World-renowned architect Frank Gehry passes away at 96

December 6, 2025

Renowned architect Frank Gehry dies aged 96 — Frank Gehry was awarded every major prize architecture has to offer, including the field's top honour, the Pritzker Prize

The Man Who Made Cities Bend: Remembering Frank Gehry

Frank Gehry’s buildings did something rare in an era of glass boxes and corporate sameness: they surprised us. They tilted, fluttered, buckled like paper, and somehow invited people to circle, to stare, to argue. On the day news came that Gehry had died aged 96 at his home in Santa Monica after a brief respiratory illness, the world felt a little more rectangular — and, for a moment, quieter.

“He loved the unexpected,” Meaghan Lloyd, chief of staff at Gehry Partners, said when announcing his passing. “He lived and worked with a sense of wonder that never dimmed.” That sense of wonder is what turned titanium plates into a new language for cities, what made a concert hall into a shimmering instrument, and what convinced mayors and museum directors to gamble millions on a single daring vision.

A Life Curved Around Curiosity

Gehry’s path didn’t follow blueprints. Born into modest circumstances, by the time he was a global name he had earned the architecture world’s highest accolades. The Pritzker Prize — architecture’s Nobel — recognized him as “refreshingly original,” a phrase that stuck because it captured his appetite for risk. He also received honors from institutions that span the globe, acknowledging a career that blurred the lines between building and sculpture.

Walk through any of Gehry’s great works and you see the elements that defined him: reclaimed materials, playful assemblages, façades that behave like costumes for the city. The Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles folds like a sheet of metal lifted by wind; the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao turned an industrial port into a pilgrimage site for art lovers and tourists alike. In Paris, the Fondation Louis Vuitton nestles like a fleet of translucent sails, while in New York his residential tower reshaped the skyline into rippled stainless steel and glass.

Local Voices, Global Echoes

“When the Guggenheim opened, we could feel Bilbao breathing again,” said Ana Marquez, a café owner two blocks from the museum. “People came, and stayed. My niece found a job; my neighborhood got a roof over the market. It changed everything for us.” Her sentiment is shorthand for the so-called “Bilbao effect” — the phenomenon in which a single striking cultural investment triggered economic and social ripple effects across a city.

In Los Angeles, orchestra members often talk about Disney Hall as if it were another instrument. “The sound here alive,” a violinist for the Los Angeles Philharmonic told me. “The building doesn’t just hold music; it helps make it.” That marriage of acoustic science and sculptural bravado became a template for how architecture could serve both function and spectacle.

Triumphs, Tension, and the Cost of Being Iconic

Gehry’s work was not a universal love affair. Some critics dismissed select later pieces as ego-driven attractions, designed more to fill postcards than to age with dignity. “They’re built for the tourist eye,” one art critic wrote, arguing that flourishes sometimes outpaced human scale. Others took aim at practicalities: maintenance of curved metal, complexities of construction, and the way dramatic forms could overshadow the urban fabric around them.

Not all projects moved forward smoothly. Gehry’s proposal for a memorial to President Dwight D. Eisenhower met resistance from the Eisenhower family, who preferred restraint to bravado. Gehry held to his artistic convictions; the clash illustrated a perennial tension between an architect’s imagination and the public’s desire for familiar reverence.

Even when projects were courted by tech giants, negotiations could change designs. A planned expansion at a northern California campus was softened at the request of the company’s leadership, a rare moment where the architect relented to anonymity over spectacle. “Sometimes you have to give a little to get the bigger piece,” an associate at his firm once explained.

How Gehry Changed the Conversation About Cities

Gehry’s buildings did more than win prizes — they changed expectations. They asked the public to accept curvature in a world that defaults to right angles. They let architecture be theatrical without losing seriousness. And they taught clients and cities that a bold cultural investment can be a form of civic underwriting: a single building can lift tourism numbers, spawn new development, and alter a city’s self-image.

There is a practical lesson in his legacy, too. Complex forms demanded new engineering, new materials, and novel construction processes. Gehry’s offices collaborated deeply with fabricators, software designers, and engineers to turn sketches into structures. In doing so, he pushed the building industry into new territories of digital design and precision fabrication — changes that now ripple through architecture schools and studios worldwide.

Teaching, Mentoring, and the Next Generation

Gehry’s influence extended into classrooms. He taught at Yale, Columbia, and later returned to his alma mater, the University of Southern California, helping to shape young minds who now helm firms around the globe. “He taught permission,” a former student recalled. “Permission to try, to fail, to build something that felt alive.”

Through mentorship and example, he moved architecture away from strict orthodoxy and toward a pluralistic practice where individual expression could coexist with civic responsibility.

What Remains After the Applause

When the scaffolding comes down and the headlines fade, Gehry’s buildings will remain stubborn, useful, beloved, and controversial. They will still challenge us at street level — to walk around, to gather, to decide whether beauty is merely spectacle or an integral part of how we live together.

As we look at the cities he reshaped, questions linger: What does it mean to invest in culture? Who gets to decide the face of a city? And how do we weigh daring form against everyday life? Gehry’s work forces those questions into the open.

“Frank made people look up,” said Lucille Ramos, an urban planner who has worked on waterfront redevelopment projects in multiple countries. “That gaze is important. Architecture should make you imagine the possible. He did that more boldly than most.”

Final Measures: A Career in Numbers and Memory

By most measures, Gehry’s career was extraordinary: dozens of major public commissions across Europe and the Americas, top international awards, and a cultural imprint that produced both devoted fans and vocal skeptics. More tangibly, his buildings drew millions of visitors, catalyzed redevelopment, and inspired a generation of architects to embrace risk.

