Bolsonaro loses final appeals and is set to begin 27-year prison term

November 26, 2025

Brazil ex-leader Bolsonaro appeals prison sentence — Former Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro had been disqualified from seeking public office until 2030 over his unproven fraud allegations against the country's voting system

The Last Appeal: Inside the Moment Brazil’s Most Polarising Leader Finally Lost His Legal Lifeline

On a humid morning in Brasília, amid the city’s brutalist sweep of concrete and white marble, the drama of modern Brazil condensed into one small, metallic object: an ankle monitor, scorched and bent, its strap nicked and stitched into a story of hubris, fear and, for many, a long-awaited moment of accountability.

At 70, Jair Bolsonaro — the former army captain who electrified Brazil’s right wing and governed with the swagger of a mobilised base — has seen the last of his appeals crumble. The Supreme Federal Court declared his 27-year sentence for plotting to block the transfer of power after the 2022 election final, elbowing aside the legal maneuvers that had kept him out of a cell.

It is a verdict that reads like a punctuation mark on the turbulent arc of Brazil’s politics: from the roar of campaign crowds to whispered plans that a court has deemed criminal. “There are very serious indications of a possible attempt to flee,” Supreme Court Justice Alexandre de Moraes said, a line that reverberated in courtrooms and on street corners alike.

A soldering iron, an ankle monitor, and two versions of the same night

Officials say Bolsonaro tampered with the monitor that had confined him to house arrest. Video released by the court shows him handling a soldering iron. In some accounts he calls it curiosity. In a written statement obtained by AFP, he said he “experienced a certain paranoia between Friday and Saturday due to medication” and denied any intent to flee. His lawyers, meanwhile, had been pressing for permission for him to finish his sentence at home on health grounds.

For the Supreme Court, the proximity of the U.S. embassy in Brasília — and Bolsonaro’s well-documented rapport with former U.S. President Donald Trump — fed a plausible scenario: a vigil at the home organised by his son, Senator Flávio Bolsonaro, could have been a cover for an escape plan. “The geometry of the capital, its embassies and the networks that orbit around certain political actors created a credible risk,” a legal analyst in São Paulo told me. “That is not conjecture; it’s what the court had to weigh.”

Voices on the street: reverence, rage and weary pragmatism

In Brasilia’s Esplanada dos Ministérios, vendors sold pastel and cold beer beneath fluttering flags. A group of Bolsonaro supporters, wrapped in green-and-yellow banners, shouted that their leader had been betrayed by political elites. “They’re persecuting the man who kept our values,” said Ana Paula, a 48-year-old nurse, her voice hoarse. “We won’t forget this.”

On the opposite side of town, near a small cafe crowded with Lula supporters — many of them older, with shirts bearing the face of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva — the mood was almost disbelief that the day had arrived. “Justice, finally,” said Marco, a retired teacher who voted for Lula in 2022. “It’s a victory for institutions. Now we must rebuild trust.”

Flávio Bolsonaro left the Federal Police headquarters flanked by lawyers and aides. He told reporters, “This is political revenge,” and vowed to keep fighting for his father. The image of the senator stepping into the late morning light felt emblematic: a family entrenched in a drama that has transfixed Brazil.

Why this matters beyond one man

Brazil is not just reckoning with Jair Bolsonaro as an individual; it’s confronting the broader question of how democracies hold leaders to account. Populist figures across the globe have tested institutions and norms, and Brazil’s Supreme Court, with this ruling, has chosen to assert its authority decisively.

Context matters: the runoff election of October 2022 was razor-thin — Lula won with roughly 50.9% of the vote to Bolsonaro’s 49.1% — a split that has left half the country feeling vindicated and the other half aggrieved. The scars of that election are not easy to stitch closed. What the court did this week was legal finality; but in a polity as divided as Brazil’s, legal outcomes are also political events.

Bolsonaro’s sentence: 27 years for his role in a plot to prevent Lula’s inauguration, including allegations linked to an assassination plot.
Where it stands: The Supreme Court rejected further appeals and declared the sentence final.
Recent events: Bolsonaro was under house arrest until his detention at police headquarters, triggered by tampering with his ankle monitor.

The small things that reveal the larger picture

If you want to understand a country, watch its rituals. In Brazil, politics is often a family affair, a televised spectacle and a backyard grill. The Bolsonaro saga has played out across all these stages: candid moments in social media videos, official hearings in austere courtrooms, and feverish vigils on front lawns.

The ankle monitor — banal technology meant to limit movement — became a symbol. It represented both the reach of the law and the degree to which the former president remained a person of public interest. Whether it was curiosity, medication-induced paranoia, or an ill-conceived plan to escape, the act of tampering erased any semblance of passive compliance and gave the court grounds to act.

What experts are saying

“This is a landmark for judicial independence in Latin America,” offered Renata Campos, a professor of constitutional law in Rio de Janeiro. “Still, the legitimacy of such decisions depends on transparency and on ensuring the accused get a fair process. That balance is fragile.”

Global watchers worry about precedent. When courts take muscular positions against powerful political figures, they can strengthen democracy — or inflame supporters who see those rulings as partisan. “The measure of a democracy is how it treats the powerful,” said an international human-rights scholar. “But the aftermath must be managed with care.”

So what happens now?

There are practical questions: will Bolsonaro serve his sentence in a high-security prison? Will his gang of loyalists mount protests or try to delegitimise courts? How will Brazil, a nation of roughly 214 million people, reconcile the fractures exposed in the past three years?

