Hong Kong court convicts media tycoon Jimmy Lai on national security charges

December 15, 2025

Lai convicted of national security charges in Hong Kong — Jimmy Lai has been in jail since 2020

The Quiet That Followed the Gavel: Jimmy Lai, Apple Daily and the New Normal in Hong Kong

When the verdict was read, there was no dramatic gasp from the packed courtroom. No collapse or outcry. Jimmy Lai sat with his arms folded and a face like river rock — weathered, unyielding — as a decades-long story of defiance met a legal punctuation mark that will echo far beyond Hong Kong’s harbor.

For those who followed the rise and fall of Apple Daily, the outcome felt at once inevitable and unbearably consequential. The 78-year-old media entrepreneur, who built a tabloid that once roared across Hong Kong’s streets, was convicted this week on charges that represent the clearest example yet of the tightened leash over dissent since Beijing imposed the National Security Law in 2020.

More than a trial — a signal

The charges against Lai included collusion with foreign forces — essentially, the accusation that he solicited outside powers to take punitive actions — and a string of publications deemed “seditious” under an old colonial statute dusted off for a modern era. If sentencing follows the harshest interpretation, Lai could face life behind bars.

“This case wasn’t merely about one man or one paper,” said an EU diplomat who watched the proceedings from the public gallery. “It was a message: lines have been redrawn, and anyone who crosses them will be exposed.”

The National Security Law, enacted by Beijing in June 2020, criminalizes secession, subversion, terrorism and collusion with foreign forces. Since its introduction, Hong Kong police have used it to make more than 200 arrests for national security-related offenses — a figure that refuses to sit quietly in conversations about the city’s future.

Outside the court: worried faces, flags folded

At dawn, ahead of the hearings, a small cluster of former Apple Daily staff and supporters gathered near the West Kowloon court complex. They brought with them memory as much as protest: battered press badges, yellow umbrellas folded like relics, and stories of late nights at the newsroom when deadlines were holy and optimism thick in the air.

“I wanted to see him, to know if he’s okay,” said Tammy Cheung, who worked at the paper for nearly 20 years. Her voice broke on the word ‘okay’ and then steadied. “He’s thinner. He’s older. But he looks the same in his eyes — still the man who’d rather be in the fray than on the fence.”

Lai’s family — his wife and son among them — sat quietly in the public benches. Watching him were diplomats from the United States, members of the European Union mission, and consular observers from other countries who queued under the morning sky, a reminder that this trial had become tangled not only in local law but in international diplomacy.

What the prosecution said — and what Lai’s supporters say back

Prosecutors leaned on a catalogue of Apple Daily content. They pointed to 161 items — opinion pieces, editorials, and online talk shows — which they argued fomented disaffection toward the government. They portrayed Lai as a long-standing critic of the mainland, intent on finding leverage in Washington and abroad to pressure Beijing.

“From the evidence presented, it’s clear the defendant cultivated foreign sympathy as a weapon,” the judge said in court. The ruling read like a line drawn in legal sand: a redefinition of permissible political expression.

But Lai’s defenders and press freedom groups view the prosecution through a different lens. “This was a political prosecution wrapped in legalese,” said an independent press freedom advocate who asked not to be named for safety reasons. “They took a newspaper’s editorials and turned dissent into a crime.”

The Committee to Protect Journalists called the verdict a travesty, with critics characterizing it as a symbol of the erosion of liberties once guaranteed under Hong Kong’s Basic Law. The British government — noting Lai’s UK citizenship — called for clemency and continued access to medical treatment. The EU and US have both expressed deep concern.

A life remembered in headlines and nicknames

Jimmy Lai was never just a businessman. He cultivated an image — the “born rebel,” as he once called himself — that fit comfortably with Hong Kong’s tradition of audacious entrepreneurs who speak bluntly to power. He made his name in fashion before pouring profits into media and activism, feeding a paper that sold not only news but a worldview: brash, partisan, and unafraid.

Apple Daily’s closure in mid-2021 after police raids and asset freezes remains one of the starkest episodes of the crackdown. Printing presses fell silent. Journalists dispersed. The paper’s final issue was a collage of defiance: a headline that read “Farewell” and a front page filled with tributes from readers who queued for hours to buy a piece of a disappearing public square.

Health, confinement and the human toll

Supporters say Lai’s health has deteriorated in custody: weight loss, brittle nails and dental issues that his family says are visible. Authorities counter that he’s received appropriate care and that any solitary confinement has been at his own request. The details are messy, personal and, for many, painfully human.

“We debate geopolitics and sovereignty while a man sits in a cell losing his teeth,” said Mei Lin, a retired schoolteacher who came to the court steps with a thermos of tea. “What I’m afraid of is less for him than for what his fate means for the children who want to speak up tomorrow.”

Why this matters beyond Hong Kong’s skyline

Look past the dock and you see a global pattern: governments using national security to curtail speech; the pressure on journalists amplified by technology; democracies grappling with how — or whether — to respond to such shifts. Hong Kong’s transformation is not occurring in a vacuum.

Ask yourself: what does a free press look like when laws are reshaped around the idea of permanence for state power? When are opinion and persuasion considered legitimate political action, and when do they cross an invisible line into criminality?

These are not academic questions. They are living, breathing dilemmas. In the months and years ahead, sentencing in Lai’s case will become a focal point for activists, diplomats and ordinary Hongkongers who are watching what freedoms will remain in the city’s civic commons.

Looking ahead

Lai has the right to appeal. Whether that will alter the course of his life or the trajectory of Hong Kong’s press is unclear. What is clear is that the city has changed: its newsroom culture, its streets, its politics — all reshaped by a law conceived in Beijing but felt intimately in every office, classroom and living room in the territory.

