Israel Identifies Remains Returned by Hamas as Israeli Hostage

November 14, 2025

Israel confirms body returned by Hamas is Israeli hostage — Search operations to recover the bodies of Israeli hostages continue in Gaza

A Small Name Returned: Meny Godard and the Heavy Business of Remains

The coffin arrived like a punctuation mark — quiet, solemn, unavoidable. It was handed over in Gaza to the Israeli army and the Shin Bet, then taken north to Tel Aviv, where forensic experts began the work of turning bone and cloth back into a person with a life and a family. Israel has now confirmed that one of the last four hostages whose remains were returned is 73‑year‑old Meny Godard.

“We were told his identification has been completed,” a statement from the prime minister’s office said, and that is the merciless, bureaucratic language that sometimes must stand in for a family’s grief. In Tel Aviv, relatives braced themselves, not for the shock of a living body, but for the slow, private business of mourning someone whose fate had been decided far beyond their control.

“It’s impossible to describe this feeling,” said a neighbor who grew up with Godard in a small town outside the city. “You wait for a miracle and get a box. It doesn’t make sense. But at least now we know where he is. At least we can say goodbye properly.”

The corpse had been located in Khan Yunis in southern Gaza, Hamas said at the time of handover, and the transfer was part of the US-brokered ceasefire terms signed almost as much to stop the killing as to secure the return of the living and the dead. At the beginning of that truce, the armed wings of Hamas and Islamic Jihad reportedly held 20 living hostages and 28 bodies. Since then, all living captives have been released and, until this most recent transfer, 24 sets of remains were returned.

Numbers become a strange sort of empathy when stacked like this: 20 living, 28 dead; 24 returned, one more today. Israel has released nearly 2,000 Palestinian prisoners in exchange and returned the remains of hundreds of Palestinians killed during the conflict. These are not abstract figures. Each digit is a kitchen, a workplace, a synagogue or mosque, a photograph on a mantle.

Where bodies become bargaining chips

“This war has turned the most basic human rituals into currency,” said Dr. Leila Mansour, a scholar of conflict and memory. “The politics of bodies — who is allowed a proper burial, who is recognized as dead — this is a core part of the trauma that comes out of this war.” Her voice wavered between academic distance and a raw, human frustration. “When authorities negotiate over remains, the families end up caught between statecraft and mourning.”

For families, identification is a process of science and sorrow. For states and armed groups, the handover is one stage in a broader, often brutal calculus. Israel accuses Hamas of delay and obfuscation; Hamas answers that many bodies have been buried beneath two years of rubble and shifting lines of battle. The truth is both: war buries people twice, under debris and under layers of policy.

A brother of one captive, who asked not to be named, spoke of the moment the Red Cross handed over a single coffin. “I put my hand on the lid,” he said. “I thought of my mother—would she know how to accept this? We all want certainty. Even this limited closure is a small mercy.”

The Ceasefire, a Board of Peace, and Diplomatic Tightropes

Beyond the immediate grief, the handover of remains is tied to an ambitious diplomatic project that will now take center stage at the United Nations Security Council. The United States has pushed a draft resolution that goes far beyond the mechanics of returning bodies: it seeks to plant a new institutional apparatus over Gaza, endorsing what proponents call a transitional “Board of Peace” and authorizing an international stabilization force to help secure borders and decommission weapons.

The text — a third draft seen by diplomats — imagines a Board of Peace that would oversee Gaza until the end of 2027. It even tentatively gestures toward a future Palestinian state, on the condition that the Palestinian Authority enact reforms and reconstruction of Gaza proceeds. The U.S. framed the proposal as “a historic moment” to pave the way for peace; officials warned that hesitation could have “grave” consequences for civilians in Gaza.

“There’s a hunger for security and governance after years of war,” said a Western diplomat involved in the talks. “But people underestimate how hard it is to translate a resolution on paper into trust on the ground.”

The draft also proposes a temporary International Stabilisation Force (ISF) that would operate with Israel, Egypt, and newly trained Palestinian police. Its mandate would include protecting civilians, securing humanitarian corridors, and the “permanent decommissioning of weapons from non-state armed groups.” At the same time, diplomats are pushing back, asking who will oversee the overseers. The draft lacks a clear Security Council oversight mechanism; it leaves the future role of the Palestinian Authority murky and fails to fully map out the ISF’s chain of command and rules of engagement.

“We’re trying to build a peace architecture on still-shifting sand,” commented Rasha Qasim, a Gaza reconstruction specialist. “If people on the ground — the families, the local councils, even the fighters—see this as an external imposition, it won’t last. You need local legitimacy as well as international muscle.”

U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, speaking from Canada, expressed optimism that the resolution would be adopted. Yet optimism in diplomacy sometimes masks the deeper mistrust that lingers between actors whose interests diverge. Many Palestinians see the Trump-era proposal — and any body of oversight associated with it — as another chapter in external decisions made about their land and lives, not with them.

Numbers, rituals, and the human cost

Hostages at start of truce: 20 living, 28 dead
Remains returned so far (before this latest transfer): 24
Prisoners released by Israel: nearly 2,000

When the diplomatic negotiations spill into the territory of the dead, the conversation becomes cruelly practical: which bodies are handed over first, who determines identity, how long does DNA testing take, who pays for repatriation? Each procedural decision contains an ethical weight.

And yet, in the communities touched by loss, rituals stubbornly persist. In Tel Aviv and in the villages outside Gaza, candles are lit; in Gaza, people still visit graves, leave stones and photographs. These small acts resist the violence that tried to strip away names.

What do we ask of diplomacy in moments like this? Is it enough to secure the return of a body, or must diplomacy do more — create conditions so such returns become unnecessary? Is peace the absence of blood, or the presence of institutions that respect the dead and protect the living?

Those questions will be argued not only in New York and Washington but in kitchen tables, in funeral homes, and in the narrow alleys of Gaza where people have kept living despite everything. For now, a 73‑year‑old man has been named; his family can begin the long, private work of remembrance. The larger, public work of turning fragile ceasefire into lasting safety remains, painfully, unfinished.