There are also longer arcs to consider: how will this shape the future of political accountability across Latin America? Will opposition movements see this as a triumph of checks and balances, or as a warning about the weaponisation of courts?

As you read this from wherever you are — in a city that prizes the rule of law or in a place where democracy itself feels precarious — consider this: What does accountability look like in your country? Is it consistent, fair and impartial, or is it a blunt instrument used to topple rivals?

Brazil’s story is not finished. It rarely is. But for now, the image of an ex-president with a damaged ankle monitor, escorted into custody beneath Brasília’s hard sky, will remain a vivid symbol — a reminder that even the most combustible political figures are subject to the slow, messy work of institutions.

And amid the chants, the legal filings and the social media storms, ordinary Brazilians carry on: selling snacks by the ministries, watching the news, arguing over coffee, and wondering what comes next for their nation. Whatever your view of Jair Bolsonaro, the country’s choice — to lean on courts or to bend them — will echo long after the cameras have left the square.

France detains two men and two women over Louvre art heist

hanad

November 26, 2025

France arrests two men, two women over Louvre robbery — A four-person gang raided the Louvre in October and stole jewellery worth an estimated €88m

A Ladder, Seven Minutes, and a City Holding Its Breath: Inside the Louvre Jewel Heist

It was the kind of theft that reads like a movie script — a moving truck, an extendable ladder, a basket lift, and four people who vanished into Parisian traffic on scooters, leaving a trail of disbelief in their wake.

On a crisp autumn day in mid-October, the Apollo Gallery — a gilded room that has watched emperors, restorations and millions of visitors pass beneath its painted ceiling — was breached. In roughly seven minutes, a handful of objects that carry centuries of history and national symbolism were gone. The estimated value? About €88 million. The impact? Priceless in terms of cultural shock.

New Arrests, New Questions

French authorities announced another twist in the investigation this month: four additional arrests. “They are two men aged 38 and 39, and two women aged 31 and 40, all from the Paris region,” said Paris prosecutor Laure Beccuau, confirming the latest detentions. Earlier, four others — three men and a woman — had already been charged over the brazen daylight raid.

Bits of forensic evidence are threading the narrative together. DNA from the basket lift used during the assault pointed investigators to one couple; the man had an 11-count criminal record, largely for theft. The first two suspects arrested were already known to police and lived in Aubervilliers, a gritty northeastern suburb where the line between survival and crime is often thin.

“We have leads, but we do not have the jewels,” an investigator told me off the record. “People assume arrests equal recovery. That rarely holds true in thefts of this scale.”

The Stolen Treasures and Their Echoes

The thieves left behind one dramatic clue: while escaping, they dropped a diamond- and emerald-studded crown that once belonged to Empress Eugénie, consort to Napoleon III. But eight other pieces — among them an emerald-and-diamond necklace once given by Napoleon I to Empress Marie-Louise — remain unaccounted for.

These are not mere baubles. They are relics of France’s layered history — revolutionary ruptures, imperial pomp, personal stories turned into public memory. When such objects are stolen, what disappears is more than metal and stone; a thread in a nation’s storytelling is cut.

“You feel it in your gut,” said Hélène Martin, who runs a small bookshop two blocks from the Louvre. “They aren’t only jewels. They are the moments of our past we show our children when we teach them about France. This theft bruises a piece of that lesson.”

The Vanishing Market

The black market for high-value cultural items remains labyrinthine. Even when items are stolen in daylight amid thousands of tourists, the route from theft to resale is obscured by fences, middlemen and corruptible pipelines reaching across borders. Recoveries in cases like this can take years, if they happen at all.

Security Under Scrutiny

The heist exposed not just the audacity of the thieves but uncomfortable truths about vulnerability. France’s highest audit institution delivered a scathing report in November asserting that efforts to make the Louvre more attractive to visitors had come at a cost to security.

Then came a revelation that soured trust further: a 2018 assessment by the jewellery house Van Cleef & Arpels reportedly flagged the very balcony exploited during the break-in as a weak point — reachable by an extendable ladder. The Louvre said it only became aware of this evaluation after the theft, but the sequence has fed a sense of forewarning turned into failure.

Director Laurence des Cars has pledged more police presence and additional cameras, admitting systemic failings in testimony before parliament. And yet, last week the museum closed one gallery temporarily because of concerns over a crumbling ceiling — a small, visible sign of the larger infrastructural challenges that come with running a global cultural behemoth out of buildings largely shaped in the Renaissance and later centuries.

Balancing Welcome and Watchfulness

The Louvre draws a human tide: roughly 9–10 million visitors annually before the pandemic, and still millions each year afterward as tourism rebounds. Managing that influx in an old palace requires impossible trade-offs. How much do you fortify a place and risk turning it into a fortress? How open do you keep your cultural life and risk exploit?

“Museums have a paradox,” said Dr. Samuel Osei, an art security consultant who has advised institutions in Europe and Africa. “They must be hospitable to the public and hostile to theft. The balance is technical, financial and philosophical.”

Voices from the Streets

Outside the museum, the reaction was raw and local. A café owner on Rue de Rivoli poured a cup of espresso and shook his head. “People come from everywhere to see beauty,” he said. “Now the beauty seems fragile.”

A tourist from Brazil, clutching a guidebook, said she’d come to Paris for “the feeling of connection” to history. “To think someone would cut a hole in that feeling — it feels like a betrayal.”

Meanwhile, residents in Aubervilliers expressed mixed emotions. “You can’t paint a suburb as simply criminal,” said Samir, who manages a barber shop in the town. “There are jobs, families, youth programs. But yes, some people make choices that bring shame to us all.”

