Myanmar’s pro-military party declares massive lead in latest poll

December 29, 2025

Myanmar pro-military party claims huge lead in poll — A vendor arranges newspapers reporting on Myanmar's general election in Yangon on December 29, 2025

Ballots Under Watch: Myanmar’s Election and the Quiet Hum of a Country at War

They opened the schools and community halls as polling stations, the same rooms where children once recited poems and elders debated village matters over tea. But on the morning after the first phase of voting, the atmosphere felt less like civic bustle and more like a careful performance.

“People come to the ballot box with their heads down,” said a shopkeeper in a township outside the capital, speaking softly as if the walls had ears. “Some cling to hope. More hold their breath.”

Officials from the Union Solidarity and Development Party, the pro-military force that has become the public face of junta power, told journalists they had taken an overwhelming share of the seats contested in this round — reportedly 82 out of 102 lower-house slots that were up for grabs. If accurate, that would be a crushing victory in the areas where voting went ahead, and a stark reversal from the last competitive election six years ago when the National League for Democracy swept to power.

But headlines of triumph ring hollow to many. For readers who follow the long arc of Myanmar’s politics, this is less a story of ballots winning battles than of institutions hollowed out and ballots used to stage legitimacy. After the armed forces seized power in 2021, the country’s leading civilian party was dissolved and its leader — the Nobel laureate long synonymous with Myanmar’s democracy movement — was imprisoned. The streets that once echoed with campaign rallies have been spent by conflict, displacement and a growing, subterranean resistance.

What Voting Looked Like

In the capital, Naypyidaw, officials say the USDP claimed all eight townships that reported counts. In smaller towns and peri-urban districts, turnout varied wildly. In some places, voters queued early, clutching ink-stained fingers and voting slips; in others, polling stations closed with more press photographers than people casting ballots.

“I went to vote because my father taught me to do my duty,” said a retiree who gave his name as U Soe, settling into a plastic chair in front of a makeshift polling booth. “But when the soldiers smile and ask who I voted for, how can I be sure it was free?”

Those uncertainties are not merely individual. Human rights groups, foreign diplomats, and U.N. officials have raised alarms ahead of the election, arguing that the environment is riddled with coercion, bans on certain parties, threats to voters and candidates — and the very real absence of the most popular pre-coup party from the ballot sheet.

Between the Lines: Why So Many Call It a Sham

To understand the skepticism, consider the mechanics: an electoral commission overseen by authorities aligned with the military, a slate of candidates that includes many military allies, and voting that could not be held in nearly one in five constituencies because of active conflict. When institutions are captured in this way, the rituals of democracy — ballots, counting, podiums — can be repurposed as theatre.

“This isn’t an election so much as an effort to paper over reality,” said an analyst who tracks Southeast Asian security and asked not to be named for fear of reprisals. “The key pieces are missing: free competition, independent observers, unimpeded campaigning. What remains is a shell.”

The psychological weight of that shell is heavy. Many residents talk of quiet forms of resistance: empty polling booths, family members refusing to be photographed, community centers turned into relief hubs for those fleeing frontline violence instead of vibrant campaign offices.

Numbers on the Ground

Official tallies from the Union Election Commission have been slow to materialize, and international verification is limited. Still, the raw contours are clear: voting occurred in the majority of the 102 townships scheduled for this phase but could not proceed in significant pockets because fighting and insecurity made it impossible. The coup that toppled the civilian government has since fractured the country, giving rise to hundreds of local militia groups and deepening alliances between pro-democracy fighters and long-standing ethnic armies.

Estimates vary, but the human cost has been high: thousands have been arrested, tens of thousands displaced, and many communities remain under daily threat. The election, while billed by the junta as the path back to civilian rule, unfolds against this grim backdrop.

Voices from the Ground

On the outskirts of a town where a polling station had closed early, a young teacher wrapped in a scarf lit a cigarette only once the journalists were gone. “I remember when the classroom was full of laughter,” she said. “Now I teach a room of refugees. We were promised a return to normalcy. Instead, they give us a vote while our homes burn.”

Local civil society activists spoke of intimidation: announcements by township leaders, lists circulated of preferred candidates, and whispered threats in tea shops. An aid worker passing through said the election was diverting scarce resources from emergency relief efforts at a moment when they were needed most.

A military officer briefing reporters in Naypyidaw insisted otherwise. “We guarantee a free and fair election,” he said firmly. “This process is our way of returning power to a peaceful, civilian government.” He added that the military would not allow its name to be tarnished, a line repeated by state media across morning bulletins.

What This Means Beyond Borders

Myanmar’s electoral drama is not an isolated spectacle; it’s emblematic of a wider global trend where authoritarian leaders use elections to mask repression. From Hanoi to Harare, regimes that lack popular legitimacy often stage contests that generate the appearance of consent without the substance. For the international community, the dilemma is familiar: how to respond to a poll that exists simultaneously as a potential step toward political normalcy and a tool of control.

“Elections are not pampered with legitimacy by default,” an international scholar of electoral law commented. “They require free debate, free movement, free media — and most importantly, the freedom to lose.”

What Happens Next?

The current phase is only the beginning. Two further rounds of voting are slated in the coming weeks, with hundreds of seats across the country still to be contested. Observers say the final picture will depend not only on ballots cast in safe quarters but on whether millions of displaced people and communities under siege can participate at all.

For Myanmar’s ordinary people, the stakes are tangible. Will this election return power to civilians? Will it entrench military rule? Will it ease the burdens of displacement and economic hardship? Or will it cement a new normal where democracy exists mostly on paper?

As dusk fell over the capital after the first day, a woman carrying a bundle of market vegetables paused under a streetlight and looked up at the distant silhouette of government buildings. “They tell us to vote for peace,” she said. “But peace doesn’t come from a ballot unless your neighbor can also choose.”

