Trump Touches Down in Japan Ahead of Crucial China Talks

October 27, 2025

Trump arrives in Japan ahead of key China meeting — Donald Trump arrived at Haneda Airport in Tokyo

From Osaka to Busan: A Diplomatic Marathon with High Stakes and Human Moments

When the presidential aircraft sliced through the late-afternoon sky and descended toward Tokyo, there was more than jet fuel in the air. There was anticipation, choreography and the unmistakable pulse of geopolitics — a feeling that what happens over the next seven days could reset markets, alliances and perhaps even the arc of a trade war that has rattled factories from Guangdong to Detroit.

Donald Trump’s latest Asian swing reads like a diplomatic short story: a red‑carpet arrival in Kuala Lumpur, an escort by Malaysian F‑18s, a quick refueling and a handshake in a Doha tarmac, then on to Japan for meetings with an emperor and a new prime minister — all while the world watches whether a summit with China’s Xi Jinping will finally pull the two largest economies back from the brink.

A meeting of old friends and new faces

Tokyo was at once ceremonial and pragmatic. The emperor’s gardens shimmered under autumn light as palace aides prepared for the evening audience; next day, Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi — viewed by many observers as a political heir to the late Shinzo Abe — sat down to talk alliance, security and continuity.

“Our alliance is not a relic; it is our shared future,” Takaichi told reporters in a brief hallway exchange. “Strengthening security ties with the United States is my cabinet’s top diplomatic priority.”

Trump, not one to bury emotion in protocol, was effusive. “I’ve heard tremendous things about Prime Minister Takaichi,” he said, praising the continuity of ties he once cultivated with Abe. “We’ve got a special relationship.”

At a small izakaya near the Imperial Palace, a server named Haruka folded sake cups and watched the news feeds. “People worry about tariffs and prices,” she said. “But they also like the idea of stability. When leaders meet, business feels a little lighter.”

Stopovers, side deals, and theatre

The trip’s opening acts in Kuala Lumpur and beyond mixed substance with spectacle. Delegations inked agreements on minerals and trade with Southeast Asian partners; ceasefire endorsements were co‑signed on the fringes of the ASEAN summit. Trump spent a brief but highly visible moment on Malaysian soil — his arrival punctuated by fighter-jet escorts and his signature wave along the tarmac — and everyone from diplomats to hawkers felt the resulting ripple.

“It was surreal,” said a stall owner near Bukit Bintang who sells noodle soups. “We’re used to seeing leaders on TV, but having them here — even for a day — brings cameras, business, and people who don’t usually come out.”

There were also quieter, consequential talks: a minerals deal in Kuala Lumpur, a handshake with Brazil’s president that suggested a thaw in months of frosty ties, and a brief stop where Trump and Qatari officials conferred on the fragile truce in Gaza. The diplomatic equivalent of a relay race had begun, and each baton pass mattered.

The China question: rare earths, soybeans and an impending tariff cliff

But the grand prize — the reason global markets leaned in — was China. The world’s eyes are fixed on whether U.S.-China negotiators can hammer out a truce before punitive tariffs set for the autumn take effect. In recent months, diplomats and trade officials from both capitals have been quietly negotiating lines of agreement on sensitive issues such as rare earth supplies and agricultural exports.

“Rare earths are not an abstract subject,” said Dr. Mei Chen, an East Asia supply‑chain analyst in Singapore. “They’re in your phone, your electric vehicle, your satellite. China’s sway in this market — it still controls a sizable share of processing capacity — gives Beijing leverage that Washington cannot ignore.”

Officials on both sides spoke cautiously optimistic in briefings: a “preliminary consensus” was reported by one Chinese trade official, while a senior U.S. treasury figure said additional 100% tariffs scheduled for the fall had, for the moment, been averted. Markets responded; regional bourses nudged higher as investors priced in the chance of a détente.

“If they reach a durable agreement, it’s good for supply chains, for companies, and for consumers who’ve been feeling the pinch from tariffs,” said Marcus Villanueva, a portfolio manager in Hong Kong. “But beware: too much optimism too early is a classic market pitfall.”

On the Korean Peninsula: echoes of the DMZ and a possibility that keeps diplomats awake

After Tokyo the tour moves to the Korean peninsula, where the agenda shifts from economics to security. President Trump signaled willingness to meet North Korean leader Kim Jong Un — a prospect that would be their first face‑to‑face encounter since 2019, when a surprise meeting at the Demilitarised Zone captured global headlines.

“We’re open to dialogue,” Trump told journalists aboard Air Force One. “I would love to speak with Chairman Kim.”

In Seoul, the comments sparked a flurry. A government official, speaking on background, called the possibility “meaningful but contingent,” noting that Pyongyang has linked further engagement to the removal of U.S. demands for full denuclearization — a demand that Washington still insists on publicly.

On Busan’s waterfront, where delegations will gather for the APEC summit, a dockworker named Ji‑ho paused from mending a net to reflect. “There’s always talk here about reunification,” he said. “But we also live with the practical: ferries, trade, families. A meeting between leaders can be a symbol, but the work afterward is what changes lives.”

Why this tour matters beyond the headlines

Why should a reader in Lagos, São Paulo, or Nairobi care about a week of diplomacy in Asia? Because the threads tied here run through everyday life globally. Tariffs and rare-earth embargos affect the price of smartphones and electric cars. A shift in alliance strategy changes military postures that, in turn, affect shipping lanes, energy security and the calculus of regional powers. When the two largest economies quarrel, the cost is paid by manufacturers, farmers, and consumers worldwide.

Ask yourself: how much of your morning routine depends on stable trade routes and predictable markets? The answer might be more than you think.

Broader themes in play

There are larger forces nudging the story along: the reconfiguration of global supply chains after COVID, the rise of technological competition that makes rare minerals strategic assets, and a renewed emphasis on regionalism as nations hedge between superpowers. Domestic politics also complicate diplomacy — leaders must balance electoral pressures, coalition partners and public sentiment while negotiating with foreign capitals.

“Foreign policy can’t be divorced from domestic politics,” explained Professor Alicia Moreno, a political economist at a university in Madrid. “That’s why these summits often feel like theater: they must satisfy international counterparts and domestic audiences at the same time.”