Today, as cities and citizens debate the right balance between utility and drama, Gehry’s work will be cited on both sides. For some, his curves are daring proofs that architecture can be art. For others, they’re reminders of the fragility of public taste. Either way, his legacy is unmistakable: he dared to bend skylines and public expectation in the same breath.

Walking past a Gehry building, you feel the world tilt just slightly. You ask yourself: What would happen if more of our public spaces were built to surprise? If architecture was less about comfort and more about prompting conversation? Gehry’s answer was literal and loud — build it different, and people will come.

As we mark his passing, the question left to us is not only how we remember Frank Gehry, but how we continue the conversation he started about daring, delight, and the architecture of possibility.

Israel Carries Out New Cross-Border Strikes on Lebanon After Warnings

hanad

December 6, 2025

Israel launches fresh strikes on Lebanon after warnings — A man examines a building destroyed in an Israeli strike in Lebanon

Smoke Over the Olive Groves: A Day When a Fragile Truce Frayed

Early this morning the sky over southern Lebanon turned the color of old ash. Plumes rose from the hills above towns with names most maps skip — Mahrouna, Jbaa, Majdal, Baraasheet — places of terraced olive groves, cinderblock homes, mosque minarets and children who still play among pitted concrete walls that carry the memory of past fights.

“We were eating breakfast when the first blast shook the house,” said Ahmad, a shopkeeper in Jbaa, his voice low and steady. “Windows shattered across the street. My neighbor’s daughter was crying for her doll; her face looked like she’d seen the world end.” His hands picked at the hem of his shirt as if trying to undo the moment.

Hours later, Israel’s military said it had struck what it described as “Hezbollah weapons storage facilities” tucked within civilian neighborhoods. Lebanese authorities reported raids on a string of southern towns. Photographers and residents shared images of smoke curling above streets, of shattered glass glinting like a constellation on the sidewalks.

Between a Ceasefire and a Cold War

The attacks came only a day after a small diplomatic opening: for the first time in decades, civilian representatives from Lebanon and Israel sat down — brokered under the watchful umbrella of the UN peacekeeping presence in Naqura — to discuss the terms of last November’s ceasefire and the practical mechanics meant to keep it in place.

The mechanism that convened in Naqura is the same one that has become a weird, on-again, off-again lifeline along the border: an assemblage of military officers and diplomats from the United States, France, Lebanon, Israel and the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon (UNIFIL). The intent is practical — to prevent sparks from becoming infernos — but the symbolism is larger. When former enemies sit at the same table, even to argue about how to measure a buffer zone, it signals a weariness in both capitals.

“Don’t mistake this for peace,” warned Lebanese Prime Minister Nawaf Salam at a press briefing. “These conversations are limited: they aim to stop the gunfire, to secure the release of hostages, to ensure full withdrawal from Lebanese territory. They are not peace talks.” His words landed like a careful, necessary reminder that diplomatic contact does not instantly erase seven decades of hostility.

How Thin Is the Truce?

The ceasefire agreed in November was meant to halt more than a year of escalating exchanges between Israel and the Iran-backed Hezbollah. It has reduced full-scale operations, but not the episodic violence that keeps the families of the south living on edge. Israeli forces have kept units in a handful of strategic areas near the border; Hezbollah remains an armed and politically entrenched movement inside Lebanon. The result is a tense détente, an uneasy quiet filled with the sound of scanners, warnings and the occasional flare of violence.

“This isn’t peace. It’s managed tension,” said Marie Dupont, a former French diplomat now tracking the ceasefire implementation. “You can build monitoring committees, you can erect confidence-building measures, but without addressing the root political questions — disarmament, sovereignty, and a political horizon — these windows of calm will keep closing and opening.” Dupont pointed out that UNIFIL, the peacekeeping mission, deploys roughly 10,000 troops and monitors an area scarred by displacement, poverty and political fractures.

On the Ground: Civilians in the Crossfire

For residents, the diplomatic choreography feels distant. What matters is whether their children can get to school, whether the generator will keep the fridge running, whether a warning siren will send them scurrying into basements and stairwells.

“We are used to threats,” said a local official in Mahrouna, speaking near a shattered storefront. “But the damage this time was strange — every window within 300 metres was broken. People are in shock. We live here, we farm here; our lives are woven into these hills.”

Humanitarian actors warn that repeated strikes in populated areas can have cumulative, long-term effects. Trauma, interrupted education, and economic dislocation are slow-burning consequences. In communities already suffering from a failing economy and high unemployment, another round of strikes risks pushing more people toward desperation.

Lebanon and Israel have been technically at war since 1948, a fact that underpins much of the mistrust along the border.
The November truce curbed large-scale fighting but did not resolve the presence of armed groups or the strategic deployments near the frontier.
UNIFIL continues to monitor the cessation of hostilities, but its mandates are limited to observation and reporting rather than enforcement.

Politics and Blame: Who Decides When a Neighborhood Is a Target?

<p”The presence of weapons in civilian areas is a grim reality,” said an Israeli military spokesperson in a statement. “Hezbollah’s embedding of military infrastructure within towns is a cynical tactic that endangers Lebanese civilians and constrains our options.” The message is clear: Israel frames its strikes as targeted responses to military threats emanating from within populated areas.

Hezbollah and its supporters offer a different narrative, casting such strikes as collective punishment that violates the sanctity of civilian life. Lebanese officials have repeatedly said they favor the disarmament of all militias, but they also warn about the political impossibility of disarming a group that is integrated into social networks and local power structures.

