Zelensky Visits Troops Along Zaporizhzhia Frontline to Boost Morale

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.

UK minister denies rumours of plot to oust Starmer

hanad

November 13, 2025

UK minister says talk of plan to replace Starmer not true — Keir Starmer's Labour Party is languishing in the polls

Downing Street’s Quiet Storm: Rumours, Resilience and a Party at a Crossroads

If politics is theatre, this week the stage lights in Westminster have been turned up so bright you can see every freckle on the actors’ faces.

A whisper in a hallway turned into a headline: British health minister Wes Streeting emphatically dismissed talk that he — or anyone — was plotting to topple Prime Minister Keir Starmer. “That’s not true,” he told broadcasters in a brisk, exasperated tone. “My focus is on the country, not conspiracy theories.”

On the surface, it looks like a very British bit of soap opera — rival factions, frantic whispering in corridors, a dash of celebrity-reality-show snark for flavour. Beneath that, though, sit harder questions about leadership, trust and the pressures that come when a government that stormed into power is suddenly mired in unpopularity.

From Landslide to Lull

Less than a year and a half after a 2024 victory that many described in Westminster as one of the most decisive in recent memory, the glow has cooled. Opinion polls show a Labour Party that is struggling; headlines now suggest it may even break a long-standing pledge on income tax increases — a promise Labour said would be avoided for the first time since the 1970s.

It’s a startling reversal of political fortune. The jubilation of a landslide win is being shadowed by grinding fiscal realities: Chancellor Rachel Reeves has hinted at tough choices ahead, warning of a “fiscal hole” that might require raising revenue. That echoes last year’s controversial raise — around £40 billion in levies that the government insisted was a one-off correction, but which now looks like a prelude to further pain.

The Sound and the Fury of Rumour

Streeting’s denial was sharp and pointed; he compared the whisper campaigns to watching too much reality television — specifically name-checking Celebrity Traitors, and hinting that the juicier the gossip, the more self-defeating it is for the party. “It’s the worst hit on a faithful I’ve seen,” he told one broadcaster, casting the net wide for blame. “This isn’t about boots at Downing Street. It’s about delivering for people who are worried about bills, jobs, health care.”

He is not alone in that line of defence. Allies close to the prime minister, and even some grassroots Labour figures, have been at pains to stress that the party should be fighting on policy, not personalities. “We need to remind the public why they put us here,” a local constituency organiser in Leeds told me over a pint in a faded campaign office. “Rumours are a distraction from bread-and-butter issues.”

Voices From the Street

Walk through towns like Manchester, Cardiff or small coastal communities and the conversations are mercilessly practical. “My heating bill’s gone up and I’m watching everything,” said Joanne, a nurse and mum of two in Brighton. “I voted for change. I don’t want chaos, but I want answers.”

Over in a north London kebab shop, a young delivery rider shrugged. “Politics is for old men in suits mostly,” he said. “If they squabble, my money doesn’t go further. Just fix transport and stop messing with my taxes.”

These are not soundbites contrived for the camera. They are the notes of a nation feeling the tug-of-war between lofty pledges and hard economic arithmetic. They reveal how leadership dramas can feel distant when your rent, childcare, or small business survival are pressing concerns.

What’s at Stake — and Why It Matters

There are several trajectories this crisis of confidence could take. At best, the government steadies, focuses on a budget that carefully balances austerity and investment, and regains public trust. At worst, factionalising and negative headlines sap momentum, giving space to opposition parties and eroding the capacity to implement meaningful reform.

The upcoming budget on 26 November is a clear hinge moment — it could cement a narrative of competence or deepen a story of drift.
Economic signals — growth figures, inflation trends, and unemployment statistics — will colour public interpretation of any tax decisions.
Media cycles and social platforms now amplify every whisper, turning what used to be internal party manoeuvrings into national spectacles.

“Leadership in modern politics is as much about perception management as policy,” says Dr. Amina Shah, a political sociologist at a London university. “But perception follows outcomes. If people see improvements — in wages, services, and living costs — the temperature will fall. If not, rumours become a catalyst rather than a symptom.”

Global Echoes

This story is not uniquely British. Around the globe, parties that win on promises of renewal soon confront the entropy of governance. Voters expect clarity and delivery; their patience for backroom manoeuvres is thin. The dynamics we see — a leader’s popularity dipping, a party’s pledges colliding with fiscal realities, and the media frenzy that follows — mirror trends in democracies everywhere.

Consider the broader questions: how much forgiveness should an elected government be afforded when global economic turbulence squeezes budgets? How do democracies handle the tension between short-term pain and long-term reform? And how should parties communicate when trade-offs are unavoidable?

