Greenland Pushes Back Against Trump’s Comments on Its Territory

December 24, 2025

'We have to have it' - Trump says US needs Greenland — US President Donald Trump has advocated for Greenland to become part of the United States

Wind, Willow and a World Watching: Greenland’s Moment

On a gray morning in Nuuk, the capital’s narrow streets smelled of diesel and hot coffee, and the flag of Kalaallit Nunaat snapped stubbornly in the wind. An elderly woman selling smoked trout shrugged when asked about the headlines from Washington: “We’ve been talked about before,” she said, tapping ash into the gutter. “Now they speak louder. Our life does not change because others shout.”

That quiet defiance — part weary, part proud — has become the refrain across Greenland since a renewed U.S. push to stake a claim, rhetorically if not physically, over the vast island. At the center of the storm is a simple idea and a complicated history: who decides the future of Greenland? The island’s leaders insist that answer is obvious to them. “Our choices are made here, in Kalaallit Nunaat,” wrote Greenland’s prime minister in a message to citizens, a short, firm reminder that sovereignty, for many Greenlanders, is more than a line on a map.

Why the Fuss? Geography, Minerals and Strategic Lines

Greenland is not just a wind-swept expanse of ice and fjords. It is a geological treasure chest and a strategic crossroads. The island stretches over 2 million square kilometers, yet its population hovers around 57,000 — a small, resilient community spread across an enormous Arctic stage. On one hand, fishing remains the backbone of the local economy; on the other, the promise of minerals beneath melting ice has global capitals circling hungrily.

Analysts point to deposits of rare earth elements, uranium, iron, zinc and other resources that could become vital in a world racing to electrify and rearm. The thawing Arctic also opens shorter shipping lanes between Atlantic and Pacific markets. For the United States, Greenland’s location has long been militarily useful — from early-warning radar at Thule Air Base to the broader calculus of missile defense and Arctic access.

“This is not hypothetical,” said Dr. Ingrid Mikkelsen, an Arctic geopolitics scholar. “Greenland sits where Atlantic meets Arctic. Whoever controls reliable access to these routes and resources can shape trade and security for decades.”

Numbers that Matter

Greenland’s economy remains heavily influenced by Denmark’s support. Annual grants from Copenhagen — a subsidy that helps run services in communities across the island — amount to several hundred million dollars (around DKK 3.5–3.8 billion in recent budgets), a reality that colors conversations about independence and modernization. Meanwhile, polls show a complex mix of feelings: many Greenlanders see independence as a future goal, yet most do not want to become part of the United States, preferring a homegrown path forward.

Voices from Nuuk: Pride and Unease

Walking through the market near the harbor, you hear the different threads of this story. A young teacher named Anja Jensen told me she wants sovereignty on Greenland’s terms, not at the point of a foreign power’s pen. “We don’t want to be traded like a chess piece,” she said, eyes on the harbor where small trawlers rocked gently. “People want control of our schools, our language, our future. Not a headline that changes everything.”

An older fisherman, Peder Olsen, laughed and shook his head. “I’ve seen ships come and go, men in suits, men in uniforms. They promise things. We have friends in Denmark, and we speak Greenlandic — that keeps us rooted. If outsiders think they can just take us, they’re dreaming.”

“Calm but firm” is how Greenland’s prime minister described the islanders’ response. That tone has been echoed by international partners, too: Copenhagen summoned the U.S. envoy to state its displeasure, and leaders in Brussels and Paris expressed solidarity with Denmark’s position. “Greenland belongs to its people,” one European leader wrote succinctly on social media, underscoring what has become an unexpectedly broad diplomatic chorus.

Diplomatic Ripples and a Special Envoy

In Washington, the rhetoric hardened when a U.S. president publicly declared Greenland essential to national security and appointed a special envoy to oversee relations with the island. The envoy’s first public lines read like a pledge: to deepen ties, to “lead the charge” on American engagement. Within hours, capitals in Copenhagen and Nuuk went into diplomatic mode.

“Sovereignty is not a bargaining chip,” said Denmark’s foreign minister in a terse statement. “We expect our partners to respect that.” In Nuuk, the office of the prime minister released a message of sadness and resolve, thanking citizens for meeting the moment with “calm and dignity.”

Outside the formal briefings, the affair triggered vivid local commentary. “This is 21st-century colonial theater,” said Alfeq Sika, a historian at the University of Greenland. “We’ve been ruled from afar in different ways for centuries. What people want now is the right to choose — without outside pressure, without spectacle.”

Muscles and Missives: The Military Angle

As diplomats traded notes, another narrative unfolded: visions of naval power. High-profile talk in Washington about new classes of warships — larger, faster vessels billed as part of a broader navies buildup — fed the sense that military tools and political messaging were moving in lockstep. “We will ensure we can protect critical supply chains and strategic locations,” an official in the U.S. administration said, pointing to a desire to reduce dependence on foreign suppliers for minerals and technology.