Final act: hope, caution, and the human element

As the plane takes off for Busan and the cameras flash one last time in Tokyo, the story is unfinished. Agreements may be reached. Markets may exhale. Or negotiations could fray. But amid policy briefs and press conferences it’s the human moments that linger: a server wiping down a counter, a dockworker watching a summit unfold on a neighbor’s TV, a timid handshake between two leaders who once traded barbs.

Diplomacy is, at its best, a messy, hopeful craft. It asks leaders to step into rooms where nothing is guaranteed and try to build a better, steadier future. Will this tour produce that steadiness? Only time will tell — but for now, the world watches, hopeful and wary, as history takes the stage once again.

Argentina’s Milei pledges sweeping reforms after election victory

hanad

October 27, 2025

Argentina's Milei vows more reforms after election win — President of Argentina Javier Milei greets supporters following the mid-term elections

A night that felt like a pivot

On a humid Buenos Aires evening, a crowd spilled out from a narrow plaza into the city’s arteries — laughter braided with the crack of champagne corks, the tinny echo of pop music, and a sudden chorus of voices that seemed to believe the country was, at last, turning a corner.

They waved flags with a new logo. They hugged strangers. Some wept. Others danced in shoes that had marched through decades of political promises. It was the kind of celebration that makes a place feel younger; a civic exhale after months of anxiety about jobs, prices and the peso’s wild swings.

The math that remade Congress

Behind the noise was a simple set of numbers: La Libertad Avanza (LLA), the relatively small, fiercely free-market party led by President Javier Milei, captured roughly 40.8% of the votes for Congress — a result that translated into a dramatic climb in parliamentary power.

LLA now claims 101 seats in the Chamber of Deputies, up from 37, and 20 seats in the Senate, up from six. The centre-left Peronist movement, a force for much of Argentina’s modern history, trailed at about 31.6%.

Turnout was 67.9% — the lowest in a national vote in four decades — a statistic that punctures the triumphalism. For many analysts, the headline was not only the victory but the thinness of citizen engagement: millions stayed away from the ballot boxes, weary of politics or suspicious of both the promises and the costs.

What voters said, and why it matters

“I’m here because I want something to change,” said Lucia, a 42-year-old teacher who stood by a kiosk selling newspapers and pastelitos. “Not perfect, not immediately — but different. We’ve had the same families in power for too long.”

Nearby, Omar, a 58-year-old mechanic, smiled with the sort of resignation that has become common in conversations about governance. “I didn’t vote for the party— I voted to get rid of what was there before. Sometimes that’s all you can do when you’re out of hope,” he said.

These sentiments — a mixture of hope, impatience and grievance — echo across many countries where voters have chosen outsiders or shock politicians as antidotes to entrenched systems. Argentina’s result thus becomes a lens on a global pattern: when institutions feel unresponsive, voters sometimes opt for radical change, betting disruption will heal chronic dysfunction.

The reform drive: fast, fierce, and costly

Since taking office in December 2023, Milei has pursued an agenda of deep deregulation and austerity: tens of thousands of public sector jobs eliminated, public works frozen, and cuts to spending on health, education and pensions. Supporters call it cleansing; critics call it cruelty.

The economic arithmetic is stark. These policies were followed by a reduction in inflation — described by government figures as a two-thirds decline compared with the feverish months before — a rare victory in a nation long hobbled by runaway prices. But growth, consumption and manufacturing have faltered, and millions were pushed deeper into poverty in the immediate aftermath.

A currency under siege

Markets have been volatile. Last month, investors began selling the peso en masse, spooked by concerns about policy consistency and political support for the president. The sell-off prompted an extraordinary intervention: the United States, led by a sympathetic president in Washington, pledged an unprecedented financial package — roughly $40 billion — and the U.S. Treasury reportedly stepped in multiple times to buy pesos and stabilize the market.

Domestically, Economy Minister Luis Caputo has defended the currency band mechanism the government put in place and insisted there would be no abrupt depreciation after the vote. “Monday is just another day,” he said in a briefing, emphasizing continuity. But continuity and credibility are not the same thing when confidence has frayed.

Scenes from a divided country

In provincial Argentina, the map told a more complicated story. Buenos Aires province — long a Peronist bastion — moved from a narrow Peronist victory in local elections to a virtual toss-up nationally, an outcome that underscored how volatile political loyalties have become.

“It’s not that we love what he’s doing,” said Marta, a 69-year-old pensioner clutching a folded ballot. “It’s that we want the old people out. Whoever those old people are.” Her comment captures a truth many voters expressed: a desire to punish the status quo, not necessarily to endorse every plank of the new administration’s platform.

Voices from the experts

“This result gives Milei legislative space to push tougher reforms,” said an economist at the Universidad de Buenos Aires who asked for anonymity to speak frankly. “But policy space is not the same as political capital. The social costs are real and will test his political durability.”

A Latin America analyst in Santiago added: “This is part of a larger regional cadence: voters have cycled through populist and anti-establishment movements when traditional parties fail to deliver. Argentina’s crisis is intensified by its currency and debt history, which makes the stakes higher for the world’s investors and for Argentine households.”

Beyond the ballot: what’s at stake

Argentina’s midterms are more than a domestic chapter; they are a test case for how a country can take radical reform without shattering social cohesion. Will fewer state employees and tighter budgets eventually stabilize public finances and restore growth? Or will austerity deepen inequality and political fragmentation?

There are no easy answers. The $40 billion in international backing buys time, but not trust. A more reformist Congress may ease legislative gridlock, yet it risks polarizing a nation where political wounds run deep. And the low turnout raises a question that should prick the conscience of every democracy: when people stop voting, what fills the quiet?

Quick facts

LLA vote share: ~40.8%
Peronist vote share: ~31.6%
Turnout: 67.9% (lowest in ~40 years)
Deputies won by LLA: 101 (up from 37)
Senate seats won by LLA: 20 (up from 6)
Reported international support package: ~$40 billion

Questions to sit with

As the confetti settles, ask yourself: what does political renewal look like in a nation with long-standing economic fragility? Is the willingness to endure short-term pain for long-term reform a hope rooted in evidence or a leap of faith?

And for readers outside Argentina — how do these dynamics reflect back on your own politics? When institutions falter, how patient should citizens be with reformers promising radical fixes?

On the road ahead

The mood in Buenos Aires will swing between elation and anxiety in the months to come. For supporters, this victory is fuel for a bold program; for opponents, it is a call to regroup. For the millions who stayed home, it may be a stern reminder that political outcomes do not always mirror private wishes.

