Calls grow for accountability after Swiss ski resort blaze

January 5, 2026

Pressure mounts for answers over Swiss ski resort fire — All 40 victims of the fire have been identified, with most of them teenagers

Crans-Montana in Mourning: A New Year’s Night That Echoes Through the Alps

On New Year’s morning, the celebratory clang of glasses and the breathless cheers that normally greet the first sunrise of the year were replaced by an ache so large a mountain town could feel it. In Crans-Montana — that beloved, picture-postcard ski resort in Switzerland’s Valais canton, where chalets slope into pine forests and luxury hotels face the glaciers — 40 lives were extinguished in a single, merciless instant.

The blaze, which tore through a basement bar in the early hours of 1 January, left more than 100 people injured and a community stunned. Most of the victims were teenagers; the youngest was only 14. Families from across Europe — France, Italy and beyond — are now counting names rather than celebrating the year ahead.

What Happened

Prosecutors say investigators believe “fountain” sparklers — the small, decorative candles that spout glittering jets and are often used on celebratory cakes — ignited the bar’s low ceiling. In a cramped, soundproofed basement crowded with revelers, flames found a ready home and moved with terrible speed.

Two people who ran the bar are under criminal investigation on suspicions that include negligent homicide. Authorities told reporters the pair are not currently being held in custody and do not appear to be a flight risk, while probes continue into inspections, safety systems and compliance with local rules.

Numbers That Won’t Fit in a Headline

Statistics alone feel thin against personal loss, but they matter. Forty dead. More than 100 injured. Teenagers among the dead. These are the hard facts the town must reconcile with the human stories behind them.

The Town Responds: Silence, Candles, Questions

Crans-Montana has always thrummed with a particular mix of Alpine luxury and youthful abandon — après-ski in one hour, classical concerts the next. But yesterday the main street hosted a silent procession. Residents wrapped scarves tight against the chill, faces flushed from cold and grief, while small groups left flowers and handwritten notes outside the bar’s shuttered façade.

“I came because we must remember,” said Marie-Claire, a local schoolteacher who joined the march. “We owe it to the young ones who went out to celebrate to make sure their laughter isn’t turned into silence for future generations.”

Across town, a makeshift memorial grew with each hour: wool hats, little ski gloves, Polaroids, and teddy bears placed against the chew of neutral stone. The sight of teenage sneakers lined up like offerings is the sort of image that lingers.

Rising Questions: Rules, Inspections, and Responsibility

Beyond grief sits an urgent, unglamorous set of questions: Had annual inspections been performed? Were ceiling materials and soundproofing compliant with fire codes? Were age checks and capacity limits enforced on a night when the crowd skewed very young?

One of the bar’s operators told local media that the venue had been inspected three times in the last decade and “everything was in order.” Canton authorities say they are reviewing whether the bar had undergone mandatory annual building inspections and whether any complaints had been lodged to the town.

Not everyone is satisfied with answers that may take weeks to arrive. “This isn’t just about one sparkler,” said Luca, a parent whose daughter was injured but survived. “It’s about whether we expect bars to be safe or whether we accept risks when there are young people in crowded spaces.”

Key Areas Investigators Are Scrutinizing

Fire-safety compliance: materials, exits, fire suppression systems
Inspection records and the frequency of official checks
Use and regulation of pyrotechnics in indoor venues
Age verification and crowd-control procedures on high-risk nights

Voices: Anger, Grief, Demand for Change

Political speech quickly followed the tragedy. Some leaders called for accountability; others urged restraint until investigators complete their work. A high-profile political figure in Italy argued publically that those responsible must face prison if negligence is found — a sentiment mirrored by many who feel justice should be swift.

“We need to know whether rules were skirted for profit,” said an emergency-room doctor in Sion who treated dozens of burn victims. “When young bodies come in with severe burns or smoke inhalation, it tests both the hospital and the community.”

A local youth worker, who preferred not to give his name, spoke of a different loss: “These kids weren’t just clients in a bar. They were our neighbors, our students. We don’t want to ban joy — but we do want to guard it better.”

Local Color and the Wider Frame

Crans-Montana is multilingual and cosmopolitan — French is dominant, but German and Italian voices are never far. In winter, the town is a collage of ski suits, fur-lined hoods, and the smell of melted cheese at every corner. That very tourism economy — the bars, the late-night venues, the event-driven calendar — is being reassessed now in light of the disaster.

This asks a broader question: how do mountain resorts balance the pulse of nightlife with the rigors of safety? Switzerland, like many European countries, has strict building codes and a layered municipal-canton regulatory structure. Yet when an establishment serves intoxicated crowds of mixed ages, enforcement gaps and the informal tolerance of youthful revelry can create dangerous seams.

Global Lessons: Nightlife, Regulation, and Youth Safety

Accidents like this reverberate far beyond the Alps. In recent years, incidents in nightclubs, festivals and public celebrations elsewhere have exposed similar fault lines: poorly maintained venues, unchecked pyrotechnics, and a mismatch between safety regulations and the reality of crowded, late-night spaces.

What does a responsible nightlife look like? It includes better training for staff, routine and transparent inspections, strict limits on indoor pyrotechnics, and clear enforcement of age and capacity rules. It also demands that locals and visitors alike recognize the human cost when corners are cut.

How You Can Reflect or Act

What should travelers consider when they go out in resort towns? How should communities protect young people who are exploring nightlife? These are not easy questions.

But when you next raise a glass in a foreign town, maybe ask: who checked the exits here? How many people could leave this room in a minute? These small, awkward questions can be the beginning of a culture that prizes safety over spectacle.