“People here don’t want to be human shields,” said Sami, an elderly farmer in Majdal, watching his goats in a field dotted with olive trees. “But what are our alternatives? Who will protect us from the other side if they take our guns? There are no easy answers.” His question echoes a central dilemma for Lebanon: how do you reconcile state sovereignty with armed groups that function as both militia and social provider?

A Wider Theatre: Regional and Global Stakes

This is not a local spat with only local consequences. The tug-of-war between Israel and Hezbollah is part of a larger regional rivalry. Iran’s support for Hezbollah, American backing for Israel, and the diplomatic gestures from European capitals create an arena where local skirmishes can have outsized geopolitical effects.

“The ceasefire’s durability matters beyond the border,” said Leila Haddad, a Beirut-based analyst. “If the truce collapses, the risk is not only renewed tit-for-tat shelling. A broader conflagration could redraw alliances, increase displacement, and destabilize an already fragile Lebanon.” Haddad highlighted how economic ties — from gas exploration in the eastern Mediterranean to trade corridors — are often dangled as incentives for de-escalation.

Indeed, participants at the Naqura talks reportedly discussed potential economic cooperation ideas. Israeli officials described the atmosphere as “positive,” but insisted any progress on economics would be contingent on Hezbollah’s disarmament. The United States has been active behind the scenes, pressing for modalities that would reduce the group’s ability to carry out cross-border attacks.

Faces Not Figures: A Final Thought

Numbers and statements matter — they help diplomats and analysts model scenarios. But when the dust settles, it is faces and routines that reveal the cost of this long conflict: the baker who closes shop early because of curfew, the teacher who counts students desk by desk to make sure they’re all present, the mother who tapes up broken windows because she can’t afford new ones.

What do we owe communities wedged between armies and militias? How do global powers reconcile strategic interests with the immediate human cost on the ground? As the sun set today and families in the south swept glass into plastic bags, those questions felt less like abstract policy debates and more like urgent, local dilemmas.

“We want to sleep at night without sirens waking our children,” said Ahmad. “Is that too much to ask?”

Perhaps the late, small talks in Naqura can grow into something more substantial. Or perhaps, as history warns, another flare will once again remind everyone why peace that is only a pause is a precarious thing. Will the international community push harder for a lasting solution — or will we circle back to accepting a managed, fragile quiet? The answer will shape not only the map of the region but the lives in these olive-scented hills for years to come.

Major global sites go offline amid Cloudflare outage investigation

hanad

December 5, 2025

Global websites down as Cloudflare probe fresh issues — A number of websites and platforms were down, including the DownDetector site used to monitor online service issues

When the Web Went Quiet: A Morning Without DownDetector

There was an odd hush on the internet this morning — not the polite silence of a slow news day, but the sudden, unnerving quiet that comes when familiar signposts blink out. DownDetector, the site many of us habitually check when an app misbehaves, was itself out of reach. Social feeds filled with terse, baffled messages: “Is it just me?” “Anyone else?” “Downdetector is down?”

By 09:00 local time, Cloudflare — the company that sits behind a huge swath of the web’s plumbing — had issued a terse status update: teams were investigating problems with the Cloudflare Dashboard and related APIs. Minutes later, engineers pushed what they called a potential fix and began watching to see whether the lights would come back on.

The pause felt small at first, a blip on the map. But then more services reported trouble. Indian stock broker Groww told customers it was battling technical issues caused by “a global outage at Cloudflare.” Heartbeats quickened among traders and retail investors tapping their phones during market hours. Within an hour, Groww announced its systems had been restored. For a few tense minutes, however, customers in Mumbai and beyond watched markets and their portfolios through a fog of uncertainty.

Which services were affected?

Because Cloudflare provides network, content delivery, and security services to a vast range of businesses, outages ripple quickly. This morning’s disruption touched a number of sites and platforms — among them the very services people rely on to check whether a problem is widespread.

DownDetector — the primary site people use to confirm outages — was unreachable for many users.
Regional financial apps, including Groww, reported interruptions before restoring service.
Various smaller websites and online services experienced degraded performance or temporary downtime.

Importantly, the outage came only three weeks after another incident at Cloudflare that affected widely used platforms including X (formerly Twitter), ChatGPT, Spotify and multiplayer games such as League of Legends. The recurrence raises a bigger question: how resilient is the architecture that powers the modern internet?

Behind the Lines: Why One Failure Feels Like Many

Cloudflare is not some obscure utility — it’s a foundational layer for countless digital services. The company operates a sprawling global network composed of data centers and edge points that help speed up traffic, prevent attacks, and keep apps online under heavy load. Because it sits at the crossroads of content delivery and security, any disruption there is amplified downstream.

“We’re seeing the internet’s wiring in real time,” said Dr. Asha Menon, a network systems researcher based in Bangalore. “When an edge provider stumbles, you don’t just lose one website — you lose the ability to verify that sites are down at all. That’s why DownDetector being unreachable is more than ironic: it’s a symptom of systemic fragility.”

Consider this: many small and medium-sized companies rely on third-party services for everything from DNS resolution to bot protection. When a single provider slips, those companies can’t easily switch traffic. The result is a cascade — slight at first, but potentially severe for businesses that operate on thin operational margins.

A Human Hour: Traders, Gamers, and Everyday Users

Outages read like a human-interest story when you look at who is affected. In Mumbai, Rajeev, a 34-year-old investor, described his morning as “a mini heart attack.”