EU approves start of UK talks over agricultural and food trade

hanad

November 14, 2025

EU gives green light for talks with UK on agri-food — The promise of an EU-UK veterinary agreement was a key element of the EU-UK summit in May

The Latest Reset: How Brussels and London Are Trying to Calm the Irish Sea

There are moments in diplomacy that hum quietly into being before they smash through the headlines — like the decision this week by European Union governments to let Brussels open formal talks with London on a shared sanitary and phytosanitary (SPS) area. It’s technical, it’s bureaucratic, and for communities from Cornwall to County Down, it could rewrite the everyday rhythm of markets, lorries and kitchens.

Think of the Irish Sea as a narrow, churning border where food, faith in rules and national pride collide. Since Britain left the EU, a major point of contention has been how food and plant products from Great Britain — which no longer automatically follow EU food safety, animal health and plant protection rules — can enter Northern Ireland without eroding the EU single market. The new mandate for the European Commission to negotiate an SPS agreement is an attempt to make that seam less frayed.

What’s on the Table — and Why It Matters

At its simplest, an SPS agreement would align Great Britain’s rules on animal and plant health with the EU’s. That alignment would mean fewer certificates, fewer delays and fewer physical checks on goods crossing between Great Britain and the EU — and, crucially, fewer headaches for movements between Great Britain and Northern Ireland under the Windsor Framework.

“It’s about restoring trust in the process of moving food and plants so businesses aren’t stuck at ports for days,” says Dr. Aisling Murphy, a trade policy analyst who has worked with small exporters in Ireland and Scotland. “For a farmer selling chilled meat or a nursery exporting saplings, time and trust are everything.”

Reduced paperwork is more than convenience. For perishable goods — think seafood, dairy, fresh fruit — every hour in transit is shelf-life lost and income evaporated. For small businesses that live on tight margins, unpredictable border friction can be fatal. And for consumers in Belfast or Barcelona, it can mean higher prices and fewer choices.

Beyond Food: Emissions Trading and the SAFE Programme

Negotiations authorised by EU governments also include a willingness to explore linking emissions trading systems — a nod to climate policy and market integration — and further talks over UK participation in the SAFE programme, a €150 billion EU initiative designed to strengthen defence and industrial cooperation.

Access to SAFE has become a symbol of the wider reset: it isn’t only trade that’s at stake but security partnerships, research exchanges and cultural mobility. For both sides, the question is how to square sovereignty with the pragmatic benefits of cooperation.

Voices from the Ports and Markets

Walk the docks in Portsmouth or wander the early morning stalls in Belfast and you’ll hear the human side of these talks. “The vans used to be in and out in hours,” says Tom Doyle, a fishmonger in Newlyn, Cornwall. “Now you factor in paperwork and sometimes the catch is sold as something else entirely — it’s demoralising.”

On the other side of the sea, Mary O’Neill, who runs a greengrocer in Lisburn, says fewer checks would mean fresher goods and happier customers. “People don’t get excited about treaties — they care about their dinner,” she laughs. “If the cauliflower or the apples arrive on time, we’re all just glad.”

Truckers who ferry goods across the Irish Sea speak of increased waiting and complexity since the post-Brexit arrangements took effect. “We’re not fans of paperwork,” says Pavel, a Polish driver based in Holyhead. “But it’s the uncertainty that’s worst — sometimes you don’t know until you arrive what you’ll be asked for.”

Politics, Money and the Grand Bargain

Behind these practical complaints lie harder political questions. Some EU capitals — Paris has been most vocal — insist that if Britain wants the benefits of easier access, it should pay into common programmes like other non-EU members do. Norway and Switzerland, for instance, contribute financially in exchange for market access; the debate is whether London should follow a similar model.

For the UK government, the calculus is different. National sovereignty, political expectations from domestic constituencies and a desire to avoid long-term financial commitments complicate any bargain. The negotiations are therefore not simply about sanitary rules; they’re about money, influence and trust.

“Everything becomes a test case,” says Professor Martin Klein, an expert in international regulatory cooperation. “If a willing partner accepts close alignment without financial contribution, other members will ask why the rules are asymmetric. The EU wants a stable outcome that is seen as fair.”

What Could Change — and What Might Stay the Same

If talks succeed, businesses in both jurisdictions would likely benefit from reduced checks. The EU says that would remove the need for most certificates and controls on animals, plants and related products. For Northern Ireland, the Windsor Framework promises dual access to both the EU single market and the UK internal market — a unique arrangement that continues to require careful calibration.

Potential gains: Lower costs for exporters, fewer delays at ports, smoother supply chains for perishable goods.
Lingering issues: Political resistance over payment and governance, sector-specific sanitary concerns (e.g., livestock disease surveillance), and the technicalities of mutual recognition.

And even with an agreement, some checks — for biosecurity and consumer protection — are likely to remain. Harmonisation is rarely absolute; it’s a continuum of trust, inspections and data-sharing that must be maintained.

Wider Ripples: Sovereignty, Supply Chains and a Global Moment

Look beyond the Irish Sea and you see bigger currents. Across the globe, countries are wrestling with how to balance regulatory autonomy with the benefits of integration. From vaccine approvals to tech standards, the same questions surface: when do shared rules pay off, and when do they compromise national priorities?

There is also a climate angle. Linking emissions trading systems can help create larger, more liquid carbon markets, making decarbonisation cheaper and more efficient. In an era of cascading supply-chain shocks, the ability to coordinate standards — whether for health, food safety or emissions — becomes a form of resilience.

So What Should We Watch For?

Over the coming weeks and months, watch three things closely:

How quickly negotiators translate the mandate into detailed text and timelines.
Which sectors — dairy, meat, plant products — see specific carve-outs or swift progress.
Whether a financial agreement or governance mechanism is proposed to address concerns from member states about fairness.

And ask yourself: do we want borders that are neat lines on a map, or systems that reflect the messy, interdependent reality of food, people and economies? The answer will determine whether this exercise in diplomacy is merely paper or the beginning of something more durable.

A Human Ending

At a market stall at dawn, a vendor folds a paper bag around an apple and hands it over with a smile. For them, for exporters and for consumers, the outcome of these talks is not an abstract win or loss — it’s the taste on a plate, the price on a shelf, the certainty that a business can plan for next season.

“We don’t care about the headline,” Mary says. “We care about the food.”

In the end, that simple truth — food connects us all — is what makes these negotiations more than mere technicalities. They are about how societies choose to keep their doors open to one another while protecting what matters most.

