional airports — lifelines for connectivity and local economies — now expected to shoulder national security burdens? And how much ambiguity should we tolerate before demanding a firmer international framework for attribution and response?

Final Thoughts

As the lights over Jutland fade into memory and flights resume, the disquiet lingers. These are small machines with outsized consequences: they reveal gaps in defence, raise existential questions about modern conflict, and remind ordinary citizens that vulnerability can arrive in green blinks against a dark sky.

Denmark will likely tighten its defences, and NATO allies will deliberate on cooperative measures. But the underlying truth is global: in a world where technology moves faster than policy, communities — from Billund to Berlin to Bangkok — must reckon with how to protect daily life without surrendering the freedoms that make them worth protecting. What kind of world do we want to live in when a quiet night can suddenly become a test of resilience?

China Announces First Ever Commitment to Reduce Carbon Emissions

hanad

September 25, 2025

China makes pledge to cut emissions for the first time — China's trajectory determines whether the world will limit end-of-century warming to 1.5C

When Promise Meets Policy: China’s New Climate Pledge and the Tightrope of Global Ambition

There’s a curious kind of theater to modern diplomacy: leaders speak to glass and pixels, while the planet waits with its old, messy, un-sentient patience. President Xi Jinping’s recent video address to the United Nations—laying out a first-ever numerical emission cut for China in the near term—felt like that theater made urgent. A headline figure: 7–10% economy-wide reduction in greenhouse gases from peak levels by 2035. Modest, measured, and immediately controversial. But beneath that number lies a story of factories and forests, politics and innovation, sinners and saviors all wrapped in the same national identity.

“This is not the end of the conversation,” said Wopke Hoekstra, the European Commissioner for Climate, in a statement that landed like a cold shower in Brussels. “This level of ambition is clearly disappointing, and given China’s immense footprint, it makes reaching the world’s climate goals significantly more challenging.”

Why Every Ton Matters

China is no ordinary country in the climate calculus. It is the single largest emitter, responsible for roughly a quarter to a third of global CO2 emissions depending on how you count. It is also a crucible for clean technology: solar panels from Jiangsu and Sichuan, batteries from the Pearl River Delta, electric cars rolling off assembly lines near Shenzhen and Wuhan. The world’s climate future is, in many ways, tethered to how China’s economy transforms over the next decade.

So when Beijing pegs a 2035 target to only a single-digit cut from its peak—rather than a cliff of reductions—angst and analysis follow. Critics call it underwhelming. Supporters point to an old Chinese pattern: under-promise, then over-deliver. Which narrative will hold? That question will shape policy talks, investor decisions, and, yes, the lived experience of people from the Gobi’s edges to river deltas in Guangdong.

The hard facts in the pledge

Cut economy-wide net greenhouse gas emissions by 7–10% from peak levels by 2035.
Raise the share of non-fossil fuels in primary energy consumption to over 30%.
Expand wind and solar capacity to roughly 3,600 gigawatts—more than six times 2020 levels.
Boost forest stock to over 24 billion cubic meters.
Make electric vehicles a mainstream share of new car sales.
Expand the national carbon trading scheme and work toward a “climate-adaptive society.”

Numbers, like promises, are interpretive. Saying “7–10% from peak” without naming the baseline year leaves wiggle room: peaks can be pushed forward, or quietly revised, and a “net” figure can be achieved with offsets whose climate integrity is debated. Yet infrastructure, once built, tends to lock a country’s energy trajectory. Building gigawatts of renewables—and the grid to use them—matters.

On the Ground: Factories, Villages and the New Green Economy

Walk through many Chinese industrial towns and you’ll hear two competing rhythms. One is the clank of coal-fed heavy industry; the other is the buzz of photovoltaic cell assembly lines, a sound that seems to say: this country will make the tools of decarbonisation whether the rest of the world likes it or not.

“Three years ago we were mostly making parts for coal plants,” said Liu Mei, an engineering manager at a solar equipment plant in Yancheng, Jiangsu. “Now 80% of our orders are for modules destined for export. The money is in green.”

In the north, reforestation programs are reshaping landscapes once eroded by intensive agriculture. In the cities, millions are switching to electric two-wheelers and, increasingly, to EVs. State-owned enterprises are pumping investment into batteries, hydrogen pilots and grid upgrades.

“China has the industrial heft to scale new technologies faster than anyone else,” said Professor Ananya Gupta, a specialist in energy transitions at a university in Singapore. “That means even a modest national target can be eclipsed by market forces and industrial capacity.”

Why Some Experts Say the Pledge Is a Floor, Not a Ceiling

Analysts point to two contradictory trends. On one hand, China is still building coal power plants—new capacity has been approved even as older plants are retired. On the other, the pace of renewable deployment is staggering. The country’s manufacturing dominance in solar PV, lithium-ion batteries, and now electric vehicles creates a momentum of its own: supply chains, skilled labor, and international demand are pulling investments in a low-carbon direction.

“What we see is a tug-of-war,” explained Lauri Myllyvirta, an energy analyst. “Policy signals create the legal scaffolding, but markets, subsidies and export opportunities finish the job. The pledge sets a floor. Expect private firms and provincial governments to push higher if global markets reward green products.”

But the politics are global

Climate pledges don’t exist in a vacuum. They are traded, measured, criticized and used as leverage at UN summits and trade negotiations. The European Union has made clear it expects more. Vulnerable countries watching from the sidelines—small island nations, flood-prone Pakistan, drought-scarred regions of Sub-Saharan Africa—measure ambition not by rhetoric but by projected atmospheric concentrations decades from now.