“People worry this is the end of an era,” said an academic who studies media freedom. “But history moves in cycles. The question now is where thin red lines have been drawn, and how citizens and international partners respond.”

As you read this from wherever you are — a city coast, a small island, a capital far removed from Victoria Harbour — consider the role of newspapers, of editors who offend and entertain in equal measure, of communities that once gathered around newsstands. What price are societies willing to pay for stability? And what liberties will they trade away while reassuring themselves that the trade was necessary?

Jimmy Lai’s case is a story about one man and a paper. It is also a mirror showing how fragile the promises of an open society can be when the balance of power shifts. For Hong Kong, for journalists worldwide, and for anyone who values the messy, noisy work of public debate, the verdict is not an end but an invitation — to look harder, to ask more, and to decide what kind of future is worth defending.

France and Italy Push to Postpone Vote on Mercosur Trade Agreement

hanad

December 15, 2025

France and Italy want Mercosur trade deal vote delayed — French farmers opposed to Mercosur protested at the weekend

Mercosur at the Brink: A Trade Deal, a Continent in Debate

Brussels in winter has a way of turning discussions into theater. Under the glass domes of EU institutions and in the narrow cafés that line the neighbourhoods where diplomats linger over late coffee, a single question hangs in the air: will Europe sign the Mercosur trade deal or walk away after a quarter-century of negotiation?

What began as a technical exercise in tariff lines and quotas has migrated—fast—into a story about identity, livelihoods and geopolitics. On one side are governments and business groups who see the agreement as a pathway to new markets and strategic independence. On the other are farmers, local communities and sceptical capitals who fear a deluge of cheaper imports that could hollow out rural economies and lower standards at home.

Why this deal matters — and why it’s so contested

At its core, the Mercosur agreement would connect the European Union to four South American nations—Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay—in what supporters call the largest tariff-relief pact the EU has ever negotiated. For the EU, this means better access to South American markets for cars, machinery, wine and spirits. For Mercosur, it promises easier entry for beef, soy, sugar, rice and honey into Europe’s vast consumer market.

“This is not just about exports and imports,” said an EU trade official who asked not to be named. “It’s about diversification—about reducing reliance on a handful of trading partners and building strategic partnerships across the Atlantic.”

Those strategic calculations have only sharpened in an era of supply-chain shocks, US tariff volatility and rising geopolitical friction with China. For proponents, the deal is a lever of economic sovereignty: new customers for European manufacturing, and a diplomatic re-alignment that broadens Brussels’ options.

Numbers and thresholds that matter

Some facts anchor the debate. The European Union is home to roughly 450 million people across 27 member states; Mercosur’s four members count for about 270 million more. The Commission has proposed safeguards that would let member states temporarily suspend preferential access if imports rise by more than 10% or prices drop by 10% in one or more markets—mechanisms meant to arrest sudden shocks in local agricultural sectors.

But the thresholds themselves have become a flashpoint. “A 10% trigger sounds reasonable on paper,” said Dr. Mariana Torres, a trade analyst in São Paulo. “On the ground, for a small producer, even a 5% price wobble can be the difference between staying in business and closing the farm.”

Farmers on the march — and the human stakes

In Dublin last November and across rural France in recent weeks, farmers have gathered with tractors, banners and raw anger. In Brussels, organisers estimated that up to 10,000 farmers could descend on the capital during an EU leaders’ summit, intent on making their presence felt at the very heart of decision-making.

“Our grandparents worked these fields,” said Lucie Martin, a beef farmer from the Auvergne, standing beneath a sky the colour of iron. “We are not against trade, but we are against being sacrificed. If markets are flooded with cheaper meat that was produced under different rules, it’s our farms that will go first.”

That sentiment is mirrored across the Channel and the continent. Ireland’s vocal concerns about beef, Poland’s calls for stronger protections, Hungary’s worries about rural communities—these are not isolated protests but echoes of the same fear: that global deals can leave families and traditions exposed.

Politics in play: who can block the vote?

The timing has made the politics sharper. Denmark, holding the EU’s rotating presidency, has to decide whether to schedule a final vote. A blocking minority—formed by at least four member states representing 35% of the EU population—could stop the agreement from being adopted. France and Italy have signalled they want that vote delayed while more robust safeguards are added. Ireland, Poland, Hungary and Austria have also signalled opposition.

“If Denmark pushes ahead despite these objections, it would be unprecedented political risk,” an EU policymaker confided. “But if the vote is postponed, years of diplomacy could unravel.”

Behind the scenes

The European Commission says signing now is economically and geopolitically important, and has set out safeguard mechanisms.
France is pushing for beefed-up protections, arguing current measures are insufficient to protect farmers and animal welfare standards.
The European Parliament must still ratify the deal, meaning the political fight will move from capitals to Strasbourg and national parliaments.

Local colour: markets, plates and practices

Walk through a market on any French Saturday and the argument is visceral: stallholders selling local cheese and charcuterie, artisan butchers who know their customers by name, older farmers who have kept the traditions of haymaking and seasonal fairs alive. In Madrid and Berlin, similar scenes unfold—distinct local cultures that see food as identity, not merely a line item in a balance sheet.

“When you buy from a small producer, you’re paying for a relationship,” said Ana Mendes, who runs a family-owned tapas bar in Lisbon. “Imported products can be fine, but when they undercut local artisans, we lose more than jobs—we lose taste, soil knowledge, a way of life.”

Global ripples: sovereignty, standards and the climate

This is not only a European debate. Around the world, trade deals are a battleground over environmental standards, labour rights and food safety. Critics of the Mercosur deal worry not only about prices but about how differences in pesticide regulation, deforestation controls and animal welfare could be reconciled.