Either way, Argentina’s midterm vote has refocused attention: on how you balance markets with social protection, on how outside money can shape domestic choices, and on whether politics can mend the social fabric frayed by chronic economic hardship. The story is far from over — and it will be watched not just in South America, but by anyone concerned with the fragile alchemy of democracy, markets and human dignity.

Hurricane Melissa gains strength as it slowly approaches Jamaica’s coast

hanad

October 27, 2025

Hurricane Melissa strengthens as it crawls toward Jamaica — Fishermen boats are tied together in preparation for the arrival of Hurricane Melissa in East Kingston

A slow, furious storm: Melissa’s march through the Caribbean

There are moments when weather stops being a headline and becomes a household sound — the river in the street, the low rumble of wind like an animal circling the house, the radio repeating caution in a voice that has grown hoarse. Hurricane Melissa is one of those moments. What began as a distant swirl over warm Atlantic waters hardened into a Category 4 monster, its outer bands already delivering deadly rain and landslides across the island of Hispaniola and threatening to strike Jamaica with full force.

Forecasters at the U.S. National Hurricane Center recorded sustained winds near 225 km/h as Melissa intensified, and warned that the storm could dump between 38 and 76 centimetres of rain over parts of southern Hispaniola and Jamaica. It was, at the time, roughly 190 km southeast of Kingston and about 450 km southwest of Guantánamo, Cuba — a massive system crawling toward populated coasts with the leisurely menace of something that refuses to hurry.

Lives overturned, landscapes erased

In Haiti, where fragile slopes meet precarious housing, the storm’s first kisses were cruel. Authorities confirmed three deaths linked to sudden landslides and flood-swollen rivers. In the Dominican Republic — where mountains and river valleys share intimate borders with communities — a 79-year-old man was swept away, and a 13-year-old boy has been reported missing.

“It felt like the house wanted to lift me out,” said Marisol, 66, a homemaker who left her neighbourhood on the southern plains as rivers rose. “My refrigerator floated like a little boat. We carried what we could and left the rest. You don’t feel brave; you feel very small.” She paused, listening to the rain. “You pray the walls hold.”

These are not statistics on a map. They are kitchen tables split by water, shoes piled in the yards of people who will not know whether the next rainy season will bring more or less. They are a reminder that vulnerability is uneven — shaped by wealth, terrain, and the old, unromantic geography of who can afford a sturdy roof.

Communities bracing — and fleeing

In Kingston, the mood was urgent. Prime Minister Andrew Holness urged people living in flood-prone areas to evacuate and not treat warnings as mere suggestions. “If your street flooded last season, don’t wait to see if this time will be different,” he told reporters. Officials closed Norman Manley International Airport and all seaports, a hard decision in an island economy that depends on tourism and trade.

At a makeshift shelter in a parish hall, volunteers handed out blankets and bowls of rice stew. “We set up beds, charged phones, listened,” said Carol Bennett, a shelter coordinator. “People here are proud, but when the water comes they come in together. You always see the same faces — fishermen, market women, teachers. The community is what will get us through the next 72 hours.”

Emergency alerts and red zones

Authorities in the Dominican Republic put nine out of 31 provinces on red alert, citing the imminent possibility of flash floods, rising rivers and landslides. Emergency services ran continuous checks on evacuation routes, and social services teams tried to reach remote hamlets where muddy lanes become impassable after an hour of downpour.

“Our priority is saving lives and moving people out of harm’s way,” said Jorge Alvarez, director of an emergency operations centre. “We know the places that flood first. We know the people who need help. It becomes a question of how fast we can act when a storm refuses to be fast.”

The costs of a slow-moving hurricane

There is a particular cruelty to a storm that crawls. Rapid intensification — the NHC noted that Melissa was expected to strengthen further even as it fluctuated in intensity — means destructive winds and prolonged rain. That combination drives two of the most lethal hazards in the region: storm surge and landslide. A seawall in Kingston already splashed and creaked under heavy rollers; further surge could overtop defences that have been patched and rebuilt over recent years.

For scholars of climate and weather, Melissa is part of an unsettling trend. Warmer sea-surface temperatures feed hurricanes’ engines, and a slower forward speed increases rainfall totals in localized areas. Scientists don’t point to a single storm and say ‘this is climate change,’ but the pattern of intense storms and prolonged rainfall is consistent with what many models predict. As climatologist Dr. Laila Chen put it: “We’re seeing a climate that amplifies extremes — storms that are stronger, slower, and wetter. That’s not distant theory; it’s the math of our daily news.”

What it means for the wider region

Melissa is the 13th named storm of the Atlantic season, which officially runs from June through November. The season already has offered surprises: earlier this year, Hurricane Beryl surged into Jamaica in July, an unusually early major hurricane that left at least four people dead. A string of such events strains disaster response systems and strains communities who are still rebuilding from the last blow.

Jamaica’s economy, which leans heavily on tourism and agriculture, faces immediate impacts when transport hubs, ports and airports close. Slips in sugarcane and coffee harvests, delays in shipping, and interruption of daily markets ripple through households. “When the ports shut, it’s not just the cruise ships,” noted economist Tanya Reid. “It’s fuel, it’s food imports, it’s the small exporters who sell fruit and flowers. A few days of closure can become a week of lost income.”

Practical steps — and human resilience

There are practical steps people can take now: confirm evacuation routes, keep water and medications ready, move valuables to higher ground, and stay tuned to verified official sources. But there is also the human instinct that statistics can’t measure: stories of neighbours carrying the elderly up staircases, of fishermen pulling boats inland, of students handing out flashlights to share news in creaky, candlelit rooms.

Know your evacuation zone and nearest shelter.
Store at least 72 hours of water and essential medicines.
Secure loose outdoor objects and move furniture upstairs if possible.
Keep battery power for radios and have cash on hand.

Looking beyond the storm

When the rain finally eases and the wind drops, the immediate work will be to clear roads, assess the damage, and help families rebuild. But there is a longer conversation ahead: investment in resilient infrastructure, improved hill-slope management in places prone to landslides, and more robust early-warning systems that reach remote communities in time.

“We will clean up, yes,” said Rosa Mendoza, a schoolteacher in a highland town, “but when I look at the younger kids, I think of the next generation. Are we teaching them to live with these storms, or helping them change the conditions that make each storm a tragedy? We need both.”