Read, Reflect, React

What do you think a free election looks like in a country at war? If legitimacy requires consent, how should the international community respond when consent can be coerced? These are not abstract questions. They ask us to decide whether process alone is enough or whether substance — genuine competition, safety, and freedom — matters more.

For those watching from afar, Myanmar’s ballots are a reminder: democracy is fragile, and its rituals can be as deceptive as they are vital. To witness an election is not always to witness democratic renewal; sometimes it is to watch a contest over the story a regime wants told. The people on the ground, though, still tell their own stories — in whispers, in votes, and sometimes, in defiance.

Kurti Pledges Swift Formation of Kosovo’s New Government

hanad

December 29, 2025

Kosovo's Kurti promises swift formation of new government — Albin Kurti celebrates election results with supporters in Pristina

Pristina at Dawn: What a Decisive Vote Means for Kosovo’s Future

The city smelled like smoke and hot coffee the morning after the vote. Fireworks had stitched the night sky above Pristina, and in the cold—minus three Celsius—people still hung in the square, draped in red-and-black flags, faces flushed from celebration and fear, hope and exhaustion.

Albin Kurti’s Vetevendosje movement appears to have won a clear plurality in Sunday’s early election, taking roughly 49.3% of the vote with 99% of ballots tallied. It is the most unmistakable political moment Kosovo has seen in years: a party that began as a protest movement now sits within reach of a new mandate to govern, and the country stands at a crossroads of domestic reform and international scrutiny.

The numbers that matter

Kosovo’s parliament has 120 seats; a government requires 61 to command a majority, while major international loan packages need a two-thirds majority to pass. With turnout around 45%, the electorate has spoken—but not everyone’s voice is fully in the count yet. Conditional ballots and votes cast by the diaspora in Western Europe still loom, potentially nudging the final outcome.

Vetevendosje (LVV): ~49.3% (99% counted)
Democratic Party: about 21%
Democratic League: about 13.6%
Assembly seats needed for majority: 61 of 120
Population (approximate): 1.6 million
Turnout: ~45%
Loans awaiting ratification: ~€1 billion from the EU and World Bank

“We have little time to lose,”

Kurti spoke to reporters at his party headquarters with the blunt cadence that has come to define him: “Once results are certified, we must quickly constitute the parliament and form a new government. We don’t have time to lose.” His plea reached beyond supporters in the square; it was aimed at rivals, at EU capitals, at lender institutions waiting for ratification of loan agreements that are set to expire in the coming months.

Onlookers in Pristina offered more human, quieter observations. “He speaks for us because he is not one of the old families,” said Mira Hoxha, a civil servant in her 40s who had wrapped a red scarf around her neck. “But we want bread on the table. Promises are one thing. Jobs are another.”

Coalition arithmetic and political friction

Here lies the rub. Kurti’s movement may have the largest share of votes, but in a fragmented parliamentary system, numbers on ballots don’t always translate into effortless governance. Analysts warn that the path to a stable cabinet could require a small coalition, or at the very least, ad-hoc support for critical votes—especially those that touch the country’s finances and its international commitments.

“The results are not final,” said Ismet Kryeziu, a researcher with the Kosovo Democratic Institute. “Even if LVV has almost half the vote, securing 61 seats outright is difficult. But forming government with a small coalition is quite feasible—Kurti needs only a handful of allied deputies from Albanian or minority parties.”

Whether opposition parties—the Democratic Party and the Democratic League—will join that arc is uncertain. Both have been fierce critics of Kurti: for his confrontational foreign policy stance, for his handling of relations with Western partners, and for tensions in the ethnically mixed north, where a Serbian minority has resisted Pristina’s authority.

On the clock: loans, a presidency, and European expectations

The stakes extend beyond domestic politicking. In April, Kosovo’s politicians must elect a new president. In the months to come, lawmakers must also decide on roughly €1 billion in loan agreements from the European Union and the World Bank—money earmarked for development, infrastructure, and fiscal stability.

These measures are urgently needed in a country still grappling with poverty, high youth unemployment, and organized crime. The EU’s foreign policy chief urged a swift government formation, noting that the new administration should “redouble its efforts on much needed EU-related reforms.”

“We are in a race against the clock,” said Elena Markovic, an economist who studies Western Balkan development. “If parliament is not reopened and these loans are not ratified, projects stop. That’s not abstract—it’s school renovations, road improvements, salaries paid on time.”

At the edges: Serbia, sanctions, and the northern municipalities

Kosovo’s international story remains tangled with Belgrade’s refusal to recognize its independence, declared in 2008. The region’s politics turned tense in 2023, and the EU briefly imposed sanctions on Pristina—measures it has signaled willingness to lift after local votes in Serbian-majority northern municipalities. The sanctions’ economic cost was significant; officials estimate they shaved hundreds of millions of euros off potential investment flows.

Ethnic Serb leaders in the north, and citizens who live daily with cross-border loyalties, are watching this election closely. “We need practical solutions: roads, clinics, respect for our language,” said Dragan, a shop owner in Mitrovica’s northern quarter. “Politics from Pristina and Belgrade often forgets the small things that make life livable.”

What this vote tells us about a broader trend

Across Europe, voters have moved unpredictably: impatient with old elites, wary of globalization’s winners and losers, and hungry for leaders who promise both dignity and delivery. Kosovo’s vote fits into that larger narrative: a movement born from protest now must prove it can translate passion into institutions and craft into policy.

So, what will success look like for Kurti and for Kosovo? Is it a stable cabinet that passes loan legislation and begins EU-aligned reforms? Or is it something more granular—schools rebuilt, a reduction in youth unemployment, fewer families feeling forced to pack and leave? The answers will be measured in budgets and in human stories.