And yet, Antonio Guterres’ cautious optimism is not empty. “The Paris Agreement has made a difference,” he said recently, pointing to downward revisions in projected warming over the last decade. Global temperature projections have edged lower compared to earlier worst-case scenarios—but still, scientists warn, we are perilously close to the 1.5°C threshold most agree should not be crossed.

What This Means for You—and Me

It’s easy to treat climate politics as a theatre of elites. But lives will be reshaped regardless. In China, air quality affects the playgrounds where children learn to bike. In Brazil, rainforests influence global rainfall patterns. In Europe, the political calculus of industry and jobs shapes how quickly nations decarbonize. For investors, it’s a signal to place bets where technology and policy align. For citizens, it’s a call to ask more of leaders and markets alike.

Ask yourself: do you trust a target without a clear baseline? Would you rather see robust short-term cuts anchored in law, or a longer-term promise backed by industrial momentum and technological innovation? Both approaches have trade-offs.

Where We Go From Here

Xi’s pledge is neither a triumph nor a capitulation. It is a waypoint. For some, it will be the reason to press harder in the corridors of power. For others, it will be the sign they needed to double down on green industry. And for the rest of us—citizens, customers, voters—it is a reminder that the climate story is not only told in summit halls but in factories, forests and neighborhoods.

“Ambition must be matched by transparency,” said Yao Zhe of an environmental advocacy group. “If China truly wants to help hold warming to 1.5°C, then 2030 targets, provincial roadmaps, and verifiable accounting will matter as much as the pledge itself.”

So watch closely. Watch the gigawatts being built, the trees being planted, the coal permits being issued or revoked. And ask the questions that turn pledges into policy and policy into practice. The future doesn’t wait for permission—only for resolve.

Spain and Italy dispatch naval vessels to escort Gaza aid flotilla

hanad

September 25, 2025

Spain and Italy to send warships to Gaza aid flotilla — Vessels set sail from Binzert Port on 14 September as part of the Global Sumud Flotilla

When the Sea Became a Frontline: A Flotilla, Drones and Two Navies Stepping In

The Mediterranean at dawn is supposed to be a place of small certainties: fishermen hauling nets, cafés polishing espresso cups, and ferry horns cutting through salt-scented air. This week, however, the blue that laps the Greek islands has been seized by something else—tension, fear, and the metallic whine of drones.

What began as a civilian mission to carry food and solidarity across a few dozen miles of water has become a moment of international escalation. The Global Sumud Flotilla—around 50 civilian vessels carrying activists, lawyers and aid workers from some 45 countries—was attacked by drones in international waters roughly 56 kilometres off the Greek island of Gavdos. The flotilla had set sail from Barcelona on 31 August with the stated aim of challenging Israel’s naval blockade of Gaza and delivering humanitarian aid.

States step forward

In New York, where world leaders were gathering at the United Nations General Assembly, Spain’s Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez announced that Madrid would send a naval vessel from Cartagena to shadow the flotilla and be ready to assist in any rescue operations. “The government of Spain insists that international law be respected,” Sánchez said at a press briefing, adding that citizens from 45 countries were aboard to deliver food and to show solidarity with Gaza’s civilians.

Italy moved in parallel. Defence Minister Guido Crosetto told parliament a second Italian warship was escorting the flotilla; a frigate had already been dispatched earlier. “We condemn the attack in the strongest terms,” he said, noting the vessel was on route for possible rescue missions.

For activists on deck, the presence of European warships felt like a double-edged reassurance—an added layer of protection, but also a reminder of how quickly humanitarian intention can slip into geopolitical theatre.

Voices from the water

Greta Thunberg, the Swedish climate campaigner who was reported to be aboard, captured the tone succinctly in a videocall: “This mission is about Gaza, it isn’t about us. No risks we could take could come close to the risks the Palestinians are facing every day.”

Sarah Clancy, an Irish activist with the flotilla, described the drone strikes in blunt terms. “Nine or ten boats were hit by projectiles that emitted smoke. It felt like an act of piracy,” she said. “Drones hovering over us every night is intimidation. They try to make us small.”

Onshore in Crete, a local fisherman named Nikos, who watched the flotilla pass by his village, spoke slowly, eyes on the horizon. “We are a seafaring people,” he said. “We see ships, we know their language—honesty, fear, hope. These boats carry people who want to help. You cannot stop the sea from giving.”

What happened, and how the numbers stack up

Organisers say about 51 vessels now make up the Global Sumud Flotilla, most of them hovering off Crete. The attack—attributed to the use of 12 drones—took place in international waters about 56 km from Gavdos. Several civilian boats reported projectiles and smoke; activists say the drones circled nightly before the strikes.

Israel has not publicly confirmed responsibility for the drone activity. The Israeli government has long defended its naval blockade of Gaza as a security measure following the Hamas-led attacks on 7 October 2023, which Israeli tallies say killed around 1,200 people and saw 251 taken hostage. Since then, Gaza’s health authorities report more than 65,000 Palestinians killed—a number that has reverberated across international humanitarian discourse and prompted global protests, aid missions, and legal debates about proportionality, blockade law and civilian protection.

Beyond the headlines: law, logistics and solidarity

What legal frameworks govern a flotilla on the high seas? International maritime law recognizes the right to freedom of navigation in international waters. Yet blockades—if legally declared and effectively enforced—complicate matters and can be a ground for dispute. The presence of European naval vessels signals not only a protective stance but also an attempt to reassert the idea that civilians engaged in humanitarian missions have rights that must be respected.

“This is not a simple NGO operation,” says Dr. Leyla Moreno, a maritime law expert based in Barcelona. “When dozens of boats from multiple flags gather, they are creating a political fact at sea. States will respond not just with words but with naval resources if they perceive risk to their citizens.”