After the Smoke Clears

For now, Crans-Montana mourns. Investigations will attempt to stitch together timelines, to find a legal arc of responsibility, to name failures and recommend reforms. Families will try to bury their dead. Survivors will carry scars — seen and unseen.

And somewhere between grief and accountability, a town and a tourism industry must decide how to honor those lost: in stricter rules, better enforcement, and in a shared vow that a joyful night shouldn’t become a final one.

How do we build nightlife cultures that celebrate without endangering those who come to them? The answer will shape not just one Alpine town, but communities everywhere that gather to mark life’s milestones under low ceilings and bright sparks.

Fresh clashes erupt across Iran as protests move into second week

hanad

January 5, 2026

New clashes in Iran as protests enter second week — A protester flashes victory signs as traffic slows during demonstrations in Hamedan, Iran

Across a Winter of Discontent: Iran’s Latest Uprising and the Voices from Its Streets

On a cold night in the west of Iran, a funeral march lit up like a constellation of low flames—candles held by hands wrapped in scarves, faces lit by grief and fury. The slogans were sharp, the cadence familiar to anyone who has watched Iran’s recent cycles of protest: defiance braided with sorrow. “Enough,” a woman cried, her voice cutting through the winter air. “They have taken too much.”

What began as a shopkeepers’ strike in Tehran on December 28 has rippled into a larger movement, rolling through towns and provincial centers and returning, for many, to the memory of the mass mobilizations of 2022–23. Officials and rights groups now say at least 12 people—including members of the security forces—have died since the unrest began. Local monitors report hundreds of arrests. And while the scale has not yet eclipsed the last nationwide upheaval, the geography of this new anger is striking: it burns brightest in western provinces with large Kurdish and Lor populations.

From a Shopkeeper’s Strike to a Patchwork of Protests

The flashpoint was deceptively small: shopkeepers in Tehran closed their shutters to protest rising costs and what they said were suffocating economic policies. The strike tapped into a deeper vein of frustration. Within days, protesters were chanting not only about wages and prices but about leadership and accountability. “It started over bread and ended up asking for dignity,” said Arman, a 28-year-old teacher who travelled from Kermanshah to take part in a demonstration.

Human Rights Activists News Agency (HRANA), based in the United States, tallied that protests have occurred in 23 out of Iran’s 31 provinces and have touched at least 40 cities, most of them small and medium-sized. Rights groups headquartered in Norway—Hengaw and Iran Human Rights—reported deadly clashes in the western Ilam province. Hengaw said Revolutionary Guards opened fire in Malekshahi county, killing four Kurdish residents and wounding dozens. Iran Human Rights gave a similar toll: four dead and around 30 injured.

Authorities say that some members of the security forces also lost their lives during attempts to storm police buildings. Both sides show footage and count bodies; both sides grieve and accuse the other of violence.

Where Minority Grievances Meet Economic Pain

Western Iran has long been a complex tapestry of languages, cultures and historic grievances. Kurdish and Lor communities there often feel marginalized in national politics and economic planning. That sense of exclusion can turn ordinary protests—about food, fuel, or salaries—into something more combustible.

“We are not asking for independence,” said Rana, a 44-year-old shopkeeper in Ilam whose son attended a funeral over the weekend. “We are asking to be treated like human beings. To have our children go to school and for my husband to come home at night.” Her voice was raw, part anger and part exhaustion.

Human rights organizations also allege that authorities raided hospitals to seize bodies, a practice families say is meant to prevent public mourning from crystallizing into larger demonstrations. Funerals in the region have become both a ritual of mourning and a political act; mourners chant the names of the dead and the slogans against Tehran’s leadership, a rhythm that echoes recent history.

Tehran and the Cities: Quiet Streets, Loud Tension

In the capital, streets were oddly subdued. Most shops remained open, but major intersections were glutted with riot police and security forces. What was notable was not mass crowds in central squares—though there were pockets of defiance—but the scattered nature of demonstrations across districts in the east, west and south.

“You could see that something had shifted,” said Mina, a student in Tehran who spoke to me over the phone. “People are more careful, but they are also more ready. They whisper the same slogans we used in 2022. Everyone knows the risks, but they also know the stakes.”

Video verified by independent observers showed security forces using tear gas to disperse groups in central Tehran during the daytime. HRANA reported that at least 582 people were detained across the country during the first week of unrest.

Voices from the Ground

“They took my brother away at dawn,” said Hassan, a young man from a small town outside Shiraz. “I don’t know where he is. We just want him to come back.” His fear was contagious—later, his neighbors gathered at the municipal square, murmuring about bail, lawyers, and the price of silence.

“What you see now is the result of years of cumulative pressure,” said Dr. Sara Nouri, a sociologist who studies social movements in Iran. “Economic hardship can be an accelerant, but it’s the social fractures—the sense of exclusion and the memory of recent crackdowns—that determine how protests become sustained.”

International Echoes and Political Calculations

The unrest has not gone unnoticed abroad. U.S. political figures and leaders in the region have voiced support for the demonstrators; comments from high-profile politicians have ranged from vocal backing to ominous threats. Former U.S. President Donald Trump was quoted as saying America was “locked and loaded” should Tehran harm its protesters, while Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu publicly expressed solidarity with the demonstrators, suggesting they might be “taking their destiny into their own hands.”

Iran’s leadership faces a compounded challenge. Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, now in his late eighties and at the helm since 1989, presides over a polity that is still recovering from a summer conflict with Israel. The June confrontation—brief but intense—reportedly damaged nuclear infrastructure and cost the lives of some security figures, shaking the aura of invulnerability that often surrounds Iran’s security elite.