Looking ahead

In the coming days, the final vote tallies and overseas ballots will be counted. If Kurti forms a government quickly, he will be tasked with an urgent menu: unblocking funds, appointing ministers who can weather political storms, and reopening a dialogue with skeptical opposition and international partners. If not, the country risks another stretch of paralysis at a time when action is most needed.

Back in the square, as the morning light made the fireworks embers pale, a university student named Arber shrugged and smiled: “We celebrated because it is a victory. But tomorrow we will wake up and still need to go to class, find work, plan our lives. That is the real test.”

Will Kosovo’s new or renewed leadership pass that test? The next weeks will tell, and the world—neighbors near and institutions afar—will be watching.

Bulgaria Moves Toward Euro Adoption Despite Public Doubts

hanad

December 29, 2025

Bulgaria adopts euro amid fear and uncertainty — Ancient rock art, a patron saint and a monk will be emblazoned on Bulgaria's euro coins

A Small Country, a Giant Change: Bulgaria on the Cusp of the Euro

The kiosks on Sofia’s boulevard are printing new signs. Butchers who once chalked prices in lev have learned to write two numbers, one beside the other like siblings. In the market stalls of the capital, a grandmother chooses tomatoes and, without missing a beat, counts out coins in her head while a young tourist taps a card and smiles at the contactless reader. The lev — Bulgaria’s companion through decades of transition — is being folded gently into history as Bulgarians prepare to switch to the euro on 1 January.

This is not just a technical switch of banknotes. It’s a civic rite, a political lightning rod and a small-business revolution bundled into one. For a nation of roughly 6.7 million people sitting on Europe’s southeastern edge, the move will make Bulgaria the eurozone’s 21st member and add to a currency used by more than 350 million Europeans.

Why Now? The Rules Behind the Leap

Joining the euro is not an act of whim. It follows a multiyear checklist: tame inflation, keep public finances in order, ensure borrowing costs stay within acceptable bounds and demonstrate exchange-rate stability. Bulgaria cleared those hurdles this year — the technical green lights that many nations spend decades chasing.

There are practical rewards. Companies exporting to the EU can now bill in a single currency. Holidaymakers won’t need to exchange lev for euros at border booths. And Bulgaria steps up from occasional participants in distant Council debates to a permanent presence at the European Central Bank’s Governing Council, where interest-rate choices that ripple across the continent are made.

On the Ground: Markets, Memories and Mistrust

Walk the streets of Sofia and the preparations are visible — dual pricing on windows, supermarkets listing totals in both currencies, government leaflets arriving in mailboxes. Yet this choreography masks a patchwork of sentiments: excitement in the business community, resigned pragmatism among many urban young people, and stubborn scepticism in rural villages and among older generations.

“This lev has a smell I grew up with,” says Emil Ivanov, a retired schoolteacher who still prefers to count his pension in lev when buying banitsa and coffee. “It’s our small piece of independence.”

Others worry about a different kind of loss: potential price rises. It is a familiar refrain wherever countries have adopted a larger currency — the fear that shopkeepers will round up prices during conversion and erode purchasing power. Governments usually answer with legal safeguards: mandatory dual pricing for a transition period, fines for unjustified rounding, public education campaigns. Sofia’s authorities have been running billboards and TV spots urging calm and explaining the fixed conversion rate that will govern every transaction.

Voices from the Vineyards and the Streets

Not everyone shares the scepticism. For exporters and winemakers in Bulgaria’s fertile Thracian Valley, the euro is a long-awaited simplifier.

“For my winery, invoices used to be a small accounting rebellion — convert this sale into euros, then back to lev for domestic reports,” says Natalia Gadjeva, owner of an estate that bottles local Mavrud and Melnik grapes. “With the euro, I save time and avoid conversion fees. That means more money for barrels, marketing and hiring local people.”

Young professionals in co-working spaces speak of travel and mobility. “I get on a plane to Berlin or Athens without changing cash,” says 28-year-old software developer Petar Dimitrov. “It’s practical. It makes working in Europe feel less bureaucratic.”

Political Fault Lines

Yet currency is never only about convenience. It’s also political theatre. Bulgaria’s governments have nudged toward the euro since the country joined the European Union in 2007, but domestic politics complicate the path. This month’s widespread protests against proposed tax hikes and the resultant collapse of the government have reopened questions about trust and democratic legitimacy.

“Monetary integration requires political stability,” says Dr. Ana Marinova, an economist at Sofia University. “If citizens feel disconnected from decision-making, they are more likely to interpret economic changes as elite projects imposed from above.”

There are also historical and geopolitical threads woven into public attitudes. Bulgaria has deep cultural and personal ties with Russia; older generations often remember Soviet-era links. For some, closer alignment with the European monetary system feels like another step away from those memories — a change that carries emotional weight as much as economic rationality.

Practicalities: What to Expect at the Checkout

For many Bulgarians, the transition will be curiously mundane. Expect to see:

Dual prices displayed for a prescribed period so shoppers can compare.
Legal protections against unfair rounding and a government hotline for complaints.
The fixed conversion rate applied to all balances and contracts — a mechanical, predictable switch rather than a market shock.

And yet rituals matter. Old coins will be kept in boxes. Some will tuck the last lev note into a drawer as a talisman. Such small acts are how societies reconcile change with continuity.

Broader Currents: What Bulgaria’s Move Means for Europe

Consider the wider currents. Each new member state reshapes the eurozone’s politics and economics. The ECB’s Governing Council, which sets interest rates affecting mortgages and business loans across the single currency, will now include voices from Bulgaria’s economy and society. That matters: monetary policy must balance the needs of Amsterdam’s tech hubs and Sofia’s small manufacturers.

