Sep 06(Jowhar)-David Lammy ayaa loo magacaabay Ra’iisul Wasaare ku-xigeenka cusub, isagoo beddelay Angela Rayner, kadib markii Ra’iisul Wasaare Keir Starmer dib-u-habeyn ku sameeyay golihiisa wasiirrada.
Suspected large shark attack kills man off Sydney beach
Morning Calm Interrupted: A Surfer’s Death at Long Reef and the Tide of Questions It Raises
The sky over Long Reef Beach that Saturday looked like a painting—pale blue, streaked with high clouds, the ocean a slow silver-green. Surfers chased the offshore sets with the kind of quiet joy that stitches communities together along Sydney’s Northern Beaches. By midmorning, that calm had been torn open.
Emergency crews, lifeguards and neighbours watched in stunned silence as a man—pulled from the water by fellow surfers—was tended to on the sand. He died at the scene. Authorities said the wounds were consistent with a large shark attack; two pieces of a surfboard, cleanly separated, were taken for forensic examination. Within hours, patrol flags went up and stretches of shoreline closed. The routine of the beach—coffee, chatter, surf lessons—suddenly felt fragile.
What Happened at Long Reef
Witnesses say the man was surfing outside the patrolled area when the attack occurred. “A couple of us paddled him in as fast as we could,” one local surfer told a radio station. “It was chaos—people shouting, and then silence.” A lifesaver on duty waived the red flag as a desperate signal for everyone to come in. Nearby clubs cancelled all water activities for the weekend, and drones from the lifeguards swept the surf, their tiny cameras seeking a shadow beneath the swell.
New South Wales police confirmed the man had sustained critical injuries and died on the sand. “Our deepest condolences go to the family of the man involved in this terrible tragedy,” offered a representative from Surf Life Saving NSW. For a community built on waves and collars of sand, grief arrived not as a headline but as a weight on the chest of people who know every reef, current and swell like the back of their hand.
Evidence, Experts and the Board
Investigators recovered two separate sections of the surfer’s board and handed them to specialists to help identify the predator. While forensic analysis will be required to say whether it was a great white, tiger or bull shark—species commonly implicated in coastal incidents—experts caution against rushes to judgment.
“Board damage patterns can tell us a lot—depth, angle, even the type of teeth involved,” said a marine forensic technician (speaking on condition of anonymity). “But until you have biological samples or consistent sightings, it’s hard to be definitive.”
Counting Incidents, Measuring Risk
Shark encounters in Australia are not new. Records indicate more than 1,280 incidents since 1791, with over 250 ending in death. Yet in practical terms, the chance of a fatal shark attack for an individual visiting an Australian beach remains vanishingly low. Surfing, swimming and other ocean sports continue to carry far greater everyday risks—slippery rocks, rips and collisions among them.
Still, the emotional reaction to a shark attack is outsized. People imagine the ocean as an unknowable wild; a single headline can redraw the map of perceived safety. In Sydney, this was the first fatality from a shark attack since 2022, when a British diver, Simon Nellist, was killed off Little Bay. The city’s last earlier fatality was in 1963—a reminder that such events are rare, but not unprecedented.
Local Voices: Fear, Anger, Grief
“You grow up with the ocean; it’s part of you,” said Marina Lopez, who runs a surf school near Long Reef. “We tell the kids to respect it, to read the flags. But tonight parents are calling, asking if it’s safe to bring their kids to lessons.”
On the beach, conversation spun between condolence and debate. “We need more eyes in the sky,” a member of the surf club said. “But we also don’t want nets that kill turtles and dolphins. There’s no easy answer.”
A shopkeeper on the promenade, polishing the espresso machine, summed up the local pulse succinctly: “People are quiet. The coffee’s still flowing, but everyone is thinking about that person out there.”
Technology, Policy and the Old Conversations
In the hours after the attack, drones scanned the coastline and lifeguards updated closures. Across Australia, authorities use a patchwork of measures—shark nets, drumlines, spotter planes, drones and smart buoy systems—each bringing different costs and controversies.
- Shark nets catch large predators but have non-target impacts on turtles, dolphins and other marine life.