Humanitarian calculus

What are the ships actually carrying? Organisers describe the cargo as primarily food and medical supplies intended for Gazan civilians—staples and emergency rations rather than large-scale logistics. But the challenge is not just cargo volume. It’s political access: offloading aid requires a port, an agreement, and safe corridors. Without those, a flotilla may only be able to deliver a powerful image rather than sustained relief on the ground.

“We’re not naïve,” said Amira Haddad, a volunteer coordinator who boarded in Barcelona. “We know a single convoy cannot end a blockade. But small acts of solidarity matter. And when the world’s navies start moving, the message gets louder.”

Local color, global ripples

On the Greek isles, life goes on—taverna owners open for lunch, goats wander between sunburned olive trees, and satellite dishes glint like small moons on whitewashed roofs. Yet the flotilla has threaded itself into local conversation. Some villagers bring coffee to exhausted activists; others worry about being drawn into geopolitical conflict. “We feed sailors,” says Maria, who runs a café in Chora. “If they come hungry, we feed them. But we also pray so that our waters stay safe.”

Internationally, the episode raises larger questions: What is the role of civilian-led humanitarian action in an era of drone surveillance? When does moral pressure cross into diplomatic incident? And how do democratic governments balance protecting their citizens with avoiding escalation?

Food for thought

Ask yourself: would you set out on a small boat into international waters knowing drones might swarm overhead? Would you trust a warship to keep you safe—or fear it might drag you into a wider conflict? The answers are not binary. They sit in the uneasy space between compassion and caution.

Flotilla size: ~51 vessels
Distance of attack: ~56 km off Gavdos
Reported drones involved: 12
Countries represented: citizens from about 45 nations

What happens next?

Spain and Italy have made their moves. Other nations will watch, and so will the people aboard those small ships. If rescue operations become necessary, the Mediterranean—an ancient crossroads of empire and exchange—will serve as stage again for a modern test: whether international solidarity can protect life, and whether maritime law can hold its weight against the newest tools of warfare.

In the end, the flotilla’s voyage is about more than food. It is a human attempt to pierce a blockade with presence. It is a question flung like a bottle into the sea: will the world answer?

Palestinian leader to address United Nations amid renewed peace efforts

hanad

September 25, 2025

Palestinian leader to address UN amid peace push — The UN General Assembly overwhelmingly voted to let Mahmoud Abbas address the world body with a video message [file image]

When a leader speaks from afar: Mahmoud Abbas, the UN, and the precarious fate of Palestine

There is an odd intimacy to virtual diplomacy. In a cavernous General Assembly hall where world leaders usually stride the carpet and journalists crowd the aisles, an 89‑year‑old statesman sat in a small room somewhere between Ramallah and the horizon of an uncertain future and spoke to the world through a screen.

Mahmoud Abbas’s address to the United Nations this week was not merely a speech. It was a symbol—of exclusion and endurance, of politics reconfigured by power, and of a people whose claims to statehood have been argued and postponed for three decades.

“I speak on behalf of millions whose rights have been deferred,” a calm, measured Abbas told viewers via the virtual link. “We will not be erased from history by declarations and unilateral acts.”

A summit of recognition and a ban on travel

Three days earlier, Paris had hosted a high‑profile summit that left an indelible mark on the diplomatic calendar: France led a group of Western nations in recognizing, at least politically, a state of Palestine. It was a move designed to prod a stalled peace process back into motion. The gesture also exposed a fault line within the transatlantic community.

For the United States, the response was different. The Trump administration—consistent with its longstanding policy of aligning closely with the Israeli government during his term—explicitly opposed the recognition of Palestinian statehood. In an unusual and striking diplomatic turn, Washington barred Abbas and senior Palestinian aides from traveling to New York for the annual UN meeting, a prohibition that transformed a routine visit into a global story about movement, access, and legitimacy.

The General Assembly, however, stepped in: members voted overwhelmingly to permit Abbas to address the body by video. The decision was a quiet rebuke to the idea that diplomatic access can be rationed according to alliance politics.

Annexation threats and international alarm

In Jerusalem, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu reiterated a line that has rattled Palestinians for years: he refuses to countenance an independent Palestinian state. That stance has emboldened hard‑line ministers in his coalition to threaten annexation of parts—or all—of the West Bank, moves that would reconfigure maps and lives.

“We won’t allow a second state on lands that are integral to our history and security,” one senior Israeli official declared privately; a more strident voice from the far right told reporters that annexation was a “final answer” to independence efforts.

Many in the international community view annexation as a dangerous escalation. French President Emmanuel Macron, despite his own disagreements with Washington over how to handle the situation, said President Trump had told him that Europeans and Americans shared opposition to annexation. “What President Trump told me yesterday was that the Europeans and Americans have the same position,” Macron said in a joint interview with France 24 and Radio France Internationale.

From ceasefire plans to troops on the ground: an uncertain, 21‑point road map

On the sidelines of the UN gathering, U.S. representatives presented a comprehensive plan—reported as a 21‑point framework—aimed at ending the recent and devastating cycle of violence. “I think it addresses Israeli concerns as well as the concerns of all the neighbours in the region,” said the U.S. special envoy, who outlined a vision that mixes security guarantees with political steps.

“We’re hopeful, and I might say even confident, that in the coming days we’ll be able to announce some sort of breakthrough,” he added at a Concordia summit event. The plan reportedly incorporates elements similar to a French proposal: disarmament of extremist groups in Gaza, the creation of an international stabilization force, and the slow handover of security responsibilities—first in Gaza and eventually in parts of the West Bank—to a reformed Palestinian Authority.