There are also lessons for other countries considering greater integration versus preserving monetary sovereignty. Does a shared currency deliver growth, stability and convenience? Or does it expose economies to policy mismatches and political backlash? The Bulgarian experience will be watched in capitals from Kyiv to Skopje and beyond.

Questions to Consider

Will the euro make daily life measurably cheaper or simply easier? Can authorities prevent opportunistic price hikes? And perhaps most importantly: will the swap strengthen public confidence in domestic institutions at a time when many Bulgarians feel politically adrift?

Closing Scenes: A Nation Turning a Page

On the night before the change, Sofia’s tramlines hum and the city exhales. An old man counts his coins outside a pastry shop; a student uses a smartphone to check a bank app. Somewhere in the Thracian Valley, a vintner locks up a cellar and thinks about new markets. These small domestic moments will accumulate into history.

Every currency change is a story about trust. Trust in numbers, in government, in rules that will be followed and enforced. As Bulgaria steps across this threshold, millions of small acts — a cashier’s adjustment, a baker’s label change, a minister’s speech — will stitch the past and future together. Whether you are a skeptic or a believer, the scene is worth watching: the world’s patchwork of currencies is not only an economic map, it’s a ledger of identity, allegiance and aspiration.

So, would you keep a last note of a national currency as a souvenir? Or would you embrace the new notes as tools that open borders and markets? The answer you choose tells a story about how you see money’s role in the life of a nation.

China’s armed forces launch live-fire exercises around Taiwan

hanad

December 29, 2025

Chinese military begin live-fire drills around Taiwan — A Taiwan Air Force Mirage 2000 fighter jet takes off after China announced the launch of military drills around Taiwan

Dawn over the Strait: Drums, Missiles and the Everyday Life Between Two Worlds

There is a certain hush that settles over Taipei on mornings like this — not the ordinary quiet that follows predawn traffic, but a taut, electric silence that comes when distant rumble becomes a warning. Coffee shops that usually hum with conversation find patrons speaking in shorter sentences. Ferry schedules are scanned twice. Children at school windows watch the horizon as if it might rearrange itself.

Today that horizon is studded not with clouds but with warships and aircraft. China has launched live-fire military drills around Taiwan — a sprawling exercise the People’s Liberation Army has dubbed “Justice Mission 2025.” The maneuvers employ destroyers, frigates, fighters, bombers and unmanned aerial vehicles, the PLA said, and include live-fire training on maritime targets north and southwest of the island. Taiwan’s coastguard reported four Chinese vessels sailing close to its northern and eastern coasts, prompting immediate deployments and a rapid-response posture from Taipei.

What the exercises look like

The Chinese announcement was blunt and theatrical: multi-domain forces — army, navy, air force and rocket units — will run joint assaults, test blockade scenarios, exercise sea-air patrols and rehearse the seizure of “comprehensive superiority” over key ports and areas. Senior Colonel Shi Yi of the PLA Eastern Theater Command framed the drills as a “stern warning” to what Beijing calls “Taiwan Independence” forces and a necessary act to safeguard China’s sovereignty.

From the Taiwanese side, the response has been equally steely. “We have established a response centre, deployed appropriate forces and carried out rapid response exercises,” a defense ministry statement read. The Presidential Office called China’s actions a “disregard for international norms and the use of military intimidation to threaten neighbouring countries,” a diplomatic rebuke that landed in capitals from Washington to London.

Who’s involved — and what’s at stake

China: multiple naval fleets, air wings, rocket forces — practising blockade, joint strikes and all-dimensional deterrence.
Taiwan: coastguard and military units mobilized to monitor and respond; civilian authorities issuing contingency plans.
Global players: the United States, Taiwan’s principal security backer, whose recent approval of an approximately $11 billion arms package to Taipei preceded the drills; Japan and other regional powers watching nervously.

Why does this matter beyond the headlines? Because the Taiwan Strait is not just a strip of sea but a choke point for global trade, a symbol of national identity, and a living room for millions who sleep within a day’s drive of its shores. The narrowest point of the strait is roughly 130 kilometres (about 80 miles), a reminder that what looks distant on maps is intimate on the ground.

Voices from the island

“When the coastguard called this morning, we thought it was a scare drill,” said Lin Mei-hua, 58, a tea vendor who runs a stall near Keelung Harbor. “But you know, worry is like a kettle that never cools. My regulars are older folks; they ask if the world is changing too quickly to keep up with.”

A young fisherman off Hualien described seeing gray shapes on the horizon. “They’re big ships. We kept our distance — the ocean feels different when tanks are in it. You go out to make a living and suddenly the sea is political,” he said. His hands were rough and steady as he talked; his anxiety was practical: would fishers be prevented from casting nets, would fishing grounds be closed, and how long could families survive on interrupted incomes?

At the Presidential Office, spokeswoman Karen Kuo offered a stark assessment: “These actions further confirm the ruling party in Beijing as the aggressor. They are the greatest destroyer of regional peace.” Her words were measured but firm; they reflected not just alarm but a political calculus aimed at international audiences.

Analysts weigh the wider meaning

“China’s pattern is clear: show military capability, enforce political red lines, and deter external support for the island,” said Dr. Arun Dasgupta, a security analyst at a think tank in Singapore. “But this dynamic has costs. Each show of force raises the risk of miscalculation, and even the most sophisticated command-and-control systems can’t eliminate human error.”

Another expert, retired Admiral Susan Park (name changed for privacy), pointed to the technological mix that the PLA is using. “Unmanned systems add a new layer of complexity. Drones can extend surveillance and strike ranges with lower political cost. But navies still have to manage rules of engagement in congested waters — and that’s where accidents happen.”

History, power and everyday life

The drills are the latest episode in a long, often fraught relationship. China considers Taiwan part of its territory and has never renounced the use of force to bring the island under Beijing’s rule. Taiwan, home to some 23.5 million people, governs itself and has its own democratic institutions. That friction has been magnified in recent years by increased Chinese military activity near the island and by strengthening ties between Taiwan and other democracies.