What This Theft Tells Us About a Larger World

The Louvre heist is more than a headline; it is a hinge onto broader debates. How do societies protect their common heritage in an era where security budgets are strained and cultural institutions compete for attention and funding? How do we value objects that serve both as commerce and as public memory?

There’s also the global angle: stolen art and artifacts often travel across borders into shadow markets that feed collectors who prefer secrecy over provenance. The international systems to recover looted or stolen cultural goods—Interpol notices, bilateral police cooperation, customs alerts—work, but slowly and unevenly.

As arrests mount and the search continues, the public is left to wonder: will the jewels turn up, tucked away in a cellar or cut up and scattered into new commodities? Will the arrests lead to restitution, or only provide a temporary sense of closure?

After the Heist — A City Reflects

Walking along the Seine that evening, I passed a group of schoolchildren sketching the Louvre’s façade, oblivious to the headlines from the day. One girl looked up and pointed at the gallery’s golden windows. “It’s still beautiful,” she said. That sentence, simple and unvarnished, felt like a rebuttal.

Beauty remains. So does perplexity. And underneath both is a pressing question for the future: how do we protect the treasures that root communities to their past while keeping the doors open to the millions who need to see them to feel that connection?

Perhaps that is the real theft we must guard against — the slow erosion of faith that history belongs to all of us. If a crown can be lifted in seven minutes, what must we change so that the past, in all its fragile brilliance, can survive the long haul?

EU court rules same-sex marriages must be recognised across the bloc

hanad

November 25, 2025

Same-sex marriage should be recognised in bloc - EU court — The court said Poland had been wrong in not recognising the marriage of the couple (stock pic)

A Courtroom Ripple That Travels Home: What the EU’s Same‑Sex Marriage Ruling Means for Poland — and for Europe

On an ordinary autumn morning in a quiet Warsaw neighborhood, the clatter of trams and the tolling of a distant church bell formed the backdrop to a decision that is anything but ordinary for two men who married in Berlin seven years ago.

The European Union’s highest court has told Poland — in unmistakable terms — that it must respect the marriage of those men when they return to their homeland. The ruling is precise: while member states are not obliged to change their own marriage laws, they cannot shut the door on couples who legally married elsewhere and then seek the protections and paperwork that come with family life at home.

“It’s not just a technicality about a piece of paper,” said Anna Kowalska, a human-rights lawyer based in Warsaw. “The court has affirmed something far more personal: that people who move within the EU have a right to maintain their family life without being erased by national borders.”

From Berlin vows to Polish registry desks

The two men at the center of the case were married in Berlin in 2018. When they moved back to Poland and asked the local registry office to transcribe their German marriage certificate into the Polish civil registry, they were refused. A Polish court eventually referred the matter to the European Court of Justice (ECJ), asking whether such a refusal violated EU law.

The ECJ answered definitively: yes. In its ruling, the court said denying recognition interferes with the freedom to move and reside across the EU and with the fundamental right to private and family life. These rights are not abstract; they affect whether a couple can access benefits, inheritance, parental rights and the daily certainties that come with legal recognition.

“When people create a family life in another member state, in particular by marriage, they must be able to pursue that family life on return to their country of origin,” the court wrote — a line that will resound not only in Poland but across the bloc.

What the ruling does — and doesn’t — change

It’s vital to understand the nuance. The court stopped short of ordering any EU country to change its domestic definition of marriage. Member states that do not allow same‑sex marriage at home are not being forced to legalize it. What the ruling does — and crucially so — is bar states from treating foreign same‑sex marriages differently when it comes to recognition and the rights that follow.

“This is a guardrail for mobility,” said Dr. Matteo Vitale, a professor of EU law at a university in Milan. “Europe’s freedom of movement isn’t only about passports and jobs; it’s about ensuring family life travels with you. The court is enforcing that principle.”

Poland at the crossroads

Poland is a predominantly Catholic country where culture and politics often intertwine. For years, some politicians framed LGBT rights as a foreign import. In 2019 and 2020, dozens of municipalities declared themselves “LGBT-free zones,” a stark symbol of the social and political resistance some communities have toward expanding LGBT protections.

Yet Poland’s political landscape is not monolithic. The pro-European coalition government led by Prime Minister Donald Tusk has advanced a bill to regulate civil partnerships, a move that would finally make legal space for same‑sex couples beyond marriage. That effort, however, has been stymied by conservative partners in government and by warnings from nationalist corners, including statements from the country’s president that any change undermining the “constitutionally protected status of marriage” would be vetoed.

“There are deep divisions here,” said Marta Zielinska, who runs a community center for LGBT youth in Kraków. “Some of us feel this ruling is a lifeline — a recognition that we too exist as families. Others in power still speak as if our lives are an argument to be settled by politicians.”

Everyday consequences beyond ideology

For the couple whose marriage prompted the case, the legal limbo translated into real consequences: limited access to spousal benefits, complications in hospital visitation, and a daily reminder of being second‑class in their own country. Those are not unusual experiences for couples in similar situations across Europe.

“It’s the small, practical things that accumulate,” said Jakub, a nurse in Poznań who asked to be identified by his first name. “Can my husband sign on my hospital forms? Will he be recognized as next‑of‑kin? These are not abstract debates. They affect how we plan our lives.”

Local color and human rhythms

Walk through a Polish market and you’ll see the country’s rich textures: vibrant stalls with pickled cucumbers and big loaves of bread; old men arguing politics over coffee; a grandmother smoothing the headscarf of a toddler. Poland’s public life is both warm and traditional — and it’s at this crossroads where the legal and the personal meet. The ECJ’s decision is being read through those real-world lenses.