What to Watch Next

As we move toward the November budget, watch three things closely: the tone coming out of Downing Street (defensive or outward-looking?), the specific measures the chancellor proposes (tax hikes, spending cuts, investments?), and public reaction across different regions — not just Westminster diaries but real conversations in market squares and commuter trains.

In the meantime, the rumour mill will grind. Some will be mischief, some will be desperation. Yet the real test won’t be who trades barbs in the press; it will be whether the government can translate a fractured moment into coherent action that re-earns trust.

So I ask you, reader: when politicians falter, do you demand overhaul or patience? Do you weigh promises against present pain, or insist on sticking to pledges at all costs? The answer you choose says a lot about how we, as citizens, expect democracy to deliver in an era that is as unforgiving as it is fast-moving.

Whichever way this plays out, one thing is clear: Westminster’s whispers are noisy now, but the verdict of households up and down the country will be the final arbiter of political fate. That is where the real theatre — and the real stakes — lie.

EU unveils ‘Democracy Shield’ initiative to counter disinformation across Europe

hanad

November 13, 2025

EU launches 'Democracy Shield' to combat disinformation — Michael McGrath said that deepfake videos were becoming better quality

A Shield for the Ballot Box: Europe’s Answer to Election Sabotage in the Age of AI

The conference room in Brussels felt like a cross between a war room and a university seminar — screens, murmured asides, a patchwork of flags. Outside, a drizzle lacquered the city’s wide boulevards. Inside, Ireland’s EU Commissioner Michael McGrath unfolded the latest idea in Europe’s ongoing effort to keep votes honest: a “Democracy Shield.”

It sounded simple in theory: a hub that pulls together expertise, early-warning systems and civil-society partners so that member states — especially smaller ones with thinner cyber-resources — can spot and blunt disinformation before it wrecks the last, fragile days of an election campaign. In practice, it will be stitched of new institutions and familiar tools: a Centre for Democratic Resilience, links to the EU’s Rapid Alert System, and a platform to coordinate fact-checkers, researchers and media outlets.

Why now? Because the toolbox of interference has changed

“It has opened up opportunities and potential for interference in all elections in the European Union,” McGrath told reporters, warning that “deep fake AI videos, which are becoming better and better quality as time goes on, have the potential to really impact on elections in the last 24–48 hours [of the campaign].”

Anyone who has watched a manipulated video convince a small but noisy corner of the internet will understand the urgency. In an era when a politician’s face can be made to say things they never did, the speed at which falsehoods travel is almost impossible to catch with old-school rebuttals. The EU’s answer is not a single law or a single algorithm, but a networked, rapid-response architecture: share information fast, amplify verified corrections faster, and help nations that don’t have a big cybersecurity staff to stand up defenses quickly.

Ursula von der Leyen, president of the European Commission, framed the project in moral terms: the Democracy Shield will “reinforce the core elements that allow citizens to live our shared democratic values every day — free speech, independent media, resilient institutions, and a vibrant civil society.”

What the centre will actually do

The new Centre for Democratic Resilience is intended to be a hub, not a monolith. It will act as a meeting place for diverse actors — diplomats, tech regulators, journalists and grassroots NGOs — to together translate signals into action when elections teeter. It will connect to existing EU tools like the Rapid Alert System and will be open to EU candidate countries, McGrath said, extending guardrails to nations preparing to join the bloc.

“As countries move closer to EU membership, the intensity of the threat that they face in terms of foreign interference is only going to grow,” McGrath added, underlining that the response must grow in tandem. For many governments in the Western Balkans, the South Caucasus, or other nearby regions, that kind of support could mean the difference between a local controversy and a destabilizing wave of disinformation.

On the ground: how people see the problem

In a café near Dublin’s St Stephen’s Green, a teacher named Aoife stirred her tea and shrugged. “You can’t ask every voter to be a tech detective,” she said. “People need to know that when a video is circulating at 2 a.m., there will be an institution that can say, ‘this is false, here’s why, and here’s the official record.’”

A cybersecurity researcher in Tallinn, who asked to speak anonymously, framed it in less sentimental terms: “Adversaries now have automated toolchains. A coordinated campaign with bot amplification and a convincing AI clip can create a cascade in hours. Speed is our enemy; speed is also our solution — you need systems that can move faster than the lie.”

These voices echo a broader reality: digital manipulations don’t stay local. A doctored clip released in one country can be translated, repurposed and weaponized abroad within a day. That is what makes an EU-wide approach practical, even necessary.

Where law meets technology

The Democracy Shield won’t exist in a vacuum. It arrives against the backdrop of the Digital Services Act, the EU’s sweeping rulebook for online platforms that aims to make tech companies more accountable for what spreads on their services. The EU is currently in the middle of a two-year probe into X (formerly Twitter) under the DSA for alleged failures around disinformation, “dark patterns,” ad transparency and researcher access to data.