In April, similar live-fire exercises prompted international criticism. The United States called them “intimidation tactics”; Britain warned of dangerous escalation. This week’s drills came on the heels of an announced U.S. arms package estimated at roughly $11 billion—intended, Washington says, to bolster Taiwan’s self-defense capabilities. Beijing responded with sanctions against U.S. defense firms and stern warnings against “external forces” interfering.

Local color: markets, music and the mood

In Taipei’s Raohe Night Market, the usual soundtrack of sizzling scallion pancakes and hawkers’ banter was underscored by hushed conversations about conscription and emergency kits. A middle-aged man named Chen, who sells handmade umbrellas, shrugged and said, “We make small things here — umbrellas, tea. Big politics sometimes feels like a storm you can’t forecast. We just try to sell enough to sleep well tonight.”

Down in Kaohsiung, the port town where containers move like lifeblood, logistic managers were doing the math. “If a checkpoint is closed, reroutes will cost weeks and millions,” said an operations supervisor. “Global supply chains are tugged by these moments. It’s not just our islands that feel the ripple.”

Questions to sit with

What happens when everyday life is threaded by strategic signaling? How does a family plan a budget when the sea can be closed at a moment’s notice? And for countries far from East Asia, what obligations — moral, economic, strategic — should guide responses to crises that aren’t on their soil but touch their shipping lanes, supply chains, and values?

These are not purely military questions. They are also about diplomacy, about fisheries and tourism, about people’s sense of safety on streets where children once played. They are about a world where regional flashpoints have global aftershocks.

Where this could go

For now, the drills are a show of force and a message. Beijing says any attempts to prevent unification will fail; Taipei says it will defend its sovereignty; Washington and others issue statements of concern. But words only go so far. The real measures of risk are on the water: whether vessels will steer clear of collision, whether radar blips remain blips, and whether diplomacy can cool what saber-rattling has heated.

On the streets, people return to routines with a new awareness. The tea vendor brushes a steam-streaked pot. The fisherman checks his nets. The night market lights blink on as if the day had not been extraordinary. They are living between the headlines, carrying on while history executes its maneuvers.

As you read this, somewhere on the other side of the world someone is watching a feed, weighing sanctions, planning responses. In both places — in living rooms and in war rooms — decisions are being made that will shape lives for years to come. What role should the global community play when an island becomes the stage for powers to rehearse their future?

Zelensky Calls for US–Europe–Ukraine Summit in Coming Days

hanad

December 29, 2025

Zelensky wants US-Europe-Ukraine meeting in coming days — Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelensky said the meeting would be 'at the adviser level' (file photo)

A fragile filigree of peace: what the Mar-a-Lago talks mean for Ukraine

Sunlight skimmed across the Atlantic as two leaders — one in a navy suit pressed to perfection, the other in a simple, dark coat that has become global shorthand for wartime leadership — sat under the palms of Mar-a-Lago and spoke about ending Europe’s most brutal war in decades.

It was a scene that felt almost cinematic: flags, cameras, the distant wash of ocean. Yet beyond the choreography lay hard, gritty questions that will decide whose homes stand and whose maps are redrawn. Volodymyr Zelensky told reporters he wants Kyiv to host a follow-up meeting of advisers from Europe and the United States “in the coming days” to craft the legal and security scaffolding of any deal. The American president said the two were “getting a lot closer, maybe very close” to an agreement — but added a sober caveat: Donbas remained a thorny, unresolved issue.

Sunshine, power suits — and the echo of missiles

It’s tempting to let the setting soften the story: an ornate resort, marble halls, and well-timed smiles. But while cameras rolled, Ukraine’s cities were not untouched by war. The weekend before the meeting, Russia launched hundreds of missiles and drones across the country, cutting heat and electricity for thousands in Kyiv and beyond — a stark reminder that talks occur against a background of real suffering and constant risk.

“You can meet in the most beautiful room in the world,” said Olena, who runs a small bakery near Maidan in Kyiv. “But when our ovens are cold, and my customers are lighting candles to eat bread, that beauty means little.”

What was actually on the table?

Leaders described movement on two of the toughest knots: security guarantees and the future of Donbas. Each side used different language. Mr Zelensky spoke of an agreement being reached on security guarantees; the U.S. president was more cautious, saying negotiators were about “95% of the way there.” European leaders, notably France’s president, also signaled progress, with a “Coalition of the Willing” — nations pledging concrete contributions to Ukraine’s defense — expected to meet in Paris in early January to nail down details.

But what does “security guarantees” mean? For Kyiv, it must be more than platitudes — it must translate into credible deterrence against future aggression, economic support and rapid military aid if hostilities recur. For others, it looks like a mix of bilateral treaties, multinational forces, and financial pledges. “Words on paper are not enough,” said Dr. Miriam Alvarez, a security analyst at a Washington think tank. “Ukraine needs mechanisms: who responds, when they respond, and with what force and legal authority.”

The Donbas dilemma

If security guarantees are the scaffolding, the Donbas is the foundation everyone fears might crumble. Russia insists on full control of the Donbas; Kyiv insists on freezing the map at front lines it holds today. The United States, trying to carve a middle path, has floated the idea of a special free economic zone in territory if Ukrainian forces withdraw — an idea heavy with complications about sovereignty, law, and enforcement.

“This is not a chessboard where you can move a pawn and hope everyone applauds,” said Anatoly, a volunteer medic from Kharkiv who lost his brother near Donetsk last year. “People died for every inch. You cannot sell an inch of land like a plot at auction.”