“If we think of families as just one model, we are missing the point,” said Professor Ewa Nowak, a sociologist who studies family life in Central Europe. “Families look different now: blended, transnational, same‑sex couples, older parents living with adult children. The law needs to reflect that diversity, not deny it.”

Ripples across Europe

This ruling will likely reverberate beyond Poland. The EU has 27 member states, and its legal framework is built on the idea that fundamental freedoms supersede narrow national rules when they collide. For many same‑sex couples living transnational lives — students, workers, migrants, and returnees — this is a judicial affirmation that family rights must travel with the person.

“Europe’s legal architecture is being asked to keep pace with social reality,” said Dr. Vitale. “Courts are one arena where that catch‑up happens.”

Questions to sit with

What happens next politically in Poland is uncertain. Will lawmakers interpret the ruling narrowly, granting recognition without broader civil partnership protections? Or will the decision accelerate pressure for more comprehensive reforms? And how will citizens, still divided on the issue, process a legal change that many feel pierces deep cultural norms?

As you read this, consider: how should societies balance national traditions with transnational rights? When is legal recognition simply a procedural act, and when is it a statement of belonging?

Beyond the verdict: imagining tomorrow

For the two men whose marriage brought this legal question to light, the ruling is a small step toward ordinary security: a registry entry, an acknowledgment from the state. For activists, it is a legal foothold. For opponents, it is a discomforting signal that EU courts may limit how member states treat cross‑border family life.

“We want to live quietly,” one neighbor in the couple’s building told a local reporter, shrugging and smiling. “We want to be able to sign forms and visit each other in hospital. Is that too much to ask?”

That question hangs in the air like the scent of fresh bread from the corner bakery — simple, human, and resonant. The ECJ’s ruling may be written in legal terms, but its effects will be felt in kitchens, at hospital bedsides, and at the registry offices where people simply want to have their lives acknowledged.

Whatever your view, this is a story about rights on the move: a legal decision that follows people across borders and forces a reckoning with what it means to belong. Europe’s experiment with shared freedoms is far from finished. This ruling is one more chapter — and the debate it fuels will touch many lives, not just the courts.

Russia rejects proposed Ukraine peace-plan amendments as unacceptable

hanad

November 25, 2025

Ukraine peace plan amendments 'don't suit' Russia — The original draft 28-point peace plan backed by US President Donald Trump said Ukraine had to offer territorial and security concessions to Russia (file image)

A Thanksgiving Deadline and a War’s Fragile Pause: Inside the Race to Rewrite Peace for Ukraine

There is something almost theatrical about calendars and conflict. Give a battle a deadline and suddenly the world hustles to rewrite fate. This week, a date looms — November 27, Thanksgiving in the United States — set by Washington as the line in the sand for Kyiv to answer a sweeping proposal to end the fighting. For many in Europe, the timetable felt rushed; for Moscow, the original U.S. draft read like a victory lap. For Ukrainians, it is the kind of ultimatum that hums with existential dread.

The draft that shook capitals

Washington’s initial draft was long — a 28-point blueprint — and blunt. Insiders say it began, shockingly to many in Kyiv, by nodding toward the kind of concessions Moscow had demanded since 2014: territorial compromise, sharp limits on Ukraine’s military capacity, and pledges to avoid NATO membership. The text, as leaked and fiercely debated, triggered an immediate backlash in Brussels and among Kyiv’s partners.

In a diplomatic triage over a weekend in Geneva, negotiators trimmed and retooled the plan. The product that emerged was shorter — reportedly about 19 points — and consciously framed to preserve Ukrainian sovereignty. European officials pushed hard to strip out blanket amnesties for wartime actions and to retain the possibility of future security arrangements for Kyiv, including language that would keep NATO’s door ajar in one form or another.

Moscow’s response: offense, then spin

That retooled text did not sit well in Moscow. State media framed the European version as an affront; op-eds in Kremlin-aligned outlets decried it as “fantasy” or “unacceptable.” Kremlin spokespeople were not shy: “European amendments are unconstructive,” said one aide in a press briefing, a sentiment that played well on primetime television.

Across Russian editorial pages, commentators varied between mockery and outrage. One column called Europe’s suggestion to only settle territorial questions after a ceasefire “scandalous,” while another fumed about the idea of holding frozen Russian funds until reparations were paid. Such lines of attack serve a political purpose: painting any Western push for a negotiated settlement as a plot against Russian dignity and interests.

Kyiv: survival, dignity, and suspicion

In Kyiv, the mood is taut. “We are talking about whether our children will have the right to speak Ukrainian in their schools 10 years from now,” said Olena Petrenko, a teacher who fled a frontline town last winter and now volunteers at a community center in Podil. Her voice carried a bitter mix of exhaustion and defiance. “Any plan that asks us to trade land for peace is asking us to trade our history.”

Ukrainian officials and many citizens bristled at the notion of a preordained territorial settlement before guarantees were in place. The Geneva draft’s removal of an amnesty clause was a relief to those who fear impunity; the International Criminal Court’s outstanding arrest warrant for Russian President Vladimir Putin looms large in public conversations and legal calculations.

What Europe insisted on — and why it matters

European leaders inserted several core principles into the revised proposal. They pushed for:

Stronger security guarantees for Ukraine, modeled in part on collective defense concepts like NATO’s Article 5;
A larger peacetime Ukrainian military than the original U.S. draft envisioned;
The rejection of a blanket wartime amnesty that would undercut accountability for alleged war crimes;
A mechanism to hold Russian assets frozen in Western banks until reparations could be considered.