- Drumlines, including “SMART” models, can alert authorities to large animals without necessarily killing them, though debates remain over ethics and effectiveness.
- Drone surveillance and sonar offer non-lethal detection tools but rely on line-of-sight and weather conditions.
“We’re balancing conservation with human safety,” said a marine policy advisor. “Everyone wants beaches to be safe, but measures that harm ecosystems aren’t sustainable. The long-term strategy needs to be smart, humane, and science-driven.”
Climate, Currents and Changing Oceans
Scientists point to warming seas and shifting prey patterns as factors that can alter where sharks are found. “As ocean temperatures change, so do the movements of fish and seals—the food that draws apex predators,” a marine biologist explained. “That can bring sharks into new areas or make sightings more frequent.”
Such shifts are subtle and complex. They don’t explain every incident, but they remind us that human choices—carbon emissions, fisheries management, coastal development—intersect with wildlife in ways we are still mapping.
Living With the Sea: Questions for the Beachgoing Public
What do communities want from public policy when it comes to rare but tragic events? How do we weigh the rights of marine animals against the safety of swimmers and surfers? And how do we prepare, emotionally and practically, for risks that are low in probability but high in consequence?
For now, Long Reef’s sand will hold a new memory—one that touches surfers who know the rhythm of waves and families who come for safe paddling. Clubs have called off training. Flags are up. The forensic work will take time. Grief will not.
Practical Steps for Beachgoers
If you’re headed to the coast, here are sensible precautions widely recommended by lifeguards:
- Always swim at patrolled beaches and between the flags.
- Avoid dawn and dusk activities when visibility is lower.
- Don’t swim alone; stay in groups.
- Avoid areas where fishers are active and where there’s a lot of baitfish or seals.
- Follow lifeguard and signage instructions; they’re the people who see the day-to-day patterns.
Closing: Salt, Memory and Respect
Long Reef has always been a place of rituals—early morning surfers cutting across the lineup, children learning to paddle, families strolling the headland. A tragedy there reconfigures those rituals, for a time, into something quieter. People will debate technology and policy, science and ethics. They will light candles on the sand and ask how else we can protect both human lives and the wild creatures that share these seas.
When you stand on a beach, toes buried in the grain, listen to the surf. Can you hold both your love of the ocean and a respectful caution? How do you reconcile the thrill of the wave with the deep, ancient life beneath it? These are not easy questions, but they are the ones that ripple out from a day like this—far beyond the shoreline.
Lisbon crash debris cleared; three UK nationals among the dead
The Morning After: Lisbon Stands Still as a Beloved Funicular Is Lifted from the Rubble
There are mornings in Lisbon when the city moves like a symphony—cable cars clack-clack up steep granite, street vendors hawk flaky pastel de nata, and the Atlantic breeze carries the first notes of fado from a nearby patio. This was not one of those mornings.
On a sun-bleached slope that runs from Restauradores Square up toward the bohemian terraces of Bairro Alto, workers hoisted a twisted hulk of metal and glass from the cobblestones. The carriage—once part of the 140-year-old Glória funicular that has ferried locals and tourists for generations—looked like a toy crushed underfoot. Cameras hummed. Families watched in stunned silence. Investigators sealed off the street and began the patient, painstaking work of trying to answer a question now pulsing through every Lisbon alleyway: how could something so familiar and so trusted hurtle into such catastrophic loss?
Sixteen Lives, Many Nations
Authorities confirmed that 16 passengers were killed and more than 20 injured. The dead included five Portuguese citizens and visitors from across the globe: three British nationals; two each from South Korea and Canada; and one person each from France, Switzerland, Ukraine and the United States. Police said a German who had initially been presumed dead is, in fact, alive in hospital, and Germany’s foreign ministry confirmed at least three German nationals were receiving treatment.
- Fatalities: 16 (nationalities confirmed by police)
- Injured: More than 20
- Line length: ~265 metres
- Car capacity: ~40 passengers each
- Annual ridership on the Glória funicular: roughly 3 million
“This is one of the greatest tragedies of recent times in Portugal,” Prime Minister Luis Montenegro told reporters, his voice cracking at times. “Our first duty is to the families—comfort, answers and justice.”