Counting Costs and Asking Hard Questions

The government has offered a modest concession: a monthly allowance equivalent to roughly $7 for the next four months, intended to ease immediate pain. For many protesters and analysts, that is not enough. “Seven dollars is an insult,” said Fatemeh, a nurse from a provincial city. “It is like handing a bandage to someone who needs surgery.”

What will end this wave? Will it plateau, like past cycles have, or will it gather momentum, drawing in students, public servants and the urban poor? History suggests both outcomes are possible. The 2022–23 movement, ignited by the death of Mahsa Amini in custody, demonstrated the potency of a unifying symbol. This current wave lacks a single galvanizing image, but it has a more diffuse power: chronic economic pain, minority grievances, and a younger generation less willing to bear both.

So where does that leave the reader—watching from afar or reading on a phone in a quiet living room? Consider the human faces behind each statistic: the shopkeeper who closed early to keep bread on the table, the mother who wrapped her child’s feet to keep out the cold, the student who murmured a slogan and felt the weight of a state looking back. These are not just numbers; they are pulses.

As the world watches, the ambiguous calculus of repression and concession will play out in city squares and hospital corridors. For now, the streets of Iran hold both grief and a brittle hope. And amid the smoke and the chanting, the question that will test the political order is simple: how much will people endure before they insist on more than mere allowances?

If you are reading this, ask yourself: what does it take for a society to bend—not break—under pressure? And when it bends, who decides how it straightens again?

North Korea conducts first ballistic missile test of 2026

hanad

January 5, 2026

N Korea fires ballistic missiles in first test of 2026 — North Korean leader Kim Jong Un visited major munitions industry enterprises in North Korea (credit: AFP photo/KCNA via KNS)

Dawn over the Yellow Sea: A Message Launched from Pyongyang

The sun barely had time to warm the morning when radar operators along South Korea’s eastern shoreline recorded streaks across the sky. At 07:50 local time, South Korean defence officials said, “several projectiles, presumed to be ballistic missiles” were launched from near Pyongyang and arced out over the East Sea — the waters that stitch the Korean Peninsula together with Japan and the wider Pacific.

It was a short, sharp punctuation to a tense political calendar. Hours later, South Korea’s president, Lee Jae-myung, was due to board a plane for Beijing to meet Xi Jinping. For many in Seoul and beyond, the timing felt deliberate — a reminder that Pyongyang can, and will, use missile tests as a way to influence diplomacy from a distance.

What happened — and why it matters

South Korea’s defence ministry said its forces were on full alert, reinforcing surveillance and preparing for the possibility of further launches. Japan’s defence ministry also reported detecting what it called a “possible ballistic missile” that landed in an unspecified area. Global observers registered the launches as North Korea’s first ballistic missile test since November — a period of relative quiet that now seems brittle.

“This is a calibrated signal,” said Dr. Jae‑Hyun Park, a professor of strategic studies at Seoul National University. “Not an all-out provocation, but enough to remind regional capitals that Pyongyang remains a chess player rather than a bystander. It’s about deterrence, about domestic politics, and about negotiating leverage.”

Those three threads — deterrence, domestic politics, diplomatic leverage — weave through every North Korean test. For decades, Pyongyang has insisted its nuclear and missile programs are defensive, a bulwark against alleged plans to topple the regime. Washington has repeatedly denied harbouring such intentions. Yet the rhetoric rarely quiets the rumour mill or the missile technicians.

Numbers and nuance: how big is the threat?

Hard figures on North Korea’s arsenal are estimates, not certainties. Analysts broadly place the number of nuclear warheads in Pyongyang’s possession in the low dozens; many Western assessments put the figure roughly between 40 and 60 warheads, with delivery systems — short-, medium- and long‑range ballistic missiles — increasing in both variety and technical sophistication.

“We’re not talking about a static threat,” said Maria Gutierrez, a policy analyst who follows proliferation risks. “Over the last decade, missile tests have allowed North Korea to improve guidance systems and diversify the means of delivery. Even if the headline number of warheads seems modest compared with the great powers, the combination of mobile launchers, underground facilities and solid-fuel missile research complicates any rapid military response.”

Recent years have seen Pyongyang shift from occasional big displays to more frequent, targeted tests designed to refine specific capabilities: precision strikes, solid-fuel efficiency, and multiple launch systems. Analysts also note the possible economic incentives: missiles and missile technology are export commodities in clandestine arms markets, and North Korea has signalled interest in entangled military-industrial ties with states like Russia.

Inside Pyongyang’s calculus

State media in Pyongyang had its own version of the story. KCNA reported that Kim Jong Un visited a facility producing tactical guided weapons and ordered a 250% expansion of output. The detail — and the number — was deliberate, meant to be both boast and bet: if the factories expand capacity, Pyongyang can produce more missiles, train more technicians, and, if pressed, flood the region with more hard-to-track launches.

“For them, it’s about survival and prestige,” said Hong Min, an analyst at the Korea Institute for National Unification. “The message to their own people is clear: the leadership is expanding defenses and ensuring national dignity. The message to outsiders is also clear: attacking North Korea would not be as straightforward as some might assume.”

Local voices: fishermen, commuters, and quiet worry

On the docks of Pohang, where the sea smells of iron and diesel, fishermen shrugged as if the sky’s new streaks were part of the day’s weather. “We worry about our nets, not politics,” said Mr. Choi, a 58‑year‑old who has spent decades at sea. “But every time these things fly, you feel it — like a stone dropped into your lives.”

In a cramped coffee shop near Seoul Station, a young office worker named Minji tapped her cup and said quietly, “I’m going to China next week for work. I’m not scared, but I think about kids, about what would happen if there was a panic. We’ve learned to live with this strange rhythm of tension.”