Oklahoma death row inmate spared by eleventh-hour clemency grant

hanad

November 14, 2025

Man, 64, executed in Florida for 1990 Miami murders — There have been 34 executions in the US this year and Florida has carried out the most (file image)

The Last-Minute Mercy: A Small Oklahoma Town, A Governor’s Decision, and a Nation Wrestling With Finality

There was a hush in McAlester that morning — not the cinematic silence of an empty stage, but the dense, personal kind of quiet that gathers when a community stares down a promise of finality. Family members, a few reporters, and chapel volunteers stood clustered near the gates of the Oklahoma State Penitentiary, watching time as if it were a clock they could coax into slowing. At 9:56am, it happened: a governor’s decision arrived like thunder after a summer storm. The state announced clemency for 46-year-old Tremane Wood, commuting his death sentence to life without the possibility of parole.

“After a thorough review of the facts and prayerful consideration, I have chosen to accept the Pardon and Parole Board’s recommendation to commute Tremane Wood’s sentence to life without parole,” Republican Governor Kevin Stitt said in a written statement released just minutes before the scheduled execution.

It was a decision that blended legal complexity, family sorrow, and the politics of punishment. For those who had come to see the end of a life by state-sanctioned means, it was relief. For others — especially the family of 19-year-old Ronnie Wipf, killed during a robbery in 2002 — the news landed like an uneven gust.

Two Brothers, One Tragedy

The case that brought Wood to the brink is threaded with grief. His elder brother, Jake Wood, who admitted to stabbing Ronnie Wipf, died by suicide in prison in 2019. The confession, the shared culpability, and the differing outcomes for each brother have been part of the state’s legal calculus for years.

“We wanted justice for Ronnie,” said a relative of the victim, voice steady but eyes wet. “We hoped the sentence would bring something back. It doesn’t. It never will. But we must live with the law and with what the governor decides.”

The Oklahoma Pardon and Parole Board had recommended clemency for Tremane in a narrow 3–2 vote on 5 November. The governor echoed that board’s reasoning: commuting Tremane’s sentence maintained a severe punishment comparable to that his brother received while ensuring one fewer execution would take place on the state’s docket.

Where This Decision Sits in a Shifting National Picture

Tremane Wood’s last-minute reprieve arrives at a moment when the United States is quietly reshaping its practices around capital punishment. This year alone — according to official tallies released by state departments of corrections — there have been 41 executions nationwide, the highest annual total since 2012, when 43 inmates were put to death. Those numbers belie a more complex reality: while the federal government and some states have resumed executions after years of pause, many states have moved away from the death penalty entirely.

23 U.S. states have abolished capital punishment altogether.
Three states — California, Oregon, and Pennsylvania — currently have official moratoriums in place.
Execution methods used this year included lethal injection (34), firing squad (2), and nitrogen hypoxia (5), a method that involves placing a face mask and displacing oxygen with nitrogen.

“The uneven geography of capital punishment in America reflects our broader national debate,” said Dr. Lena Ruiz, a criminal justice scholar who studies the death penalty. “Some jurisdictions see it as essential retribution; others view it as an anachronism that is costly, error-prone, and morally fraught.”

Methods, Controversy, and International Censure

Methods matter, and they have become flashpoints. Nitrogen hypoxia — a relatively new approach to causing asphyxiation by breathing pure nitrogen — was used in several executions this year and has been condemned by United Nations experts as cruel and inhumane. The use of firing squads in South Carolina — an image more associated with Western movies than modern corrections departments — also reentered the national conversation when Stephen Bryant was scheduled for execution by this method following guilty pleas related to three killings in 2004.

“How a state carries out death reveals its values,” said Reverend Mark Hollis, a prison chaplain who has sat with condemned men and counseled grieving families. “The rituals, the methods — they all say something about us as a people.”

Faces, Places, and the Human Cost

Walk through McAlester in late autumn and you’ll find diners that still serve coffee in chipped mugs, reminders of railroads, and families who trace their roots back generations. The penitentiary looms a few miles outside town like an inescapable landmark — part of the local economy, part of the landscape, and part of countless private tragedies. The local paper ran a countdown this week; baristas in the downtown square were asked what they would tell a governor if they could. “I’d say don’t let the state be the final thing a person does,” one said. “What if mercy costs less than people think?”

That question animates a larger debate: does the death penalty deter the most serious crimes? Studies have produced mixed results, and the vast majority of criminologists say there is no clear evidence that executions reduce homicide rates. What is clearer is that errors — wrongful convictions — have occurred. The Innocence Project and other groups have documented dozens of death-row exonerations in recent decades, often due to new DNA evidence or witness recantations.

“We must reckon with the fact that the justice system is run by humans,” Dr. Ruiz told me. “Humans make mistakes. The question is whether a system that can’t erase a mistake should ever be permitted to carry out an irreversible punishment.”

A Moment of Reflection

The governor’s decision to commute Tremane Wood’s sentence does not settle the nation’s moral ledger. It simply adds another entry to a long ledger of cases that force us to choose between retribution and restraint, between the satisfying finality of a sentence and the moral unease of state-executed death.

“It’s not a victory,” said a neighbor of Ronnie Wipf. “It’s not a defeat. It’s just more life that someone will spend behind walls.”

So what do we do with that life — the one saved from a lethal injection and the thousands more lives tied to the policy of capital punishment? Do we use it to build restitution, rehabilitation, or truth? Or do we let it be another statistic in a national ledger of nights and dates and legal filings?

As you read this from wherever you are — cities tolerant of capital punishment, countries that abolished it decades ago, or places wrestling with it now — consider this: What should the state’s final answer be when it comes to taking a life? And if mercy can be granted at the last minute, what does that say about how we should live, legislatively and personally, every day before reaching that final hour?

Tell me what you think. Is clemency a humane correction or a betrayal of justice? How should societies balance retribution with the possibility of error? The conversation matters — for the living, for the dead, and for those whose futures hang in the balance.

Zelensky Visits Troops Along Zaporizhzhia Frontline to Boost Morale

hanad

November 13, 2025

Zelensky visits troops near Zaporizhzhia frontline — The aftermath of a Russian drone strike in Kharkiv, Ukraine

A Line of Sand and Steel: Behind Ukraine’s Fight for Zaporizhzhia

The morning I imagine on the southeastern front is heavy with the smell of diesel and wet earth — fields once planted with sunflowers now slit open by craters, a road whose tarmac is a patchwork of repairs. Out here, a visit from President Volodymyr Zelensky feels less like a photo opportunity and more like a necessary jolt: a reminder that the lines, however invisible they look on a map, are made of people, equipment, and brittle resolve.