These are not mere diplomatic flourishes. They reflect a deep European anxiety: that a hasty deal could normalize conquest, set a precedent for territorial revisionism elsewhere, and declare amnesty over atrocities. “We cannot have peace be a synonym for impunity,” a senior EU diplomat told me. “That is not peace — that is capitulation.”

Voices from both sides

Out on the street in Moscow, the narrative is different. “Europe doesn’t get to dictate to us what is and isn’t in Russia’s security perimeter,” said Ivan Sokolov, a retired engineer who still watches Channel One daily. “If they insist on freezing our money, we will respond.” His comment mirrored the nationalist themes that thread through Russian state media: siege, honor, and grievance.

Back in Kyiv, people I spoke with had a practical, human focus. “We’re tired of headlines,” said Yana, a mother of two who runs a bakery in a suburb recently returned to Ukrainian control. “We want schools, hospitals, lights at night. If a plan gives us that without losing everything else, fine. But no promises forced on us in a backroom.”

Numbers and the human toll

The scale of disruption underlines why these debates matter. International agencies estimate that the war has displaced millions, fractured supply chains, and devastated infrastructure in key regions. Hundreds of towns and thousands of lives have been changed, many irrevocably. Economic sanctions and asset freezes have already remapped the financial landscape, with Western banks holding large, contested balances tied to Russian entities.

And the law is not idle: the ICC warrant, ongoing investigations into alleged atrocities, and the growing dossier of war-related damage mean any settlement will have to contend with questions of justice, reparation, and how to verify compliance.

Why this is a global story

Why should someone in Lagos, São Paulo, or Jakarta care about a negotiation parchment drawn up in Geneva and debated in Washington and Moscow? Because this is not just about two nations. It is about whether borders can be redrawn by force in the 21st century and how international systems respond when they are challenged.

Moreover, the choices made here ripple through global food markets, energy lines, and security alliances. They set precedents for diplomacy in a world of rising tensions, resurgent nationalism, and unequal power blocs. The North American timetable, the European safeguards, and Moscow’s rhetoric together form a test case for whether negotiated peace can reconcile security and justice.

What comes next — questions we must ask

As the November deadline approaches, the options feel stark: a hurried ceasefire that might entrench injustice, continued war that guarantees more suffering, or a painstaking, longer process that could deliver both security and accountability. Which of these outcomes is acceptable to the people whose lives are on the line? What price are nations willing to pay to defend principles versus pursuing expediency?

“Negotiations without those who suffered most at the table are hollow,” said Dr. Miriam Adler, an international law scholar. “Any durable solution must be anchored in protections that restore basic rights and offer real guarantees.”

So as diplomats draft, redact, and argue north of this fragile line of contact, ordinary people continue to live with the consequences — baking bread, teaching children, mourning the missing. Their voices, not headlines, should shape the bargain.

Will the world choose a rushed peace, a prolonged war, or a hard, just settlement? The answer will reverberate far beyond Kyiv’s chestnut-lined avenues and Moscow’s glossy studios. It will tell us what international order we are building — or letting crumble.

Taliban Reports Pakistani Forces Killed 10 People in Afghanistan

hanad

November 25, 2025

Taliban says 10 killed in Afghanistan by Pakistani forces — A house damaged after an airstrike during cross-border clashes between Afghanistan and Pakistan, in Kabul last month (file image)

The Night the Light Went Out in Gerbzwo

It was midnight when a small, sunbaked village on the edge of Afghanistan’s Khost province became a place where time stopped. Neighbors who had known each other since childhood say they were roused by a roar and then by silence—the house of a man named Wilayat Khan gone in an instant, and with it, the lives of his children and one woman.

The numbers are stark and terrible: nine children—five boys and four girls—and a woman killed, according to the Afghan Taliban’s spokesman Zabihullah Mujahid, who posted photographs of the aftermath on the social platform X. Those images are the kind that lodge in your throat: charred masonry, toys scattered like punctuation marks on the earth, and a community trying to make sense of a violence that arrived at their doorstep while they slept.

What Happened — and Where

Local accounts and the Taliban’s statement say the strike took place in the Gerbzwo district of Khost. Mujahid also reported cross-border operations in Kunar and Paktika provinces, where four civilians were injured. Pakistan’s military and foreign ministry did not respond when journalists sought comment outside business hours, and government spokespeople have not yet issued a public explanation for the attack.

These incidents come on the heels of a suicide bombing targeting Pakistani security forces in a border province, and follow another deadly blast in Islamabad earlier this month that claimed 12 lives and was claimed by the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), an insurgent group that shares ideological ties with the Afghan Taliban.

Timeline at a Glance

Midnight strike in Gerbzwo, Khost—family home destroyed, 10 civilians killed.
Raids reported in Kunar and Paktika—several civilians injured.
Suicide attack in Pakistan targeting security forces—unclaimed (per local media).
Earlier this month, a bombing in Islamabad killed 12—claimed by TTP.
Recent diplomatic efforts: a Doha ceasefire agreement followed by failed peace talks in Turkey over control of militant groups operating from Afghan soil.

Voices from the Ground

“We heard the blast at once. The walls shook. My neighbor’s courtyard was a hole of dust,” said Rahim, a farmer who lives six houses away from where Wilayat Khan’s family slept. “We found charred clothes, fragments of a little shoe. How do you bury a future?” His voice, in Pashto, trembled even when translated through a local fixer.