The mechanics are thorny. A French position paper seen by diplomats calls for gradual security transfers once a ceasefire is solid. Indonesia—home to the world’s largest Muslim population—took the bold step of offering to contribute troops, with President Prabowo Subianto signaling willingness to commit at least 20,000 personnel for a stabilization mission. Even the suggestion of foreign boots on the ground conjures complex logistical and political puzzles: under what mandate would they operate, and who would pay the bills?

The Palestinian Authority’s frayed legitimacy

The Palestinian Authority, which sprang from the Oslo Accords of 1993 and exercises partial control over pockets of the West Bank, finds itself squeezed between external demands and internal fractures. Fatah, Abbas’s party, remains the primary Palestinian political force in the West Bank; Hamas controls the Gaza Strip and is anathema to many Western governments. Yet Israeli leaders have sometimes blurred the distinction, using security rhetoric to justify political steps.

“People here feel abandoned,” said Rania Khalil, a schoolteacher in Ramallah who spent the morning after the UN vote talking with neighbors over coffee. “We have passports that mean nothing unless someone else decides otherwise. We want institutions that serve citizens, not institutions that serve survival.”

European capitals have been critical but pragmatic: they have refused wholesale delegitimization of the PA while insisting on much‑needed reform. Corruption, lack of transparency, and a political system that has not held competitive presidential elections in years are problems human rights groups and foreign donors frequently flag.

Voices from the streets and the edge of the map

In the West Bank, life continues in its mosaic of ordinary moments and extraordinary constraints. A farmer in the hills outside Bethlehem tends olive trees that have fed his family for generations, the soil stained with memories and politics. In Ramallah’s cafes, people debate international diplomacy between sips of strong coffee and the slap of backgammon stones.

“We feel like chess pieces,” said Omar, a 34‑year‑old IT specialist. “Our lives are measured in checkpoints and permits. A speech at the UN warms the heart, but a permit to visit my sister in Nablus warms the life.”

Across the Green Line, in Israeli towns and settlements, the tone is different: fear and security calculate into everyday routines. Israeli settlers point to the rise of regional instability and say sovereignty claims are not abstract; they are about safety and continuity. “We want to live here without fear,” said Miriam, a resident of a West Bank settlement, “and we believe political reality should reflect that.”

Where do we go from here?

Abbas’s video address was part plea, part diagnosis. He condemned the 7 October attacks by Hamas and called on the group to disarm and defer security responsibilities to the Palestinian Authority, seeking to separate the Palestinian national cause from the tactics of extremist actors. Whether Hamas would acquiesce—and whether Israel would accept an empowered, reformed PA—remains unclear.

Netanyahu is scheduled to speak to the General Assembly tomorrow. His address will likely crystallize the trench lines: security, sovereignty, and the legal status of territory. But beyond speeches and high‑level meetings there is a restless global public watching, judging, and often distrusting the slow churn of diplomacy.

Can an international consensus be built that balances Israel’s security concerns with Palestinian aspirations for dignity and statehood? What would a credible, reformed Palestinian Authority look like—one that can govern Gaza and the West Bank or negotiate for the people it claims to represent? And perhaps most urgently: can the region prevent unilateral steps that harden lines and make a two‑state horizon ever more distant?

These are not just policy questions. They are human questions about movement and belonging, about ancient olive trees and newborn children, about checkpoints and markets, about the ability to imagine a future shared rather than divided.

In diplomacy, as in life, distance is both a problem and an opportunity. When leaders are forced to speak from afar, their words can be amplified into new possibilities—or they can echo as reminders of what remains out of reach. The coming days in New York will tell us a little more about which way this chapter will bend. For the millions living under occupation and the millions more who care, the stakes could not be higher.

Tories demand probe into Labour leader Keir Starmer’s chief of staff

hanad

September 25, 2025

Tories request investigation into Starmer chief of staff — The Conservative Party is also calling for an investigation into Prime Minister Keir Starmer, claiming he failed to declare support from the think-tank Labour Together

A Storm in Westminster: Why One Chief of Staff’s Past Is Rattling British Politics

There are moments in politics that feel small—an old invoice dug up, a phrase taken out of context—and then there are moments that stretch outward, tugging at the threads that hold public trust together. The latest uproar centers on Morgan McSweeney, the Downing Street chief of staff whose rise from a quiet Irish hometown to the nerve centre of UK power has now become the focus of a cross-party squall about transparency and influence.

McSweeney, who arrived at Number 10 in October last year, is a familiar name to anyone who followed the long campaign that culminated in July 2024. Before entering government, he helped run Labour Together, a policy and campaigning think-tank credited by allies with sharpening Labour’s message and tactics ahead of the election victory. But the organization’s past—specifically a 2021 Electoral Commission fine for failures around donation reporting—has provided the opposition with a toehold.

What’s the Allegation?

At the centre of the row is a question that sounds almost quaint but strikes at a modern nerve: how were donations logged, and were they properly declared? In 2021, Labour Together was fined £14,250 for issues connected with the handling of nearly £740,000 in donations. Conservatives say recently published correspondence shows advice was given to an official to describe the omission as an “admin error,” and they are now asking for an official inquiry into whether McSweeney tried to mislead the Electoral Commission.

“Citizens deserve to know that the people shaping government policy play by the rules,” said a Conservative Party spokesperson. “We’ve simply asked the Parliamentary Standards Commissioner to look into these documents and make a determination.”

Voices from the Heart: Macroom and Westminster

McSweeney’s story is also, in human terms, a story of place. He comes from Macroom in County Cork—a town that, in the imaginations of many, represents a very different life from the marble corridors of Westminster. On the high street there, an elderly shopkeeper shrugged when I asked about McSweeney’s rise.