In 2014 Russia annexed Crimea and since the full-scale invasion began in 2022, Russia has taken control of significant areas across eastern and southern Ukraine.
Estimates cited in recent reporting put Russian control at roughly 12% of Ukrainian territory overall, including large portions of the Donbas.

Zaporizhzhia, nuclear fears, and shared control

Even the fate of a single power station became a geopolitical flashpoint. U.S. negotiators proposed shared control over the Zaporizhzhia nuclear plant as part of wider guarantees — a sign of the extraordinary technical and symbolic questions on the table. The International Atomic Energy Agency brokered ceasefires to permit power line repairs and reduce the risk of a catastrophe. “We are working to keep nuclear sites safe — that trumps politics if we are honest,” one IAEA official said on condition of anonymity. “A misstep there would harm everyone.”

Mr Trump said progress is being made and hailed the fact that the plant had not been bombed recently. Moscow, for its part, spoke approvingly of these talks; Kremlin aides praised the U.S. president’s mediation efforts on social media.

Voices of skepticism

Not everyone in Kyiv or in the rooms where decisions will be ratified is convinced. Ivanna Klympush-Tsintsadze, a Ukrainian MP and chair of the committee on EU integration, said she felt no closer to peace after the Florida talks. “The optics were positive,” she told a morning radio show, “but I don’t see the substance that would prevent tanks from rolling again.”

Her worry captures a wider unease: any agreement that looks like territorial concession could fracture Ukrainian society and potentially fail in parliament — or worse, be rejected by the public in a referendum, which President Zelensky says would be required for any deal involving territory.

Beyond two men in a room: international dynamics

The meeting in Florida was both bilateral theater and a wider diplomatic event. European leaders dialed in. The EU’s 60-day ceasefire proposal has been debated across capitals. France promised to host a coalition meeting. The United Kingdom and other NATO members stressed the importance of “ironclad security guarantees,” language meant to reassure Kyiv and domestic audiences alike.

There are also questions about follow-through. Who pays for reconstruction? Who guarantees the guarantees? And what happens if Russia’s advance continues on the battlefield — as Moscow has recently claimed new territorial gains?

What comes next — and why it matters to the world

In the days ahead, Zelensky wants Ukraine to host advisers to formalize the legal texts. That may sound bureaucratic. It is not. That drafting room will be the place where promises harden into commitments — where phrases become enforceable obligations, where timetables are set, and where the rights of millions are either protected or put at risk.

So what should we watch for?

Clarity on what “security guarantees” looks like in practice — troop deployments, rapid response clauses, or financial pledges?
A clear, verifiable plan for Zaporizhzhia and other critical infrastructure that reduces nuclear and civilian risk.
Transparent mechanisms for any changes to front-line maps, including who oversees transitions and how civilians’ rights are protected.

“Peace cannot be a pause that leaves the seeds of future war,” Dr. Alvarez said. “If it is to hold, it must change incentives on the ground.”

For ordinary people in Ukraine, this is not abstract. It is the difference between returning to a damaged home or never returning at all. It is the electricity that keeps a hospital warm, the school that can reopen, the fields that may one day sprout wheat again. For the rest of the world, the stakes are geopolitical: precedent about territorial integrity, nuclear safety, and the rules that govern international conflict.

As the palm trees kept their patient watch in Florida and power grids flickered thousands of kilometres away, one question hung over the proceedings: can stitched-together guarantees and diplomatic good will survive the pressures of the battlefield? If you were in Ukraine, what would you demand from any treaty that claims to be “peace”?

The answers will determine not just when the guns fall silent, but whether, when they do, quiet will mean safety or merely a lull before another storm.

Somalia Slams Israel’s Move to Recognize Somaliland as Independent

hanad

December 29, 2025

Somalia criticises Israeli recognition of Somaliland — Residents of Hargeis waving Somaliland flags gathered to celebrate Israel's announcement

When Diplomacy Becomes a Drumbeat: Somaliland, Israel, and the Unexpected Ripples Across the Red Sea

There are moments when a single diplomatic decision sounds like a pebble dropped into a very large pond — the initial splash is small, but the concentric waves reach distant shores. This week, that pebble was Israel’s formal recognition of Somaliland. For many around the world it was a headline: a tiny, self-declared republic on the southern edge of the Red Sea finally acknowledged by a state long focused on its own fragile neighborhood. For others, it was the opening chord of a new, unsettling symphony in the Horn of Africa.

What Somaliland is — and what it has always wanted

Somaliland separated from Somalia in 1991, following the collapse of the central government in Mogadishu. It built institutions, held elections, and cultivated a sense of national identity. In Hargeisa — its de facto capital — you can still hear the thrum of commerce: donkey carts and tuk-tuks winding past brightly painted tea stalls, markets selling frankincense and textiles, young men checking smartphones between bargaining sessions.

It issues its own passports and currency (the Somaliland shilling), maintains a functioning administration and an army, and controls a stretch of coastline directly opposite Yemen. Estimates of its population vary — most sources put it between three and five million people — and its territory covers roughly 176,000 square kilometers of semi-arid plains and coastal shores. Yet despite these trappings of sovereignty, it has remained diplomatically isolated: neither the United Nations nor the African Union recognizes it as an independent state.

“For ordinary people here, recognition has always been a distant hope — like rain in a long dry season,” says Amina Yusuf, a schoolteacher in Hargeisa. “We have raised our children, built schools, paid taxes. We expected the world to notice someday. Maybe now it has.”

A reaction that echoed through parliaments and capitals

Somalia’s government responded in fury, calling Israel’s move a direct assault on its territorial integrity. In an emergency parliamentary session, President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud told lawmakers the decision threatened regional stability and violated the sovereignty of the Somali Republic.

“This is not only a breach of law, it is an affront to our people,” President Mohamud said. “We will defend our unity and pursue every diplomatic avenue to reverse this action.”