“If we lose Orikhiv, the whole flank shifts,” a young platoon commander tells me, voice tight with the kind of fatigue that comes from sleeping in muddy boots. He asked to remain unnamed. “Zaporizhzhia is not just a city, it’s a choke point.” The refrain is familiar to commanders here: the stakes are geographic and existential at once.

On the Ground: Orikhiv and the Fraying Front

President Zelensky’s recent trip to the front near Orikhiv was short on fanfare and long on substance. He moved through a series of bunkers and command posts, awarded medals, and laid flowers for fallen soldiers — a ritual of honor that also served as a chance to assess the situation firsthand. “This is one of the most difficult sectors,” he later said, underscoring what local commanders have been warning for weeks: pressure in the southeast is growing.

The map here is not simple. Since the full-scale invasion in 2022, Moscow has consolidated control over swathes of Ukrainian territory; analysts estimate roughly 19% of Ukraine remains under Russian occupation. The tempo of conflict shifted in late 2023, when Russian forces launched a sustained offensive that has, in places, ground forward inch by costly inch.

On the eastern axis, Pokrovsk has become a magnet for attention. Ukrainian commander Oleksandr Syrskyi has called it a focal point for Kyiv’s defensive effort, saying units there are “operating effectively.” But effectiveness, in war, is often a matter of degrees — a successful local defense can arrive at the cost of leaving another village thinly held.

Where manpower meets geography

“We’re being pulled in three directions,” a logistics officer complained over a chipped enamel mug. “The manpower simply isn’t there to plug every gap.” Konrad Muzyka, director of a military consultancy in Poland, framed the problem bluntly: about half of Russia’s recent frontline gains have been around settlements such as Huliapole and Velyka Novosilka — small places that have ballooned in strategic importance because Ukraine’s ranks are stretched.

That pressure can have cascading effects. Moves west of Velyka Novosilka could threaten Huliapole from the north, analysts warn. If gaps are left unaddressed, units risk isolation. That’s not just a military calculus; it’s a human one — entire communities and families trapped in the crossfire, their futures rewritten overnight.

Voices from the Villages and Barricades

In a bakery in a Zaporizhzhia suburb, the owner — a woman in her fifties with flour-streaked hands and a cross around her neck — described the rhythm of fear. “We hear the drones at night. You learn to sleep with your radio on,” she said, rolling dough with a practiced calm. “But what hurts is the power cuts. You light candles and pretend it’s before the war, but it’s not.” The city’s factories, the river traffic, the flat neighborhoods that hold everyday life — all of it is shadowed by the threat of a deeper Russian push.

A frontline medic, a young man named Oleksiy, told me about improvised triage tents and the smell of disinfectant mixed with pine from the nearby forest where soldiers sometimes sleep. “We mend what we can,” he said. “But when someone says the line is thin, that means decisions will be made — who gets reinforcement first, who waits. Those are not calculations you want to make often.”

Energy, Sabotage, and the New Geography of Warfare

One of the most striking changes in this conflict has been how energy infrastructure itself has become a battlefield. Ukraine has launched strikes deep into Russian-held territory, targeting oil depots and terminals in a bid to dent Moscow’s revenue streams. Ukrainian forces claimed recent strikes on an oil terminal in occupied Crimea and an oil depot in occupied Zaporizhzhia — using, they say, new ground-launched cruise missiles known as “Flamingo.” Kyiv describes the Flamingo as having extended reach; independent verification of range and efficacy can be hard to confirm in wartime, but the psychological effect is clear.

Between August and October of last year, attacks and maintenance reportedly sidelined up to 20% of Russia’s refinery capacity, according to calculations cited by Reuters. The result? Temporary gas shortages, price ripples in global markets, and unpredictable shortages for civilians on both sides of the front. In Ukraine those shortages are compounded by extensive damage to power infrastructure from Russian strikes, leading to blackouts that have stirred public frustration and a corruption scandal within the energy sector that the government is scrambling to contain.

What a crippled grid does to a society

Imagine a child doing homework by candlelight while their parents argue downstairs about whether to queue for gas. Imagine hospitals running on generators and small businesses that cannot keep perishable goods. Political trust frays when power is unreliable. “People are angry,” Pavlo Palisa, a military official in the president’s office, admitted on a recent broadcast. “They are right to be. We must fix this while fighting a war.”

Why the World Should Watch (and Act)

So why should a reader in Lagos, Lisbon, or Lima care about Orikhiv or Huliapole? Because this is not just a local stalemate; it is a test case of modern warfare — where drones, long-range missiles, and targeted economic strikes intersect with supply chain vulnerabilities and civic resilience. Energy attacks ripple into global markets. A protracted conflict with successive losses of industrial capacity raises commodity prices and complicates supply lines for everything from fertilizer to refined oil.

Moreover, the human story here is universal. When a city like Zaporizhzhia, with its Dnipro river bridges and Cossack history, stands at risk, the cultural loss is profound. Monuments, local dialects, recipes passed from grandmother to granddaughter — these are casualties too, even if not counted on spreadsheets.

Looking Ahead: Strategy, Sacrifice, and the Shadow of Winter

Winter always tightens the screws. Logistics become harder, and civilians endure more. Kyiv’s choices in the coming months will hinge on manpower allocations, arms deliveries from partners, and the public’s willingness to endure further hardship. “We need reinforcements, not just rhetoric,” one officer said, pulling his wool cap lower. “And we need the tools to fight at range. That’s how we can unburden some of these thin lines.”

For the global community, the question is: how much attention — and what kinds of support — will be provided? Military aid, economic assistance, and humanitarian relief all play parts. So does diplomatic pressure to keep the conflict from widening. This is a mosaic of policy choices with real people at every tile.

Final Thoughts: A Country at Work and War

The front near Orikhiv is not a headline with a date. It is a landscape of small, persistent choices — to reinforce a sapper company, to reroute electricity, to replace a burned-out transformer. The decisions made in command posts and ministries reach into kitchens and schools. As you read this, somewhere a baker pulls a loaf from the oven, a soldier sharpens a bayonet, and a leader counts the cost of keeping a city within its borders.