“Ah, he was always sharp as a tack,” the shopkeeper said, smiling. “We’re proud, but we’re not surprised. Still, none of us like seeing our name in headlines that make things messy.”

Back in Westminster, the mood is raw and combative. Labour ministers have been at pains to close ranks. Deputy Prime Minister David Lammy dismissed the attacks as “muck-racking,” a phrase that landed with thud against the polished furniture of Number 10. Pat McFadden, Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, told BBC Radio that the Conservatives were attempting to “attack somebody who is very effective” and lauded McSweeney as “an integral part of Labour’s general election campaign.”

Labour Together, for its part, insisted the matter was settled long ago. “The Electoral Commission’s investigation, with which Labour Together fully co-operated, was completed in 2021,” the group said in a statement. “The outcome was made public and widely covered by the media at the time.”

The Political Stakes

It’s important to see this as more than a personal scandal. The Conservatives have also suggested Prime Minister Keir Starmer failed to declare the think-tank’s support—alleging “secret polling” and behind-the-scenes help that may have informed speeches and strategy. Downing Street has robustly rejected those claims, insisting all support and interactions were properly declared.

“The really serious question here is about transparency in political campaigning,” said Dr. Helen Archer, a political ethics expert at an unnamed university. “Whether or not these actions rise to the level of unlawful behaviour, they test the frameworks we rely on to keep politics open and accountable.”

Why This Resonates with the Public

People are fatigued by stories of fuzzy money and unseen influence. The narrative taps into larger anxieties: is power being exercised quietly by those we cannot see? Who writes the speech that moves a nation, and who funds the persuasion?

Consider these figures: the fine against Labour Together—£14,250—might sound modest against the near-£740,000 in donations at issue. The discrepancy is a reminder that regulatory penalties often trail behind the sums at stake. It’s a technicality with outsized emotional resonance.

“You don’t have to be a conspiracy theorist to worry,” said Anjali Rao, a community organiser in Leeds. “I want to know the handshake deals, the emails we never see, and the tapes people don’t release. It’s about power, not personality.”

Local Color, Global Questions

Ask a shopkeeper in Macroom or a barrister in London, and you get different accents but similar unease. The Irish landscape that shaped McSweeney—peat-smoke mornings, tightly knitted communities, a sense of pride in where you come from—clashes with the antiseptic logic of political operations. It’s a human juxtaposition that matters. One man’s backyard is now part of a national conversation about how democracies are run.

That conversation isn’t local. Across democracies, think-tanks and political NGOs have become sophisticated engines for policy formation and public persuasion. In the United States, dark money debates dominate; in continental Europe, party funding rules vary wildly. The UK’s crisis here is another iteration of a global trend: the tension between expertise and accountability.

So What Happens Next?

The Conservatives have written to the Parliamentary Standards Commissioner asking for an investigation. The Commissioner must decide whether the evidence warrants a formal probe. If it does, this could drag into months of inquiries, witness statements, and fresh press cycles. If it doesn’t, accusations of a partisan witch-hunt will only grow louder.

There are broader choices here, too. Lawmakers can tighten reporting rules, increase penalties, and demand greater transparency around think-tank cooperation with political parties. Or they can leave the status quo, a tacit acceptance that campaigns will stretch grey areas until clear boundaries are drawn.

Which path will we choose? It’s a question that matters not only for Morgan McSweeney or for Keir Starmer, but for any citizen who hopes that the mechanisms of power remain visible and accountable.

Closing Thoughts

Politics is messy. It always has been. But the mess becomes corrosive when it obscures rather than illuminates. Whatever the final finding about an “admin error,” a fine, or a forgotten form, this episode is a reminder: democracies require sunlight as well as strategy. They demand that the people who plot a nation’s direction are not the only ones who can see the compass.

So I ask you, reader: when a story seems small, do you look the other way—or do you demand to know the whole account? The answer tells us as much about the health of our politics as any report or fine ever could.

Decode Your Clothing Labels: What Care Tags Actually Mean

hanad

September 25, 2025

Watch: What your clothing labels really tell you

The tag on your T‑shirt is a half‑truth

That little seam label you glance at while deciding whether to toss a shirt into your cart—“Made in Portugal,” “Made in Bangladesh”—feels decisive. It whispers the garment’s origin like a geographic seal of authenticity. But that tiny rectangle rarely tells the whole tale.

Follow that cotton fiber back a few steps and you’ll find a global odyssey: seed and soil, irrigation canals and spinning mills, middlemen, shipping containers and, sometimes, corners where oversight thins and harm can hide. The garment’s birthplace on the tag often marks only the last stop on a long, complicated journey.

The long, secret journey of a cotton thread

Cotton’s life begins in fields that sprawl across deserts and deltas, in farms large and small. From there the raw boll moves through ginning, spinning, weaving or knitting, dyeing, cutting and sewing—each stage possibly in a different country. A T‑shirt assembled in a Dhaka factory might include cotton grown in Texas, yarn spun in Turkey and dyeing done in a third place. Labels typically document only where the final sewing happened.

“If you ask a factory manager, they’ll tell you their paperwork is in order,” said Maria López, a textile supply‑chain consultant who has worked with brands from Barcelona to Bangalore. “But paperwork follows business logic, not human lives. The person who sewed the seam sees the final stitch; nobody on that label sees the farmer who pruned the plant.”

Who grows the world’s cotton?

Cotton is a global crop. Major producers include India and China, followed by the United States, Pakistan, Brazil and several countries in West and Central Asia. Millions of smallholders and large commercial farms together produce the raw fiber that feeds textile mills worldwide, and production fluctuates with weather, policy and global demand.