A Kabul-based doctor, who asked not to be named because of the sensitivity of treating victims in conflict zones, said, “In a matter of minutes the trauma wards fill with the same faces: children. The mortality among pediatric blast victims is desperate—because of the nature of injuries and the lack of stabilized transfer systems.”

“We cannot accept our villages becoming battlefields,” said Fatima Gul, an aid worker with an international NGO operating in eastern Afghanistan. “Civilians are meant to be protected. When houses are hit like this, entire families are erased.”

From Islamabad, a Pakistani security official speaking on condition of anonymity told a reporter, “We take operations seriously and follow strict procedures. We are reviewing the incident and will share information in due course.” The bland procedural language masks a tense reality: a disputed border, porous mountains, and militias that move like water across the ridgelines.

Why This Matters Beyond One Village

At one level, this is the story of a tragedy that will haunt a small Afghan village for generations. At another, it is a snapshot of a much bigger, more complicated problem: the enduring and dangerous spillover of militancy, mistrust, and military action across the Afghanistan-Pakistan border.

The two countries have endured decades of fraught relations, with periodic flare-ups that escalate into skirmishes or larger confrontations. The clash between Islamabad and Kabul’s security forces last October—described by both sides as the worst violence since the Taliban’s return to power in 2021—left scores dead and stoked new cycles of retaliation. Even after a temporary ceasefire was agreed in Doha, negotiations in Turkey faltered, with diplomats unable to agree on how to handle armed groups that use Afghan territory to strike at Pakistan.

And let us not forget the human arithmetic behind the headlines: the United Nations and independent monitors have documented years of suffering among Afghan civilians—displacement, shrinking humanitarian access, and waves of casualties tied to cross-border operations and local insurgencies. For families in provinces like Khost, Kunar, and Paktika, peace is not a diplomatic verb but the absence of the sound of explosions at night.

Hard Numbers, Harder Truths

Precise casualty figures in conflict zones are always contested, and independent verification can be slow. Still, patterns are clear: civilian casualties have remained stubbornly high in Afghanistan over the past decades, and cross-border tensions often precipitate spikes in deaths and displacement.

A Closer Look at the Political Puzzle

Why do talks collapse? Why does cross-border violence continue despite ceasefires? There are at least three overlapping dynamics to watch:

Militant networks that operate fluidly across borders and command loyalties beyond state control.
Mutual distrust between Islamabad and Kabul—any action is viewed through a lens of strategic suspicion.
Local dynamics: clan rivalries, resource disputes, and economic desperation that make border communities vulnerable to being dragged into larger conflicts.

“You can have diplomatic agreements in the capital, but in the valleys and the passes, loyalties and grievances run deep,” said Dr. Aisha Mirza, a scholar of South Asian security. “Stabilizing the border requires political solutions, not only military ones. And it requires engaging the communities who pay the price.”

What Comes Next?

For the families in Gerbzwo, the immediate needs are simple and urgent: proper burials, trauma counseling, and help to rebuild what was lost. For policymakers, the agenda is painfully familiar and stubbornly difficult: to find mechanisms that prevent militants from using Afghan soil to attack Pakistan without subjecting Afghan civilians to punitive strikes.

Will Islamabad offer transparency and an independent investigation into the strike? Will Kabul—or the de facto authorities—allow neutral monitors access to affected areas? If recent diplomatic efforts are any guide, these questions will linger unresolved while families wait for clay to be swept up, and for children who were—until an hour earlier—playing in courtyards and dreaming of schools and bicycles.

Where Do We Go from Here?

Violence like this is a mirror. It reflects the fragility of borders drawn on maps, the failures of diplomacy, and the human cost of security strategies that often prioritize short-term gains over long-term peace. As readers far from these mountains, what do we owe these villages? What does it mean to demand accountability when the mechanisms for it are broken?

Ask yourself: when headlines flicker and move on, who will tell the story of the shoes left at the edge of a crater? Who will remind the world that behind every nationalist slogan and diplomatic communique are children whose lives were small and ordinary and were extinguished in a single violent breath?

For now, the village of Gerbzwo is quieter, not by peace but by loss. The rest of the world must decide whether it will look away or press for answers, for compassion, and for policies that respect the sanctity of civilian life—no matter which side of a porous border someone sleeps on.

Watch Kilauea Volcano Erupt, Spewing Lava Across Hawaii’s Landscapes

hanad

November 25, 2025

Watch: Hawaii's Kilauea volcano spews lava in eruption

When the Night Turns Orange: Kīlauea’s Latest Breath and the Island That Listens

There’s a particular hush that falls over the Kaʻū coastline when Kīlauea wakes. It is not the empty silence of a town at dawn, but a concentrated hush—part reverence, part apprehension—like a congregation waiting for an old storyteller to speak. Last weekend, the mountain spoke again.

Cameras operated by the United States Geological Survey’s Hawaiian Volcano Observatory captured molten light spilling from Kīlauea’s crater, a living cascade that lit the sky and stitched molten ribbons across the darkness. The observatory, which has been monitoring the volcano through cameras, seismometers, and gas sensors, told the public that another fountaining episode is likely in the near term—meaning more incandescent jets and rivers of lava may be on the way.

Kīlauea sits inside Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, a place of raw contrasts and sacred stories. That section of the park is closed for safety, and for a reason: the mountain has been in intermittent eruption since 23 December 2024. For residents and visitors alike, the closures are a reminder that the island is built on both creation and risk.