How a Vintage Icon Became an Emergency Scene
The Glória funicular is as much a part of Lisbon’s identity as the pastelarias and tiled façades. Opened in the late 19th century, it climbs a steep 265-metre incline and, like many funiculars, operates with two carriages that counterbalance each other—one ascent helping to pull the other down. Each carriage can carry roughly 40 people, making it both a commuter link and a tourist attraction: the line serves about 3 million passengers a year.
Initial technical observations by engineers who have reviewed footage and photos indicate that the traction cable—an invisible but essential lifeline that connects and controls the two cars—snapped, apparently near its connection to the top carriage. Without the cable to regulate descent, one car gathered speed on the steep slope, entered a sharp bend at what witnesses described as a terrifying clip, then vaulted off its rails and crashed into the cobblestones and a building.
“When a traction cable fails, you lose the brake that the system depends on,” explained Ana Ribeiro, a Lisbon-based transport engineer. “On such steep grades, everything happens quickly. Emergency systems can reduce risk, but they are not failproof—especially in heritage systems retrofitted over time.”
Maintenance, Trust, and the Limits of Heritage
Carris, the municipal transport operator, has vehemently stated that all maintenance protocols had been observed: monthly and weekly checks, daily inspections, and the most recent inspection was reportedly only hours before the collapse. Pedro Bogas, Carris’s CEO, told journalists: “We cannot assume that the problem was with the cable. We followed the protocols required of us.”
Investigators will not rush to conclusions. Portuguese authorities have said a preliminary report will take around six weeks. Police sources, speaking to local media, said they were not seeing immediate signs of foul play, but that all avenues remain open.
Voices from the Street: Grief, Anger, and the Quiet of Shock
On Rua da Glória, shop fronts that usually bustle with tourists now post hand-written notices offering prayers and practical help. Maria Santos, who runs a small ceramic shop just below the funicular’s route, stood with her hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee, eyes hollow.
“I used to say hello to the drivers every morning,” she said. “They have been part of our days for decades. Today we are all asking why.”
Across the way, João, a bartender at a Bairro Alto tavern, wiped a tabletop with a shaky hand. “We are a city of people who like to put on a smile for visitors,” he said. “But this—this hurts. Families are calling. People are scared to climb the hills they used to love.”
A British tourist, who had been waiting for a friend at Restauradores, summed up the surreal mix of sorrow and disbelief: “You come to see the charm, the old cars, the views. You never think about an accident like this. We feel very sad and a bit afraid.”
Wider Questions: Heritage vs. Safety, Tourism vs. Trust
The accident spotlights a tension many cities with historic transport systems now face: how to preserve the romance and cultural value of century-old machines while meeting modern safety expectations. Lisbon’s funiculars are living museums, but they are also arteries of daily life and magnets for nearly 3 million riders a year. When those systems fail, the effects ripple outward—on grieving families, tourism-dependent businesses, and public trust in municipal institutions.
“This tragedy will force a reckoning,” said Miguel Silva, a safety consultant who has worked with transit authorities across Europe. “It isn’t just about one cable. It’s about procurement, inspection standards, the chain of responsibility. Cities must decide how much of their past they will keep and at what cost.”
What Comes Next?
Lisbon will take its time. For now, authorities will analyze the wreckage, study maintenance logs, interview drivers and witnesses, and assemble a timeline that families can use to find closure. The municipal transport company has already said the twin carriage at the bottom of the slope was removed and will be examined by experts.
Grief will take longer to clear. So will the question on everyone’s lips: can vintage charm coexist with strict, modern safety? That is a conversation for Lisbon—and for every city that treasures its historic trams, elevators and railways. As the city prepares memorials and authorities launch a formal investigation, one silent question lingers in the stone alleys: how do we protect both our past and our people?
Readers, when a beloved public artifact fails, what should we prioritize—preservation, modernization, or a rigorous rethinking of both? Lisbon’s cobbles bear the answer, and the world, watching, waits for it to be found.