Those regional patterns matter. Cotton irrigated from Central Asian rivers helped build great export industries—and also contributed to environmental crises. The shrinking of the Aral Sea, once one of the world’s largest inland seas, is tied in large part to Soviet‑era diversions of water for cotton. The image of a salt‑crusted seabed, dotted with abandoned ships, is a stark example of how fibre choices ripple across ecosystems.

Environmental and chemical costs

Beyond water, cotton’s environmental footprint can be heavy. It is a thirsty crop in many climates, requiring large volumes of irrigation in places where water is scarce. It also draws significant pesticide and fertilizer use in conventional systems, which can affect soil health and local water quality.

“Cotton is a crop of contrasts,” said Dr. Hans Meier, an agronomist working on sustainable fibres. “When grown with ecological care—using rotation, organic practices and water‑efficient methods—it can be part of a resilient rural economy. When grown intensively to feed fast fashion, it becomes a stressor on people and planet.”

The human cost: labour, coercion, and the invisible worker

It’s not only ecology at stake. Human rights investigators and journalists have flagged serious concerns in parts of the cotton supply chain, from forced or coerced labour to exploitative working conditions on plantations and in factories.

Since 2020, governments and civil‑society groups have increasingly focused on allegations of forced labour, especially in China’s Xinjiang region, where authorities have said they are implementing internal programs while critics have documented coercive labour practices targeting Uyghur and other Muslim minority groups. In response, the U.S. adopted the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act in 2021, which effectively bans imports from that region unless companies can prove their goods are not made with forced labour.

“Regulations like the UFLPA are a blunt tool, but they reflect a global awakening: consumers and policymakers no longer accept supply chains built on invisible suffering,” said Irene Khalid, a human‑rights researcher focused on labour in global apparel supply chains.

On the factory floor the harms are often more mundane but still grievous: low wages, long hours, hazardous chemical exposure and precarious contracts. “We finish a line and sometimes there is no overtime pay,” said Asha, a garment worker in a coastal town in South Asia. “We mend shirts at night because our children need school books. The label doesn’t tell that story.” (Name changed at the worker’s request.)

Why labels can be misleading

Legally and practically, label rules vary. Many countries require only that the place of final assembly is listed. The cotton could have crossed oceans, been blended with fibers from other countries, or passed through many hands long before becoming fabric.

That complexity allows risk to hide in plain sight. Audits and supplier declarations can be gamed or incomplete. A factory may subcontract tasks, or a trader may mix bales from different origins. By the time a brand stamps a tag, the connection between raw material and finished product can be frayed.

Traceability is getting better—but it’s not everywhere

Some companies have invested in traceability technologies—blockchain pilots, DNA markers, and supply chain maps. Certifications such as GOTS (Global Organic Textile Standard), Fairtrade Cotton and Better Cotton aim to set standards for welfare and environmental practice. But coverage is partial: only a minority of global cotton flows through certified channels, and certification standards and enforcement differ.

How to read beyond the tag: practical tips

Ask questions: look at brand transparency reports and traceability tools. If a company can’t tell you where the fiber came from, push for more information.
Look for recognized standards: GOTS for organic textiles, Fairtrade for social standards, and Better Cotton for improved practices are a start, though they are not a panacea.
Consider the lifecycle: buy less, choose higher‑quality items, repair and reuse. Second‑hand and circular models reduce pressure on production systems.
Support policy change: stronger corporate‑due‑diligence laws and import controls create systemic incentives for cleaner supply chains.

Voices from the fields and the markets

On a dusty road in Gujarat I met Sonal, who farms a few hectares of cotton alongside other crops. She spoke of unpredictable rains, rising fertiliser costs and the way seed companies and commodity buyers shape what she grows.

“We want our children to study. Cotton used to give us a steady income, but now everything is uncertain,” she said, wiping her brow under a wide‑brimmed hat. “When middlemen come, the prices are small but the bills are many.”

In a different scene, a fashion buyer in Milan shrugged when I asked how they verified cotton origin. “We rely on suppliers and audits, but truthfully, if a fabric supplier brings you a competitive price and paperwork, most brands will take it. The market is unforgiving.”

Bigger questions for a connected world

What should a global consumer expect from the clothes they buy? If we accept that a mere label won’t reveal a product’s full history, then transparency becomes a collective project—of consumers who demand it, companies that must earn trust, regulators who set standards, and journalists who investigate.

Are you comfortable buying a garment when you can’t trace its cotton back to a farm? Would you pay more for fully traceable fibres? These are choices with political and environmental consequences.

Where do we go from here?

Change is already stirring. Laws and corporate policies are tightening. Technology promises better provenance tracking. Civil society is louder. But supply chains are vast and adaptive, and meaningful reform requires sustained pressure from many directions.

So the next time you check a tag, ask a different question: not only where was this made, but where did the cotton sleep, who tended it, and who stitched the seams? Every garment is an invitation—to care, to ask, to reckon with the full cost of what we wear.

Investigative journalism has started to peel back those layers. Watch, read and share—because the story on that tag is only the beginning.

West Bank residents report persistent growth of Israeli settlements

hanad

September 24, 2025

West Bank locals report ongoing Israeli settler expansion — An Israeli outpost in the West Bank, which a local said has increased to include two tents

A valley of olives and drones: life at the edge of an expanding settlement

The buzz of a drone cuts across a late afternoon sky that ought to be full of birdsong and the scent of crushed olives. Instead there is the metallic tang of fear and the dust of bulldozers. In the West Bank towns of Turmus Ayya and al‑Mughayyir, an ancient landscape of terraced groves and stone houses is being remade—by tents, by trucks, by men with guns and by machines that rip rooted trees from the earth.