Sea power and Arctic access are not academic topics in an era when climate change rewrites maritime possibilities. Yet many Greenlanders worry that militaristic postures will drown out their right to self-determination. “We don’t want our valleys or towns to be bargaining chips,” an elder in Ilulissat told me. “If the world needs something from us, they must ask — and listen.”

What This Moment Reveals

At its heart, the Greenland story is more than a geopolitical flashpoint. It is a meditation on agency in an unequal world. The islanders’ desire for independence is entwined with economic dependency, cultural revival, and the practicalities of running a modern state in a harsh environment. It is also a reminder that climate change can create new opportunities and new pressures in the same breath.

So what should the global public learn from this tussle? First, that sovereignty matters as much as security; people’s identity and rights cannot be abstracted into strategic convenience. Second, that Arctic policy demands nuance — investments in local infrastructure, education and sustainable development matter as much as military access. Finally, that transparency and respect are essential when the voices being discussed are from communities of only a few tens of thousands but whose land holds outsized value.

Ask yourself: if your town were suddenly in the headlines because the world wanted what lay beneath it, would you feel protected or exposed? Would you trust distant powers to respect your wishes?

Closing: A Place That Will Decide Its Own Future

Back in Nuuk, the wind had not changed its course, nor had the lamps along the waterfront. People continued to go about ordinary lives — children in bright parkas, fishermen mending nets, shopkeepers trading the day’s gossip. The island may be the subject of great-power calculation, but the final word, many Greenlanders insist, will come from here.

“We have the right to write our own story,” Prime Minister Jens-Frederik Nielsen told reporters in a voice that mixed caution and conviction. “That is our sovereign duty.”

For anyone watching from afar, the message is as clear as the Arctic light: the world may circle and covet, but Greenlanders intend to remain the authors of their destiny. The question for global actors, and for the rest of us, is whether we will listen — and how we will act when small communities hold answers to large, shared challenges.

Palestinian physician in Ireland urges increased humanitarian aid to Gaza

hanad

December 24, 2025

Palestinian doctor in Ireland calls for more aid for Gaza — Mahmoud Abumarzouq (C) with his nephews Mohamed (left) and Refat before they were killed

Between Two Worlds: A Doctor’s Grief in Navan, His Family’s Ruin in Gaza

The front room in Dr Mahmoud Abumarzouq’s house in Navan smells of coffee and old photographs. On the mantel, a scattering of smiling faces — cousins, nephews, a woman with a paint-splattered apron — look out as if frozen in a kinder, quieter time. Outside, the quiet of County Meath rolls on: tractors, school runs, the steady rhythm of an Irish town. Inside, Mahmoud keeps replaying a different kind of sound — the thunder of bombings, the shuffle of rubble, the small, fragile noises of a baby waking without a mother.

“Every morning, I sit with the same cup Noor and I used to share,” he says, his voice low and steady. “When the war started, it tore everything. You cannot put that back. It is like trying to stitch glass.”

Personal Loss at the Scale of a Crisis

Mahmoud’s story is both painfully intimate and painfully familiar to many families from Gaza now scattered across the world. Earlier this year, four of his close relatives were killed in an Israeli strike. In the first days of the conflict his younger brother, Ahmed, 30, was killed, leaving a small boy without a father. Last March, a home in Rafah collapsed after an attack; two nephews, Mohamed, 16, and Refat, 14, and two nieces, Dina, 23, and Noor, 25, died beneath the rubble. Noor had given birth just three days earlier. Her baby, Yaqut, is now six months old.

“My sister Saham was trapped six hours under the debris. She survived, but with fractures in her back and wrist,” Mahmoud says. “She lost four children at once. No words can carry that weight.”

Mourners in Navan and elsewhere often hear casualty figures on the news and feel a familiar, numbing grief. But numbers cannot contain the texture of loss: Mohamed’s schoolbooks, Refat’s football boots, Dina’s sketchbooks, Noor’s lesson plans for her English class. “When I drink my coffee, I see Noor,” Mahmoud says. “It is small things that hit the hardest.”

Watching from Afar: A Diaspora’s Helpless Vigil

Mahmoud, an orthopedic surgeon by training, now does what he can from Ireland. He sends money when he is able, watches video messages from relatives, and fights the bureaucratic and practical barriers that make help feel almost impossible.

“Banks have been banned from transferring to Gaza,” he explains. “Even when you have the money, getting it in their hands is next to impossible.”

His parents, in their seventies and grappling with chronic illnesses like diabetes and hypertension, live in a converted warehouse near the coast. “There is no electricity,” Mahmoud says. “Medicines, basic care — these are daily worries that never switch off.”

And then there are the small mercies and stubborn threads of life. Yaqut, Noor’s daughter, shows delayed motor development, Mahmoud says, but is receiving physiotherapy and “getting better all the time.” The sight of the infant’s tiny videos — one of a tentative hand lift, one of a slow, effortful kick — are both a comfort and an ache.