“I logged into Groww to check an order and it wouldn’t load. For five or ten minutes it felt like being blind,” he said. “You start imagining worst-case scenarios. We rely on real-time access and when that disappears, it’s unnerving.”

Across the world, gamers and streamers have similar tales. “You’re in the middle of a match and then, nothing,” said Lena, a 22-year-old esports enthusiast from Madrid. “It’s frustrating and it breaks the flow. For competitive games, a few minutes of downtime can ruin everything.”

Operators and customers alike don’t always have the luxury of patience. Businesses often lose revenue by the minute during outages, and reputational harm is hard to quantify.

Root Causes, Remedies, and Resilience

Cloudflare’s engineers usually publish candid postmortems after significant incidents — a practice that earned the company praise in the industry. Early messaging this morning suggested the company had isolated a fault and implemented a fix, then entered a monitoring phase. For many customers, restoration came within hours; for others, the lag between symptom and solution felt too long.

“No system is immune to failure,” said Marco Rivera, a former site reliability engineer for a major streaming service. “The question is how you design for failure — can traffic be rerouted? Do you have multi-provider architecture for critical services? Those choices cost money and complexity, but they buy peace of mind.”

Security experts also point to the trade-offs inherent in convenience. Consolidating services with a single provider reduces overhead and simplifies deployment, but it concentrates risk. The more of your stack sits behind one glass pane, the more likely a single crack will let in the rain.

What companies can do

Embrace multi-provider strategies for critical services like DNS and content delivery.
Invest in robust fallbacks and degraded-mode experiences so users still get essential functionality during outages.
Prioritize transparent incident communications — users want to know timelines and workarounds.

Big Picture: The Cloud and the Cost of Convenience

We live in an age when convenience is a service promise. From banking to entertainment, economies are built on the expectation of always-available apps. Outages such as today’s are reminders that the infrastructure powering modern life is complex and, at times, brittle.

There’s another layer to consider: public trust. When widely used monitoring tools go down, the public loses a neutral barometer for outages, which complicates accountability. “We need distributed observability,” Dr. Menon said. “The tools we use to diagnose incidents should not be single points of failure themselves.”

So what should readers take away? First, that resilience is not free — it’s a design choice companies and policymakers should take seriously. Second, that outages are now a global phenomenon with the power to disrupt daily life across continents in minutes. And finally, that the convenience of centralized cloud services carries with it responsibility: for engineers, for executives, and for regulators worried about systemic risk.

As the internet hums back to life, you might find yourself checking a little more often, or wondering where you would go if the lights went out completely. Who do you trust with the keys to your data, your money, and your moments online? And what would you do if that trust faltered?

Today’s brief silence was a small rehearsal for a larger conversation about the future of a resilient, trustworthy online world. It’s a conversation worth having — together.

Edinburgh Airport Restores Flight Operations Following IT Outage

hanad

December 5, 2025

Flights resume at Edinburgh Airport after IT issue — Travel was suspended for a time this morning (Stock image)

Dawn Disruption at Edinburgh: A Morning That Stopped and Then Sighed

There was a strange hush over Edinburgh Airport this morning — a momentary pause in the hum of suitcases, the clatter of trolleys, the rattle of boarding calls. For a few tense hours, flights were grounded after an issue with the airport’s contracted air traffic control provider. By mid-morning, operations had resumed, but not before the pause left its mark on travellers and staff who live daily with the fragile choreography of modern flight.

I arrived as the airport was just waking up: coffee cups in hands, weary families and business travellers hunched over phones, and staff quietly moving through concourses trying to translate technical uncertainty into human reassurance. “We were told to stay put,” a mother of two from Aberdeen told me, cradling a toddler who had already decided that the airport carpet made a fine playground. “You don’t expect to be stranded before you’ve even left the gate.”

What Happened — and What Didn’t

Edinburgh Airport confirmed that the stoppage was caused by a problem with its air traffic control provider. Flights were temporarily suspended as teams worked to diagnose and correct the issue. Crucially, airport officials said the interruption was not connected to a separate, widely reported Cloudflare outage that has affected other web services in recent days.

“We want to be clear — this was an operational matter linked to our contracted ATC provider,” said an airport spokesperson. “Safety is always our priority; the pause was precautionary and flights were resumed once controllers were satisfied that normal operations could continue.”

By the numbers

Edinburgh is no small regional strip. It is the sixth-busiest airport in the United Kingdom, serving some 15.8 million passengers last year, a figure that speaks to its role as Scotland’s major air gateway. That traffic supports hotels, tours, festivals and local jobs — the airport is a lifeline for tourism-heavy Edinburgh, which hosts world-renowned events like the Edinburgh International Festival and the Fringe.

Faces of Delay: Personal Stories from the Terminal

Numbers matter, but so do people. Near gate B12, a young couple from Spain were counting missed connections on a napkin. “We came to see the Fringe — we booked months ago,” said Marta, 28, with a wry half-smile. “Now we have to rebook trains, hotels — and hope we don’t miss the shows.”

On the tarmac, a line pilot I spoke to — who asked not to be named — explained the nervous calculus behind every pause. “When ATC says stop, you stop. It’s not dramatic for us — it’s procedure. But it trickles down; it changes crew hours, fuel calculations, passenger plans. Airports are big, interconnected machines, and one cog can put the whole thing into slow motion.”

Behind the Scenes: Why a Pause Matters

The modern airport relies on an intricate web of systems: radar, communications, clearance procedures and human controllers who orchestrate the sky like a conductor with a thousand instruments. When a provider experiences a glitch — whether technical or procedural — the default response is caution. It is better to delay than to risk lives.