David Lammy named UK deputy prime minister after Angela Rayner resigns
When Power Shifts and Sunsets: The Day David Lammy Stepped Up and Angela Rayner Stepped Back
There are moments in politics that look small on paper but feel seismic on the ground. A tax form, a handwritten letter, a terse line in a prime ministerial note—these are the hinge points where careers tilt and cabinets rejig. Tuesday was such a day: David Lammy, famed for his brisk oratory and long parliamentary pedigree, was named deputy prime minister and justice secretary, and Angela Rayner, until then Labour’s deputy leader and housing secretary, resigned after a review into her stamp duty payments on a flat in Hove.
It reads like an administrative tangle. And yet, for the people involved and the voters watching, it has texture, weight and consequence.
A seaside flat and a surcharge that changed everything
At the heart of this drama is an £800,000 flat in Hove, the pale-stoned neighbor to Brighton’s more flamboyant facades—gas-lit streets, Regency terraces, and a pier where, on any windy afternoon, kite-like umbrellas bob in the firm salt air. Angela Rayner told colleagues she had been advised she would not be liable for the additional 3% stamp duty surcharge that applies to purchases of a second home. That surcharge—imposed on top of the standard Stamp Duty Land Tax (SDLT) bands—is designed to dampen the market for buy-to-let investors and second-home owners.
On an £800,000 purchase, the extra 3% typically translates into roughly £24,000 more in tax liability than for a primary residence. That’s not a trivial sum; it’s the kind of arithmetic that prompts accountants to triple-check spreadsheets and ministers to earnestly consult counsel.
Rayner’s account to Number 10 was this: she had sold her share in the family home in Ashton-under-Lyne to a court-instructed trust set up in 2020 to benefit her disabled son, and had been advised that this put her beyond the scope of the second-home surcharge. Later, “leading tax counsel” told her she was liable. She admitted she had been “mistaken” and referred herself for an ethics investigation.
From Downing Street corridors to kitchen-table conversations
Cabinet reshuffles are usually the prime minister’s way of signaling direction. Keir Starmer had planned changes to consolidate his economic team and to sharpen the government’s message as it heads into the autumn budget season. Instead, the afternoon’s announcements read as triage: Lammy brought in as deputy prime minister and justice secretary; Yvette Cooper moving to the foreign office; Shabana Mahmood taking the home affairs brief.
“It’s a storm we didn’t want today,” a senior Labour aide told me. “We’re trying to pivot, but events move faster than any plan.”
Outside the stationery-lined rooms of Westminster, conversations were more intimate. In Hove, a cafe owner on Church Road watched a steady stream of locals come in and out, many with an old familiarity with politics they felt had been blurred in recent years.
“She’s a figure folks around here recognised,” said Mohammed, who runs the cafe. “People were surprised—there’s a distance between national headlines and the neighbours down the street. I don’t want to judge on a tax mistake, but I do notice how quickly things unravel.”
In Ashton-under-Lyne, where Rayner’s roots and family are better known, there was a different cadence. “Angela always came back,” said Jo, who volunteers at the local community centre. “She talks about working people and her family. I can see why it hurts—this is personal to her.”
Resignations and reputations: the broader tally
This is not an isolated departure. Rayner is the eighth member of Starmer’s team to leave since he took office—five resignations were related to alleged wrongdoing—and that tally makes his premiership’s early months one of the most turbulent in recent political memory. Analysts note that no prime minister since 1979 has suffered as many ministerial exits at such an early stage outside of formal reshuffles.
That figure matters. It shapes investors’ nerves, gives media narratives a hunting ground, and furnishes opposition parties with theatre. Nigel Farage and others have pounced—arguing that the government is unstable, that its ethics policing is both necessary and inadequate.
What does this say about how we do politics now?
Is this merely a personal error amplified by celebrity? Or is it symptomatic of an era when politicians live under microscopes and private tax arrangements are instantly political? The truth sits somewhere in between.
On one hand, tax law is notoriously labyrinthine; solicitors and counsel offer different views, and honest mistakes do happen. On the other, the public trusts elected officials to be beyond reproach when it comes to the rules they help oversee. That dual expectation produces a harsh standard: competence plus impeccable optics.
“There’s a growing intolerance for ambiguity in public life,” said Dr. Elaine Mercer, a professor of political ethics. “Voters expect clarity, but legislators legislate complexity. When those two realities collide, reputations can be undone by relatively small technical errors.”