What can you do right now?

If you have family or friends in the path of Melissa, reach out to them, share reliable updates, and offer support. If you’re farther away, consider donating to verified humanitarian organizations that work year-round in disaster-prone areas — it’s often the local NGOs and community groups who arrive first and stay longest.

And if you live near coasts or river valleys yourself: ask yourself hard questions. How prepared is your neighbourhood? How easy would it be for you and your neighbours to get to higher ground? Hurricanes don’t respect borders, but the choices communities and governments make in their aftermath do shape who recovers and who remains at risk.

For now, the Caribbean waits and watches, radios tuned to the NHC and the crackle of local stations. Families brace their doors, volunteers stack sandbags, and a region long accustomed to storms steels itself for what Melissa will leave behind. The numbers — 225 km/h winds, 38–76 cm of rain, 13 named storms so far — tell part of the story. The rest lives in the hands of the people who will clear the mud and lift the roofs, again and again.

Global leaders and press respond to Connolly’s election victory

hanad

October 26, 2025

Leaders and media around world react to Connolly win — Catherine Connolly was elected the tenth President of Ireland in the election on Friday

A New Face in Áras an Uachtaráin: Ireland’s Presidency Meets a Moment of Change

On a cool October evening, under the honeyed lights of Dublin Castle, a crowd that felt older and younger at once watched as Catherine Connolly stepped into a role that is, by law, restrained — and by people’s hopes, anything but.

The new president-elect is 68, a former barrister turned outspoken lawmaker who surged from relative obscurity to what many are calling a landslide. With roughly 1.65 million ballots cast in the election and an unusually high number of spoiled ballots — approaching 13% — Connolly’s victory was emphatic: international outlets cited her share of the counted vote at around 63%. She will be the 10th person to serve as Ireland’s head of state and only the third woman to hold the title.

What the Result Felt Like on the Ground

Walk the Liffey at dawn and you’d hear talk of housing, neutrality and a sense that traditional politics is bending. “People my age were voting for a symbol,” said Maureen O’Donoghue, 72, a retired school principal who watched the returns with a cup of tea at a corner café off Grafton Street. “But the younger crowd — they want change that works for them: rent, jobs, dignity.”

At a pub in Galway, where Connolly’s roots run deep, a bartender named Liam shrugged as he stacked pint glasses—“She talks like someone in the room. That matters.” Across the city, a university student named Aoife tapped her phone. “She spoke straight to us about housing and the climate. That’s why we turned out,” she said.

Voices: Local, Religious and International

The congratulations poured in from an oddly global chorus. European and UK leaders reached out, faith leaders offered prayers for unity, and political figures from across the ideological spectrum acknowledged the new president’s mandate even as commentators parsed its implications.

A French diplomat noted the close ties between Dublin and Paris and sent a warm message emphasizing cooperation in culture and trade. “Ireland is our neighbor in the project of Europe,” he said. Scotland’s government expressed eagerness to deepen ties across the Irish Sea. A Presbyterian leader in Northern Ireland offered a measured blessing, urging the president-elect to be a bridge-builder in a society still healing from division.

Religious voices were diverse: one archbishop expressed hope that the next occupant of Áras an Uachtaráin would be guided by a commitment to peace and reconciliation on the island; a community priest in West Cork told me he expected the president to be “a moral compass in times of testing.”

From Los Angeles to Jerusalem: A Global Read

International press framed the result through different prisms. In the United States, newspapers highlighted Connolly’s leftist coalition and the political novelty of Ireland electing a candidate with clear ties to parties on the left, including endorsements from Sinn Féin. Spanish and Latin American outlets emphasized the generational rhetoric — housing as a right, public transport, and a desire for a political alternative to long-standing centre-right dominance.

But the coverage was not all celebratory. Several outlets focused on Connolly’s outspoken stances on foreign policy, especially her criticism of Israel’s actions in Gaza, and warned that while the presidency is largely ceremonial, the office carries moral weight and can reshape public conversation at home and abroad.

Others drew attention to a striking statistic: the unusually high share of invalid or spoilt ballots. “Nearly one voter in eight submitted an invalid ballot,” one international dispatch read. “Analysts say this signals profound frustration with mainstream options, and perhaps a protest against what many see as a stale political centre.”

What the Presidency Can—and Cannot—Do

It’s important to remember that the Irish presidency is intentionally limited. The president signs legislation, represents the state on ceremonial occasions, and has a handful of reserve powers. The real machinery of policy — budgets, housing plans, foreign policy decisions — sits with the government and Dáil Éireann.

That structural reality did not stop voters from imbuing the coming presidency with symbolic significance. “We chose someone who will speak up,” said Dr. Niamh Kearns, a political sociologist at Trinity College. “A president can’t pass housing law, but they can amplify issues, convene conversations, and be a moral spotlight.”

Connolly campaigned on a suite of issues that resonate with many younger voters: affordable housing, public transport, support for the Irish language, and a referendum on unification. She also positioned herself as a steadfast defender of Ireland’s neutrality — a topic of renewed debate since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and growing discussions in Europe around defence cooperation.

Questions to Consider

Will an outspoken ceremonial president widen public debate or deepen polarization? Can a figure who openly champions causes like Palestinian solidarity act as a unifying head of state? And what does a high rate of invalid ballots tell us about the relationship between citizens and their institutions?

“Symbols matter more in times of social stress,” Dr. Kearns told me. “When people feel left behind economically or culturally, they look for someone who represents what they can’t get from party politics.”

Beyond the Headlines: Culture, Language, and the Pulse of Youth

There’s a cultural layer often missed by international dispatches. Connolly’s platform included a visible commitment to the Irish language and to cultural projects that celebrate local heritage—from traditional music sessions in sitting rooms to community-led arts festivals in Galway and Cork. For many voters, that cultural affirmation felt like a balm amid anxieties about global change.

At a Ceilí in a small town in Mayo, locals danced an old reel and toasted the election result with cider and laughter. “Younger people want dignity and a voice,” said Siobhán, who runs the local bingo. “And older generations want respect. Maybe she can give both.”

What Comes Next

Connolly will step into Áras an Uachtaráin with a public gaze both hopeful and skeptical. She inherits not just ceremonial duties but a symbolic platform that, if wielded with care, could prod the powerful, comfort the anxious and reframe public debates. If mishandled, it could sharpen divides.