Brazil’s agricultural expansion, for instance, has been linked in international discussions to deforestation in the Amazon—an issue that raises concerns among EU lawmakers and environmentalists alike. “Trade cannot be separated from sustainability,” said Dr. Eva Schimanski, a Brussels-based environmental policy researcher. “If we want open markets, we must also insist on rules that protect ecosystems and long-term food security.”

So what happens next—and what should you watch for?

The coming days will feel decisive. If the vote is delayed, negotiators will return to the drawing board looking for compromises that can secure a broad majority. If the vote goes ahead and is approved by heads of state, the fight will then move to the European Parliament—where national interests will be tested against party lines and public sentiment.

Ask yourself: what kind of trade do we want in an interconnected world? Do we value cheap goods at the cost of small-scale producers, or do we build trade architectures that prioritise transparency, sustainability and local resilience?

Whatever you decide, this moment is instructive. The Mercosur saga is about more than tariffs; it is a mirror reflecting how societies balance economic ambition with the need to protect the fragile human and ecological networks that make daily life possible.

Final note: a handshake in Foz do Iguaçu—or a missed opportunity?

Commission President Ursula von der Leyen planned to travel to Brazil to sign the agreement in Foz do Iguaçu—an evocative setting where the roar of waterfalls might have underscored the magnitude of the pact. But signatures on paper do not erase doubts in village squares and EU committee rooms. Even a ceremonious signing would only be the start of another chapter: ratification battles, parliamentary votes and, perhaps, a renegotiation that could change the deal’s teeth.

Trade agreements are, by nature, compromises. The question Europe faces now is whether it can craft a compromise that equals its ambitions without losing its soul. Will leaders find a balance that protects farmers and preserves the EU’s global clout? Or will this moment expose deeper fractures in how we imagine trade in the twenty-first century?

Bring your own answer—and keep watching. The outcome will shape which farms flourish, which factories find new markets, and how Europe positions itself on a world stage where alliances matter as much as goods do.

Trapped and Scarred Inside the World’s Biggest Refugee Camp

hanad

December 15, 2025

Trapped, traumatised: Inside world's largest refugee camp — The population density in the refugee camp is 45,000 people per sq.km

On a Hillside of Memories: Life Inside the World’s Largest Refugee Settlement

The photograph is small, the edges curled and browned by years of sun and rain. Nur Haba cradles it like a relic, a single frame that contains an entire life: her mother, smiling before the world she knew collapsed into smoke and gunfire.

“She was only forty-four,” Nur says, voice low enough that the bamboo walls of her shelter seem to lean in. “They shot her in front of me.” Her fingers tremble as she smooths the paper. “Everything I had left—this picture, a scarf—I’ve kept close. Memory is all that is left to us.”

That shelter sits on a stubbled hillside in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh: a patchwork of tarpaulin, bamboo poles and corrugated sheets that together house a city-sized population. Around 1.3 million people live here, by most counts—the largest concentration of refugees anywhere on earth. For many of them, daily life is an exercise in holding on: to memories, to dignity, to a tentative claim on the future.

A history of being denied

The Rohingya fled not because they wanted to leave, but because of what they feared would happen if they stayed. Denied citizenship in Myanmar since 1982, systematically excluded from education, healthcare and civil rights, they have long endured discriminatory laws and practices. In 2017, a brutal campaign in Rakhine State—documented by UN investigators and described by international experts as tantamount to ethnic cleansing—forced more than a million people across the border into Bangladesh.

“We walked, we ran. Some of us hid. Many did not make it,” a neighbour in the camp mutters as children weave between food distribution lines. “The past is not a story for us; it is the air we breathe.”

How do you house a city?

Try to imagine a density no planner would ever design for: roughly 45,000 people packed into a single square kilometre in parts of the settlement. That figure, stark on paper, becomes visceral on the ground. Narrow footpaths wind between rows of shelters. Open drains line the lanes. Where there should be green space, there are sleeping mats and drying clothes. A child plays with a plastic bottle; an old woman chops vegetables over a tiny stove.

“If I put it another way,” says Manish Kumar Agrawal, who runs a major aid programme in the area, “Ireland—a whole country—has around 73 people per square kilometre. Here, entire families share space smaller than many living rooms back home. Seventy-five percent of the camp are women and children. It’s not simply crowded; it’s dangerous.”

Dangerous because close quarters make disease an impatient neighbour. Over the past year, humanitarian teams have battled outbreaks of cholera and dengue, along with recurring spikes of acute diarrhoeal disease. Clinics, set up in converted shipping containers and tents, are often overwhelmed. Water and sanitation systems strain under the load. And when illness strikes, the pathways to care are clogged by queues, lack of transport and the constant churn of arrivals.

Weathering the climate on the frontlines

The geography that once seemed to offer safety now compounds vulnerability. The camps hug steep hills carved by monsoon rains; when cyclones and heavy rains come, landslides can sweep through rows of fragile shelters without warning. In the dry season, heat shimmers over a landscape of plastic sheeting and sun-bleached bamboo, and the risk of fire is ever-present.

“These communities are on the frontlines of climate change,” a UN official told me during a recent visit. “Summers sear and dry out, then the rains arrive with a fury. People lose homes and lives over and over.”

You can still see the scars: gullies where entire slopes gave way, the rusted skeletons of shelters flattened in past storms, and families rebuilding with the same limited materials, season after season. “We have to relive the flood and the fire in our heads before they happen,” says 23-year-old Aziz Ullah, who arrived in 2017. “We talk about the past. We worry about the next rain. The future for our young people—honestly, it feels dark.”

The human cost of restriction

Life in Cox’s Bazar is heavily regulated. Movement is restricted, the right to formal work is denied to most, and many daily routines are defined by aid distributions: food, water, shelter upgrades, occasional cash assistance. That dependency shapes more than material conditions; it affects mental health, social structure and prospects.