“This was supposed to be my father’s retirement. He came here from California and planted these trees with his own hands,” says Yasser Alkam, a man in his forties whose palms still smell faintly of oil when he speaks. “I have the title papers. I have the documents. But the paperwork means very little when someone points a gun at you and says ‘leave or else.’”

There is a rhythm to his words: a long, slow breath, then a detail. “Two weeks ago there was one tent,” he tells me, looking down the dusty lane. “Now there are two—one on the right, one on the left. It keeps spreading, inch by inch.” Above us, the drone hovers, sentinel and witness, as a settler on a nearby hill watches and his machine mirrors every movement.

When trees become currency

Six kilometres away, in al‑Mughayyir, the scene turned from intimidation to outright erasure. Locals counted the stumps and the empty hills; they say more than 10,000 olive trees were bulldozed, hundreds of hectares stripped bare. “They took our history,” says Marzouq Abu Naem, deputy head of the al‑Mughayyir municipality. “Those trees would have produced about 5,000 gallons of oil. At $150 a gallon, that’s a lifetime of income gone—gone with the roots.”

The arithmetic is stark: 5,000 gallons multiplied by $150 equals roughly $750,000 in lost revenue that, for a small farming community, would have funded schools, repairs, the medical bills of elderly parents. But the loss is not merely economic. “People collapsed in grief when they saw the land,” Abu Naem says. “These trees were our calendar. They marked births, weddings, funerals. You cannot replace a thousand-year‑old olive with a sapling and say the grief is over.”

Days after my visit, locals reported another attack. A man who was wounded in the confrontation later died of his injuries; his funeral, sombre and angry, threaded through narrow lanes where children still play among the stones. In these regions, grief and politics are braided together; every funeral echoes with old injustices and new fears.

On the ground: tents, patrols and the normalisation of outposts

The tents Yasser describes are part of a wider pattern. Outposts—often declared illegal even under Israeli law—appear on ridges and in valleys, sometimes with the protection of night patrols and the visible presence of the Israeli military by day. “We see soldiers, then settlers, then earthmovers,” a farmer from Turmus Ayya told me, hands inked with years of olive pressing. “It feels like watching a slow occupation of space.”

According to Israeli data and international monitors, settler populations in the West Bank and East Jerusalem number in the many hundreds of thousands; their expansion, years in the making, has accelerated in recent months. The past year, beginning 7 October, has seen a marked increase in tensions and violence across the occupied territories, with independent observers noting a surge in attacks on Palestinian communities and their property.

“There is a sense of impunity now,” says Rana Haddad, an aid worker who has documented incidents across the region. “When bulldozers arrive after confrontations, or when new tents appear on private land, it’s not just the buildings that change—the rules of space and belonging shift, quietly but irreversibly.”

Voices from different sides

Not everyone sees this as dispossession. “We are building homes, creating safe places for our people,” one settler told a reporter, speaking on condition of anonymity. “We are farmers too; we want to work the land.” Yet the scenes on the ground—armed confrontations, drone surveillance during interviews, the uprooting of centuries‑old groves—leave many Palestinians feeling besieged.

“I returned from California because I believed in this land,” Yasser says. “My American friends would say: why risk it? I would tell them about the olive trees, about the stone walls my grandfather built. But what good are memories when your land is being taken while the world watches and says little?”

Olive trees as a ledger of culture and climate

Olives are not merely crops in the West Bank; they are a cultural ledger. The harvest—stolen from children who learn to carry baskets before they can read—is a season of songs and jokes, of women beating nets against branches, of the first dark, bitter oil cooling in jars. Olive oil is served not only at meals but at weddings, presented as a blessing, poured over bread and into the mouths of infants on feast days.

There is also a climate dimension. Olive trees are drought‑resistant and part of a sustainable, very old agricultural system that helps stabilise the soil. Bulldozers that remove them accelerate erosion and make hillsides less resilient to increasingly erratic weather. “You don’t just lose fruit—you lose a buffer against climate extremes,” notes Dr. Laila Barghouti, an agronomist who has worked with smallholders in the region.

Questions for the reader, and for the world

What does it mean to protect cultural landscapes when political forces prize land as strategic advantage? How do you quantify the worth of a tree that has seen generations and named children? These are not abstract questions. They are answered in the crumbling walls of a family home, in the silence where a grove once stood, in the little jar of oil that will no longer be sold at market.

International law frameworks and appeals from human rights groups have yet to halt the spread of outposts or the bulldozing of groves. Calls for independent monitoring and for accountability echo in diplomatic corridors, but on the ground, families keep harvest calendars and wait for seeds to sprout in places they hope will not be taken again.

As you read this from wherever you are—city apartment, coastal town, highland village—consider how closely land and memory are bound for so many people. And ask: when a community loses its trees, what does the rest of us lose? A landscape of olives is, in many ways, a map of belonging. When that map is erased, the story that remains is one of absence and, for those who love the hills, a profound longing to be let back in.

Zelensky: No Security Guarantees, But Weapons and Allied Backing

hanad

September 24, 2025

No security guarantees but 'weapons, friends' - Zelensky — Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky addresses the United Nations General Assembly

At the United Nations, a Wartime President Warns the World: “Weapons and Friends”

On a cool autumn morning in New York, the General Assembly chamber felt oddly small for the magnitude of the conversation inside it. Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, stood again before the world — his fourth address as a wartime leader — and offered a message that was less a diplomatic appeal and more a wake-up call: global security today rests on two uncomfortable pillars, he said, “weapons and friends.”

It was not a flourish but a diagnosis. “We are living through the most destructive arms race in human history,” he told the hall, his voice steady but urgent, “because this time, it includes artificial intelligence.” The image of history repeating itself — but with machine intelligence at the center — hung in the air like static.