For a country whose diaspora numbers in the millions and whose politics now draw headlines from L.A. to Jerusalem, what happens in Ireland quickly becomes part of the global conversation. The question for citizens, and for observers abroad, is this: Do we want a president who simply reflects the mood of the moment, or one who shapes the mood for the better?

On the morning after the vote, as seagulls wheeled above the Liffey and commuters moved through the city, one woman clasped her hands and said simply: “We needed someone to say what we’re feeling. Now let’s see what she does with it.”

Israel insists it maintains operational control in Gaza despite ceasefire

hanad

October 26, 2025

Israel insists it calls shots in Gaza despite truce — Daily struggles continue for Palestinians who returned to their homes after the ceasefire agreement

Between Bulldozers and Yellow Lines: Gaza’s Fragile Quiet

The convoy arrived at dawn like a small, awkward promise — low-loader lorries flying the Egyptian flag, a train of bulldozers and mechanical diggers, tipper trucks that flashed lights and honked in a rhythm more solemn than celebratory. They queued at Rafah as if waiting for permission to stitch up a wound that, for years, has been left to fester.

For residents of Gaza City, the sight was at once familiar and surreal. “We’ve seen machinery before, but never like this,” said Hiam Muqdad, a 62-year-old grandmother living in a tent beside the skeleton of her home. Her grandchildren, barefoot, scavenged twigs and plastic for a fire to heat water, playing among the blocks of concrete that were once a street. “When they said there was a truce, my heart leapt and then broke again. Children’s dreams have been buried under the rubble.”

Who Holds the Keys to Gaza’s Security?

At the core of the ceasefire that settled, uneasily, over Gaza is a single, thorny question: who really controls security inside the Strip? The deal, brokered with heavy U.S. involvement, envisions an international stabilization force — largely drawn from Arab or Muslim countries — to police a post-conflict Gaza. But Israel has been categorical: it will keep the reins in its own hands.

“Israel is an independent state,” Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu told ministers, repeating a theme that drew hard lines across the political spectrum. “We will defend ourselves by our own means and we will continue to determine our fate. We do not seek anyone’s approval for this.”

That insistence ripples through every element of the ceasefire. Government spokespeople later summarized the position bluntly: any foreign forces entering Gaza must first be acceptable to Israel. “It’s going to be the easy way or the hard way,” one spokeswoman warned. “Israel will have overall security control of the Gaza Strip.”

The Yellow Line and a Map Still Being Redrawn

Since the ceasefire took hold, Israeli forces have withdrawn to what they describe as the “Yellow Line.” But the line on a map is not the same as a return to normal life. Israel continues to approve humanitarian convoys crossing its controlled borders and has conducted strikes even after the truce was announced — moves intended, officials say, to keep militant networks from reconstituting.

U.S. diplomats have sought to stitch a narrative of gradual normalization: the international stabilization force would, over time, expand its footprint and the Yellow Line could shift. “Ultimately, the point of the stabilisation force is to move that line until it covers hopefully all of Gaza, meaning all of Gaza will be demilitarised,” a senior U.S. official told reporters. But such timelines are fragile promises when the memory of war remains fresh.

Convoys, Aid, and the Limits of Relief

Even as heavy machinery rolled in with Egyptian staff — a technical team cleared by Israeli authorities, their vehicles stamped with authorization — aid agencies warn that access remains painfully inadequate. Parts of Gaza still resemble a place under siege: families without steady food, empty hospital wards converted into morgues, children who have not seen a full school year in years.

“We are getting some assistance, but it’s not enough,” said an aid worker who has been operating near Al-Zawayda. “The logistics of moving large convoys, the approvals, the security concerns — they all slow life-saving aid. In the meantime, people are hungry.”

Statistics, cold and unforgiving, frame the scale of loss. According to figures from the Gaza health ministry — numbers widely cited by international agencies — more than 68,500 Palestinians have been killed by Israeli fire in the course of the conflict. The same reporting notes that Hamas has returned 20 living hostages and 15 bodies; the group says it still holds the remains of 13 captives — a tally that includes ten Israelis taken during the 7 October attack, one individual missing since 2014, plus a Thai and a Tanzanian worker.

Searching Amid the Rubble

The Egyptian heavy equipment was intended, in part, to assist in recovery operations — the grim task of locating remains in collapsed buildings. Local crews, families and international technicians worked side by side in a landscape of broken mortar and twisted rebar. “You don’t just clear debris,” said an Egyptian engineer. “You look for places where someone’s entire life might be buried.”

For relatives, each scoop of earth is a small, terrible hope. “There is no closure without a body,” said one father who has been searching for months. “You cannot grieve properly if you do not have something to bury.”

Politics at a Human Scale

Political actors, meanwhile, are locked in a cautious choreography. Israel refuses to accept certain countries’ participation in the stabilization force — explicitly wary of rivals it deems hostile — while Hamas insists that excluding it from the governance equation risks a security vacuum. “Excluding Hamas from maintaining stability could lead to chaos,” warned Mousa Abu Marzouk, a senior Hamas official, arguing that a total sidelining of the movement would create a governance gap.

Hamas has also resisted immediate disarmament. Instead, its leaders have promised to pursue rival armed groups within Gaza, conducting internal crackdowns that they say are meant to maintain order. “We are not obstructing reconstruction; we are worried about external forces redrawing our community’s map,” said a local leader in Gaza City.

What Does “Demilitarised” Even Mean?

When politicians and diplomats speak of demilitarisation, what they often mean is a static, technical condition — the removal of heavy weapons, the dismantling of organized military capabilities. But on the ground, demilitarisation touches raw nerves about dignity, governance and who gets to decide daily life: who secures the streets, who opens crossings, who approves relief convoys, and who protects families from reprisals.

After months — years — of conflict, those decisions will shape whether Gaza rebuilds into a livable place or a fragile pause between more violence. “Rebuilding homes is one thing,” said a social worker. “Rebuilding trust is another. And trust cannot be decreed from a map or a negotiation table.”

Where Do We Go From Here?

As bulldozers trundle across the border and ministers trade ultimatums, ordinary people continue to live in the in-between: hungry, hopeful, terrified that the quiet is only the prelude to another storm. The ceasefire has bought a rare, brutal commodity — time. How it is used will be the test of every promise made in diplomatic backrooms.