Where do we, as a global audience, place our attention and empathy? Do we see these villages as abstract markers on a geopolitical chessboard, or do we see the people whose lives hinge on the next supply convoy? The answers will shape more than policy; they will shape the future of places like Zaporizhzhia — and of a world still learning what war looks like in an age of drones and power grids.

US Government Shutdown Scorecard: Who Profited and Who Suffered

hanad

November 13, 2025

US shutdown scorecard: Who cashed in, who crashed out — The vote to end the shutdown was passed in the Republican-controlled House of Representatives by a margin of 222 to 209

The Day the Lights Came Back On

It felt, for a fragile hour, like someone had finally opened a window after weeks of stale, overheated air. The Capitol’s lights flickered on. Cafeteria staff exhaled. Federal websites that had been frozen in “out of service” mode quietly resumed. The longest government shutdown in modern U.S. history had, at last, been called off — but its bruises were fresh and visible.

For 35 days, federal workers went without pay, national parks shut their gates, and a host of government services slowed to a stuttering halt. The Congressional Budget Office later estimated the hit to GDP at roughly $3 billion, with about $600 million of that damage unlikely to be recovered. The tally was not just financial; it was reputational, institutional and very human.

Who Says They Won

Everyone, it turns out. Politicians on both sides of the aisle stepped off the stage claiming victory; supporters cheered. But as the smoke cleared, the contours of victory looked different depending on which side you asked.

Democrats: A tactical retreat, or a longer game?

On the surface, Democrats conceded. They abandoned their immediate push for extended subsidies on health care exchanges and agreed to a stopgap that reopened the government. To critics it was a capitulation, a pragmatic bow to cold political reality.

But inside party halls and campaign war rooms there was a quieter calculation: this wasn’t a vanquishing so much as a reset. “We couldn’t win everything on the table,” said Leah Morrison, a Democratic strategist in Baltimore. “But we bought a narrative — and sometimes narrative is the currency of politics.”

By spotlighting affordability and health care in this brutal national debate, Democrats believe they rewired the conversation heading into the next election cycle. The tactic: put GOP lawmakers on record opposing subsidy extensions and then force them to defend that stance to voters worried about premiums and pharmacy bills. That’s a slow burn, but in a season of voter fatigue and pocketbook politics, slow burns can become fires.

Republicans: Policy gain, political pain

For Republicans, the immediate policy win was clear: they prevented the Democrats’ proposed extension of subsidies. They held a line, kept their caucus largely intact and could claim they had not yielded on key priorities.

Still, survival came with a public relations scar. Polling during the standoff consistently showed the party in power taking more of the blame for the disruption. Constituents do not forget long lines, delayed paychecks, or the inconvenience of closed public lands. “Governing is hard politics — but voters hate the spectacle of chaos,” said Robert McFadden, a conservative pollster in Ohio.

Sometime politics rewards discipline; often it punishes stubbornness. The shutdown illustrated both truths.

The Man in the Center

At the heart of the drama was a president who chose to let Congress wrestle in public while he positioned himself as the unblinking protagonist. He projected defiance to his base, and he reveled in the spectacle of political theater.

“He wanted to be the winner of the showdown,” said an advisor who spoke on background. “And in front of his supporters, he was. But that doesn’t erase the policy gap.” The president, critics say, still lacks a comprehensive alternative on health care affordability — a vulnerability if the issue stays central to voters’ concerns.

Real People, Real Costs

The abstract numbers mattered, but the human stories landed harder.

“I had to decide whether to pay rent or buy groceries,” said María Álvarez, a Transportation Security Administration officer from Phoenix who was furloughed for three weeks. “You can’t ask someone to choose between feeding their children and keeping a roof over their head and then call that a victory for the country.”

Park rangers described the quiet of shuttered trails and the moral strain of turning away schoolchildren on field trips. Small contractors who do business with the government saw invoices pile up unpaid. Local economies that rely on federal worker paydays — diners near federal buildings, taxi drivers who shuttle bureaucrats — felt the ripple.

35 days: length of the shutdown, the longest in U.S. history.
About $3 billion: CBO’s estimate of the economic hit, with ~$600 million unlikely to be recovered.
Thousands: the number of federal employees furloughed or working without pay at the shutdown’s peak.

Fissures and Fallout

Inside the parties, the shutdown widened pre-existing fault lines. Progressives berated centrist leaders for cutting deals; conservatives warned against ceding leverage. “Expect some primaries,” predicted Matthew Kline, a veteran strategist. “When you force activists into fury you invite insurgency.”

At the same time, the short-term legislative patch that ended the shutdown set a fresh deadline. Lawmakers bought time — not solutions. In many cases Congress extended funding until late January, meaning another cliff could loom if negotiations stall again.

What the public thinks

Americans were mostly exasperated. Surveys during and after the shutdown showed rising cynicism toward Washington: a sense that both parties prioritized political theater over practical governance. “It feels like a scripted fight with real people as collateral,” said Tanya Brooks, who works at a food bank in Washington, D.C. “We’re tired.”

Lessons Beyond the Headlines

The shutdown wasn’t merely a point-scoring exercise. It exposed deeper, structural tensions in how a democracy handles competing priorities — from budget discipline to health care costs to executive-legislative brinkmanship.

It asked the American public, bluntly: what do you value when the lights dim? And it asked leaders: are you willing to endure short-term pain for long-term principles, or vice versa?

Globally, the episode is a cautionary tale about political risk in polarized systems. When governance becomes entertainment, the costs are not abstract. They land in grocery stores, clinic waiting rooms and college financial aid offices.

Where Do We Go From Here?

Short answer: uncertain. Long answer: contentious.

Lawmakers have a narrow window to translate posturing into policy. Advocacy groups will press for affordability measures. Candidates on both sides will use the shutdown’s ledger — who suffered, who stood firm, who would compromise — to write their campaign narratives.

So, what do you think? Is political theater inevitable in a two-party system, or can governance be rescued from spectacle? If you were in Congress, how would you balance principle with the practical needs of everyday people?

The shutdown is over. The questions it raised are not. And as the country settles back into its routines, the memory of the darkened offices and furloughed paychecks will linger — a reminder that democracy’s machinery is not self-sustaining; it requires constant care, and sometimes, a little humility.