“When people have nothing to do—when young men and women are idle—frustration breeds danger,” explains a protection specialist with a long experience of displacement settings. “We see petty crime, reports of exploitation, tensions between groups. It’s not inevitable, but it’s a pattern we must acknowledge.”

There have been disquieting reports—kidnappings, armed clashes, and cases of sexual exploitation within the camp. For many families who fled violence only to arrive in crowded, under-resourced shelters, the fear of a second betrayal—of safety promised but not delivered—weighs heavily.

The continuing tide: arrivals and the limits of hospitality

Despite the years since 2017, the exodus continues. Humanitarian agencies estimate that roughly 150,000 Rohingya have arrived in Bangladesh over the past year alone, driven by renewed violence, economic collapse and a lack of security in parts of Myanmar. Each new arrival is a human face in an already packed grid of tents, a family joining queues for water and the few school classes available.

Bangladesh, a nation with its own vulnerabilities and a dense population, has repeatedly signalled its limits. “We are a small, land-hungry country,” said a government official overseeing refugee affairs. “We can host, but we cannot absorb millions permanently. Our goal is safe and dignified return when conditions allow.” Yet safe, voluntary repatriation remains a distant hope while violence and systemic discrimination persist in the places many Rohingya left.

What does justice look like?

As you read this, ask yourself: what responsibility do we owe to people who have been stateless for generations? To those who escaped killing and came to live under tarpaulin roofs while the wider world pivoted from headline to headline?

There are practical answers: increased funding for healthcare and shelter upgrades, safer education for children, expanded livelihoods so people can work and provide for themselves, and sustained diplomatic pressure on Myanmar to create conditions for the safe return of its citizens. There are also harder moral questions about citizenship, belonging and the architecture of national identity that rendered an entire community invisible on paper and vulnerable in practice.

Numbers that matter

Estimated camp population: ~1.3 million people
Reported population density in parts of the camp: ~45,000 people per square kilometre
Recent arrivals (approximate, past year): 150,000 Rohingya
Proportion of camp population who are women and children: ~75%

Faces, not statistics

Back on the hill, a boy kicks a flattened soccer ball toward a line of boys his age. Laughter rings out for a moment that feels almost ordinary. Nur tucks the photograph back into a small tin. “I still hope my story will change,” she says. “Not just for me—for my son, for all the children here. I hope someone sees us as people, not numbers.”

We, as a global community, are measured not only by our declarations—but by the shelter we provide, the dignity we defend, and the political will we muster to make return safe and rights durable. Cox’s Bazar is a test of that resolve. Will the story end in cycles of loss and displacement, or will it be written into a different future—one where citizenship, shelter and opportunity are not privileges but rights?

If you have read this far, I invite you to hold one fact in your mind: behind every statistic is a person who remembers a name, a song, a life that did not deserve to be erased. What will you do with that knowledge?

Ukraine Shelves NATO Ambition as Berlin Peace Talks Are Extended

hanad

December 15, 2025

Ukraine drops NATO goal as peace talks in Berlin extended — Volodymyr Zelensky was greeted by German leader Friedrich Merz in Berlin ahead of the talks

At the Gates of Power: A Quiet, High-Stakes Pause in Berlin

There was a hush over the Chancellery in Berlin—an odd, taut quiet that felt more like a held breath than the usual hum of state business. Snipers took position on rooftops. An anti-drone cannon blinked its ready lights. Two limousines with blue police beacons slid up to the entrance, their engines barely murmuring against the cold pavement.

Inside, for more than five hours, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky sat across from emissaries from the United States—Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner—while German Chancellor Friedrich Merz opened the door and then stepped back. The talks, officials said, were paused only to resume the following morning. But the shape of what was on the table felt decisive: could Ukraine shelve its long-standing aspiration to join NATO in exchange for ironclad security guarantees from the West?

The Offer That Shakes the Foundation

The idea is simple, brutal, and rare in modern European diplomacy: Ukraine would forgo a constitutionally enshrined goal—membership in NATO—if the United States and its allies would sign legally binding agreements to defend Ukrainian territory. For a nation that has fought to secure its borders since Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022, the offer would mark an extraordinary pivot.

“This is a painful, strategic concession,” said a senior Ukrainian aide who spoke on condition of anonymity. “The presidency knows what the constitutional aspiration meant to many people here. But we are weighing whether a practical, enforceable security umbrella is preferable to a promise of membership that could be deferred for years.”

Article 5, NATO’s mutual-defense clause, has long been the gold standard of collective security—an assurance that an attack on one is an attack on all. Zelensky’s camp, sources say, is asking for Article-5-like assurances from the U.S., and legally binding guarantees from European partners including Germany, as well as other democracies such as Canada and Japan.

Why this matters

Put simply: membership in NATO confers a political and military status that supposedly deters aggression. But membership is also a process, one that requires consensus among 32 allies. For Ukraine, whose membership bid is woven into its post-2014 national identity, the shift toward bilateral and multilateral guarantees represents a strategic gamble for survival.

On the Ground in Berlin: Tension, Curiosity, and Coffee

Outside the government complex, Berliners paused over their cappuccinos and smartphones, watching the incremental choreography of security. “You could feel the tension like static in the air,” said Lena Müller, who runs a kiosk near the Chancellery. “People asked each other, ‘Is this the beginning of peace, or the end of something else?’

A group of students clustered nearby, scrolling through headlines. One of them, Anton, shrugged and said, “If it stops the bombs, why not? But who will enforce the guarantees? That’s the big question.”

Russia’s Terms and the Historical Backdrop

Moscow has repeatedly demanded that Ukraine formally renounce NATO membership, withdraw forces from parts of the Donbas, and accept a neutral status—no foreign troops or bases on Ukrainian soil. Russian officials have pushed for written promises from Western capitals to halt NATO’s eastward expansion, a demand that reverberates beyond Kiev’s borders to Georgia, Moldova, and other former Soviet republics.