Facts, Figures, and the Wider Humanitarian Landscape

On the scale of the conflict, official figures vary and are often contested. The health ministry in Gaza, administered by Hamas, has reported upwards of 70,000 deaths since the outbreak of hostilities — a number that has reverberated through global media and humanitarian channels. Independent verification is extremely difficult in the fog of war; humanitarian agencies repeatedly warn of the urgent needs that remain unaddressed.

Gaza is home to roughly two million people, many of them densely packed into urban neighborhoods and refugee camps. Years of blockade and border restrictions had already strained supplies before the latest escalation. Now, with damaged hospitals, destroyed schools, and disrupted supply lines, the task of providing food, medicine, and shelter has become monumental.

“We face a winter that could be lethal,” says an aid coordinator speaking from a European humanitarian NGO. “Fuel shortages, broken generators, and inadequate shelter mean that respiratory infections, malnutrition, and chronic disease complications will rise. The international response needs to be faster and sustained.”

On the Ground: Ceasefires and the Fragility of Peace

A brittle ceasefire has held in places, and fighting has waned in many areas, but both sides have accused the other of violating agreements. “We are praying for a full ceasefire,” Mahmoud tells me. “Ceasefire is the beginning; rebuilding is the work that follows.”

He lists what he hopes will happen next: hospitals rebuilt, universities re-opened, schools cleared of rubble. It’s a catalogue of basic civic infrastructure — the things that give a society its future: education, health, normal rhythms. “Palestinian people in Gaza are resilient,” he says. “They will stand up again and rebuild, if they are given the chance.”

Human Stories, Systemic Challenges

The plight of Mahmoud’s family opens a window onto broader issues that shape modern conflict: forced displacement, fragmented family networks, legal and financial barriers to remittances, and the long-term trauma that arrives with bereavement. It raises difficult questions about responsibility and global solidarity.

“When you see a child who won’t support her neck yet, it brings the political down to the human,” says Dr Siobhán O’Leary, a Dublin-based humanitarian physician I spoke with. “Whether you are a policymaker or a passer-by, the question becomes: what are you doing to protect that child’s future?”

Immediate needs: food, clean water, fuel for hospitals and heating, medicines for chronic conditions.
Medium-term: clearing rubble, rebuilding schools and hospitals, restoring supply chains.
Long-term: psychosocial support, education for children who missed years of school, economic recovery.

What Can Readers Do?

It’s tempting to feel helpless when stories like Mahmoud’s arrive in our feeds. But there are ways to translate empathy into action. Support reputable humanitarian organizations with clear track records in Gaza; advocate for safe and sustained aid corridors; press financial institutions and governments to ease lawful channels for remittances. And above all, listen to and amplify the voices of those living through the aftermath.

“If people around the world care, if they keep pressing, we can keep the story from being forgotten,” Mahmoud tells me. “Not all of us can be there in person, but we can stand in solidarity.”

Resilience in Small Acts

Back in Navan, he keeps Noor’s cup on the sideboard. He goes to clinics, operates when he can, and talks to his nieces and nephews across continents. He imagines a future where he returns to Gaza to practice again, to stitch bones and lives together. “Rebuilding is not only bricks and mortar,” he says. “It is teaching a child to read again, helping a mother to stand, treating the wounded so they can walk home.”

As winter approaches and the world’s attention flickers between crises, Mahmoud’s plea is both simple and urgent: more aid, more access, and the chance to rebuild. “The pain is always there,” he says. “But so is the hope — thin, stubborn, and very human.”

Two convicted over plot to attack Jewish community in Manchester

hanad

December 23, 2025

Pair convicted of plotting attack on Jews in Manchester — Walid Saadaoui (left) and Amar Hussein had a 'visceral dislike' of Jewish people

When the Plan Met the Undercover Agent: How a Plot to Target Manchester’s Jewish Community Was Stopped

On a gray morning in early May, more than 200 police officers fanned out around a hotel car park in Bolton. The atmosphere was clinical, rehearsed — the orchestration of men and radios, of unmarked vans and plain-clothed detectives. By the time the sun burned through the clouds, two men were in custody and a conspiracy that could have reshaped lives and neighborhoods had been laid bare.

“This could very well have been the worst single terrorist incident this country has seen,” said a senior officer speaking after the verdicts, his voice steady but exhausted. “We were confronting a plan that sought mass casualties and targeted a community purely for who they were.”

Walid Saadaoui, 38, and Amar Hussein, 52, have been found guilty of preparing acts of terrorism after plotting what prosecutors said was an Islamic State-inspired gun attack aimed at Jewish people in the Manchester area. The aim, investigators concluded, was simple and brutal: bring in lethal weaponry, attack a public gathering and then go on to hunt members of the Jewish community in north Manchester.

A plot sketched online and rehearsed on the docks

Their intentions did not spring from nowhere. Over months, Saadaoui — a father of two originally from Tunisia — moved from dark corners of social media to the more tangible realm of reconnaissance and logistics. He allegedly used multiple fake Facebook accounts to spread extremist views and to infiltrate groups where information about public events could be found.