Trump says he’s compelled to sue BBC over its reporting

hanad

November 13, 2025

Trump says he has an 'obligation' to sue BBC — Donald Trump's lawyers said the BBC must retract the Panorama documentary by 14 November or face a lawsuit for 'no less' than $1 billion

A newsroom shaken: resignations, anger and a legal threat

There are moments when a newsroom feels less like a building and more like a living thing — a place that inhales outrage and exhales context. On a grey Sunday, the British Broadcasting Corporation, one of those global organs of public life, exhaled loudly: Tim Davie, the director-general, and Deborah Turness, the head of news, stepped down amid a scandal that has ricocheted across continents.

Inside BBC corridors in London and in regional hubs from Belfast to Salford, staff described a day of stunned phone calls, hastily convened meetings and whispered conversations in the canteen. “It felt like the floor had shifted,” said one veteran producer, who asked not to be named. “People were trying to do their jobs but you could see how worried everyone is about what this means for our reputation — and for the people who rely on us.”

For viewers in the United States, the episode landed as another chapter in an already fractious relationship between a former president and parts of the media. Donald Trump declared, during an interview on Fox News, that the BBC had “defrauded the public” and that he had an “obligation” to sue after what he said was the broadcaster’s editing of his January 6, 2021 speech before the attack on the US Capitol.

The charge on the table: a $1bn demand

The moment acquired legal teeth when a letter from Mr Trump’s counsel, Alejandro Brito, demanded immediate retractions of what it called “false, defamatory, disparaging, and inflammatory statements” made by the BBC. The letter warned that if the broadcaster did not comply, the former president would be “left with no alternative but to enforce his legal and equitable rights… including by filing legal action for no less than 1,000,000,000 dollars in damages.” The size of that figure — a billion dollars — is as much a public-relations salvo as a legal ultimatum.

“I think I have an obligation to do it, you can’t allow people to do that,” Mr Trump told Fox News. “They defrauded the public and they’ve admitted it… They actually changed my January 6 speech, which was a beautiful speech, which was a very calming speech, and they made it sound radical.”

What suing would mean — and what it probably wouldn’t

Legal experts say threats of this magnitude often serve multiple purposes: to force a retraction, to rally supporters, or to intimidate. A media law expert explained: “Winning a defamation case, particularly against a news organisation with legal teams and deep institutional protections, is not simple. In both the UK and the US, plaintiffs must meet significant burdens — proving falsity, harm, and often malice, depending on jurisdiction.”

If the action were mounted in the United States, Mr Trump would face a complex patchwork of state and federal rules. If in the UK, the law tends to be more plaintiff-friendly on paper, but the BBC’s status as a public broadcaster and its robust legal defence mean that any courtroom battle would be bruising and expensive on both sides.

Political responses: a defence of an institution and a call for reform

Back in Westminster, the story quickly hardened into party politics and institutional defence. Prime Minister Keir Starmer went into the House of Commons with a clear message: the BBC, flawed though it may sometimes be, must be protected. “Let me be clear, I believe in a strong and independent BBC,” he said, pointing to the role of impartial journalism in an age of disinformation. “Where mistakes are made, they do need to get their house in order, and the BBC must uphold the highest standards, be accountable and correct errors quickly. But I will always stand up for a strong, independent BBC.”

Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy echoed those themes while signalling a looming moment of institutional reckoning. With the BBC’s charter set to expire at the end of 2027, she said the government would begin a once-a-decade review “shortly,” aiming to ensure the broadcaster is both “fiercely independent” and “genuinely accountable.” In the Commons she warned MPs to “consider just what is at stake” before launching sustained attacks on the broadcaster.

That review will be watched closely. The charter is the legal underpinning for the BBC’s funding, governance and remit — and the decisions made during this review could reshape British public life for years to come.

Calls for accountability — and the limits of ministerial power

As MPs demanded accountability, some urged the removal of Robbie Gibb, a former political adviser now on the BBC Board. Ms Nandy replied that the charter sets a strict legal threshold for dismissing a board member, a reminder that ministers cannot simply pull chairs around and reshuffle governance at will.

People on the ground: viewers, staff and everyday reverberations

Outside the corridors of power are people whose days are not spent in policy debates but who nonetheless feel the fallout. At a café near the BBC’s New Broadcasting House, a retired teacher, Margaret, stirred her tea and shook her head. “I grew up with the BBC. Its drama, its news at six — it’s part of who we are,” she said. “If there’s been a mistake, fix it. But don’t let this become a crusade to tear everything down.”

At a pub in Manchester where folks watched the unfolding drama on rolling news, opinions split. “If a major mistake was made, they should own it,” said Tariq, a university student. “But you don’t sue a broadcaster into silence — that’s not how trust is rebuilt.” Across the table, an American visitor lamented the spectacle of legal threats. “It feels like the same theatre I saw back home,” she said. “Big claims, bigger headlines. Where does the truth get to stand?”

Why this matters beyond Britain and America

There’s an obvious immediate storyline here — a major public broadcaster under fire, an ex-president threatening litigation — but the implications are broader. Public trust in institutions and media is fraying in many democracies. The BBC, whether loved or loathed, remains a bellwether for how societies manage the tension between editorial independence and accountability.

In an era in which social platforms amplify error and operators weaponise outrage, the fate of public-service journalism is not merely an institutional question; it is a civic one. How do we ensure that strong journalism survives mistakes without becoming unmoored from independent scrutiny? How do governments protect public institutions without turning them into political footballs?

A few possible outcomes

Legal action: A lawsuit could be launched, but it would face procedural and evidential hurdles and could take years to resolve.
Charter changes: The upcoming review may tighten governance, funding and editorial oversight.
Institutional introspection: The BBC may move to strengthen internal controls and transparency to rebuild trust.

Looking ahead: questions to sit with

The story is not settled. Headlines will move on, but the reverberations — in newsrooms, courts, and kitchens from London to Louisiana — may persist. As readers, what do we want from our public broadcasters? Absolute perfection? Fierce independence paired with swift, transparent correction when errors happen? A reminder that even the most respected institutions are made by humans, and therefore fallible?

For now, the BBC is both defender and defendant. Staff are determined to “stand up for our journalism,” as Mr Davie urged in remarks to colleagues shortly before his departure. The government promises a review. The former president promises to litigate. And the rest of us watch, not from a distance but as participants in a tense conversation about truth, power and the fragile machinery that holds them both in balance.