So I ask you, reader: when policies are negotiated by leaders far from the sound of a child’s laughter or the hush of a family’s burial, whose voices are we really hearing — and whose lives are we truly putting first?

In Gaza, the answer will be lived out in tent camps, in the slow business of retrieving bodies and raising schools, and in the choices of those who will patrol the Strip. For now, the machines have arrived. The question is whether they will clear a path to reconstruction — or only trace the edges of another line that divides hope from despair.

Police Arrest Suspects in Theft of Jewels from the Louvre

hanad

October 26, 2025

France admits security failures after Louvre robbery — The whole raid took just seven minutes and was thought to have been carried out by an experienced team

Nightfall at the Louvre: How France’s Crown Jewels Vanished in Plain Sight

On a sunlit weekend in Paris — the kind of day when visitors drift from the Seine to the gardens of the Musée du Louvre as if following a collective invitation — a small band of thieves turned one of the city’s most iconic institutions into a theater for audacity.

They arrived not like ghosts but like something out of a heist film: a mobile crane telescoping toward a second-floor window, a harsh crash of glass, a sprint of masked figures, and the staccato bark of motorcycle engines as they sped into the city’s arteries. In less than ten minutes, eight pieces of France’s historic crown jewels had disappeared. A ninth, the emerald- and diamond-encrusted crown of Empress Eugénie, was later found abandoned nearby — dropped, sources say, in the hurry of escape.

This was not a robbery of cash or a haul for a local pawnshop; the pieces taken are heavy with history. Among them, an emerald-and-diamond necklace once gifted by Napoleon to Empress Marie-Louise and a diadem that belonged to Empress Eugénie, studded with nearly 2,000 diamonds. The estimated value: roughly $102 million.

The arrest that followed

By evening, the story bent toward the procedural. Two men in their 30s — both from Seine-Saint-Denis, a northern department of greater Paris often in headlines for its economic struggles and social tensions — were detained near Paris.

“One was arrested at Charles de Gaulle airport around 10 p.m., moments before boarding a flight to Algeria,” said a senior prosecutor in Paris, speaking on condition of anonymity during the early stages of the investigation. “Both are known to police. The inquiry is ongoing.”

Le Parisien, which first published details of the arrests, reported that the men were already on law enforcement radars for other offenses. For now, police confirmed that while the crown of Empress Eugénie was recovered close to the scene, the eight other items remain missing.

What happened inside the museum

Witnesses described a surreal tableau: visitors in the galleries — some snapping selfies, others lingering in front of portraits — jolted into alarm as security alarms began to wail. A museum guard recalled the noise and the sight of ladders and a crane outside what many Parisian history-lovers know as the Galerie d’Apollon, where the crown jewels are traditionally displayed.

“You don’t expect the past to be stolen in daylight,” said Marie-Claude Dubois, a longtime guide at the Louvre who has led thousands through rooms lined with lacquered frames and vaulted ceilings. “It felt like watching our history peeled from its frame.”

A Louvre spokesperson, Antoine Leclerc, told reporters, “We are cooperating fully with investigators. The safety of our collections and our visitors is our top priority. We are shocked that a brazen act like this occurred right here.”

Why the theft matters beyond the price tag

These jewels are not simply ornaments; they are physical chapters of French history. Napoleon’s jewelry, the trappings of emperors and empresses — they are touchstones in narratives about monarchy, revolution, empire, and national identity. Their loss reverberates outward: for the nation’s cultural memory, for the global art market, and for the millions who travel from around the world to glimpse such artifacts.

The Louvre itself amplifies that loss. The museum, often cited as the world’s most visited, drew nearly 10 million visitors in 2019 before the pandemic reshaped global tourism patterns. What happens within its walls is scrutinized not just by Parisians but by a global audience that sees the Louvre as a public trust.

Professor Elise Mounier, an expert on cultural heritage protection at the University of Strasbourg, framed the theft within a broader problem. “Art and cultural property have become commodities in shadow economies,” she said. “The illicit trade in such objects is lucrative and transnational. Once these jewels leave the country, their provenance is erased and recovery becomes exponentially harder.”

Local color: reactions in the neighborhood

On a narrow lane behind the museum, in a café where waiters call out orders and morning croissants steam under glass cloches, locals traded disbelief for practical questions about policing and inequality.

“We love the Louvre, but we live with these contradictions every day,” said Karim, a barista originally from Seine-Saint-Denis. “It’s easy to point fingers, but poverty and lack of opportunity are part of the landscape. That doesn’t excuse crime, but it explains the desperation.”

A retired teacher, Simone, sitting at a corner table, shook her head. “Our museums are a mirror of who we were and who we want to be. That mirror was cracked today.”

Security under scrutiny

The how of the theft invites hard questions. A crane reaching an upper-floor gallery, a window smashed, and getaway motorcycles — the operation appears planned and rehearsed. Museum security experts will now comb through footage and protocols. Did technological and human safeguards fail? Were alarms and patrols circumvented? The answers will be pivotal not only for the Louvre but for cultural institutions worldwide.

“Museums balance openness with protection,” said Hugo Navarro, a security consultant who has worked with European museums. “Too much fortification alienates visitors; too little invites exploitation. After incidents like this, institutions often reconfigure physical barriers, surveillance systems, and visitor flow — but there’s no single fix.”

Stolen: 8 crown-jewel pieces, estimated value $102 million
Recovered: Empress Eugénie’s emerald-and-diamond crown (dropped nearby)
Method: crane, smashed upstairs window, motorcycle getaway
Arrests: two men detained, one at Charles de Gaulle airport

Looking ahead: justice, recovery, and memory

Can those jewels be recovered? The odds hinge on speed, luck, and international cooperation. Auction houses, smugglers’ networks, and collectors with questionable ethics can move items across borders in days. Interpol and cultural property units have had successes — many artworks are recovered each year — but precious jewelry, easily disassembled, presents particular challenges.

For now, investigators will pursue leads across borders and into online markets. Prosecutors in Paris will need to demonstrate whether the theft is the work of a small, local crew or part of a wider transnational operation.

And for the public, the robbery prompts a quieter question: what do we owe a nation’s cultural treasures? Are they museum pieces, state property, or the living memory of a people? When histories are stolen, who is impoverished?