Henna Virkunen, the EU commissioner for tech sovereignty, said the investigation would wrap up soon. Yet the law itself is only one blade in the toolkit: legislation can set standards and penalties, but an election can be destabilized in the space of 48 hours with content that is already viral before any regulator can act.

Freedom of expression and political crosswinds

Critics — including voices in the United States — sometimes frame Europe’s interventions as censorship. McGrath pushed back, saying clearly that freedom of expression remains “a fundamental right of every EU citizen,” and that the shield is about protecting the right to vote in “open, free and fair elections.”

“There’s a balance to strike,” said a veteran journalist in Rome. “People worry about governments deciding what is true. But we also have to ask: if a manipulated video convinces a significant number of voters, who is protecting the integrity of the ballot?”

Domestic politics: Ireland’s moment under the microscope

Behind the headline of international digital defense was a quieter Irish subplot: McGrath’s robust defense of Micheál Martin, the country’s former Taoiseach, who has faced controversy over his party’s presidential nomination process. McGrath praised Martin’s experience and signaled confidence that he would provide steady leadership during Ireland’s upcoming EU presidency.

“It’s been a very difficult few weeks for him and indeed for his family,” McGrath said. “I have full faith in his resilience and his ability to come through this period.”

For Irish voters, the presidency — which cycles back to Ireland roughly every 13 years — is not an abstract honor. It’s a spotlight that will put Dublin at the center of negotiations on the next EU budget, security and defence files, and competitiveness agendas. Locals recall 2004 and 2013 presidencies as moments when Ireland translated small-state savvy into outsized influence; expectations for 2025 are similarly high.

The larger conversation: what kind of democracy are we building?

Ask yourself: when a lie can be dressed in pixels to look like truth, what does it mean to live in a democratic society? The Democracy Shield is an answer that acknowledges a sobering reality — that democracy is no longer defended only by courts and ballots, but by networks, code and social trust.

This initiative isn’t a magic wand. It will require constant updates as AI models evolve, sustained funding, and buy-in from the messy, pluralistic world of civil society. It will also force hard conversations about where to draw lines between countering harmful interference and preserving open debate.

“This is a generational fight,” the Tallinn researcher told me. “But it isn’t just about technology. It’s about education, about media literacy, and about rebuilding trust in institutions. If we only focus on bots and algorithms, we’ll miss the human work that actually keeps democracies healthy.”

In the end, the Democracy Shield is both pragmatic and aspirational: pragmatic in its aim to stop last-minute fakes that can swing votes, aspirational in its larger aim to shore up the shared norms that let a diverse continent govern itself through argument rather than force. Will it work? That depends on speed, resources and a willingness to partner across borders — and on whether citizens, from Dublin to Zagreb to Tirana, think it’s worth defending what they cast their ballots for.

Israel Confirms Crucial Crossing to Northern Gaza Now Open for Aid

hanad

November 13, 2025

Israel says key crossing to north Gaza opens for aid — People collect aid at the Zikim crossing in August

When Trucks Become Hope: The Reopening of Zikim and the Fragile Relief Line into Northern Gaza

The early morning air over the Gaza border smelled of dust, diesel and a kind of brittle expectation—the kind that gathers in a place where supplies, not promises, keep people alive.

On a recent day, Israeli authorities reopened the Zikim Crossing, a narrow artery north of Gaza that had been closed since 12 September, according to UN reports. The military’s civilian liaison, COGAT, said the move followed a directive from the political echelon. UN and international agencies will receive the cargo after security inspections by the Land Crossings Authority of Israel’s Ministry of Defence.

To anyone who has watched humanitarian corridors become battlegrounds of policy, language like “opened” and “inspected” offers only a partial picture. What matters on the ground is whether the trucks hold enough food, medicine, diapers, and fuel—and whether they arrive in time.

More than a checkpoint: what the crossing means

For months, northern Gaza—Gaza City and its surrounding towns—has been a place of acute hunger, displacement and deprivation. Humanitarian monitors warned last month that parts of northern Gaza were suffering famine-like conditions. The UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) recorded that Zikim had been closed to incoming aid since mid-September, forcing agencies to divert limited shipments through the south or to smaller, more dangerous routes. The logistical cost of those detours is enormous: delays, extra inspections and fewer trucks ultimately mean fewer rations per family, fewer life-saving medicines per clinic.

“When a crossing is closed, people don’t die on the border—they die in their homes because their baby runs out of formula, or an elderly person cannot get their insulin,” said a UN logistics coordinator who has overseen convoys into Gaza. “Opening Zikim is not a political victory. It is a short, vital lifeline. But lifelines need to be steady, not sporadic.”