That said, these interruptions reveal vulnerabilities. In an era where travel demand has bounced back strongly from the pandemic slump, airports are carrying heavier loads. Systems stretched by volume and complexity need redundancy. “Resilience is the watchword,” said Dr. Leila Hassan, an aviation systems analyst. “Airports and ATC providers must invest in both technology and human capacity — training, backups, and robust communication channels — to avoid cascade failures.”

Local Color: Edinburgh’s Long Shadow

It is easy to forget, in the panic of the moment, what Edinburgh Airport means to the city. Beneath the Gothic skyline of the Old Town, the airport is a conduit for millions of visitors who come for history, art, and the particular theatricality of the city’s summer festivals. Local cafés rely on footfall from incoming tourists; tours, short-term rentals and the hospitality sector all feel the rhythms of arrivals and departures.

“When flights stop, the ripple is immediate,” said Fiona MacGregor, owner of a small Fringe-era B&B near the Royal Mile. “You lose bookings overnight, staff shifts get awkward. It’s not just about the planes; it’s about income, livelihoods.”

Wider Themes: Infrastructure, Trust, and the Human Cost

Today’s pause in Edinburgh is a vignette of bigger debates: how resilient are our transport networks? How do we balance efficiency with safety? And who pays the hidden cost of delays — the exhausted families, the small business that loses a night’s custom, the crew that must rearrange schedules?

Worldwide, aviation is rebounding. Passenger numbers have mostly recovered to pre-pandemic volumes in many markets, but resilience planning has not always kept pace. Airports, airlines and governments must contend not only with aging infrastructure but also with emerging threats — cyber incidents, weather volatility driven by climate change, and workforce shortages that strain operations during surges.

Questions for readers

Have you ever been stranded by an airport pause? How did it affect your plans?
What trade-offs between efficiency and safety feel acceptable to you when travelling?
Should public authorities require greater transparency from ATC providers about their contingency plans?

Aftermath and Looking Ahead

By late morning the airport was back to business. Announcements resumed, more flights took to the skies, and the lull softened into the familiar bustle. But the episode left a residue of unease — a reminder that even in well-oiled systems, surprise is possible.

“We appreciate passengers’ patience,” the airport spokesperson said, “and we are reviewing the incident with our provider to reduce the likelihood of recurrence.”

On the concourse, people resumed their journeys: some hurried off to catch trains, others to taxis, a few lingering in cafes to reassess itineraries. A teenager with a guitar, headed for a summer open mic, shrugged and smiled. “Travel always has its hiccups,” he mused. “But then, so does life. You learn to roll with it.”

Parting Thought

We build systems to carry us further — to connect cities, families and stories. When they falter, the responses we design tell us about our priorities. Are we satisfied with stops and starts, or will we demand stronger, smarter infrastructure that keeps the world moving even when a single node stumbles? As we step into airports and onto planes, perhaps the larger question we must keep asking is this: how will we safeguard the delicate choreography of travel for the next generation?

Recent U.S. strike on alleged Pacific drug boat kills four

hanad

December 5, 2025

New US strike on alleged drug boat in Pacific kills four — Venezuela's leader Nicolas Maduro accused the US of using alleged drug trafficking as a pretext for 'imposing regime change' in Venezuela (File image)

Fire on the Water: When Counter‑Narcotics Turns into a Night at Sea

There is a particular smell to the ocean after an explosion: diesel, burning plastic, and something metallic that hangs in your nose like a warning. Along the long, low horizon of the eastern Pacific, where fishing boats carve lanes through mist and dolphins arc between wakes, that smell has been arriving more often. Last week, the U.S. military said another attack on a suspected drug-smuggling vessel left four people dead — the latest blow in a campaign that has so far cost more than 87 lives and which is rapidly becoming one of the most contentious uses of American force beyond its borders.

The scene, as released by U.S. Southern Command, is stark: a multi‑engine speedboat driving hard across open water, a sudden flash, and then the craft shuddering and erupting in fire. “Intelligence confirmed that the vessel was carrying illicit narcotics and transiting along a known narco‑trafficking route in the Eastern Pacific,” the command wrote. “Four male narco‑terrorists aboard the vessel were killed.”

This time the target, officials said, was a vessel operated by a “Designated Terrorist Organisation.” But for many, the labels — terrorist, narcotics trafficker, maritime target — don’t erase the images that haunt them: bodies in the water, a charred hull, and questions about who decided what and why.

The Politics of Precision

In Washington, the strike reopened a political fight that had been simmering for weeks after an earlier September engagement. That incident — in which U.S. forces struck wreckage of a boat that had already been struck and reportedly killed two survivors — has become the fulcrum of outrage and legal scrutiny.

“It is one of the most troubling things I’ve seen in my time in public service,” said Representative Jim Himes after viewing extended footage of that earlier strike at a classified briefing on Capitol Hill. Lawmakers were shown material that the public has only seen in clipped portions, and reactions ranged from moral alarm to firm defense.

“The first strike, the second strike, and the third and the fourth strike on 2 September were entirely lawful and needful,” countered another lawmaker at the briefing, underscoring the deep partisan divide over the campaign’s legality and necessity.

The White House and Pentagon have sought to draw lines of accountability — pointing fingers, in public, at Admiral Frank Bradley, the commander who oversaw the operation, and trying to distance other senior officials from the decisions that culminated in those deaths. That bureaucratic dance has done little to calm the waters.