As Paris breathes into another evening, the Louvre’s glass pyramid continues to glitter, anonymous tourists still photograph each other beneath it, and the city resumes its rhythm. Yet in the hush of its galleries, echoes of the theft linger: the shatter of glass, the flash of diamonds, the sudden exposure of vulnerability. The jewels are more than a headline; they are a test — of law enforcement, cultural stewardship, and a society’s commitment to protect the material threads that tie its past to its present.

What would you do if you stood before a crown that once graced the head of an empress? Would you feel the pull of beauty, of history, of loss? In the days to come, as investigators circle and the nation debates, that question will remain, shimmering and unresolved.

Trump won’t engage Putin until a credible war deal emerges

hanad

October 26, 2025

Trump not 'wasting time' with Putin until war deal likely — US President Donald Trump said had a great relationship with Vladimir Putin but he is disappointed with his appetite to end the war

When a Summit Fell Apart: The Moment Sanctions Became a Statement

There are moments in politics that feel both intimate and seismic: a terse line in a press pool quote, a cancelled meeting, a sanction that lands like a pebble on the surface of a dark, wide sea. On the tarmac of those ripples this week stood a familiar, sharp image—President Donald Trump telling reporters aboard Air Force One that he would not sit down with Vladimir Putin “unless it was clear that the Russian President was serious about making a deal to end the war in Ukraine.”

“I’m going to have to know that we’re going to make a deal. I’m not going to be wasting my time,” he said, voice measured, eyes seemingly on both the immediate itinerary and a broader, unfinished ledger of diplomatic efforts. “I’ve always had a great relationship with Vladimir Putin, but this has been very disappointing.”

It was a line that condensed frustration and calculation: personal rapport battered by the realities of a brutal, protracted conflict, and the very public calculus of sanctions as both punishment and leverage.

Sanctions With a Purpose

On the same day, Washington announced sanctions on Rosneft and Lukoil—two of Russia’s energy giants—actions mirrored by the European Union. These are not small players. Rosneft is the state-dominant behemoth; Lukoil, the country’s largest private oil company. Together they touch a large portion of Russia’s hydrocarbon exports, and hydrocarbons have been the main artery of Moscow’s public finances for decades. Oil and gas revenues have accounted for roughly four in ten rubles of federal revenue in recent years—an immense dependency on the fate of fossil fuels that has become the West’s leverage card.

“These measures are intended to be a signal,” said a sanctions analyst in Brussels, speaking on condition of anonymity to speak more candidly about internal strategy. “It’s meant to sharpen the cost of the war without escalating to direct military confrontation.”

For months, Mr. Trump had resisted calls to impose such sweeping penalties. Plans for a fresh summit with Mr. Putin in Budapest collapsed, and the patience that had held the sanctions at bay finally snapped. Yet even as he enacted these moves, Mr. Trump spoke of their possible temporariness, saying he hoped the sanctions would be short-lived, that “the war will be settled.”

Leaders React

Across the Atlantic, President Vladimir Putin acknowledged the impact, calling the sanctions “serious” while insisting they would not unmoor the Russian economy. “It is an unfriendly act,” he said, adding that such measures “do not strengthen Russia–US relations, which have only just begun to recover.” Still, he left the door ajar: the Kremlin said he remained open to dialogue with the American president.

In Kyiv, President Volodymyr Zelensky praised the move. “A strong and much-needed message that aggression will not go unanswered,” he said, words that landed with particular resonance for a country whose cities and lives have been scarred by war.

Voices on the Ground

Politics can feel distant in boardrooms and backchannels. But in the market stalls, neighbourhood cafés, and commuter trains of Europe and Russia, the consequences are immediate and personal.

In a small café near Maidan in Kyiv, a barista named Oksana wiped down a table, her knuckles raw from cold and worry. “What they do in Washington affects whether we have heat this winter,” she said, eyes travelling past a television screen showing footage of destroyed blocks outside Kharkiv. “This isn’t about abstract geopolitics. It’s about whether our children sleep warm and hungry.”

In St. Petersburg, a gas-station attendant named Sergei was more stoic. “I know it’s bad for business,” he said, shrugging. “But Russia is used to sanctions. We will adapt.” Adaptation is a phrase Russian public life has become practiced in over the last decade—workarounds, pivots to Asia, and domestic production drives.

An energy trader in Rotterdam leaned back in his chair and gave a tired smile. “The short-term market response is price jitter; the long-term story is market share,” he said. “If Russia’s oil exports get squeezed, other producers will try to fill the gap. And that feeds into longer debates about energy security and diversification in Europe.”

Markets, Strategy, and the Larger Picture

The sanctions land at the intersection of several global pressures. Europe’s dependence on Russian fuel has been a central strategic vulnerability since 2022; the energy price shocks that followed that year reshaped political conversations across capitals. At the same time, the global energy market has become more fluid, with tanker routes, buyers, and sanctions workarounds mutating rapidly.

“Sanctions do more than freeze assets,” said Dr. Maria Ivanova, a sanctions expert at a European university. “They rewrite economic relationships, force private companies and banks to rethink counterparty risk, and they send a political signal to other states. But they are not a silver bullet. The key question is whether they change behaviour.”

Beyond economics, there are wider questions about diplomacy itself. The aborted Budapest summit and the wary language from Washington raise a thorny issue: can personal rapport between leaders ever substitute for credible verification frameworks? And can sanctions and negotiations be sequenced in a way that makes compromise feasible without rewarding bad behaviour?

What Comes Next?

Sanctions are rarely final; they are a stage in an unfolding drama. The White House framed its move as conditional—removable if a real settlement emerges. The Kremlin framed it as a provocation that will be met with countermeasures at some future point. In the middle sits a war that shows no signs of a quick end, and millions of lives that have already been altered beyond recognition.

So what should readers take away from all this, beyond the headlines and the volley of quotes? Perhaps this: global politics increasingly feels like a relay race in which the baton keeps changing hands—sanctions, summits, markets, and ground truth all push the story in different directions.

Ask yourself: does punishment without a clear exit strategy change behaviour, or does it harden positions? Can diplomacy ever be effective without enforceable steps and credible trust-building? And what kind of global order do we want—one in which oil still underwrites power, or one where energy security is decoupled from geopolitical coercion?