The New Geometry of War: Cheap Drones, Long Shadows

Zelensky’s words were part policy briefing, part testimony. He sketched a new face of conflict: cheap, mass-produced drones turning wide swathes of land into “dead zones,” places where no one drives, where fields remain fallow, where life grows wary. “Ten years ago,” he said, “war looked different. No one imagined drones could create areas stretching dozens of kilometres where nothing moves.”

Across the world, analysts nod. Small commercial drones—modified, weaponised, networked—have altered the equation for both attackers and defenders. The barrier to entry is lower than ever: a laptop, an autopilot chip, a cheap airframe, and suddenly a battlefield is awash with dozens or hundreds of autonomous or semi-autonomous flying weapons.

“We’ve seen the democratisation of firepower,” said Dr. Laila Hassan, a defence analyst who studies unmanned systems. “When the technology that used to be exclusive to states becomes affordable, the strategic calculus changes. Non-state actors and smaller militaries can project force in asymmetric ways, and AI accelerates that process.”

“Stop Them Now”—A Stark Economic & Moral Argument

Zelensky did not mince words about the stakes. “Stopping Russia now is cheaper than wondering who will be the force to create a simple drone carrying a nuclear warhead,” he told delegates, a line that landed like a cold splash. His argument cut two ways: there is an economic logic to decisive resistance, and a moral case for preventing a cascade of weapon innovation that could slip beyond control.

He also unveiled a pragmatic response: Ukraine has become, by necessity, a laboratory of improvised defence technology. From volunteer workshops in Kyiv to university labs, Ukrainians have retooled commercial drones into reconnaissance platforms and loitering munitions. “We don’t parade big missiles,” he said. “We build drones to protect our right to life.”

Later in the speech, he suggested an even bolder policy: Ukraine is willing to share its weapons technology with friendly nations, arguing that systems tested in real war could provide “modern security” to others when global institutions falter.

Diplomacy on the Sidelines: Trump’s Shift and the Kremlin’s Reply

The chamber’s drama was shadowed by a presidential sidebar. Zelensky met Donald Trump on the margins of the UN summit, and within hours the US president posted that he believed Ukraine could reclaim every inch of territory taken by Russia. For a leader whose public stance has swung dramatically on the war, that social media moment was read as a pivot.

Back in Moscow, pressure valves hissed. The Kremlin rejected the idea that Ukraine can retake lost ground. “The idea that Ukraine can recapture something is, from our point of view, mistaken,” Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov told reporters, wrapping the rebuttal in carefully measured rhetoric. When Mr Trump described Russia as a “paper tiger,” the Kremlin bristled, likening the nation instead to a bear — a metaphor designed to signal endurance and strength.

That exchange underscores a broader strategic impasse. Russia still controls roughly one-fifth of Ukraine’s territory, including Crimea, which Moscow annexed in 2014. The conflict has left a devastating tally: tens of thousands dead, damaged cities and towns across the east and south, and millions forced to flee—registered refugee figures have numbered in the millions, with several million more internally displaced.

On the Ground: Kyiv’s Cautious Hope and Wearied Skepticism

In Kyiv’s coffee shops and volunteer hubs, people parsed the UN drama with a mix of hope and weary realism. “A single tweet won’t fill the holes in our roofs,” said Bogdan Tkachuk, 33, a volunteer coordinator handing out thermal blankets near a makeshift shelter. “We need weapons, yes. But we also need long-term commitments — training, munitions, repair parts.”

Svitlana Fetisova, a teacher who fled a village near Donetsk and now volunteers teaching children, was blunter. “Words are cheap. We hear promises, we see ceremonies, but our kids sleep in basements and study over Zoom,” she said. “If leaders mean it, let them make it concrete.”

Beyond Borders: AI, Arms Races, and the Fragility of Institutions

Read through Zelensky’s appeal and an uncomfortably modern pattern emerges: nations are stuck between two imperfect choices. Rely on international law and institutions that may lack teeth, or invest in the means of coercion and deterrence. “International law doesn’t work fully unless you have powerful friends willing to stand up for it,” Zelensky told the Assembly. “Even that doesn’t work without weapons.”

That calculus raises global questions. What happens when AI lowers decision times and increases the autonomy of lethal systems? How do you prevent accidental escalation when both sides deploy autonomous sensors and machine-guided missiles? And who regulates the spread of military-grade AI when it can be assembled from off-the-shelf parts?

“We are at a crossroads,” said Professor Elena Markovic, who researches international security. “Either we use the next years to build norms, verification mechanisms and restraint, or we allow a diffuse arms race to proceed unchecked, and then the cost is not just geopolitical — it’s existential.”

Where Do We Go From Here?

As readers, what should we carry away from a speech that combined stark warnings with military realities? For some, the lesson is immediate: the pillars of peace are fraying, and new technologies make those fractures faster and deeper. For others, it is a call to activism: demand more robust multilateral responses, fund humanitarian corridors, push for treaties on autonomous weapons.

There’s no easy answer. But the questions are now public and urgent: can the world revive institutions with the strength to restrain an accelerating arms race? Can democratic publics find the political will to marshal both the friends and the hardware Zelensky says are necessary?

Walking out of the UN, the city’s noise returned — taxi horns, a street vendor calling out, the smell of roasted chestnuts somewhere nearby — and the global emergency felt, for a moment, unbearably intimate. The choices made in the coming months will ripple far beyond Kyiv, Moscow or Washington. They will shape whether this century’s conflicts are managed by law and diplomacy, or by a terrifying new industrialisation of violence.

Which future do we want to build? And who among us will insist on it?

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