Questions That Will Not Go Quiet

How much intelligence is enough to authorize a lethal strike on the open sea? When do suspected traffickers become “narco‑terrorists” and thus legitimate military targets? And who bears responsibility if civilians — or people rendered helpless by damage — are killed?

These are not academic questions. They are the kinds of questions that prosecutors, senators, and international law scholars will insist on answering if calls for investigations grow louder.

Coastlines, Communities, and the Human Cost

To understand what’s at stake, you must imagine the coastal towns that dot the Pacific rim: small wooden piers, markets where fish are weighed on creaky scales, women sorting lobsters under tarps, children running after stray dogs. For communities from Chocó’s mangroves to the banana‑belt ports farther north, the sea is livelihood and risk, history and hazard.

A fisherman in one such town, who asked not to be named for fear of reprisal, told me, “We have always known the sea takes. But this is different — I can smell the smoke from a strike and think of fathers we know who were on those boats.”

There are also practical fears. Increased militarization of sea lanes — carrier strike groups, surveillance drones, and fast coastal interdiction teams — can make life harder for legitimate mariners. Routes once used by small traders and fishermen are now monitored for narco‑traffic, and some captains say that the heightened tempo of patrols interferes with seasonal fishing grounds and raises insurance and operating costs.

Regional Ripples: Diplomacy and Distrust

It was predictable that Latin American capitals would react. Venezuela’s President Nicolás Maduro has accused the United States of using a counter‑drug campaign as a cover for regime change — a charge the U.S. rejects — and regional leaders, from coastal ministers to human‑rights advocates, have warned of blowback.

“Aerial or naval power cannot substitute for development,” said a Latin American policy analyst in Bogotá. “If we want to choke the narco‑economy, we need more than bullets: we need rule of law, job creation, and regional cooperation that isn’t perceived as occupation.”

For some governments, tighter cooperation with the United States has been embraced as pragmatic. For others, it is a sovereignty test. The image of the U.S. deploying what the White House described as the world’s largest aircraft carrier and other assets to the Caribbean — ostensibly for counter‑narcotics operations — rekindles old memories of intervention and a skepticism about motives.

Data and Dilemmas

Public figures offered by U.S. officials and international agencies show why the administration casts the problem in stark terms: cocaine and other illicit substances move westward across the Pacific and into markets where demand is high. The U.S. labels certain groups “narco‑terrorists” when they are believed to use drug profits to fund broader violent campaigns, an assertion that raises legal thresholds for kinetic action.

Still, the tally of more than 87 lives lost in this campaign — a number that has multiplied through a series of engagements — begs a sobering question: are we willing to accept this body count as the cost of disrupting supply chains? Or does the number force a rethink of tactics?

Voices from the Sea and the Halls of Power

On the docks, people speak in short, blunt sentences. “We don’t want traffickers, but we also don’t want our boys shot like prey,” one dockworker said, tapping the wood beneath his palm as if to measure the pulse of the place.

In Washington, the conversation is more procedural. A congressional aide explained, “Members wanted to see the raw footage. They wanted to know what the commanders saw in the moment. That’s how oversight works — you hold the wielders of force to account.”

And in a neighborhood clinic in a coastal town, a nurse shrugged and said, “We have drug addiction here, we have poverty here. Strikes on boats don’t feed mouths.”

Where Do We Go From Here?

There are no easy answers. The ocean is vast and indifferent. Narcotics networks are adaptable. Political rhetoric promises decisive action; law and ethics demand restraint and proof. The cameras that captured those blazing boats have given the public a rare view into the mechanics of modern warfare against non‑state actors, but they have also raised a mirror question: what kind of country — and what kind of world — are we willing to build with this tool?

As you read this, consider the tradeoffs. Is it sufficient to measure success in interdictions and seizures? Or should we weigh the shadow costs — the families left behind, the diplomatic strains, the legal precedents? What would you do if charged with protecting citizens while preventing state overreach?

The sea will keep moving. The debate will not. And those who live and work along the narco‑routes will continue to taste, in their lungs and memories, the tang of smoke that follows a strike. Whether that smell becomes a promise of safety or the scent of a campaign gone too far is a choice that belongs to all of us, not just to commanders at sea.

Putin Promises Continuous Oil Supplies to India at Summit

hanad

December 5, 2025

Delhi’s Long Embrace: Oil, Occasions, and the Art of Diplomatic Balance

New Delhi rolled out a ceremonial carpet this week—flags snapping, brass gleaming, an honour guard in starched uniforms—yet the pomp was only the prelude to a far quieter, more combustible drama: the flow of oil that keeps factories humming, buses moving, and political engines burning on two continents.

President Vladimir Putin arrived under a 21-gun salute and tight security, a state visit that felt both historic and fraying at the edges. For a country that has long prized strategic autonomy, the summit was a study in contradictions—handshakes and banquet halls shadowed by sanctions, tariffs, and an American ultimatum that has put New Delhi in a diplomatic vise.

Energy first, always

“Energy security is not an abstract policy; it’s a daily fact,” said a veteran oil analyst in Mumbai, watching the motorcade from his office window. “When refineries need crude, you do not negotiate morality—you negotiate pipelines, pricing, and delivery dates.”

India’s appetite for crude has turned Moscow into a central supplier. In 2024, nearly 36% of India’s total crude imports — roughly 1.8 million barrels per day — came from Russia, much of it at discounted rates that have helped refiners lock in margins even as global prices oscillate.