There are no tidy answers. But as the actors reconfigure, the human costs remain plain and pressing. From a café in Kyiv to a petrol pump in St. Petersburg, from trading floors in Amsterdam to the corridors of power in Washington, the reverberations of this decision will be felt for months and perhaps years. For now, the summit that never was has set a new chapter in motion: one where sanctions are both sword and conversation starter—an imperfect tool wielded in hopes of something better on the far side of the storm.

Russia Confirms Successful Launch of New Nuclear-Capable Missile

hanad

October 26, 2025

Russia 'successfully' tested new nuclear-capable missile — Vladimir Putin called the missile a 'unique creation that no one else in the world possesses'

A Kremlin Announcement, a Quiet Alarm

There are moments in politics that feel less like press releases and more like historical punctuation marks. On a crisp autumn morning inside the Kremlin, President Vladimir Putin stepped into that kind of moment — delivering a short, cinematic declaration that Russia had completed “decisive tests” of a new weapon: the Burevestnik, a nuclear-powered cruise missile.

“The decisive tests are now complete,” Putin said, his voice steady in the video released by the Kremlin. “We must prepare infrastructure to put this weapon into service in the Russian armed forces.”

It was less a technical briefing than a performance — a place-setting for a new chapter in modern arms competition. But beyond the theater, the claims are concrete and unnerving: a missile Moscow says can travel for 14,000 km, that took some 15 hours in its most recent flight, and that its propulsion system grants it what Russian officials describe as essentially “unlimited range.”

What exactly is the Burevestnik?

The term “Burevestnik” — Russian for “storm petrel,” a bird famed in poetry as a harbinger of storms — is fittingly apocalyptic. Russian military chief of staff Valery Gerasimov added technical heft to the Kremlin announcement: the missile’s “technical characteristics” allow it, he said, “to be used with guaranteed precision against highly protected sites located at any distance.”

What makes the Burevestnik different from more familiar ballistic missiles is not speed but endurance. Unlike a missile that follows a ballistic arc and lands in minutes, a nuclear-powered cruise missile is designed to cruise for hours, refueling its engine with a compact reactor. In theory, that translates to range untethered to conventional fuel limits and the ability to evade detection or interception by flying long, unpredictable routes.

Here are the main claims Moscow has put on the table:

Range: Up to 14,000 km during the latest test; Russian officials suggest this is not the upper limit.
Duration: The October test reportedly lasted about 15 hours.
Capability: Designed to strike “highly protected sites” with high precision, according to military statements.

Why that matters

To understand the alarm in the West and the gravitas in the Kremlin, picture a weapon that combines the low-altitude, terrain-following flexibility of a cruise missile with the endurance of a nuclear core. Defenders who rely on early-warning radars and missile interceptors may find the problem exponentially harder if an adversary can loiter near borders, alter course, and cross thousands of miles without refueling.

Voices on the ground

Not every Russian greeted the announcement with applause. Outside a metro stop in central Moscow, a café owner named Irina wiped espresso rings from a tray and shrugged. “Weapons sound grand on television,” she said. “But for us, it’s the doubled cost of everything and the worry that follows. I remember 2019 — the stories, the fear of radiation — people talk about that.”

An elderly pensioner, Vladimir, sat on a bench and folded his hands. “When they say ‘unique,’ they mean they can scare the world,” he said. “Scare it — and then sell their power back to us as security.”

Across borders, analysts spoke with sharper concern. “If these claims are true,” said an arms-control researcher who requested anonymity, “the strategic calculus changes. Extended flight times and roadless routes make conventional interceptors less reliable. We are returning to an era where technical novelty outpaces treaty language.”

History, hazards and a long shadow

This is not a wholly novel idea. The Cold War flirted with nuclear-powered flight. The U.S. Project Pluto in the early 1960s sought to create a nuclear ramjet engine for cruise missiles; it was ultimately canceled due to radiation risks and technical challenges. The Soviet Union explored similar ideas.

Then there are the environmental memories that linger. In 2019, an accident during weapons testing in northern Russia — widely reported and linked by many observers to experimental propulsion work — caused localized radiological anomalies and deaths among engineers. Moscow denied some details, while independent investigators pointed to the dangers of testing advanced nuclear systems in populated or fragile ecological areas.

“You can design a brilliant weapon on paper,” said Dr. Elena Markova, a former Russian aerospace engineer now teaching in Europe. “But nuclear propulsion introduces contamination risks that are not easily mitigated. An accident during testing or a crash in peacetime could create long-term ecological consequences.”

Numbers that put the claims in context

Context matters: Russia remains one of the two nuclear superpowers, with several thousand warheads in its arsenal. Global inventories have shifted only slightly in recent years, but modernization programs across nuclear states mean the character of deterrence is changing even if the raw numbers wobble within the same order of magnitude.

Meanwhile, high-profile military spending and technological contests are on the rise. In 2024, NATO defense spending and modernization efforts continued to climb, driven in part by the war in Ukraine and the perception of growing Russian military capability. The Burevestnik announcement now sits in that larger tapestry — an emblem of technological brinkmanship and strategic signaling.

What the rest of the world is likely thinking

From capitals in Europe to think tanks in Washington, the question is not merely whether the missile flies but what it does to strategic stability. Does a weapon that can loiter for hours create incentives for pre-emption? Does it complicate arms-control verification? Does it spur an arms race in new propulsion, detection, or cyber tools?

“This is symbolic as much as it is strategic,” said Michael Anders, a European security analyst. “The Kremlin is demonstrating capability and resolve. The West must respond with careful diplomacy and a measured modernization of defenses — but also with renewed urgency for transparency and restraint.”

Where do we go from here?

There are no easy answers. The announcement invites a cascade of responses: technological counters, diplomatic protests, perhaps new sanctions, and calls for revisiting treaties written in an earlier era of mutual assumptions. It also raises simpler, deeper questions about human priorities. What do we want our ingenuity to build? How much risk can societies accept for the sake of deterrence?

As you read this, consider the image of that missile — not as an abstract headline but as a long, humming machine crossing oceans in silence, watched by satellite arrays and anxious governments. Think about the coffee shop owner in Moscow, the pensioner on the bench, and the engineer who worries about radiation. They are the quiet ledger of any national decision to pursue weapons innovation.

Will this development reset the global arms conversation, or will it become another layer in a familiar, escalating script? The answer will unfold in boardrooms and backchannels, in parliaments and at kitchen tables. For now, the Burevestnik has landed in the public imagination, a storm petrel calling the weather. Are we prepared to read what it means?

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