Such reactions capture the odd normalcy of the situation: people carrying on, while the strategic temperature fluctuates above them. It is a kind of frozen anxiety, always present but predictable enough to fit into routines.

Diplomatic ripples: Lee heads to Beijing

President Lee Jae‑myung’s trip to Beijing now carries new weight. South Korea hopes to harness China’s influence over Pyongyang to nudge the North toward restraint. China remains North Korea’s largest trading partner and a crucial lifeline — but Beijing is also wary of instability on its northeastern border.

“China doesn’t want a collapsed Korea on its doorstep,” an unnamed diplomatic source in Seoul told me. “But Beijing values stability first. Pressure that could crack the regime is not their preferred route. This is exactly why Seoul keeps reaching out to China, even when tensions spike.”

The summit will likely revolve around economic cooperation and regional security calculus. For Lee, the challenge is to persuade Xi that Beijing can and should play a constructive role in deterring Pyongyang’s most dangerous impulses without coercion that might lead to unpredictable outcomes.

Looking out: what comes next?

There are no easy answers. A missile arc in the sky is an expression of capability; the policy response must be an exercise in patience, deterrence, and diplomacy. Would more sanctions, more military exercises, or more diplomatic isolation change Pyongyang’s behaviour? History says not necessarily. Engagement without naiveté — that is the hard sell.

We have to ask ourselves: how do we prevent escalation when provocations arrive in the hours before diplomatic exchanges? How do communities live normal lives under the shadow of these strategic messages? And how do democratic societies balance vigilance with the fatigue of perpetual crisis?

“We need a dual track: credible defence and creative diplomacy,” said Dr. Park. “The first keeps people safe today; the second creates the conditions for safety tomorrow.”

Quick facts

Launch detected: 07:50 local time near Pyongyang.
First ballistic missile test since November, according to regional ministries.
Estimated North Korean nuclear warheads: widely assessed by analysts to be in the range of roughly 40–60; delivery systems expanding in capability.
North Korean state media (KCNA) reported Kim Jong Un ordered a 250% expansion in tactical guided weapon production.

At the end of the day, these tests are more than metal and propulsion. They are language — crude, loud, and often frightening — in which a closed regime speaks to the world. How the world replies will shape not only the Korean Peninsula, but the rules and rhythms of 21st‑century diplomacy. Will we respond with escalation, or with a steadier hand aimed at reducing risk and opening avenues for dialogue? That choice will define the years to come.

Venezuela’s interim government insists it stands united behind Maduro

hanad

January 5, 2026

Venezuela's interim govt says it is united behind Maduro — Images released by US authorities showed Nicolas Maduro being led down a ‍hallway at the offices of the US Drug Enforcement Administration

When a President Was Taken: Caracas Breathes, the World Holds Its Breath

There are moments when time stretches thin, when a city pauses mid-breath and the simplest acts—buying bread, spinning a bike wheel, a child sprinting across a plaza—feel like acts of defiance against a larger, roiling uncertainty. That was Caracas this morning: muted, watchful, alive with the uneasy hum of people trying to move forward while history rearranges itself around them.

Late yesterday, word broke that Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro had been taken into custody and transported to the United States. The image—of a 63-year-old man, blindfolded and handcuffed, entering a U.S. detention facility—landed like a thunderclap. For millions of Venezuelans, it was both surreal and painfully familiar, the latest chapter in a decade-long story of political turbulence, mass migration and economic collapse.

The quick, sharp facts

Here’s what matters, at a glance: Mr. Maduro was placed in a New York detention center to face drug-related charges and is awaiting court proceedings. The U.S. president signaled a willingness to “run” parts of Venezuela, including its oil sector, a line that has set off alarm bells across Latin America and beyond. In Caracas, the vice president—Delcy Rodríguez—has been endorsed by the country’s top court to act as interim leader, even as she insists Mr. Maduro remains the legitimate president.

Numbers give this moment context. Venezuela, once a regional powerhouse whose oil fields were the envy of the world, today counts more than 7 million people displaced abroad since the start of its crisis, according to UNHCR and IOM estimates. Its oil reserves are among the world’s largest—measured in the hundreds of billions of barrels—yet production has collapsed to a fraction of its former self, weighed down by sanctions, mismanagement and years of underinvestment.

Unity, defiance, and a chorus of alarm

Inside the ruling party, there is a determined refrain: unity. A recording released by party channels quoted a senior figure declaring that the revolution was unbroken and that there was “only one president: Nicolás Maduro.” Elsewhere, defence officials said forces had been mobilised to “guarantee sovereignty” and alleged that the U.S. operation had killed members of Maduro’s security detail.

“This cannot be framed as a simple arrest,” said a senior PSUV official speaking on condition of anonymity. “To us, this is aggression. It is a violation of our people’s dignity. But we are not defeated. We never will be.”

In Washington, the rhetoric was blunt. U.S. officials said the operation was a law enforcement mission rooted in longstanding indictments related to narcotrafficking. A State Department spokesperson emphasised the need to keep Venezuela’s oil out of the hands of hostile powers and to end the flow of illicit drugs. “There are legitimate national security interests at stake,” the spokesperson said.

Regional fury and a fragile consensus

Across Latin America and in Madrid, leaders reacted with alarm. Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Mexico, Uruguay and Spain issued a joint statement rejecting outside attempts to seize control of Venezuela or its resources. “We reject any attempt at foreign administration or appropriation,” the statement read—language that speaks to a deep, historical sensitivity about interventions on the continent.