Lammy’s rise, Cooper’s return, Mahmood’s new brief: what it signals
David Lammy is a steady hand in Labour’s parliamentary ranks. His move from foreign secretary to justice secretary and deputy prime minister is not a demotion so much as a redeployment: Starmer is clearly putting trusted, experienced lieutenants in roles that will matter under pressure. Yvette Cooper’s return to the foreign office signals an emphasis on experience; her previous tenure across the Treasury and home affairs gives her a reputation for managerial steadiness. Shabana Mahmood at the home office signals a generational continuity in Labour’s front bench, blending legal expertise with a track record in constituency work.
“This is about credibility ahead of hard choices,” said an economist close to the party. “The autumn budget will be testing—markets will watch every signal. Starmer needs a team that can hold the line.”
Choices, consequence, and the wider conversation
What should we take away from this? First, personal decisions—about property, trusts, or counsel—can become public crucibles. Second, political leadership is fragile; a single misstep in private life can reshape public governance. And third, voters will soon be asked to weigh economic choices: tax rises, public spending, the question of housing policy that Rayner herself championed.
As you read this, ask yourself: how much should private financial complexity affect public trust? Are we demanding a level of purity that politics can’t realistically supply? Or is this a necessary enforcement of accountability?
Whatever your view, the reshuffle is a reminder that politics is as much about moments as it is about policies—moments that reveal the character of leaders, the resilience of institutions, and the anxieties of a public watching closely from cafes, council estates and the promenades of Hove.
In the coming weeks, the ethics inquiry will move at its own pace, the cabinet will settle into new routines, and Starmer will try to steady a government that needs both competence and calm. For now, the sea off Hove keeps turning its tides against the pebbled shore—an ordinary rhythm that belies the extraordinary personal and political tides it has set in motion.
Big Tech CEOs convene at White House dinner with President Trump
The Long Table at 1600 Pennsylvania: Silicon Valley Meets the White House
There are moments when a room seems to hold the weight of history—not because of a speech or a court ruling, but because of who chooses to sit together. On a warm Washington evening, under the sculpted chandeliers of the White House dining room, more than two dozen of the world’s most consequential technologists threaded conversation across linen and crystal.
It was part state dinner, part corporate powwow, and wholly a signpost: an Old Guard seat-of-power and a new kind of industrial complex — the cloud, the chips, the data centers, the algorithms — leaning into one another.
Faces at the Table
Representatives from companies that, a generation ago, were the stuff of garages and grad students now filled nearly every chair. Executives from dominant platform companies, a handful of venture-backed AI firms, and the CEOs of Cloud America exchanged small talk about supply chains, semiconductor capacity and carbon footprints. Some of the names were expected; others, conspicuously absent.
“We came to listen,” said one Silicon Valley executive as he stood on the East Colonnade minutes before entering, smoothing his tie. “There’s a lot at stake here—money, jobs, influence. You don’t miss a night like this.”
Not everyone made it to the room. One well-known founder, who has stitched together rockets and electric cars and once sat at a nearby table at the same residence, did not attend in person; aides said he sent an envoy. The absence was its own kind of statement, a reminder that alliances between tech and politics can be as brittle as they are strategic.
What They Talked About
The central thread of the evening was artificial intelligence: how to govern it, how to grow it, and how to protect the place where much of it is conceived and manufactured.
There were plans and pledges. Several company leaders detailed multi-billion-dollar commitments to expand U.S. data centers, citing the need to host compute closer to American users and to meet rising regulatory expectations. Investment bankers would call that “reshoring,” policy wonks would call it “industrial strategy,” and for many executives it was simply prudent business—keeping infrastructure under American jurisdiction to avoid trade frictions and data localization mandates.
“We’re talking about building capacity that will power the next decade of innovation,” a cloud executive told me after the dinner, his voice low with the fatigue of a long travel schedule. “That’s not a slogan. That’s warehouses of servers, power agreements with utilities, and long-term leases with local communities.”