For many analysts, those positions are not merely about borders or alliances. “This is a contest over spheres of influence and the very rules of the post-Cold War order,” said Dr. Mariam Aliev, a senior analyst at the European Security Institute. “One party is asking to revert to a world where great powers draw lines and lesser ones live by them. The other is trying to maintain the principle that sovereign nations choose their alliances.”

What Was at the Table

Details of the Berlin talks were sparse. Officials described a 20-point plan as a framework for negotiation, with a potential ceasefire along existing front lines one of the options being considered.

Legally binding bilateral security guarantees to be signed by the United States and other states
Article-5-style commitments, short of NATO membership
Possible neutral status and restrictions on foreign bases—negotiable items that echo Russian demands
A staged ceasefire and mechanisms for verification and withdrawal of heavy weaponry

“What we need is not promises made in press rooms but enforceable, clear mechanisms,” said a retired NATO officer now working as an independent consultant. “Verification, rapid response, and political will—these are the things that determine whether a guarantee is a line on paper or a shield in reality.”

Voices from Kyiv and Beyond

Back in Kyiv, people reacted with a mixture of cautious relief and skepticism. “We will endure whatever compromises are necessary,” said Olena, a nurse whose clinic treated civilians wounded in shelling. “But I don’t want guarantees that vanish when a politician changes his mind.”

A member of Zelensky’s inner circle framed the choice starkly: “We face a war of attrition. If NATO membership is a road that leads to a dead end, perhaps a bridge of guarantees is worth building. But any bridge must be supported by concrete pillars.”

Questions That Won’t Fit Neatly into a Treaty

As the negotiations proceed, questions proliferate. How enforceable are guarantees from plural democracies, some of which face their own political turbulence? What happens if a guarantor delays or withdraws support? How will such an agreement affect the geopolitics of Europe—and the precedent it sets for other aspirant nations?

“If Ukraine trades NATO aspirations for security pacts,” asked Dr. Aliev, “does that harden Russia’s gains and incentivize aggression elsewhere? Or does it pragmatically prevent more bloodshed? Those are the moral and strategic calculations leaders must make.”

What You Should Watch For

Whether the draft 20-point plan includes robust verification mechanisms (third-party observers, real-time monitoring, sanctions for breach).
Which countries formally sign guarantees and the legal architecture underpinning them.
How Moscow responds—will it demand more, or will it accept a framework that falls short of full Ukrainian capitulation?

Negotiations that touch the bones of a nation cannot be sterile. They are messy, human affairs: lit by grief, anger, fatigue, and stubborn hope. As the talks in Berlin resumed, you had to wonder—what do we owe countries that face annihilation by land? What do we risk when we restructure guarantees so that they are immediate and tangible but perhaps less absolute?

In the chill of Berlin, with the city’s history of walls and bridges humming beneath the surface, that question felt personal. For Ukrainians, it is the question of whether to cling to a promise of future membership or to buy a present peace that may yet be fragile. For Europe and the wider world, it is about the architecture of security in an age when borders are again being contested by force.

So look closely as this week’s talks unfold. Not just at the headlines, but at the small print that will determine whether the next lull is a lasting ceasefire or the calm before another storm. What would you choose—membership that may be someday, or a guarantee that is here now? The answer will shape more than maps; it will shape lives.

U.S., Ukraine negotiators reconvene in Berlin for renewed peace talks

hanad

December 15, 2025

US, Ukrainian negotiators resume peace talks in Berlin — The talks began in Berlin yesterday

At the table in Berlin: a fragile conversation about frozen cash, warm bodies, and the future of a nation

There is a distinct hush in the high-ceilinged room where diplomats and leaders are gathering — not the brittle silence of too many prepared statements, but the kind of low, expectant quiet that arrives before a crucial decision. Outside, traffic threads through Berlin like veins. Inside, chairs were pulled close together; maps and dossiers lay open. Tonight, the talks will swell when EU heads and the NATO secretary general join the already ongoing discussions between U.S. envoys and Ukrainian representatives. The aim is not small: to find a path toward ending a war that has reshaped Europe’s security architecture and tested the international order.

Frozen money, hot politics

At the heart of the debate is a stark arithmetic problem dressed in legal and moral garb: Europe holds hundreds of billions of euros in immobilised Russian assets. Some proposals would convert a portion of that pile — figures as high as €210 billion have been floated — into a long-term loan program to keep Ukraine afloat through its winter and beyond. For many in capitals from Dublin to Vilnius, turning dormant foreign reserves into a lifeline for Kyiv is both symbol and substance: a way to punish an aggressor and rebuild the victim.

“It feels like a justice issue,” a Brussels-based diplomat confided, sitting with a coffee that had gone cold. “These assets were never meant to be used to finance aggression. If we can lawfully redirect them to help rebuild a democracy, why wouldn’t we?”

But the path is thorned with legal, political, and ethical questions. Belgium is cautious. Italy, Malta and Bulgaria have suggested alternatives such as joint EU borrowing. Hungary and Slovakia oppose the idea outright. Ireland — echoing voices across northern and western Europe — argues that using frozen assets is the clearest, most direct option.

Options on the table

Convert frozen Russian assets into a long-term loan for Ukraine (majority favoured by many EU states).
Issue joint European debt to fund Ukraine, avoiding direct use of the immobilised funds.
Explore bespoke bilateral arrangements with the U.S. and other allies to share costs and risks.

Each has pros and cons. Turning assets into a loan is politically satisfying and administratively efficient — but it requires legal groundwork and a united front. Joint borrowing dilutes the moral clarity of the action and may take longer. Small states worry about precedent: what message does it send if frozen foreign assets can be turned into a wartime credit line?