Living on the Edge of Creation

Ask anyone in Hilo, Pāhala, or Volcano village and they’ll tell you the same thing: living here means living with the knowledge that the ground beneath you can be both nursery and fury. “It’s how the islands keep growing,” said Mālama Koa, a hawker who has lived for decades on the slopes below the volcano. “My grandmother used to say Pele is always at work—sometimes she’s sewing new land, sometimes she’s reminding us who’s boss.”

Kīlauea is, by any measure, one of the planet’s most active volcanoes. Its eruptions don’t just make headlines; they redraw maps, re-route roads, and rewrite lives. From the summit to the rift zones that radiate outward, this volcanic system has a memory measured in decades—Puʻu ʻŌʻō’s long curtain of lava in the late 20th and early 21st centuries is just one chapter in an epic geological narrative.

Science in Motion

Scientists track Kīlauea closely. The USGS Hawaiian Volcano Observatory (HVO) has a battery of instruments constantly recording earthquakes, ground tilt, and volcanic gas emissions. “The webcams gave us an early look at tonight’s activity,” said Dr. Aiko Nakamura, a volcanologist with HVO, when asked about the weekend event. “We monitor for signs—changes in seismicity, the shape of the ground, and gas output—that signal another fountaining episode. Right now, those signals suggest more activity is possible.”

It’s a careful choreography of data and decision-making. When the lava begins to spout and fountains appear, scientists are not just witnessing beauty—they’re calculating hazard. Air quality can decline as sulfur dioxide and other volcanic gases are released. Lava flows can close roads and threaten infrastructure. For everyone’s safety, park authorities keep sections closed while monitoring continues.

The Human Weather: Stories Along the Lava Line

While scientists speak of plumes and pulses, locals speak of everyday reality. “When the glow starts at night, you don’t sleep as you did before,” said Leilani Pua, who runs a small café in Volcano village. “You open your windows and smell the ocean and the mountain, and you think about what could be lost—and what could be gained. It’s not just fear; it’s a kind of fierce respect.”

For many Native Hawaiian families, the eruptions are woven into cultural life. Hula, oli (chants), and stories of Pele—the goddess of fire and volcanoes—anchor the storm of molten rock in meaning and memory. “Pele is family,” said Kumu Hula Nohealani Kalama, who teaches hula and Hawaiian history. “We honor her. We adapt. Our elders taught us how to read the land and listen.”

On the flip side, tourism-dependent businesses feel the pinch when closures come. “We saw bookings cancel right away,” said Jonah Mendes, who manages a small lodge near the park’s entrance. “But our regulars, the ones who love this place, they call and say, ‘Be safe. Keep us posted.’ It’s community. We’re resilient, but eruption seasons test that.”

Practical Realities and Safety

Even for those who live far from the lava’s immediate reach, there are ripples to consider. Volcanic gas can travel with the wind, producing vog (volcanic smog) that affects air quality across large swaths of the island. Farmers, schools, and health officials watch those measurements closely.

Follow official channels: HVO and Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park updates are the best sources for real-time information.
Respect closures: Trails and roadblocks are there to protect you—do not attempt to enter closed areas for a better view.
Air quality matters: Individuals with respiratory conditions should monitor local advisories and have plans to reduce outdoor exposure if vog rises.

Why This Matters to the World

What happens at Kīlauea is local in experience but global in importance. Volcanoes teach us about Earth’s inner furnace—the same force that built continents and drives plate tectonics. They also remind a modern world of an older truth: humans occupy a dynamic planet. In an era of climate crisis and rapid environmental change, living alongside active natural systems requires humility and adaptability.

But there is also a deeper lesson. Each glowing river of lava is a spectacular display of creation-in-motion. New land forms at the edge of these flows, and ecosystems eventually follow. “In a few years, new ʻōhiʻa and ferns will colonize the fresh rock,” noted Dr. Koa Anela, an island ecologist. “It’s dramatic and devastating and miraculous—often all at once.”

Final Thoughts: Watch, Listen, Learn

If the images from the USGS feel like a distant—if magnificent—show, remember this: volcanoes are more than background spectacle. For Islanders, Kīlauea’s rumblings are part of a living relationship with place. They demand caution, invite reverence, and offer a rare chance to witness planet-making in real time.

So, what should you take away if you live here or plan to visit? Observe the rules, listen to scientists and community leaders, and let the experience change you. If you’re watching the feeds from afar, consider the human stories behind each headline. How do we balance wonder and risk? How do our laws and cultures adapt when the ground itself refuses to be still?

In the end, Kīlauea is teaching in its own incandescent language. It humbles and inspires. It closes and creates. It invites us to be both spectators and citizens—present, patient, and profoundly aware of the wild world beneath our feet.

For real-time updates, follow the USGS Hawaiian Volcano Observatory and Hawai‘i Volcanoes National Park advisories, and support local communities that carry the daily work of living with Pele.

Federal Court Dismisses Cases Against Comey and James

hanad

November 25, 2025

Cases against Comey and James dismissed — James Comey was appointed to head the FBI by president Barack Obama in 2013 and was fired by Donald Trump in 2017 (file image)

The Day the Gavel Echoed Through Washington

On a cool weekday in the Eastern District of Virginia, a judge’s gavel landed like a meteor — sharp, sudden, and reshaping the legal landscape in ways that will ripple far beyond the courthouse steps.

US District Judge Cameron McGown Currie threw out criminal indictments against two towering figures of recent American political life — former FBI director James Comey and New York Attorney General Letitia James — not because a jury found them innocent or a prosecutor conceded weakness, but because the prosecutor who signed the charges had no lawful authority to do so.