That dependence is the hinge around which this summit spun. Behind closed doors, trade delegations agreed to expand economic ties through 2030, and government officials sketched plans to deepen cooperation in nuclear energy, shipping, and technology. Yet for many Indians on the street, the literal image of tankers lining up at western ports is what mattered most.

“If the price is right, my factory can run, my workers can be paid,” said Meera Patel, who runs a small textile unit in Gujarat. “I don’t want politics to make my machines stop.”

Tariffs, pressure, and a diplomatic tightrope

The pressure on New Delhi is unmistakable and public. In August, the United States slapped a sweeping 50% tariff on most Indian products, citing India’s continued purchases of Russian oil as revenue that helps fund Moscow’s war in Ukraine. The punitive measure forced New Delhi to make adjustments—imports from Russia have been reduced in recent months—but it did not sever the relationship.

“India has to walk a balancing act,” explained a former diplomat familiar with Indo-Russian ties. “We are navigating strategic needs—defence, energy, long-term partnerships—while also trying not to collapse a more valuable commercial relationship with the US.”

That balancing act is visible in the figures. Bilateral trade between India and Russia surged to $68.7 billion in 2024–25—almost six times the level before the pandemic—but Indian exports to Russia were modest by comparison, totaling about $4.88 billion. The asymmetry fuels a sense that the relationship is tilted toward Russian exports—oil above all—while India seeks more balanced reciprocity.

Beyond the bouquets: defence, industry, and diversifying suppliers

Russia has long been a principal supplier of military hardware to India. But that dependence has been changing. Data from the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute shows the Russian share of India’s arms imports fell from 76% in 2009–13 to 36% in 2019–23, a sign that New Delhi is opening its doors to alternative suppliers and boosting domestic production.

“We are not breaking old friendships; we are broadening them,” said an Indian defence official. “Our procurement policies are pragmatic. We buy what we need, where we can get the technology, transfer of know-how, and domestic industrial benefits.”

This summit, then, was less about romance and more about transaction—intellectual property, joint ventures, and access to markets. Delegations signed deals covering jobs, health, chemicals, and shipping, and sketched joint programmes that New Delhi hopes will reduce its trade gap while maintaining energy and defence ties.

Trade and investment framework to 2030
Agreements on shipping and maritime cooperation
Collaborations in nuclear energy and research

Voices from the capital and the coast

On a narrow lane not far from the presidential palace, an auto-rickshaw driver named Arjun watched the televised ceremonies and shrugged. “They talk about strategy,” he said, “but my family worries about diesel prices. Diplomacy must come home.”

At the Jamnagar refinery complex in Gujarat—one of India’s largest—the hum of pumps and boilers tells its own story: global geopolitics is processed into diesel and jet fuel, refined into everyday life. A site manager there commented, “When you lose a supplier, you scramble. With Russian crude, we have certainty of tonnage and often price. If that changes overnight, the shock is felt across the board.”

Meanwhile, an energy economist in Delhi warned against simplifications. “Discounted Russian barrels are not a free lunch,” she said. “They alter market signals, affect the viability of other suppliers, and complicate India’s relationships with Western powers—especially when those powers tie oil purchases to geopolitical objectives.”

What does the world see?

For Washington, India’s purchases of Russian oil are not merely commercial; they are part of a larger conversation about sanctions, accountability, and the cost of war. For Moscow, India has become both a customer and a diplomatic counterweight. For India, it is a pragmatic choice in a world of limited options.

“We want to be friends with everyone,” the former diplomat said quietly. “But sometimes being friends means tolerating differences. India’s calculus is shaped by geography, development needs, and domestic politics.”

The bigger picture: energy, sovereignty, and the new maps of power

Ask yourself: should energy policy be insulated from moral judgments, or is it inevitably political? As nations try to insulate their economies from shocks, the modern map of influence is sketched not with borders but with pipelines, ports, and payment mechanisms. India’s choices reflect a growing global reality—middle powers asserting agency amid competing pressures from old allies and new coalitions.

Putin’s message here was plain: Russia can keep the taps open. New Delhi’s reply was subtler: it will keep buying where it serves its needs, but it will also expand partnerships, diversify arms suppliers, and pursue domestic manufacturing.

“This isn’t a romance novel,” said a political analyst in New Delhi. “It’s an economic ledger with pages being written in real time.”

By the time the state banquet ended and the last toasts were made, the headlines had been written. But the real story will be measured in shipments, contracts, and decisions made in boardrooms and ministries over the coming months.

Will New Delhi find a path that satisfies both its strategic autonomy and its commercial relationships? Or will global politics force a sharper choice between friends? Keep watching the tankers—their itinerary may tell you more about the future than any summit speech.

TikTok Agrees to Follow Australia’s ‘Upsetting’ Under-16 Ban

hanad

December 5, 2025

TikTok to comply with 'upsetting' Australian under-16 ban — Australia's world-first legislation comes into effect on 10 December, curbing the world's most popular social media platforms and websites, including TikTok, Instagram and YouTube (Stock image)

A Quiet Morning in December: When TikTok Turns Off for a Generation

On a bright December morning in suburban Melbourne, the hum of scooters and the smell of toast mingled with the brittle silence of an app going dark.

“I woke up, opened TikTok like every day, and it was gone,” said Jordan Ellis, a 15-year-old who lives near the Yarra River. “At first I thought it was a glitch. Then my friends started messaging: ‘They blocked us.’ It felt like someone took a piece of our social life.”