Leaders gather; the clock ticks

EU foreign ministers are meeting in Brussels while Berlin hosts the first, face-to-face phase of Ukrainian-U.S. talks since a controversial 28-point paper was tabled last month. That paper, quietly circulated and widely discussed, included a proposal — one that startled many in Kyiv — to deploy some frozen assets in joint US-Russian investment projects. Moscow’s unexpected reference in the document has hardened some European instincts against any compromise that might reward the aggressor.

A senior EU official, speaking on condition of anonymity, offered a blunt summation: “We are under time pressure. Ukraine’s treasury files show a narrowing window. If we do nothing, the consequences will be immediate and painful for civilians and soldiers alike.” Published estimates in recent briefings suggest Kyiv could face a severe financing gap by April of next year, a date that has become a sobering line on many calendars.

On the ground in Ukraine: cold, hope, and skepticism

In Kyiv, the mood is a mixture of weary resolve and anxious pragmatism. Winter is more than a season here — it is a test of infrastructure, a threat to heating systems, to hospitals keeping lights on in the regions where the lines of front have already shifted. “We will fight with what we have,” said a volunteer coordinator at a community centre that doubles as a shelter. “But we also need to know that someone is holding the other end of the rope.”

Another resident — a teacher who had been collecting donations for displaced families — put it this way: “Words are important. Money is even more so. When the classroom heater goes out, you can’t send a letter to the Kremlin and ask them to be kinder.” These small, direct images bring the abstract debate about frozen assets down to stoves, hospital generators, and schoolrooms.

The strategic red lines

Equally thorny is the question of territory. Ukraine’s leadership has signalled a willingness to discuss security guarantees — even floating the possibility of setting aside its long-cherished bid for NATO membership if rock-solid protections from Western partners can be guaranteed. For many in the EU, however, any deal that requires Kyiv to cede parts of the Donbas or other regions is a non-starter. “If you give up Donbas, you give up the wall that keeps the rest from falling,” warned an EU security analyst in Brussels.

This is not simply a regional quarrel; it is a debate over deterrence, sovereignty, and the rules that have bound post-World War II Europe together. Allowing territorial grabs to stand in order to secure a temporary ceasefire would set a precedent with global ripples.

Drones, airports, and the wider theatre of conflict

Even as talks proceed, the battlefield is not idle. On the other side of the conflict, Russia reported that its air-defence units intercepted dozens of Ukrainian drones overnight — a figure running into triple digits in some official statements — and said many were aimed at Moscow. Airline disruptions followed: Moscow’s Domodedovo and Zhukovsky airports, among others in Russia’s south, temporarily suspended operations. The contest over the skies — and the economic disruptions that ripple from every closure and interception — reminds negotiators of a basic truth: ceasefires seldom stay quiet for long without clear, enforceable mechanisms.

Why this matters to you

You might live continents away from Kyiv or Berlin, but these negotiations matter because they ask a question central to modern international life: how do we marry law and force, finance and principle? If frozen assets can be retooled to underwrite recovery and defend a country against aggression, what does that do for the future of sanctions? If they cannot, what tools remain to deter revisionist powers?

Consider these points: Europe’s unity on sanctions and funding sets precedents for how states respond to aggression worldwide; the economics of war — freezing assets, rerouting funds, underwriting reconstruction — will shape global finance in the decades to come; and, perhaps most importantly, the human costs remain immediate and brutal.

Closing the room, opening a path

Tonight’s session will broaden into a summit in Brussels where leaders will attempt to firm consensus. The air will be thick with competing urgencies — humanitarian, strategic, legal, domestic political pressures. For negotiators, there will be technical conversations about bonds, legal mechanisms, and conditionality. For citizens, there will be the simpler, sharper question: who will keep the lights on?

And for each of us reading from afar, there is another question: what sort of international order do we want to live in? One where sovereignty can be traded away at the negotiating table? Or one where frozen assets can be mobilised to protect people and punish unlawful aggression? The choices being shaped in Berlin and Brussels this week will ripple far beyond their conference rooms. The task for leaders is to blend courage with caution, law with compassion — and to remember the faces behind the dossiers.

“We need decisive action, not just statements,” an aid worker said as she packed thermal blankets bound for the east. “If the world hesitates now, the people who suffer are the ones who can’t wait.” What will you, as a global citizen, ask of your leaders?

Chile elects Kast as president, signaling a conservative shift

hanad

December 15, 2025

Chile elects Kast as president in rightward shift — Jose Antonio Kast secured some 58% of the vote

At the crossroads: Chile wakes to a new, hard-right chapter

In the early hours after the count closed, Santiago felt like a city pulled taut between relief and dread. Car horns bounced off glass towers in the financial district, while in quieter neighborhoods the flags of a man who has stirred both fervent devotion and sharp fear hung from balconies like thunderheads.

Jose Antonio Kast, a 59-year-old father of nine and a three-time presidential candidate, won roughly 58% of the vote, according to official tallies — a margin that leaves little doubt about the mandate he claims. His opponent, Jeannette Jara, a labor minister who led a broad left coalition, conceded the race and told her supporters that “voters have spoken loud and clear.”

The result marks the clearest swing to the right in Chilean presidential politics since the return to democracy 35 years ago. For many, it’s the end of one political cycle and the beginning of another whose contours few can fully predict.

Scenes from the street: jubilation and unease

At Plaza Italia, the traditional pulse point of public life and protest, jubilation and anxiety had their own separate languages. Supporters beamed beneath plastic Chilean flags, cheering as Kast took the stage and promised to “restore respect for the law.” Someone nearby beat a drum; someone else unfurled a portrait of Augusto Pinochet. Moments later, a small group of counterprotesters — mostly students and a few older faces — chanted back, and police kept a wary watch.