In January, the information he gleaned included details about a large “March Against Anti‑Semitism” held in Manchester city centre, which drew thousands. Days after viewing those plans, Saadaoui is said to have told an associate that Manchester represented a promising concentration of Jewish life and that he intended to “hit them where it hurts.”

What Saadaoui believed were co-conspirators were in fact part of a meticulous counter-terrorism operation. An undercover operative — known in court as “Farouk” — cultivated his trust online and in person. Over months, the plot moved from rhetoric to purchase orders: a deposit was paid for a shipment of firearms and ammunition that, if real, would have transformed a hate-fuelled idea into mass murder.

Four AK-47-style assault rifles
Two handguns
Around 900 rounds of ammunition

He travelled to Dover twice to study how a shipment could be slipped past controls. He visited shooting ranges, bought an air weapon, surveilled synagogues, nurseries, Jewish schools and kosher shops in Prestwich and Higher Broughton, and even secured a safe house in Bolton to store the weapons.

The sting and the courtroom

On 8 May, the “strike day,” Saadaoui went to a Bolton hotel car park to collect what he thought were real firearms. Instead, he walked into the long arm of an operation that had purposefully placed deactivated weapons within reach. He was arrested; Hussein, who had been recruited to assist, was also detained. Investigators later revealed both men had been planning their attack between December 2023 and May 2024.

In court, Saadaoui denied an extreme ideology, saying he had been “playing along” with the undercover agent and that he intended to sabotage any attack before it could happen. Hussein said he was not part of any plan, and his barrister argued that while he held strong opinions about the conflict in Gaza, that did not make him a terrorist.

But jurors were unconvinced. Saadaoui was linked in court to a disturbing admiration for militant figures linked to mass-casualty attacks, and his movements, communications and actions were presented as consistent with someone engineering a large-scale, armed assault.

Voices from the community

In Prestwich, the Jewish neighborhood that figured heavily in the case files, people spoke of a town rattled but resolute. “We go about our business — schools, bakeries, shul — but there’s an undercurrent now,” said Miriam, a local nursery teacher who asked that her last name not be used. “You think about who you sit next to on the tram.”

“It felt personal to so many of us,” said Rabbi David Gold, whose synagogue has been part of the community fabric for decades. “But what we also saw was the best of Manchester: the police, the councils, neighbours of every background looking out and saying, ‘Not here. Not now.’”

Those neighbours include people whose lives resemble scenes found across Britain’s towns: a furniture-store employee in Bolton who may have been an unwitting accomplice, a brother at home in Wigan found guilty not of planning violence but of failing to pass on information that may have prevented the plot. Such ordinary connections underscore how plots often grow from everyday conversations and places.

Undercover policing: necessary but complex

Undercover officers are an essential, if controversial, line of defence. The operative in this case put himself at risk over months to build trust with the suspects, and prosecutors have publicly praised his courage. “He undoubtedly saved lives,” the senior officer said.

Yet the use of covert operatives raises ethical questions. Did the presence of an embedded agent merely reveal intent that existed, or did it shape and accelerate plans that might otherwise have stalled? Counter-terrorism experts say the answer lies in the evidence of action: logistics, financial transactions, reconnaissance and procurement — all signs that planning had moved beyond talk.

Dr. Hana Ahmed, who studies online radicalization, explained: “There’s a gradient from grievance to violence. Social media and private messaging provide echo chambers where ideology intensifies. But operational preparedness — buying weapons, scouting locations — is where law enforcement has to step in.”

What this means for a global moment

This episode in Manchester is not an isolated story. It reflects a troubling global trend: antisemitism on the rise in many countries, violent models broadcast by extremist groups, and the ease with which those ideas can traverse borders online.

Consider the wider context: the 2015 Paris attacks, orchestrated by people who likewise combined ideology and logistics, left 130 people dead and changed Europe’s sense of security. Today, policing, intelligence-sharing and community resilience must evolve to meet threats that are transnational and often digital in origin.

Communities and authorities are asking hard questions: how to safeguard public spaces without turning them into fortresses? How to support civil liberties while disrupting plots? And how to rebuild trust when the threat feels both diffuse and personal?

“We have to be careful not to let fear dictate how we live,” Rabbi Gold said. “That’s exactly what the people who push this violence want.”

So what do we do? Vigilance, yes — but also investment in education, social services, and interfaith work that addresses the grievances and misdirections that lead some individuals toward violence. We need better online moderation, smarter community policing, and international cooperation to stop illegal arms flows.

As the court process continues and Bolton’s streets return to a wary normal, Manchester’s story is a reminder: violent ambitions can be hidden in the most mundane corners of life, but they can also be thwarted by determined, often unsung public servants and communities that refuse to cede ground to hatred.

How will your community respond if something similar happens nearby? What civic ties can be strengthened now, before a crisis, so that neighbours know each other’s faces and stories? These are the quieter, harder questions that may be the real safeguards against tomorrow’s plots.