France commemorates a decade since the deadly 2015 Paris attacks

hanad

November 13, 2025

France marks 10th anniversary of deadly Paris attacks — Flowers and candles are placed at the Place de la Republique to commemorate the victims of the attacks

Paris Remembers: Ten Years Since a Night That Changed a City

On an autumn evening a decade ago, Paris—city of narrow cafés and flamenco-light laughter—was carved into “before” and “after.” The dates on the calendar read 13 November 2015; the memory feels like a permanent bruise. Ten years on, the city gathered quietly and with a fierce tenderness to remember 130 people who would not reach the mornings that followed, and to hold the hands of hundreds more who still bear invisible wounds.

The numbers are stark and simple: 130 killed, more than 400 wounded. But numbers cannot hold fingerprints, names, unfinished songs, the scent of coffee on a table, or the ache of a daughter who rang her father’s phone all night until her worst fear was confirmed. They cannot hold the taste of the blackboard menu from La Belle Équipe, still pierced by bullet holes, the words “Happy Hour” forever frozen beneath the marks.

Walking Through Memory

On the anniversary morning, small processions threaded through the city. First the Stade de France, the site of the first blasts where Manuel Dias, a 36-year-old bus driver, became the first victim. Then across bridges and down cobbled streets to the cafés and concert hall where gunmen tore through ordinary lives. Wreaths were laid, candles lit, and names read aloud—names now inscribed on plaques that ring the neighborhoods like a slow, quiet chorus.

“There is an emptiness that never leaves you,” Sophie Dias told the crowd as she placed a single white rose where her father fell. Her voice, raw and steady, carried over those gathered: “We must hand these memories down—not as horror stories, but as reminders of what was taken and why we must protect what remains.”

Survivors Carry Their Night

Inside the Bataclan the music had been loud and the crowd close. Sebastian Lascoux remembers thinking the bangs were firecrackers. Then the darkness widened and the smell of blood. “People collapsed together like waves,” he said, his hands folding his words into the air. One friend died shielding another. Sebastian now avoids crowded rooms; cinema seats and packed festivals bring back the gunfire in his chest.

Eva—who asked that her last name not be printed—lost her leg at La Belle Équipe. She returned, she said, because Paris is made of terraces and light and perseverance. But she will never again sit with her back to the street. “I drink my coffee facing out,” she told a reporter. “It is small, but it is how I feel safe.”

How a City Responds: Laws, Memory, and Museums

The attacks forced France to grapple with a new domestic reality. A state of emergency was declared within days and, in the years that followed, many emergency measures were codified into law—changes to policing, surveillance, and the architecture of public safety. The debates these changes ignited—security versus liberty, prevention versus social cohesion—are still alive in parliament and in cafe conversations.

Yet memory has taken many forms beyond legislation. Families have given fragments of their lives to a forthcoming Terrorism Memorial Museum, due to open in 2029. Curators are cataloguing about 500 objects: a ripped concert ticket, a luthier’s unfinished guitar, a menu with the words “Happy Hour” frozen under blood-stained holes. These are not mere artifacts; they are witness objects—domestic, personal, unbearably human.

What Gets Remembered—and How

Commemoration is never neutral. Some survivors attend memorials as an act of defiance; others avoid them entirely because remembrance itself can be re-traumatizing. “I can’t go back to the Bataclan,” said Stéphane Sarrade, who lost his 23-year-old son Hugo there. “It’s like a wound that reopens with every step.” Others, like Catherine Bertrand, vice-president of a victims’ association, insist on the necessity of living: “Concerts are happening again at the Bataclan. We go where we must. We meet. We sing.”

These contrasting responses speak to the complexity of collective mourning: public rituals can bind a nation, but they do not replace the private work of grief.

Voices on the Street

Walk through the 10th and 11th arrondissements today and you will hear the ordinary music of urban life—bicycles, scooter bells, a vendor calling out croissants. But there are small, deliberate acts of remembrance too: fresh flowers on lampposts, laminated photos on café windows, a young couple pausing to touch a name etched on a plaque.

“It reminds you how fragile everyday life is,” said Amélie, a barista who grew up nearby. “Sometimes customers ask why we still have the old photos pinned up. I tell them: because those people were our neighbours. Because someone came into our shop and never left.”

Looking Outward: The Global Lessons

Paris is not alone. Cities worldwide have experienced similar ruptures—in Barcelona, Christchurch, Boston, London—and each one has had to reweave public life from the torn edges. The global pattern is unsettling: while the territorial hold of groups like Islamic State has receded since 2015, their propaganda lives online, refining techniques to catch the young and the isolated. Social researchers estimate that although large coordinated attacks have declined in Europe, individual and small-cell attacks persist, often inspired via social media reach rather than battlefield command structures.

That reality prompts hard questions. How do democracies balance openness with vigilance? How do communities watch for radicalization without stigmatizing entire neighbourhoods? How do schools, local health services, and social networks step in early to provide belonging before violent ideologies do?

Data and Detours

Consider the numbers we can measure: since 2015, France has prosecuted dozens of terrorism-related cases, tightened border and intelligence cooperation across the EU, and invested in de-radicalization programs and mental health services for survivors. Yet experts warn that funding is uneven and social reintegration is often under-resourced.

“Security is not only cameras and checkpoints,” noted Dr. Inès Moreau, a sociologist specialising in urban trauma. “It must include schools, youth centres and jobs. Without the social fabric, prevention frays.”

Ten Years On: A Question for the Reader

So how do we remember without being consumed? How do we honor suffering while preventing it from defining us? In Paris, the answer is both fragile and stubborn: memory rituals, legal changes, museums, therapy, public conversations, and the small, daily acts of resisting fear—sitting outside with friends, blowing out candles, reopening the concert hall doors.

As you read this from wherever you are—city, town, or village—ask yourself: what does a resilient society look like? Is it one that fortifies itself with walls and laws, or one that strengthens its ties to one another so fewer people fall between the cracks?

On this tenth anniversary, Paris offers both a memorial and a challenge. The city remembers, tenderly, loudly, and with wounds that will take generations to close. But in the cafés, on the terraces, and in the halls where music plays, life insists on continuing. And that insistence may be the most human response of all.

Official toll: 130 people killed, more than 400 wounded in attacks across Paris on 13 November 2015.
Sole surviving attacker, Salah Abdeslam, is serving a life sentence; investigations into related networks continue.
Terrorism Memorial Museum scheduled to open in 2029 with approximately 500 artifacts from victims and sites.