“For countries that remember painful military interventions, what happened here is a red line,” said Mariana López, a political analyst in Bogotá. “Even if one dislikes Maduro, the appearance of foreign boots—or foreign hands—on national resources mobilises very raw memories.”

On the ground: muted streets, loud fears

Walk the streets of central Caracas and you’ll notice small acts that reveal a city grappling with fear and the ordinary necessities of life. A corner bakery in El Paraíso kept its ovens busy; an elderly man ordered two empanadas and discussed the news in clipped, weary tones. A mother in Maracaibo filled a plastic bag with rice and tuna, saying she had been too afraid to go out the previous day.

“Yesterday I stayed inside; I was terrified,” said Ana Rosa, a single mother who travelled to town to buy groceries. “Today, I had to come. We have children. People are used to fear here—but being used to something isn’t the same as accepting it.”

Supporters of the government still marched at a state-organised rally, waving red flags and chanting slogans about sovereignty and resistance. “This country will not be a colony,” declared one marcher, his voice hoarse from shouting. “Our oil is ours. Our dignity is ours.”

What about the opposition?

Across the political spectrum, cooler heads have been wary. The U.S. president dismissed the leading opposition figure—Maria Corina Machado—as lacking the support to lead, limiting the immediate prospect of a clean transfer to an opposition government. Many opponents, while relieved at the prospect of change, are reluctant to celebrate an arrest that smacks of foreign intervention.

“We want democracy,” said an opposition activist who asked not to be named. “But we also want sovereignty. There is no easy path from a seized president to a functioning, legitimate government.”

Oil, geopolitics and the long shadow of history

Venezuela’s oil is the axis around which much of the international debate spins. Economically, politically and symbolically, crude is not simply a commodity here—it is identity, leverage, and livelihood. U.S. officials have openly discussed keeping Venezuelan oil out of the hands of rivals, while Venezuelan leaders frame those comments as proof of imperial designs.

OPEC+, the grouping that influences much of global oil policy, recently opted to keep production steady amid a market that has seen significant swings. The group includes heavyweights like Saudi Arabia and Russia and collectively accounts for roughly half of the world’s oil output. None of its recent statements mentioned Venezuela directly, but the capture of a president from one member state sent ripples through global energy markets.

“If outside powers try to administer Caracas or control its resources, the consequences will be felt in markets and in geopolitics,” said Elena Vázquez, an energy economist. “But more importantly, the risks are human—we have to ask who will pay the price on the streets, in hospitals, in the pockets of ordinary people.”

So what’s next?

In the short term, the immediate questions are painfully practical: how long will a U.S. presence be asserted, if at all? How will Venezuela’s military, fragmented and influential for years, react to orders from Caracas? How will ordinary Venezuelans—already drained by years of scarcity and migration—cope with another geopolitical shock?

There are broader questions too: What does the world owe a nation whose internal collapse has spilled refugees across borders and whose resources are coveted on the global stage?

History, it seems, is not content to repeat itself neatly. It is messy, loud, and stubbornly human. For the people living through it, the abstract language of “sovereignty,” “law enforcement” and “energy security” is measured against empty supermarket shelves, the ache of families split across borders, and the daily choreography of survival.

Will Venezuela find a path that respects its people’s will without inviting new wounds? Can the region, scarred by past interventions, forge a principled response that protects citizens above geopolitics? And for those watching from afar—what responsibility does the global community shoulder when a nation’s fate is intertwined with the appetites and anxieties of powerful states?

There are no simple answers. There are only the slow-making of decisions, the cough of engines on city streets, and the resilience of people who, after more than a decade of upheaval, still wake up and go to market. Watch them now—they are the ones who will live with the consequences.

More than 30 killed, several people kidnapped in Nigeria attack

hanad

January 4, 2026

Over 30 killed, several kidnapped in Nigeria — President Bola Tinubu's office said the attackers may have been 'terrorists' fleeing from parts of northwestern Nigeria (File image)

Night of Fire in Kasuwan Daji: A Market Turned Graveyard

They tell you markets are the heartbeat of a village. In Kasuwan Daji — literally “the bush market” in Hausa — that heartbeat still echoes tonight, but broken. Stalls that at dawn would have brimmed with tomatoes and millet now lie smouldering under a sky smeared with smoke and the bitter scent of burned palm oil. The road into the Kabe district of Niger State is quiet in a way that feels unnatural, as if the land itself is holding its breath.

“We saw them coming from the bush,” said Wasiu Abiodun, the Niger State police spokesman. “They set the market on fire, looted shops and — over 30 victims lost their lives during the attack. Some persons were also kidnapped.” His voice, relayed through terse official channels, is the first of many attempts to contain the human scale of the night.

Locals put the toll higher. The Catholic Church in Kontagora, whose parishioners still whisper of the atrocity on social media and at candlelit vigils, said more than 40 people were killed. Images circulated online — some graphic, some grainy — showed victims whose hands were tied behind their backs. The pictures have settled on the minds of anyone who scrolls past them: women, men, the unmistakable bent shoulders of old age.

The Raid

Witnesses describe a calculated sweep. The gunmen arrived on motorcycles, a common mode for Nigeria’s so-called “bandits,” a catchall term for heavily armed criminal gangs that operate across the north and central belt. They moved through the market in the late afternoon, firing into the air and into the crowd. They took food, livestock and, according to several sources, young men and women who could be marched back into the bush and held for ransom.

“They were not in a hurry,” said Aminu, a corn farmer who lives ten minutes’ walk from the burned stalls. “They took what they wanted. I ran into the cornfield and stayed there until sunrise. When I came out, the market was gone.”