Thousands of Jeffrey Epstein documents newly unsealed and released to the public

hanad

December 23, 2025

Thousands of new Epstein-linked documents released — Jeffrey Epstein seen in one of the photographs released by the US Justice Department last week

A Flood of Files, a Nation Uneasy: Inside the Latest Release of the Epstein Records

On a quiet weekday morning, the Department of Justice’s website turned into the most unwanted photo album in recent American memory. Thousands of files — documents, emails, and dozens of video clips — suddenly became public, part of a mandated disclosure that has felt like a slow, painful unspooling of a decades‑long scandal.

How many is “thousands”? Officials say the latest tranche totals roughly 8,000 newly available documents, swelling the public record to about 30,000 pages. Among them are hundreds of audio-and-video files, including surveillance footage reportedly shot in August 2019 — the month Jeffrey Epstein was found dead in his Manhattan jail cell while awaiting trial on sex‑trafficking charges.

What’s in the cache

The new material reads like a forensic scrapbook: prosecutorial emails, flight logs, redacted photographs, and surveillance clips that one DOJ statement called “legally required protections for Epstein’s victims.” The Department has said it is releasing records reluctantly and with heavy redactions, arguing the step is compelled by a new disclosure law passed by Congress last month.

Even within the redactions, there are jolting details. An internal email from a New York prosecutor notes that flight records showed former President Donald Trump had boarded Epstein’s private jet on at least eight occasions in the 1990s — far more than earlier investigators had understood. The same note said that Ghislaine Maxwell, now serving a 20‑year sentence for her role in facilitating abuse, accompanied Trump on at least four of those flights.

One log, the prosecutor wrote, lists a flight with only three passengers: Epstein, Mr. Trump and a 20‑year‑old woman whose name has been redacted. In another nugget, a person combing through data taken from an associate’s phone reportedly found an image of Mr. Trump and Ghislaine Maxwell together — a photo the government blacked out before release.

Voices from the margins and the center

The reaction has been visceral and immediate. “This is a sprinkle of light on a mountain of darkness,” said a survivor advocate who asked not to be named. “But the light keeps being dimmed by redactions. For victims, every pixel counts.”

Conservative Representative Thomas Massie, one of the louder critics, wrote that “the DOJ needs to quit protecting the rich, powerful, and politically connected,” reflecting a rare moment when anger about the pace of disclosure cuts across the usual partisan lines.

From Mar‑a‑Lago, a former president played down the fallout. “Everybody was friendly with this guy,” he told reporters, suggesting the photographs and logs risked ensnaring people who merely “innocently met” Epstein years ago. The Justice Department pushed back in a terse post on the platform X, arguing some submissions contain “untrue and sensationalist claims” and insisting that credible allegations would have been weaponized already if they had merit.

Meanwhile, a group identifying themselves as survivors issued a searing statement: what has been released so far is “a fraction of the files” and those pages are “riddled with abnormal and extreme redactions with no explanation.” They pointed out, too, that a few victim identities were left exposed — a gaffe that underscored the fragile, human stakes of the millions of words now circulating in the public domain.

What this tells us about power, secrecy, and the pursuit of truth

We live in an age when data is both weapon and witness. Flight manifests and phone imagery, folded away for years under protective orders, now act as forensic threads connecting private jets, island retreats and high‑profile social circles. The raw material is granular: dates, names, crew lists. But the story it tells is monumental — about how proximity to wealth and influence can insulate the powerful and flatten the paths to accountability.

Consider the geography of the scandal. From the manicured lawns of Palm Beach to the tiny rum‑stained docks of Little St. James island, and the marble corridors of Manhattan courthouses, this is a story that crosses oceans and institutions. It is also a media tale: photographs that never meant to be public now ricochet across social feeds and cable news, often outpacing context, sometimes wrecking reputations in the absence of fuller information.

“Transparency is necessary, but it isn’t sufficient,” said a Columbia University law professor who studies institutional failure. “We also need context, timelines, corroboration. Without that, disclosure can feel like spectacle, not justice.”

Politics and the peril of release

The timing has made everything harder. Congress recently passed a law, overwhelmingly, that required the release of the Epstein case records. The move was cast as a remedy to years of secrecy — but as the files go live, politicians are scrambling to frame the narrative. Some on the right accuse the Justice Department of selectively redacting in ways that protect political allies; some on the left see obfuscation and delay as part of a broader pattern of protection for the elite.

There’s also the looming political reality: with midterm elections on the horizon and public anger running hot, committees in Washington are threatening contempt proceedings against Justice Department officials if they don’t hand over more material. A bipartisan group of lawmakers has even floated fines to compel faster disclosure, underscoring just how fraught the intersection is between law, oversight, and theater.

Local color: moments that make this feel real

In Palm Beach, an elderly woman at a diner stirred her coffee slowly and said, “People used to point and whisper because of where he lived. Now everyone acts surprised.” By contrast, a bartender on the Upper East Side shrugged: “The city’s full of strange folks. People show up at famous parties all the time.”