Across the region, the response was swift and severe. The African Union, which has long held a cautious line on breakaway regions to prevent broader instability, voiced alarm. Egypt, Turkey, the six-member Gulf Cooperation Council, and the Saudi-based Organisation of Islamic Cooperation all publicly denounced the recognition. For capitals watching the Horn of Africa closely — Cairo, Ankara, Riyadh — the specter of a new state on the Red Sea’s southern flank is far from merely theoretical.

Behind the headlines: the strategic heartbeat of the Gulf of Aden

To understand why this matters beyond the Horn, imagine the map as a chessboard. The Gulf of Aden and nearby Bab el-Mandeb strait are chokepoints for global trade. Around 12% of global seaborne trade by volume transits the Suez Canal — and the alternative routes and the corridors leading into it are what give ports like Berbera in Somaliland their outsized importance.

Berbera’s deep-water port sits on the Gulf of Aden and has drawn foreign commercial and military interest for years. The United Arab Emirates and DP World have previously invested in port infrastructure there; regional powers have for the past decade quietly maneuvered to secure logistical footholds. Add Israel to the mix, and the calculus shifts: naval access, intelligence cooperation, counter-piracy efforts, and influence over Red Sea shipping lanes suddenly come into play.

“This is not just a story about recognition or borders,” says David Mbeki, a maritime security analyst based in Nairobi. “It’s about access. Whoever has a network of allies and bases along the Red Sea gains leverage over some of the busiest routes on the planet.”

Voices from the street: pride, fear, uncertainty

In Hargeisa, opinions are mixed. For some, recognition is vindication.

“My father fought during the conflict in the 1980s,” says Abdirahman Ali, now a small-business owner. “We were told to wait for justice. Recognition from Israel is another government saying: you exist. That brings hope to families who want normal lives.”

But there is trepidation, too. Many Somalis fear that international moves could inflame tensions at home and in neighboring regions. There is concern about foreign military footprints, and whether new alliances will weave Somaliland into larger geopolitical rivalries that have little to do with local priorities like water, pastoral grazing rights, and economic opportunity.

“We want development, not being a pawn,” says Hodan Warsame, who runs a women’s cooperative sewing garments for export. “Investment is welcome, but who benefits? Will the profits leave, and will our streets become militarized? We have seen outside powers come and go.”

International law and the politics of recognition

The question of recognizing new states is messy and political. International law offers no strict formula: recognition is a political act by existing states. The African Union has historically discouraged unilateral secessions to avoid a proliferation of fragile entities, arguing that the solution to separatist grievances is internal reform rather than redrawing maps.

That principle, however, faces real-world pressures: as climate change, economic desperation, and state weakness create localized governance vacuums, communities sometimes organize themselves into more stable administrative units — as Somaliland did — and demand international legitimacy. Those tensions are playing out now on a very visible stage.

What happens next?

There are several plausible paths forward. Somalia might pursue legal and diplomatic action through international bodies. African states may convene emergency meetings to craft a joint response. Israel could deepen ties with Somaliland — economically, militarily, or diplomatically — further unsettling regional balances.

Local dynamics will matter most. Somaliland’s leaders say they seek recognition to unlock investment and migration agreements; Somali leaders insist the path to any change must be through dialogue with Mogadishu. The balance of power — and the choices made by other regional actors like Ethiopia, Djibouti, and Yemen’s political actors — will be decisive.

Key fact: Somaliland declared independence in 1991 but is not recognized by the UN or African Union.
Key fact: The Gulf of Aden and Bab el-Mandeb are strategic maritime chokepoints for global trade, linking the Indian Ocean to the Mediterranean via the Suez Canal.
Key fact: Somaliland’s population is estimated at roughly 3–5 million people and it controls key ports such as Berbera.

Why you should care

Because this is not local news shrunk to fit a headline — it’s a story that connects questions of self-determination, great-power competition, maritime security, and the livelihoods of everyday people. What happens in the streets of Hargeisa can push oil prices, influence shipping insurance costs, and ripple into the politics of capitals thousands of miles away.

So ask yourself: when a new state is born in the shadow of old conflicts, who gets to decide its fate? Is recognition a tool for justice — or a shortcut that amplifies instability? And perhaps most urgently: how do we ensure that ordinary people, the shopkeepers and teachers and farmers, are not merely chess pieces for larger powers?

For now, Somaliland stands at a crossroads — buoyed by a rare diplomatic victory yet shadowed by the potential for greater friction. The waves from Israel’s decision will keep spreading. What matters next is whether the region can channel those waves into cooperation, negotiation, and real investment in people — or whether they will crash into contestation and conflict instead.

Bulgaria switches to the euro amid public fear and economic uncertainty

hanad

December 29, 2025

On the Brink: Bulgaria’s Leap into the Euro and the Uneasy Calm Along the Danube

There is a quiet energy in the air in Sofia this winter — not the celebratory kind you might expect when a country takes another step deeper into Europe, but something more complicated: a mixture of pride, nerves and a simmering doubt that you can taste in the morning market stalls and hear in the cafes that line Vitosha Boulevard.

Bulgaria is preparing to swap the lev for the euro, joining a monetary club that began in 2002 and has slowly grown to include nations across the continent. If all goes to plan, the country will become the next member of the euro area — a geopolitical and economic milestone many politicians hail as a modernization rite of passage, while others warn it could be a leap into new vulnerabilities.

Why this matters — and why it feels so personal

To understand why this change matters on the ground you need to stand in a village shop in the northwest, or sit in a small Sofia restaurant whose owner balances pride in national heritage against the daily arithmetic of rent and suppliers. “My customers ask me if onions will cost more tomorrow,” says Bilyana Nikolova, who runs a groceries counter in Chuprene, a tiny community near the Serbian border. “They’ve heard stories from friends abroad that prices jump when the euro arrives.”