A Long-Running Crisis

Niger State has experienced waves of violence for years. In November, armed gangs abducted more than 250 students and staff from a Catholic boarding school in the same region — a nightmare that captured global headlines and briefly focused international attention on the scale of kidnappings across Nigeria.

The attacks in Kasuwan Daji occurred less than 20 kilometres from Papiri village, the site of that school abduction. For residents here, proximity is not just geographic; it is a cruel reminder that safety in this part of the country is fragile and easily torn.

Nigeria is Africa’s most populous country, home to over 200 million people. But population size offers no shield from the myriad conflicts that now chew at its edges: a long-running jihadist insurgency in the northeast, inter-communal and farmer-herder clashes that flare with alarming frequency, organized criminal networks in the northwest that specialize in large-scale kidnappings for ransom, and separatist violence in the southeast.

“We are dealing with multiple, overlapping security threats,” said Fatima Ibrahim, a security analyst based in Abuja. “These are not siloed problems. When the state’s capacity is stretched thin, criminals exploit the gaps. They can operate for hours — as reports suggest they did in Kasuwan Daji — because there simply aren’t enough patrols, personnel or trust between communities and security forces.”

Why now? A regional ripple effect

Officials in Abuja say a recent uptick in violence across parts of northwestern Nigeria may be connected to militants displaced by international military pressure. President Bola Tinubu’s office suggested the attackers in Kasuwan Daji could include fighters fleeing areas hit by US airstrikes on Christmas Day that targeted militants linked to the Islamic State group. “They will be caught and brought to justice,” the president vowed through his media adviser, Bayo Onanuga.

Whether these particular attackers were “terrorists,” bandits, or a mixture of the two matters — not for semantics, but for how security operations are planned and how civilians are protected. The labels shift how resources are mobilized, what intelligence is shared internationally, and how victims are spoken about in public.

Voices from the Ground

On a concrete veranda near the ruined market, I met Hana, who sells second-hand clothes piled in plastic bundles. She had wrapped her head with a scarf that smelled faintly of smoke. “My customers are gone,” she said. “When the market is closed, there is no school money, no food. We sleep with one ear open now.” Her eyes brimmed with a weary clarity that needs no statistics to prove its truth.

Religious leaders have also weighed in. The local Catholic community described the ease with which the gunmen operated — “reports indicate the bandits operated for hours with no security presence,” their statement read — and called for prayer and urgent government action.

“This is not just about security,” said Pastor Joseph Eze, who runs a small outreach program in Kontagora. “It is about the erosion of daily life. Markets are social spaces, not just economic ones. When they burn, community trust burns with them.”

What Comes Next

In the short term, survival is priority one: counting the dead, tending the wounded, comforting those left behind. Then comes the fraught question of whether ransoms will be paid, as they often are when schools and villages are seized — a grim, unofficial market that funds more violence.

Longer term, the story points to systemic failures. President Tinubu has promised a national security revamp and increased defense spending in the 2026 budget; he has also shuffled senior defence personnel. But money and personnel alone will not rebuild trust between communities and the state. That takes sustained political will, accountable governance, and local policing structures that include the people they serve.

Key facts: authorities reported “over 30” dead; local church leaders reported more than 40.
Context: November abduction of more than 250 students in Niger State amplified fears and highlighted vulnerabilities.
Broader picture: Nigeria grapples with insurgency, organized banditry, localized communal violence, and rising displacement.

Global resonances

This is not only a Nigerian story. It reflects global patterns: the way fragmented violence fills power vacuums, how displacement generates humanitarian crises, and how external military actions — including cross-border strikes — can ripple unpredictably into local dynamics. Aid agencies and international partners are watching closely, and the images from Kasuwan Daji will likely feed into debates about how to balance counterterrorism operations with the protection of civilians.

Questions to Carry Home

As you read this, ask yourself: what does safety look like in a place where a market can be struck down without warning? How do communities rebuild trust with institutions that feel impotent or absent? And how do global actors — from foreign militaries to international aid agencies — help without making the deeper problems worse?

The people of Kasuwan Daji will spend months — perhaps years — sifting through the rubble, reconstructing stalls and lives, and retelling the story of a night when their market became a graveyard. But these are not only their questions to answer. They are ours, too: about governance, global engagement, and the moral urgency of protecting civilian life in an era when conflict is ever more diffuse and devastating.

“We want to live,” said Hana, handing me a small plastic bag of wilted greens she had saved from the ruins. “Is that too much to ask?”

It is a question that hangs in the smoke-soaked air of Kasuwan Daji and should hang in the halls of power, in the inboxes of donors, and in the conscience of anyone who believes in a world where markets bustle and children can go to school without fear.

Britain and France launch coordinated strike against ISIS stronghold in Syria

hanad

January 4, 2026

UK, France conduct joint strike on IS site in Syria — The ancient city of Palmyra is home to UNESCO World Heritage listed ruins

Echoes under the sand: a night strike near Palmyra and the long shadow of IS

When the bombs fell north of Palmyra, they did so into a kind of silence that has settled over this region for years: the hush of an emptied city, the brittle wind over broken columns, the husks of villages only intermittently lived in. The British Ministry of Defence said Royal Air Force aircraft, working alongside French forces, struck an underground facility believed to have been used by Islamic State fighters to store weapons and explosives.

“Royal Air Force aircraft have completed successful strikes against Daesh in a joint operation with France,” the ministry said. “This facility had been occupied by Daesh, most likely to store weapons and explosives. The area around the facility is devoid of any civilian habitation.”