These small, human moments matter. They remind us that behind pages and pixels are neighborhoods, relationships, vacations and, for survivors, lives forever altered.

So where do we go from here?

There may be more files. The Justice Department has said it’s working to clear additional documents for release to Congress. Lawmakers insist they will keep the pressure high. Survivors demand not just disclosure but dignity and procedural care. Citizens — you and I — must decide how to interpret a public record that is simultaneously incomplete and explosively informative.

Ask yourself: does releasing more documents heal wounds or deepen them? Does it expose truths long hidden — or does it simply create a new battleground of accusation, clipping context into headlines? The best answer may be both.

For now, the archive sits online, a patchwork of what we know and what remains secret. The images, the logs, the censored pictures and the half‑sentences in emails — they all invite us to look closely, to demand better processes, and to reckon with the way power distorts accountability. It is a national story, but it is also global: across the world, societies are wrestling with the same question—who gets protected, who gets exposed, and what does justice look like when the powerful fall under the public gaze?

We will be following these releases, parsing what they reveal and, just as importantly, what they still hide. Stay curious. Stay skeptical. And ask the hard question: if transparency is the medicine, is it being administered with care?

Ten pivotal events that reshaped the world in 2025

hanad

December 23, 2025

10 events that defined 2025 — 2025 was a year marked by record-breaking weather, Donald Trump's return to the White House and a fragile Gaza ceasefire

A Year That Felt Like a World in Fast-Forward

Walk through any city in 2025 and you could read the year’s story on faces and storefronts: worry lines at produce counters, headlines arguing over the borders of power, kids in parks watching lightning-bright drone shows while their parents argue about whether those same machines will take their jobs. This was a year of abrupt returns, fragile truces, and inventions that promised miracle cures and nightmares in the same breath. These are the threads I followed across continents — the moments that kept diplomats up at night and gave street vendors new reasons to worry or hope.

1) The Return: Power, Policy and Protest

In January, the halls of Washington felt familiar and unfamiliar at once. The same figure as before, but a bolder playbook: protectionist tariffs, a stepped-up drive to deport undocumented migrants, and sweeping changes inside federal agencies. “We will put American jobs and families first,” a senior administration official told reporters, fingers tapping the podium with practiced force.

On city streets, the changes landed differently. “They sent the National Guard to our demonstration as if we were under siege,” said Marisol Hernández, a community organiser in a midwestern city that voted blue in 2024. “People were scared. That wasn’t the country I knew.”

Polls during the year showed a restive electorate, especially over cost-of-living pressures. Local election losses late in the year hinted at the political peril ahead. Whether this return reshaped policy for a generation or simply accelerated divides is a live question: will voters reward boldness, or punish governance that feels bruising?

2) Gaza: A Quiet Day After Two Years of War

After two years of relentless bombardment and a famine declaration that shocked aid agencies, an uneasy ceasefire arrived in Gaza. The truce allowed the last surviving hostages to return, and many of the dead — a war that would account for roughly 70,000 lives by year’s end — to be returned to grieving families.

“We walked back into what used to be our home. There was no roof, no kitchen, only a memory of oranges,” said Amina, who returned to the ruins of Gaza City clutching a charred photograph. Humanitarian corridors widened, but the UN and aid groups warned that supplies remained a fraction of what is needed.

The diplomatic work — disarming militias, rebuilding infrastructure, and charting a political future — proved delicate. Even as the guns quieted, regional sparks continued: strikes across Lebanon and even a brief confrontation that reached Iran’s facilities — all reminders that ceasefires are rarely the end of a story.

3) Ukraine: Negotiations and Unease

The war that began in 2022 did not simply pause; it mutated into a diplomatic chess match. New American leadership reset expectations: summits staged, alliances tested, and sanctions imposed. A high-stakes meeting in the far north ended early, a tableau of mistrust that diplomats will study for years.

“We are not bargaining over lives,” a Ukrainian adviser said in frustration after a leaked draft of a plan that Kyiv feared leaned toward Moscow’s terms. Yet talks continued through the autumn — a global reminder that peace can be as much about patience as it is about pressure.

4) Tariffs, Trade and the New Old Economics

A wave of tariffs on metals and strategic imports rippled across global markets, prompting headaches in manufacturing hubs from Germany to Guangzhou. Negotiations brought tentative deals with some partners, but trade tensions with neighbours lingered: talks with Mexico dragged on, and relations with Canada hit a sour note after a public dispute over a provincial ad.

For ordinary people, the effects were immediate: coffee and beef tariffs were removed mid-November to ease grocery bills, but the orchestration of supply chains had already shifted. “It’s like tightening a belt and then buying a new pair of trousers that don’t fit,” said an auto-parts supplier outside Detroit. “You feel it in every shipment.”

5) A New Shepherd in Rome

On a spring morning the colour of old parchment, white smoke curled above St. Peter’s. Cardinals had chosen a pope with an uncommon biography: Chicago-born, long years as a missionary in Peru, and a shepherd who called himself Leo XIV.