“She had no legal authority,” Judge Currie wrote. Three words that, in the sterile geometry of legalese, felt like dynamite. The ruling did not exonerate or find guilt. It struck at process — at the architecture of how power is assigned and checked in a republic that prizes both the rule of law and the separation of powers.

A procedural wrinkle that blew up into a constitutional earthquake

The heart of the matter was an appointment: Lindsey Halligan, a former personal lawyer to Donald Trump, was installed as interim US attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia in September. She was handed two politically charged prosecutions that other career prosecutors in the office had declined to pursue for lack of credible evidence.

Halligan had no previous career as a federal prosecutor. Within weeks, she signed indictments accusing Comey of making false statements and obstructing Congress, and charging Letitia James with bank fraud and lying to a financial institution. Both defendants pleaded not guilty.

Attorneys for Comey and James argued that the appointment violated a federal statute limiting interim US attorney appointments to a single 120-day term, a safeguard Congress included to prevent the indefinite circumvention of Senate confirmation. If that protection is sidestepped repeatedly, critics say, a president could effectively place loyalists into office without the vetting Congress is meant to provide.

“This isn’t just about one person or two cases,” said a retired federal prosecutor I spoke with outside the courthouse. “It’s about the mechanism of accountability. If you can appoint and reappoint without Senate oversight, the balance tilts dangerously toward the executive.”

What the statute says — and why it matters

Under federal law, an interim US attorney can be appointed for 120 days after a vacancy. If the 120 days lapse without a Senate-confirmed successor, the district court may appoint someone. The complainants contended the way Halligan was cycled into the role circumvented that limit, effectively using administrative sleight-of-hand to keep a favored prosecutor in place.

The Justice Department countered that the attorney general has latitude to make interim appointments, and sought to paper over vulnerabilities by simultaneously naming Halligan a “special attorney” and stating that she had ratified the indictments. But Judge Currie saw the appointment as hollow — a prosecutorial hand without constitutional grip.

Politics on the courthouse lawn

To those paying attention, this was never merely a legal proceeding — it was part of a larger political posture. President Donald Trump had publicly pushed for aggressive legal steps against figures who had investigated him or criticized him. According to filings and public reports, Trump ordered then-Attorney General Pam Bondi to install Halligan after Erik Siebert, the office’s previous interim appointee, declined to bring charges.

“It felt like watching the gears of justice get greased in a room with the blinds drawn,” said a local political reporter. “You didn’t have to be cynical to sense the choreography.”

For supporters of the dismissals, the judge’s ruling is a vindication of constitutional form: appointments matter as much as allegations. “No person is above process, and no prosecutor can simply be placed into office to serve political will,” a constitutional law professor told me, leaning forward in the courthouse rotunda as if the marble absorbed every argument.

Dismissed, but not finished: the legal stage is reset

Judge Currie dismissed the cases “without prejudice,” a legal phrase that changes everything for the Department of Justice: the government can refile the charges under a prosecutor who is validly appointed. Critics worry, though, that refiling would only further entangle the Justice Department in partisan theater.

“The door is not closed,” observed one defense attorney. “The judge has given the government a second act. But that second act will need a different lead — and a far clearer commanding of statutory authority.”

Quick facts

120 — days specified by federal law for an interim US attorney appointment before other appointment mechanisms kick in.
Sept. — month in which Lindsey Halligan was appointed as interim US attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia.
Nov. 13 — date of a hearing in which Judge Currie raised doubts about the government’s position.

Voices from the courthouse — a collage

A doorman at a nearby restaurant shrugged and said, “You see a lot of suits here, but justice isn’t just suits and books. It’s about how rules protect the quiet from the loud.”

A Trump supporter I met on the courthouse steps said, “If these investigations were valid, they should be won in court. But if they’re political, they should be dismissed. I want fairness — not theatre.”

Meanwhile, a community organizer who has worked in New York politics for years said, “This is a warning sign. The weaponization of legal tools corrodes trust. When people see prosecutions as political scorekeeping, we all lose.”

Why the ruling matters beyond two names

At first glance, this may read as an internal partisan skirmish — a president wielding influence, a DOJ office in disarray, defendants who are household names. But the case taps into deeper, more durable questions about how democracies function: How are power and accountability distributed? How easily can norms be bent into practices? When the machinery of justice is seen to be malleable, public confidence erodes.

Consider a simple thought experiment: if legal appointments can be used as instruments for political outcomes, what does that mean for future investigations into presidents, cabinet members, or other powerful figures? The structural defense Judge Currie invoked is less glamorous than headlines and more consequential in the long run.

Looking ahead: the possible paths forward

The Justice Department may choose to refile the indictments under a different prosecutor who can clear the statutory hurdle. It may walk away. Or Congress could take the opportunity to clarify the law, tightening or loosening the appointment mechanisms depending on political will. Each path would reveal something about how the country prioritizes legal integrity over expediency.

“We’re watching how institutions respond under stress,” the constitutional scholar said. “Do they fortify themselves, or do they yield to politics? That answer will settle into precedent over years, not days.”

Questions for you, the reader

When the legal process clashes with political pressure, whom do you trust — institutions, politicians, or judges? Is the remedy to elect better leaders or to design stricter rules? And how should a democracy balance swift accountability with the slower, steadier cadence of constitutional safeguards?

In the long arc of American history, few moments are decided solely by facts. Many are decided by who holds the pen, who controls the appointments, and whether the public will demand that the rules of the game be kept fair. Today’s ruling did not answer all those questions. It only reminded us that, in a republic, how power is deployed is as important as the power itself.

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