That official assurance — that civilians were not at risk — matters in a place where the line between combatant hideout and civilian shelter is often a blurred, terrifying one. “We check every day if the ruins are still standing or if there are new craters,” said Amal, a Palmyra native now living in a battered displacement camp outside Homs. “But mostly we count the missing, the homes burned, the memories stolen. We cannot afford another mistake that kills our people while pretending to fight extremism.”

Not the end, only a chapter

Though the so-called caliphate collapsed territorially in 2019, ISIS’ ideology and its small, mobile insurgent bands never truly vanished. Across the vast Syrian Desert — the badia — the group and affiliated cells have adapted, slipping into caves, hollowed-out bunkers and underground stores, waiting, regrouping, and occasionally launching lethal attacks.

Estimates of the group’s remaining strength are imprecise, but analysts and international reports suggest that several thousand fighters remain scattered across Syria and Iraq, operating in cells and exploiting remote terrains. “This is classic insurgency: deny, lurk, and pick the moment,” said Majid al-Saleh, a regional security analyst. “Cracking down on a weapons cache in a cave does not end it. It forces them to change tactics. We need political and social strategies, not just munitions.”

Why Palmyra still matters

Palmyra is not only a military chess square. It is a symbol. Once a thriving Roman city and a UNESCO World Heritage site, its towering colonnades and the funerary towers were defaced, looted and dynamited in 2015 and 2016. The scars run deep — carved walls and missing sculptures are a testament to cultural devastation as much as to human loss.

“When explosives go off near Palmyra, we watch closely,” said Leïla Karam, an archaeologist who has spent decades documenting Syria’s monuments. “There is an ongoing battle between protection of cultural heritage and the necessities of counterterrorism. We do not want to become collateral in a global fix. But neither can we allow caches of weapons to sit beneath the ruins, threatening anyone who returns.”

That tension — between eradicating a security threat and preserving the fragile remnants of a civilization — plays out in every decision a distant capital makes when it fires into the Syrian desert.

Voices from the perimeter

The people nearest the strike are not generals or ministers, but displaced shepherds, market vendors and aid workers. “You can’t imagine how the nights are,” said Hassan, a Bedouin elder who grazes goats in the outskirts. “We hear planes. We hear rumors. We send our boys to fetch water in the day, and if a strike happens, they won’t come back the same. Everyone is tired of being a map dot.”

A humanitarian worker who has coordinated aid convoys into central Syria for years, speaking on condition of anonymity, stressed the complexity: “We have to balance access with safety. After strikes, checkpoints tighten, roads close, and aid convoys are delayed. People die because they can’t get medicine as much as they die in the blasts. That is the full cost.”

What the strike reveals about the wider fight

Military cooperation between Britain and France is part of a broader pattern: Western airpower intermittently targets Islamic State infrastructure even as local and regional actors — the Syrian regime, Russia, Iran-backed militias, Turkey — pursue their own agendas on the ground. This creates a patchwork of authority and risk.

ISIS was territorially defeated as a state-like entity in 2019, but morphs into an insurgency that thrives in deserts and broken governance zones.
Estimates of remaining fighters vary widely; monitors point to a resilient core that remains capable of lethal operations.
Foreign air strikes in Syria continue, often justified as pre-emptive or retaliatory, but they complicate humanitarian access and local dynamics.

“Strikes like this are tactical wins,” said Dr. Helena Weiss, a counterterrorism scholar at a European university. “They degrade assets, hurt logistics, and signal resolve. But without political reconciliation, economic opportunity and local security governance, the vacuum fills again. The desert is unforgiving. Opportunities for exploitation remain.”

How do you strike something that lives underground?

Artistically, the image of a cavernous bunker seems cinematic — a laser-lit target under a ruined amphitheater. Practically, it is hide-and-seek. ISIS has used old oil pipelines, natural caves, and ancient tombs as storage. The counter is intelligence: signals, human sources, satellite imagery. And, increasingly, precision munitions and coordinated multinational operations.

“You can’t bomb your way to stability,” Majid al-Saleh said. “You need credible local forces, reconciliation, economic programs and secure supply chains for food and water. These are long games.”

What now? Questions that linger

For many Syrians, the strike is another day in a long, exhausting headline crawl. For policy makers, it is a tactical measure. For the world, it is a reminder that the ideology which produced one of the most brutal terror movements of our time is not neatly boxed away in history.

So: do we accept intermittent air strikes as our main line of defense against dispersed terror cells? Or do we push for deeper solutions that combine security, diplomacy and cultural protection? How do we restore places like Palmyra without making them permanent battlegrounds?

As dusk settles over the Syrian Desert, the columns of Palmyra stand like a question mark. They ask whether the world will invest in the slow, hard work of rebuilding societies and safeguarding memory — or whether we will keep circling, bombs overhead, hoping silence will finally fall.

“We want to live, not to be watched like a country in a picture,” Amal said, her voice a mixture of weariness and stubborn hope. “We want our children to see the ruins and not the gunmen. Is that too much to ask?”

Littler Says He’ll Be Around for the Long Haul

hanad

January 4, 2026

Littler: I'll be around for a very long time — Luke Littler: 'Who knows if I could reach it. If I get five or six, I'll be happy'

A New Monarch at the Ally Pally: Luke Littler’s Arrival and the Taste of a Margherita

On a cold London night at Alexandra Palace — “Ally Pally” to anyone who’s ever braved the queues and the buzz — an 18-year-old from Kent closed the door on one era and opened another. Luke Littler, still boyish in bulk but iron-clad in focus, walked off the stage as a two-time PDC World Champion, clutching a winner’s cheque for £1 million and headlines that will follow him for years.