“The poor are not a program. They are the face of the Gospel,” the new Pope told a packed square, pledging continuity on care for migrants and the environment, while signalling restraint on changes to church doctrine that conservatives had feared. For many Catholics, his election offered a hopeful architecture for dialogue between reform and tradition.

6) Gen Z on the Streets

Young people — viral, mobile, and politically impatient — filled plazas from Rabat to Kathmandu. They carried punk flags and manga-inspired symbols, most notably a straw-hatted skull from One Piece that became a smiling emblem of resistance.

“We’re not just making noise online anymore,” said Miraj Dhungana, a student who led marches in Nepal. “This is about basic dignity: jobs, honest governance, space to breathe.” Some governments promised reforms. Others cracked down. More than 2,000 protesters in Morocco now faced prosecution; in Madagascar and Nepal, leaders were forced to resign under social pressure. The youth upheaval reminded the world that a generation raised on screens will not accept being told to shut off their cameras and wait.

7) The AI Gold Rush

Money poured into artificial intelligence with the intensity of a tech-era gold rush. Analysts estimated AI-related spending near $1.5 trillion in 2025 and projected $2 trillion the following year. Nvidia briefly danced past a $5 trillion valuation, a symbol of the sector’s fever.

“We are building tools more powerful than anything since the Industrial Revolution,” said an AI ethicist in London. “But we have not yet agreed on the rules.” Lawsuits over copyright, layoffs explained away as ‘AI restructuring’, and misinformation campaigns provided grim counterpoints to the optimism of entrepreneurs and investors.

8) The Louvre Heist: A Heist Story for a Viral Age

Under the Paris moon, a crew in work vests used ladders and scooters to walk away with a cache of crown jewels valued at €88 million. They dropped a diamond-studded crown en route — a cinematic misstep that became a meme.

“You feel embarrassed for the museum, yes — but also tickled by the audacity,” said a curator in the Latin Quarter. The robbery forced a global conversation about how we protect and display cultural treasures in an era of crowd-sourced attention and digital voyeurism.

9) Military Action and Regional Fears in Latin America

U.S. strikes against vessels accused of drug trafficking stirred bitter debate in the region. Washington insisted the operations were lawful; critics, including Caracas, cried political aggression, accusing the U.S. of using anti-drug campaigns as cover for broader ambitions.

“We are the ones whose lives are being patrolled,” said a Venezuelan fisherman watching foreign ships off his coast. The strikes left scores dead and a diplomatic fog that raised uncomfortable questions about sovereignty, counter-narcotics policy, and the thin line between law enforcement and intervention.

10) A Climate That Keeps Coming Back

Storms and fires turned 2025 into a geography lesson on extremes. Vietnam saw rainfall above 1,900mm in places, islands in the Caribbean were battered by Hurricane Melissa, and Europe burned and choked with smoke. Ireland’s Storm Éowyn broke wind records with gusts near 183 km/h, a brutal reminder that records are now a part of our everyday vocabulary.

Scientists were blunt: climate change is intensifying the frequency and force of these events. For communities who live by the seasons — farmers in the Mekong Delta, shepherds in southern Portugal, fishers in the Caribbean — the disruptions were not statistics but the erosion of a way of life.

What Kind of Future Are We Choosing?

So where do we go from here? Each headline of 2025 points to choices: about how we balance security and rights, rebuild after war, govern technology, and store up resilience against a wilder climate. The year closed as it began — loud with debate, rich in contradiction, and tight with resolve.

As you scroll past these stories on your phone, consider which thread feels closest to you. Is it the one that threatens your job, protects your family, or offers a new spiritual compass? The answers we reach in the coming years will not be written by leaders alone. They will be stitched from groceries bought and missed, from protests that swell and subside, from the lines at aid stations, and from the servers that run the models we increasingly trust. That’s the human work of history: messy, urgent, and ultimately ours to shape.

Sudan PM Kamil Idris urges UN to endorse peace plan

hanad

December 23, 2025

Sudan PM Kamil Idris calls on UN to back peace plan — Sudan's Prime Minister Kamil Idris addresses the United Nations General Assembly earlier this year (file image)

A Cry in New York for a Country on Fire

The United Nations General Assembly hall hummed with its usual gravity, but on that crisp afternoon a voice rose from Sudan and asked the world to choose a side. “Stand on the right side of history,” Prime Minister Kamil Idris urged lawmakers, diplomats and the cameras—an appeal simple in its words and enormous in its implications.

It was not just rhetoric. Behind the phrase lay a country unraveling since April 2023: a brutal contest between Sudan’s regular army and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) that has remade lives and landscapes, turned markets to ruins and turned entire neighborhoods into memory. Humanitarian agencies place the human cost in stark terms—estimates speak of tens of thousands killed and millions uprooted, families who trace their lives now by the camps they shelter in rather than by towns they called home.