Colombia Pauses Intelligence Cooperation, Halts Data Sharing with U.S.

hanad

November 13, 2025

Colombia suspends intelligence sharing with US — Gustavo Petro said the order would remain in place while the US continues to conduct missile attacks on boats in the Caribbean (file photo)

The Caribbean Nightingale and the Echo of Explosions: How a Drug War Is Rewriting Regional Alliances

On a humid Caribbean evening, fishermen in a small Colombian port pause their usual banter and tune into a different kind of weather report: the distant thump of jets and the way the sea seems to hold its breath. “You can smell it before you see it—this metallic, diesel smell,” said Lucía Pérez, who has fished off the Magdalena Delta for three decades. “We used to sleep through the rains. Now we wake up to the sound of explosions.”

That sound has rippled into capitals across Latin America and beyond. In Bogotá, President Gustavo Petro made a striking — and unusually public — decision: he ordered Colombia’s security services to stop sharing intelligence with US agencies while Washington continues to strike suspected drug-running boats in the Caribbean. His message, posted on X, was blunt: the fight against narcotics “must be subordinated to the human rights of the Caribbean people.”

From Night Seas to Diplomatic Storms

The immediate cause is a string of US military strikes at sea. US figures cited in regional reporting say at least 20 vessels in international waters have been attacked since early September; at least 76 people have died. For many coastal communities, those numbers carry faces and names. “They hit a boat that was barely two metres longer than ours,” a crew member from a panga-style fishing boat told a local radio station. “We don’t know if they were smugglers. We only know our neighbours did not come back.”

Washington argues these are necessary interdictions in the long-running campaign against trafficking. Critics — from foreign leaders and members of Congress to legal experts and families of the deceased — say the strikes lack transparency and due process. They ask: who gathered the evidence? Where is the chain of custody? Where is the accountability?

Allies Pause, Questions Multiply

It is not only Colombia that has stepped back. Reports suggest the United Kingdom has suspended some intelligence-sharing with the US in the region, aligning with concerns raised by the UN’s human rights chief, Volker Türk, who reportedly views some of the strikes as extrajudicial killings. A UK source close to security cooperation described the move as “a sobering, if painful, recalibration” of routine intelligence flows.

In the United States, the responses are fractured. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth confirmed recent strikes and framed them as part of a broader effort against illicit trafficking. “We will act to protect international waters and interdict criminal organizations,” he said in a terse briefing. But even within US politics, unease has been voiced: California Governor Gavin Newsom told delegates at the COP30 climate summit in Brazil that watching warplanes blow up boats with “no transparency” was chilling. “What happened to due process? What happened to the rule of law?” he asked. “We must be held to higher standards.”

An Aircraft Carrier Sails In — and So Do Old Fears

Strategically, the drama intensified with the deployment of the USS Gerald R. Ford strike group into the Latin America region — a visible sign that Washington is raising the military stakes. Two US officials said the carrier’s movement was ordered nearly three weeks before officials spoke publicly about it, a timeline that has only compounded anxieties in Caracas, Bogotá, and on island capitals.

Venezuela reacted predictably and forcefully. Caracas announced a “massive deployment” of land, sea, air, river and missile forces, as well as civilian militias, to counter what its defence ministry called “imperial threats.” A Venezuelan military officer, speaking on condition of anonymity, described the manoeuvres as “both show of force and defensive posture.” He added, “We will not allow our waters to be turned into battlegrounds for others’ politics.”

Lives and Laws: The Human Cost

Behind the geopolitics, villagers who cast nets before dawn are grappling with loss and confusion. “They told us he was smuggling,” said Rosa Hidalgo, who lost a brother in one of the incidents. “They said he was a drug runner, but he was a father who repaired nets. Bring me the proof, then we will accept it. But give us his body, give us the truth.”

Legal scholars and human-rights advocates have raised precise, technical concerns: if states or militaries are striking in international waters based on signals intelligence or remote imagery, is there adequate corroboration? Is there judicial oversight? “Extra-judicial use of lethal force at sea opens a Pandora’s box,” said Dr. Andrés Molina, an international law professor at the University of Bogotá. “It risks erasing the thin line that separates police work from military action.”

Local Color, Global Consequences

Walk the markets of Cartagena or the boardwalks of San Andrés and the ripple effect is obvious. Tourism operators worry about headlines. Garifuna communities recall past scars of militarized drug enforcement that displaced coastal populations. Overnight, the Caribbean’s gentle cultural rhythms — rumba, ceviche, and conversations written in salt and sun — have acquired a sharper cadence.

And yet, the drugs trade itself is stubbornly resilient. According to UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) reports in recent years, transatlantic and transpacific trafficking routes continually adapt to enforcement pressure, with actors shifting routes, methods, and alliances. That adaptability explains, in part, why militarized measures can appear decisive in the short term but less effective as long-term strategies.

Questions for the Reader — and the Region

What does security look like when the instruments used to enforce it become sources of fear for civilians? How do nations balance the need to disrupt criminal networks with the obligation to protect human life and uphold international law?

Those are not rhetorical alone. They are practical governance questions with electoral implications throughout the hemisphere. Colombia’s pause in intelligence sharing is a political signal: cooperation has limits when domestic constituencies feel endangered or dispirited by the human cost.

Looking Ahead: Diplomacy, Oversight, and the Long Game

If there is a path forward, it will likely run through three channels: rigorous, transparent investigations into each lethal incident; renewed multilateral dialogue about rules of engagement at sea; and investment in criminal-justice reforms that reduce reliance on purely military solutions.

“We cannot let a single policy area, however urgent, justify suspending the rule of law,” said María Velasquez, director of a Bogotá-based human-rights NGO. “If we do, victories will be pyrrhic—built on distrust and blood.”

For the people who live with the sound of jets as part of the weather, the immediate demands are simple and human: tell us why our neighbours died; show us the evidence; help us heal. For policymakers, the questions are complex and strategic. For the rest of us — readers clicking, scrolling, talking over coffee — this episode asks us to reconsider familiar stories about security, sovereignty and the boundaries of force.

When a night fishing community remembers the names of those lost, or when a president halts intelligence flows in protest, those are moments that expose the raw nerve of modern geopolitics. They force a reckoning with how we wage wars without declaring them, and how, ultimately, the seas that connect us can become a mirror for our collective choices.

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