The scoreline — 7-1 — reads clinical, but it flattens the human story. The final was a study in contrasts: the bright, almost searing confidence of a teenager, and the stunned wonder of the new challenger, Gian van Veen, whose breakthrough run to the final has promised a generational sparring match for the sport. Fans chanted, lights washed faces gold and, for a few hours, the palace felt less like a venue and more like a coronation hall.

“I still felt nervous — then I realised I hadn’t eaten”

Ask Littler what steadied him before the match and you get a detail that might as well be a chapter title: “I actually turned up to the venue and realised I hadn’t eaten anything all day. So I got a margherita pizza and scranned that. And yeah, I was good to go.” It’s the kind of humanizing image that undercuts the myth of the invincible athlete — a boy with a pizza plate and a world to conquer.

“Once the hunger goes, there’s no point playing,” Littler told the press later, voice a blend of steel and humility. “There’s a lot of hunger left inside me.” The ambition is raw and believable: he admitted the thought of chasing Phil Taylor’s 16 titles is distant — “14 to go,” he chuckled — but he also allowed that longevity and appetite might conspire in his favor. “If I get five or six, I’ll be happy,” he said, but his eyes suggested he wouldn’t settle for that.

From Debut Prodigy to Reigning Force

It feels like only yesterday that Littler was the wunderkind in his debut year, an 18-year-old who sprinted to the final and announced himself on a grand stage. Two years later, he has become more than a curiosity. He has become a dynasty-in-waiting. Over the last 12 months he has been nothing short of a tour de force, collecting five of the last six major titles — a statistic that even the most devoted pundits say suggests a sustained hot streak rather than a brief blaze.

That stretch of dominance has drawn immediate comparisons to the era of Phil Taylor, whose 16 World Championship crowns and two-decade reign set a bar most expected to stand forever. Is Littler the man who will redraw that history? Time will tell. But for now, his appetite — for pizza and for trophies — is the headline.

Van Veen: The Challenger from the Lowlands

Gian van Veen, at 23, strode into the final with the freshness of a breakthrough season. He routed past former champions and hardened campaigners — including Luke Humphries and Gary Anderson — to reach his first World Championship final. That run earned him new status: the incoming world number three and a Premier League debut in 2026.

“2025 has been the best year of my life so far,” Van Veen reflected afterwards, mixing pride with a readiness to learn. “I’m going to enjoy every single minute of it. You don’t know if it’s the first or the last time, so I’ll savour it.”

Beyond the Toss: What Littler’s Rise Means for Darts

There’s a bigger frame to this story than one boy’s success. Darts is no longer a niche pub pastime; it’s a global televised spectacle with sponsorships, music, and roaring crowds. Littler personifies an intersection of youth, celebrity and commercial opportunity that is reshaping the sport’s image.

Consider the numbers: the £1 million top prize — a record — reflects the PDC’s growth and the global appetite for the sport. And the Premier League lineup for 2026 already looks like a generational handshake: Littler, Van Veen, Luke Humphries and Michael van Gerwen are locked in. Four more wildcards will be revealed, with names such as Josh Rock, Danny Noppert, Stephen Bunting, Nathan Aspinall, James Wade and Gerwyn Price waiting on a call.

Littler, age 18 — Two-time PDC World Champion; winner’s prize £1 million.
Van Veen, age 23 — First World Championship final; will be world number three in 2026.
Premier League 2026 — Confirmed: Littler, Van Veen, Humphries, Van Gerwen; four wildcards to come.

Voices from the Crowd and the Corner

“I’ve watched darts since the nights when doors were still on the beer taps,” said Tanya Mohammed, a longtime Ally Pally regular, as she clutched a steaming mug outside the venue. “But this — this is different. He’s not just good. He’s magnetic. Kids are queuing at his merch stall like he’s a pop star.”

A darts historian, Dr. Marco Bellini, put Littler’s feat into perspective: “Taylor’s era was built on unrivalled consistency. Littler’s early career mirrors that in flashes — the difference is modern sport, with richer tournaments and higher stakes, makes sustaining that level harder. But it also offers rewards and exposure Taylor never had in the same way.”

What Comes Next? The Hunger and the Questions

So what next for Littler? The calendar is full: the Premier League begins on 5 February, a high-pressure, televised gauntlet that will test stamina as much as skill. Will he thrive in the marathon format? Can his teenage frame withstand the intensity of a long season? And perhaps more philosophical: what does dominance mean in an era when social media and sponsorship blur athlete and influencer?

“I’ll be around for a very long time and I’m here to win,” Littler said. Those words felt like a vow and a warning. The appetite is the narrative’s pulse — not simply the pizza that steadied him before the match, but a literal hunger for more titles, records, and the kind of legacy that turns weeks into eras.

A Global Moment

For a sport that has migrated from smoky backrooms to prime-time slots across Europe, North America and parts of Asia, Littler’s ascendancy speaks to a youthful renewal. It invites new fans — kids with plastic flights on their darts, influencers streaming the highlights, and sponsors who see cricketing-like potential in a young, charismatic champion.

So what do you make of it, reader? Is this the start of a dynasty or a dazzling chapter in a sport that’s no stranger to reinvention? Will Littler be the next long-term ruler of the oche, or the prodigy who defines a moment and then hands the baton on? Either way, he has reminded us that sport is still a place where hunger, a slice of pizza, and belief can collide and create something unforgettable.

At the end of the night, under the palace’s old roof, with confetti catching the lights and the crowd’s roar still echoing, one thing felt clear: darts has a new face. And for the foreseeable future, whenever the big matches are on, someone will be asking whether Luke Littler will still be hungry tomorrow — and the next year, and the next decade after that.

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