“Finally, someone who will act,” said Gina Mello, a retiree whose voice wavered between relief and impatience. “We want order. If he brings the military to protect our streets for a time, I won’t oppose it.”

Not everyone felt so reassured. “I’m fearful,” admitted Cecilia Mora, 71. “I saw what Pinochet did. This man admires him. That scares me — I don’t want repression.” Her hands wrung the strap of her bag, and behind her, a mural remembering the disappeared from the dictatorship era was splashed with fresh paint like a silent rebuttal.

Kast’s promises — and the numbers behind the rhetoric

Kast’s campaign leaned on a handful of visceral issues that had climbed to the top of the national agenda. Polling in the run-up to the vote showed more than 60% of Chileans cited public security as their primary concern — a statistic politicians could neither ignore nor easily fix.

Key campaign pledges included:

Expulsion of some 300,000 migrants he said were in the country illegally
Sealing the northern border and bolstering deportation machinery modeled after U.S. immigration enforcement
A hard line on crime, promising to strengthen police powers and deploy security forces to troubled neighborhoods
A pro-market economic reset meant to kick-start growth after what he and his allies describe as four years of floundering policy

Chile remains the world’s top copper producer and a major supplier of lithium — commodities at the heart of global decarbonization efforts. Markets responded to Kast’s victory with cautious optimism: the peso strengthened and local equities rose as traders bet on deregulatory, business-friendly policies. But those market ripples don’t erase the human questions on the street about who benefits from growth and at what social cost.

Migration, security, and a region in motion

Organized crime groups have exploited Chile’s long northern deserts and bustling ports, and migration from countries in crisis — notably Venezuela, but also Peru, Colombia and Ecuador — has added complexity to an already fraught public conversation about security. Crime statistics show a notable increase in violent incidents over the past decade, though Chile still ranks relatively safe by regional comparisons. Fear, however, has outpaced statistical change.

“Security is both a reality and a perception,” said Richard Kouyoumdjian, a former naval officer and security consultant. “Any government that doesn’t address both risks losing credibility fast. The challenge is complex: borders, policing, social programs and intelligence all need coordination — not slogans.”

History’s long shadow: authoritarian nostalgia and painful reminders

Kast’s public defense of elements of Chile’s military past — and the applause some of his supporters offered for General Augusto Pinochet — have provoked a visceral reaction in a country still healing from human rights abuses of the 1973–1990 dictatorship. Chanting “Pinochet! Pinochet!” in the streets, some of his backers embraced a nostalgia for order over the memory of repression.

Questions about Kast’s own family history have only deepened the unease. Investigations have reported that his father served in the German army and was a member of the Nazi party; Kast maintains his father was conscripted and not a supporter of Nazism. Such revelations add layers of moral and historical complication to an already polarized debate.

“This election forced us to choose what kind of memory we carry forward,” said Ana Fuentes, a human rights lawyer in Valparaíso. “Democracy isn’t just about elections — it’s about protecting the dignity that was attacked for decades. That work continues, regardless of who sits in the Palacio de La Moneda.”

Constraints and the road ahead

Despite a strong presidential result, Kast will not have a blank check. The Senate remains evenly balanced between left and right, and the lower house has become a shifting battleground where a populist swing vote can dictate major legislative outcomes. His more radical proposals will face scrutiny, negotiation and likely legal challenge.

“A president is powerful in symbolism; legislation is where real change happens,” said political scientist María Soler of the University of Chile. “Kast’s administration will need to form coalitions. Otherwise, bold promises will hit the hard wall of institutional checks.”

He is set to take office in March, inheriting a nation that has woven protest and reform through its recent history: mass demonstrations in 2019 over inequality, a bruising constitutional rewrite process that faltered, and the long tail of a pandemic that strained public services and social trust.

What should the rest of the world watch for?

Chile’s trajectory matters beyond its borders. As a leading supplier of minerals crucial to the green transition and as a bellwether for regional politics in Latin America, the country’s choices will reverberate. Will a tougher approach to migration and security inspire similar policies elsewhere? Will business-friendly reforms attract investment without exacerbating inequality?

And here is the core question for all of us who watch democracies in motion: how does a country reconcile the craving for order with the imperative of rights? How do you keep your streets safe without sacrificing the liberties that define a free society?

In the days to come, Chileans will test those answers on the ground: in border towns where new enforcement may be felt first, in courtrooms where legal battles over policy will be fought, and in neighborhoods where families decide whether their future remains within Chile’s borders or beyond them.

For now, the city breathes, waits and debates. The flags will stay up for a while — fluttering, for some, with hope, for others, with apprehension. Which way Chile leans next will be a story not only of votes, but of voices: those who cheered at Plaza Italia, those who painted murals for the disappeared, and the many quieter voices in between. Will they be heard? That is the narrative yet to be written.

Australian PM calls for tougher gun laws in wake of shooting

hanad

December 15, 2025

Australian PM proposes tougher gun laws after shooting — Mourners gather by tributes at the Bondi Pavillion

Bondi Beach, a Light Doused: How One Night of Celebration Became a Reckoning

Bondi Beach is a place of ritual — dawn swims, fishermen with their lines like punctuation against the horizon, teenagers with chipped Vans and sun-bleached hair. On a Sunday evening in early December, that familiar rhythm was broken. A Hanukkah festival meant to mark light in the darkest days of winter turned into chaos when gunfire ripped across Archer Park and into the sand where more than a thousand people had gathered.

By morning the numbers were grim and specific: 16 people dead, dozens wounded, and a community reeling. Officials said the attack appeared targeted at the Jewish event. Two men — a father and son — opened fire with long guns, witnesses recalled. The father, a 50-year-old man who had held firearms licences since 2015, was later found dead at the scene. His 24‑year‑old son was critically injured and remains in hospital. Police confirmed about 40 people were treated in hospital; among them were two officers in serious but stable condition. The victims’ ages spanned generations, from a child of ten to an elder of 87.