Her worry is not idiosyncratic. Polls conducted over the past year show substantial ambivalence: nearly half of Bulgarians say they don’t want the euro, according to an EU survey. That reticence grows where incomes are lower and memories of past economic shocks — especially the hyperinflation of the 1990s — remain vivid.

“People remember losing value in their pockets,” explains Boryana Dimitrova of Alpha Research, a polling institute that has followed public sentiment around the changeover. “When a policy affects the everyday — the bread, the bills, the bus ticket — it becomes political overnight. If something goes wrong, opponents will use it as proof that Brussels lost touch.”

Promises on the table

Proponents at home and abroad point to clear advantages. The European Central Bank and international economists argue that single-currency membership can reduce transaction costs, lower borrowing rates, and promote trade. Christine Lagarde, president of the European Central Bank, told Bulgarian audiences in recent months that the gains are “substantial” — smoother commerce, cheaper finance for businesses, and steadier prices among them.

For small and medium-sized enterprises, the arithmetic is stark: analysts estimate up to roughly €500 million saved annually in reduced exchange fees and banking costs. In tourism — a key sector that accounted for about 8% of national output this year — having the euro could make Bulgaria a simpler, less costly destination for millions of European travelers.

“Being inside the decision-making room matters,” says Georgi Angelov, an economist with the Open Society Institute in Sofia. “We have had our currency effectively pegged to the euro for decades through a currency board. Today we trade stability for representation. We will be part of the conversation at the ECB table rather than just following its notes.”

Fear, faith, and politics

The debate is never purely economic. Bulgaria’s politics are fragile; in recent years the country has seen wave after wave of protests against corruption, which toppled a conservative government and pushed the nation toward its eighth election in five years. In such an atmosphere, any economic hiccup could be amplified into a political crisis.

“The adoption will be politicised,” Dimitrova warns. “If prices spike or if there are perceived winners and losers, anti-EU forces will use it as fuel.”

Some of those forces are explicit in their messaging. Far-right and pro-Russia elements have organized ‘save the lev’ campaigns, mobilizing rural communities and older voters with a mix of nostalgia and economic fear. Their rallies often feature local grievances: pensions that feel small, wages that haven’t kept pace with inflation, the sense of being left behind.

“This isn’t only about money,” says Maria K., a teacher from the Rhodope mountains who asked that her surname not be used. “It’s about control. People worry about losing the little autonomy they feel they have after years of foreign influence, sanctions, and distant decisions.”

Numbers that matter

Context helps. Bulgaria has been an EU member since 2007 and joined the ERM II “waiting room” for the euro in 2020. Its lev has been effectively pegged to Western currency standards ever since the chaotic 1990s, when the country’s economy suffered hyperinflation and dramatic currency swings. That experience made fiscal stability a matter of national trauma and policy obsession.

On the inflation front, data show consumers are already squeezed: food prices were up around 5% year-on-year in November, according to the national statistics office — more than twice the eurozone average. That is one reason why the government has created oversight bodies to monitor and limit “unjustified” price hikes during the transition.

Yet history of prior euro entries suggests that any price bump from switching currencies is usually small and short-lived — studies of earlier changeovers have found increases in the range of 0.2 to 0.4 percentage points. The tricky part is perception: for a family buying milk and bread every week, even a tiny percentage feels large.

Coins as culture: Bulgaria’s new small-money portraits

There is poetry in the detail. The images chosen for Bulgaria’s euro coins are a deliberate act of storytelling: the Madara Rider — an eighth-century cliff relief of a horseman triumphing over a lion — will appear on the smaller cent denominations, while the €1 and €2 coins will bear the figures of Saint John of Rila and Paisius of Hilendar, respectively. The edge of one coin carries the inscription “God protect Bulgaria.”

“There is comfort in symbols,” says Dr. Elena Popova, an art historian who works with cultural heritage projects. “When your money carries your myths, you feel continuity. The choice of iconography is an embrace: the state says, we join Europe, but we bring our story with us.”

What’s at stake for the world

Bulgaria’s move is a small story with big echoes. Across Europe, the eurozone’s gradual expansion raises questions about monetary sovereignty, regional inequality, and the political cohesion of the bloc. For the Balkans, membership signals deeper Western alignment, a message particularly resonant given the region’s historic tug-of-war between Brussels and Moscow.

Will joining the euro steady Bulgaria’s economy and curb Russian economic pressure? Can Brussels and Sofia safeguard vulnerable households during the conversion? Will a country still wrestling with corruption win the political stability it needs to reap long-term benefits?

These questions are not unique to Bulgaria. They resonate in Madrid and Malta, Tallinn and Zagreb—everywhere a currency ties people together while asking them to share the risks and rewards.

Final thoughts

On market day, the vendor next to Bilyana sells fresh peppers and jars of homemade lyutenitsa. He motions toward a little boy counting coins into his pocket and says, half-jokingly, “Let him save in euros — maybe he will dream bigger.”

Perhaps that is the simplest way to think of this moment: a bet on the future, balanced on the everyday ledger of a nation still finding its footing. Will the euro lift Bulgaria’s long-term prospects? Or will the transition become another chapter in a story of political churn and economic anxiety? Only time will tell, but the people of Bulgaria will feel the consequences in their shopping baskets, their travel plans, and the stories they tell their children.

What would you choose if it were your currency on the line — stability and shared rules, or the comfort of something known and local? The answer may reveal more about how we measure progress than any headline ever could.

Estimated tourism share of GDP: ~8%
Reported food price inflation (Nov): ~5% year-on-year
Estimated SME savings from euro adoption: ~€500 million annually in reduced exchange costs
Public sentiment (EU poll): roughly 49% opposed

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