Jordan’s confusion captures the intimate disorientation millions of teenagers across Australia may feel on 10 December, the day a world-first law comes into force that will bar anyone under 16 from opening new social media accounts. Platforms — from global giants to smaller sites — are required to make “reasonable steps” to enforce the restriction or face fines of up to €27 million (roughly AUD 45 million, depending on exchange rates).

What Will Change — And What Won’t

The practicalities are stark. Where previously a child could download an app and sign up in minutes, companies will now block account creation for people who declare they are under 16 in Australia. Existing accounts owned by under-16s will be made inactive. Platforms say they will give users choices: confirm age, delete an account, download data, or request a reminder to reactivate once they turn 16.

TikTok, which hosts billions of videos and has become a cultural heartbeat for many young people, announced it will comply on day one. The company has said that blocked users can appeal by proving their age using documents such as ID, credit card authorisation, or, controversially, facial images.

“We understand this will be upsetting for some families, but we intend to follow Australian law,” a spokesperson for TikTok said in a brief statement. “We encourage parents to speak with their children about honesty online and to plan together for safe digital lives.”

Options for Young Users

Confirm age with official documents or other verification methods.
Download personal data before the account is deactivated.
Delete the account voluntarily.
Request a reminder to reactivate the account when the user reaches 16.

Between Protection and Privacy

The law is animated by real anxieties. Communications Minister Anika Wells has been blunt in stating that some young Australians have taken their own lives after being drawn into algorithmic loops that amplified content feeding low self-esteem and self-harm. “This law won’t fix everything,” she told reporters in recent weeks, “but it will give kids a chance to grow without those relentless nudges.”

That plea sits next to a chorus of sharp questions. How do you stop harm without stripping agency? How do you police age without turning teenagers’ faces into biometric keys?

“You can’t treat children as if they’re naïve consumers and then ask them to hand over their faces to prove otherwise,” said Dr. Maya Rahman, a child psychologist who has worked with adolescents in Sydney for two decades. “Biometric verification creates a new set of risks — privacy erosion, potential misuse of data, and discrimination when systems misread diverse faces.”

Parents here are split. Tara Nguyen, a mother of two in Brisbane, welcomed the change. “My younger one is 12 and comes home upset after scrolling. If this law gives us breathing space to teach empathy and resilience before they’re exposed to everything, I’m for it,” she said.

Others fret about equity. “Not every family can provide alternate activities or adult supervision,” said Lee O’Connell, a youth worker in remote New South Wales. “If digital life is closed off, we need to ensure kids still have constructive ways to connect. Otherwise we disproportionately isolate children already living with fewer opportunities.”

Legal Battles and Global Ripples

Not everyone supports the ban. The Digital Freedom Project has launched a High Court challenge, describing the law as an “unfair assault on freedom of expression.” The group argues the measure overreaches and risks upending civil liberties online.

“We’re not against protecting kids,” said a representative for the group, speaking on background. “But sweeping blocks and invasive verification demands can do as much harm as good if they’re not calibrated and transparent.”

Internationally, Melbourne’s experiment has become a case study. New Zealand has signalled similar moves, Malaysia hinted at a ban for under-16s, and regulators in Ireland have signed a memorandum of understanding with Australia’s eSafety Commissioner to share best practices and technical expertise. In a world where digital harms and the tools to regulate them move faster than lawmaking, Australia’s law will be watched closely — and critiqued loudly.

Numbers That Frame the Debate

Some data help explain why this is so contentious. Surveys suggest that large majorities of teens are active on social platforms — daily and often for hours. In many high-income countries, more than 80% of teenagers report using social media regularly, and a significant share say they encounter bullying, body-image pressures, or other distressing content there. Mental health services report rising demand from young people struggling with anxiety and depression, trends experts often link, at least in part, to screen time and online social pressures.

At the same time, platforms are hubs for creativity, community, and civic engagement. For many adolescents, the first taste of identity and activism comes via a viral clip or a supportive comment thread. Barring them entirely risks cutting off pathways that can be, for some, lifelines.

On the Ground: Stories That Don’t Fit a Headline

Walk past a surf shop in Bondi and you’ll hear a different refrain than in a Melbourne laneway café. The kids in coastal towns share tips about skateboards and beach cleanups; those in inner-city suburbs remix politics and fashion into short films. Social media is where they rehearse adulthood — awkwardly, loudly, colorfully.

“We made a fundraiser for a mate who needed surgery,” said Aisha, 17, a student in Perth. “TikTok helped us raise money and get people together. I worry about losing that tool.”

Her fear is a reminder: laws that move in pursuit of safety can also trim back the shared public square. The trick, if there is one, will be designing protections that are specific, evidence-based, and attuned to the diversity of young lives.

Questions to Sit With

Which matters more — shielding all children from a platform’s risks or trusting families to decide what’s best? How do we weigh privacy against protection when the technology of proof is invasive? And who gets to define childhood in the digital age?

As Australia turns this page, the rest of the world will read it closely. Regulators, tech companies, parents, young people, and privacy advocates will all bring their own margins of error. There will be messy implementation, courtrooms, late-night conversations at kitchen tables, and maybe, eventually, better tools that respect both safety and autonomy.

Jordan closed his laptop the day the block appeared and went for a walk along the river. “It felt weird,” he said, watching a pelican dive. “Without the constant scroll, I noticed things — the light on the water, people laughing. Maybe that’s the point, for a while.”

For policymakers and parents, the task now is to make that “while” as generative and just as possible. For readers around the globe: what would you want for the digital childhoods in your life? How would you balance protection with possibility? The answer will shape not only a law that starts on a single day in December, but the stories we let our children write about themselves online for years to come.

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