The Ten Minutes That Changed a Beach

“I thought they were fireworks at first,” said Morgan Gabriel, a 27‑year‑old Bondi local who had been on her way to the cinema. “Then people started running up the street — screaming, phones ringing, shoes and blankets left on the sand. Ten minutes felt like forever.”

Those ten minutes, witnesses said, were both horrifying and oddly cinematic: people diving for cover behind palm trees, families sprinting toward side streets, and, amid it all, strangers pulling others to safety. One video went viral — a bystander wrestling a gun away from one of the shooters. That man, later identified as Ahmed al Ahmed, a 43‑year‑old fruit shop owner who served previously with police, was shot twice as he intervened. He survived after surgery; an online fundraiser for him has now topped A$350,000 (€198,539).

“He didn’t hesitate,” said Mohamed Fateh al Ahmed, speaking through a translator. “He saw people lying on the ground and he had to act. He has always felt he must protect others. Today we are proud — he is a hero of Australia.”

A Nation’s Conversation Reignited

Prime Minister Anthony Albanese visited Bondi Beach the next day and planted flowers on the sand. His voice carried the weight of national mourning and a challenge: tougher gun laws. “Licences should not be in perpetuity,” he said, bluntly stating what many were already whispering in op-eds and living rooms — that existing rules had gaps. He announced he would take reforms to National Cabinet, urging state premiers to act.

“What we saw yesterday was an act of pure evil, an act of anti‑Semitism,” the prime minister told reporters. “The Jewish community are hurting today. All Australians wrap our arms around them.”

Officials said the father held licences for six firearms, which police believe were used in the attack. Surveillance footage and cellphone clips showed what appeared to be a bolt‑action rifle and a shotgun. Police Commissioner Mal Lanyon said investigators were still building a picture of motive and background: “We are very much working through the background of both persons. At this stage we know very little.”

Faces, Flags and a Makeshift Memorial

Within hours, a line of flowers, candles, and Israeli and Australian flags formed a makeshift memorial near the Bondi Pavilion. Mourners left scarves, flip‑flops and thermoses — items abandoned by people fleeing the beach — and lined them up for collection. An online condolence book filled with messages from Australia and abroad: “We are with you,” wrote strangers in different languages.

Private Jewish security volunteers joined police at the site. Elders, children and teens came to lay flowers; for some, the ceremony was also an act of defiance. “Light defeats darkness,” Albanese urged the nation, asking Australians to light candles in solidarity — a line he repeated, invoking Hanukkah’s promise of small, persistent lights against long nights.

Heroes, Questions, and a Community Bruised

There were quiet acts of courage everywhere: fishermen offering their boats to ferries, café owners handing out shirts and towels to those who lost their footwear, and medics working until late into the night. Yet the city also asked tough questions. How had men with licensed weapons been radicalised? How long had they been under observation, if at all? Should firearm licences be renewable rather than indefinite? Could stricter caps on ownership help prevent future attacks?

Home Minister Tony Burke disclosed that the father arrived in Australia in 1998 on a student visa, while his son was Australian‑born. The attack lands amid an uptick in anti‑Semitic incidents across the country since the Israel‑Gaza war reignited last October. In August, Australia expelled Iran’s ambassador, accusing Tehran of directing at least two anti‑Jewish attacks. International leaders also weighed in: messages of condolence arrived from capitals, a reminder that this is not just a local tragedy but part of global currents.

Gun Control in the Shadow of Port Arthur

Australia’s relationship with guns has long been shaped by Port Arthur, the 1996 massacre in Tasmania that killed 35 people and led to sweeping reforms — a national buyback, tighter licensing, and limits on semi‑automatic weapons. Those measures were hailed worldwide and have correlated with a steep drop in mass shootings.

Still, Port Arthur is decades ago. Societies change, radicalisation finds new arteries in social media and fractured communities. “Laws are only as strong as the systems that enforce them,” said Dr. Laila Hassan, a criminologist at the University of Sydney. “We must look beyond possession: risk assessment, mental health, community support, and surveillance of extremist networks matter.”

Australia’s firearm homicide rate has been among the lowest in the OECD for years — estimated at around 0.1 to 0.2 per 100,000 people — but as experts note, a single mass shooting alters a nation’s sense of security. “Rare doesn’t mean impossible,” Dr. Hassan reflected. “And policy must evolve accordingly.”

What Comes Next?

There will be inquiries, policy meetings and political pressure. The prime minister has signalled a limit on how many firearms one person can own and suggested licences should require renewals and reassessments. Opposition and states will debate details, and civil liberty groups will watch closely for proportionality.

But beyond the technical measures is a quieter, harder task: healing a community. How do you comfort a child who hid beneath a towel as shots rang out? How do you honor the dead while ensuring their faces become a lesson for future prevention? These are the questions residents keep asking on Bondi’s hilltops as the tide moves in and out.

“We have to remember the people, not just the politics,” said Rabbi Miriam Stein, who has been counseling families. “Yet we must also be practical. Today we mourn. Tomorrow we rebuild and make sure light truly defeats darkness.”

Invitation to Reflect

How should democracies balance individual freedoms with collective safety? What responsibility do we carry as neighbours, employers, online citizens to identify harm before it manifests? As you read this, consider the rituals you cherish — the festivals, public spaces, the ordinary moments — and imagine them safeguarded by conversations that are both urgent and compassionate.

Bondi’s sand will eventually be washed smooth again by the Pacific. For the families and friends of those lost and injured, some scars will never fade. For the rest of the country, an old lesson must be relearned: the cost of complacency is sometimes measured in lives. The challenge now is to turn grief into policy and memory into prevention, so that the lights we kindle in winter are only ever symbols of hope, never the response to another night of terror.

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