Inside Nuseirat, where an Egyptian Committee has set up a new displacement camp under a tented canopy, the scene is quietly urgent. Children play in dust circles between fabric shelters. Women bargain for small bundles of flour with gestures and smiles that continue despite hunger. A volunteer with the committee said they had seen a steady trickle of people arrive over the past weeks—families who fled the north, those who lost homes to fighting, and many who still dream of returning.

“We cook in shifts now,” said Fatima, 36, whose small tent shelters six relatives. “When the trucks come, we share with our neighbors. When they don’t, we ration and go hungry. You learn to value every single loaf.” Her hands made a small circle as if holding an invisible bread loaf; there was both humor and sorrow in the motion.

What the numbers tell us

Gaza is home to roughly 2.3 million people—one of the most densely populated territories on earth—and the enclave’s humanitarian needs have been consistently acute. UN agencies and aid groups have repeatedly said that access is the single most important constraint to meeting those needs. While some supplies have reached the north via southern crossings, agencies have cautioned that the volumes were far too small to meet the scale of need. “A trickle,” one aid official called it, “when what’s needed is a stream.”

The opening of Zikim, then, is a tactical change in the flow of relief, but the strategic question remains: can this corridor be sustained, and can it be scaled up to reach the hundreds of thousands still in need?

Where human need and political currents intersect

COGAT framed the reopening as an administrative act—”in accordance with a directive of the political echelon”—and emphasized security inspections. That phrasing reflects the tightrope governments walk: balancing security concerns with international obligations to allow humanitarian access. But for people sat under canvas in Nuseirat or in the gutted blocks of Gaza City, the calculus is simpler and more urgent. They measure time in meals and medicine, not ministerial memos.

“Security checks are understandable,” said Amal, a nurse at a small clinic in Nuseirat run by an international NGO, “but security cannot be the reason to delay insulin or antibiotics. People here are already living on borrowed time.”

Meanwhile, the opening of a crossing doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It sits beside other domestic dramas in Israel—most recently the announcement by Israel’s defence minister that he plans to close the publicly funded Army Radio, a move he framed as preserving the military’s non-partisan character. The decision has been denounced by the station’s management and by opposition politicians as a blow to press freedom.

“This feels like an attempt to silence a familiar voice,” said Tal Lev Ram, the station’s chief, in a statement that rippled through Israeli media. “It is a real, regrettable and dramatic blow to the people’s army, to Israeli society, and to freedom of the press in a democratic state.” Opposition figures have suggested the closure aligns with a broader wariness of criticism in an election cycle.

Why mention a radio station in a piece primarily about aid into Gaza? Because both stories are chapters of the same book: how states negotiate the balance between power, security and public accountability. And because the health of a society—its media, its institutions, its clarity of conscience—shapes how it confronts crises beyond its borders.

Voices from both sides of the fence

A Palestinian aid worker waiting near Zikim laughed once—an almost absurd sound—when asked what the reopening meant to him. “It means families might live a little longer,” he said. “It means the hospital can take another breath. It is not joy. It is a relief. We will celebrate when no one needs trucks to eat.”

An Israeli defense official, when asked about the reopening, framed it in terms of control and safety. “Humanitarian needs are real,” they said, “but any transfer of goods must be carefully monitored to prevent diversion for malicious purposes. Our inspections are thorough because lives are at stake—both civilian and military.” The official declined to be named so they could speak candidly.

“There is always skepticism,” said a regional analyst in Tel Aviv. “For many in Israel, any loosening of access can be seen as a security risk. For many in Gaza, every closure feels like abandonment. The truth sits somewhere in between: both are right about their fears, and both are right to want security and dignity. The challenge is converting security-language into sustained, scalable aid without political strings.”

What comes next—and what you can ask

So what does this reopening actually change? In the short term, it allows more supplies to get into a part of Gaza that has been starving not only of food, but of predictability. In the medium term, its value depends on whether inspections become perfunctory bottlenecks or reliable checkpoints that enable steady deliveries. And in the long term, it raises harder questions: how do we build mechanisms that protect civilians, respect legitimate security concerns, and keep humanitarian aid out of political tug-of-wars?

Ask yourself: when a crossing opens and closes at the whim of geopolitics, who bears the cost? How does a society reconcile the need to defend itself with obligations toward millions of people living under siege-like conditions? And how do the health of institutions—free media, robust civil society—shape how those answers are found?

For the people in Nuseirat and the windswept edges of Gaza City, the answers are not abstract. They are measured in the weight of sacks of flour, in the swiftness of a convoy, and in whether a child wakes up to a clean bandage. The reopening of Zikim may be a pause—an opening of a door—but what those on the other side need most is a steady path to normality, dignity, and the quiet, unremarkable right to live.

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