What Idris Asked For

From the podium at UN headquarters, Idris laid out a petition that was at once modest and monumental: a comprehensive ceasefire, monitored not by a single body but by a triumvirate— the United Nations, the African Union and the League of Arab States—along with the withdrawal of the militia from areas it occupies. He pledged that such a pause would not be an end in itself but the beginning of a transition, culminating in free elections and “inter-Sudanese dialogue.”

“We need a ceasefire under joint monitoring,” he said, the cadence of a man who has watched peace fray repeatedly. “This is not a plea for prestige; it is a plea for life.”

Why joint monitoring?

Idris’s proposal for shared oversight reveals how fractured the trust is inside and outside Sudan. For many Sudanese, a single international body feels too distant or too politicized; a purely regional mechanism might be accused of bias. The call for a coalition—UN, AU, and the Arab League—was meant to balance legitimacy, logistics and regional sensitivity.

On the Ground: Voices from a Country Displaced

To understand what’s at stake, travel is less important than listening. In a displacement camp outside Nyala, a woman named Amina cupped both hands against the wind and described nights when shells fell like bad weather.

“We sleep in shifts,” she said. “My daughter does not remember school. She remembers explosions.”

Across the city, a market vendor named Omar showed the places where his stall once stood—now piles of broken crates and ash. “This was where my father taught me to trade,” he said. “We used to laugh here. Now we trade for water.”

A surgeon volunteering with a humanitarian NGO spoke of hospitals turned into triage tents. “We are rationing not only medicine but hope,” she said. “If the guns stop, we can rebuild; if they don’t, people die from lack of basics.”

The Diplomatic Stalemate

Idris’s appeal at the UN came against the backdrop of halting diplomacy. Mediation attempts led by a so-called “Quad”—involving Egypt, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates and the United States—have bumped against reality. Earlier gestures of involvement, including public expressions of willingness from influential international figures, have not yet translated into a durable ceasefire.

“We have had offers to help,” Idris said in New York, “but words without action keep the blood of the innocent on our streets.”

He did not meet with UN Secretary-General António Guterres during this visit, according to UN spokespeople—a diplomatic omission that raised eyebrows among observers who had hoped for a coordinated push in the council corridors.

Why the World Hesitates

The Global South watches Sudan with a mixture of sorrow and calculation. Neighbouring countries fear spillover: refugee flows into Chad, the Central African Republic and South Sudan strain fragile systems. Global powers weigh strategic interests—ports, trade routes, military alliances—alongside humanitarian dire warnings. Meanwhile, the UN Security Council’s ability to act is hamstrung by the old problem of politics: divergent priorities, veto threats and the slow churn of international consensus.

“The Security Council is not a hospital; it cannot stitch up wounds that are being actively inflicted,” said a former UN diplomat who asked not to be named. “But it can coordinate relief and impose the credibility of international monitoring. That’s what Sudan is asking for.”

Humanity Beyond Headlines

When you read casualty figures—tens of thousands, millions displaced—do you ever pause to see the faces behind the numbers? Consider Fatima, an elderly grandmother who fled Darfur with a hand-knitted baby sweater folded in her bag. “It keeps me warm and tells me there was a child once,” she said, her voice equal parts steadiness and grief. She worries about what comes next: will the children she watches grow up in a tent know schools, steady meals, a chance to be something other than survivors?

Or think of the teacher who now tutors a clutch of children under an acacia tree. She points at a battered handbook and smiles. “We teach history,” she says. “So they don’t repeat it without understanding why it hurt.”

What Would Joint Monitoring Look Like?

Logistics matter. A joint monitoring mission would need:

Robust access corridors to move observers and aid safely into contested zones;
Clear rules of engagement to deter violations, backed by sanctions or consequences;
Local partnerships with community leaders to ensure monitoring has legitimacy on the ground;
Funding and guarantees for the protection of civic actors and journalists who document abuses.

Experts say such mechanisms are no panacea but can create a thin, necessary space for negotiations that might lead to elections and accountability.

Questions for the Reader

What does true neutrality look like when civilians are being killed in large numbers? Can external actors ever be trusted to shepherd a fragile transition without imposing their own agendas? And if the world chooses to act, is it willing to commit resources, time and diplomatic capital to see justice through?

Beyond Ceasefire: The Road to Rebuilding

A ceasefire, if it comes, will only be the first step. The bigger task will be rebuilding institutions: courts, schools, a civilian police force, secure water systems, and a political architecture that allows for genuine inter-Sudanese dialogue—not brokered peace riddled with resentment but a negotiated future forged by Sudanese themselves.

“Peace is not an event,” the surgeon in Nyala said, folding the corner of a worn map. “It is a project. It takes money, patience and truth.”

Closing Thought

As Kamil Idris returned from the UN with his plea lodged in the world’s conscience, Sudan’s future hung on a delicate hinge: whether global power and regional neighbors would step forward to monitor a ceasefire and whether Sudanese factions would take a breath long enough to talk. The question now is not just whether the Security Council will stand on the right side of history, but whether the international community and Sudan itself can turn those words into a living peace. Will we, as a global neighborhood, answer that call?

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