Thanks, and a Reminder
Gratitude for a pro-business environment was a theme. A number of attendees praised the administration’s rhetoric and actions around taxation and regulation as enabling conditions for investment. At the same time, gentle — and not-so-gentle — reminders about global responsibilities slipped into the conversation.
“We need a policy that lets this country lead, sure. But what about using these same tools to help people who aren’t here?” a philanthropist and former industry leader said, referencing the potential of AI to improve health, education and disaster response around the world.
The Political Choreography
Politics is rarely absent from any White House gathering, and this night was no exception. The gathering came at a moment when the administration has been explicit about its willingness to leverage trade and regulatory pressure on foreign jurisdictions to protect American tech interests—language that sits awkwardly with allies who worry about digital sovereignty and competition policy.
Outside, a small group of protesters had gathered near Lafayette Square, placards in hand, asking why public goods like privacy and fair competition were being bartered for corporate investment. “We support innovation, but not crony capitalism,” one marcher shouted. Inside, the conversation was more nuanced, and often pragmatic: where to locate new factories, how to secure chip supplies, how to keep talent in the U.S.
“You have companies who are trying to navigate three things at once: market demand, geopolitics, and values,” said a senior technology policy analyst in Washington. “Sometimes those goals align, sometimes they don’t. That’s what makes nights like this both attractive and unnerving.”
Voices from the Room
Not all attendees sang the same tune. While some praised the administration’s climate on business, others urged a broader, more equitable view of technological progress.
“My ask was simple,” a senior scientist at an AI firm said, recounting a brief exchange with a White House official. “Help us build responsibly, and help us make the benefits real for people who haven’t seen them yet.”
A community organizer from a Midwestern town where a new data center is planned was present as part of a delegation: “We want jobs and better infrastructure, but we also want assurances: will the power go up? Will property taxes be fair? Will people be hired locally?” she asked. Her tone was both hopeful and cautionary.
Industry, Memory, and Momentum
Someone at the table did evoke the memory of a previous era — the rapid vaccine development program led in part by public-private partnership — as a proof point for what government and industry can accomplish when they act with urgency. The example was offered as inspiration: if the U.S. can marshal resources to solve a public-health crisis, why not do the same for technological infrastructure that will reshape economies?
Yet politics has consequences. Since the administration took office, foreign aid lines and certain international cooperation programs have been reduced, sparking debate among those who believe technology should be a humanitarian as well as an economic force.
Why This Night Matters Beyond the Menu
There’s a structural shift embedded in scenes like the White House dinner: the merging of policy rooms and server rooms. Tech companies increasingly realize they can’t outsource the politics of their business. Governments are learning that the code and the machines that run it are geopolitical assets.
Consider a few numbers to frame this shift:
- Technology and related industries contribute roughly a tenth of the U.S. economy, measured by share of GDP and encompassing software, hardware, and digital services.
- Cloud service providers and major chipmakers have announced tens of billions in data-centre and fabrication investments over the past several years, with local communities competing to offer power and tax deals.
- Artificial-intelligence compute demand has grown exponentially, with industry estimates suggesting enormous increases in power usage and capital spending required to train leading models.
Numbers like these might be abstract in an op-ed, but in one Midwestern county they mean construction crews, new tax assessments, and debates over conservation easements. In California, they mean competition for talent and fresh questions about housing and transportation.
Where Do We Go From Here?
After the last fork was set aside and the band folded into polite conversation, the attendees dispersed back into their respective ecosystems—boardrooms, labs, factory floors, and policy teams. But the conversations seeded that night will have ripple effects.
Will the pledges translate into durable public benefits? Will political favor be exchanged for private advantage? How will global partners respond to a style of economic diplomacy that leans hard on American leverage?
As you read this, consider the architecture we are building together—literal data centers that hum with energy, and the regulatory frameworks that will define who wins and who is left behind. What kind of future do you want those servers to serve?
The dinner was more than a photograph on a podium. It was a crossroads: part celebration, part negotiation, and entirely a story of power in the age of algorithms.
Linehan trial: witness testifies reaching for phone was an involuntary reflex
The Phone, the Conference, and a Trial: A Moment Unspooled in London
It began, as so many modern confrontations do, with a small rectangle of glass and plastic — a phone held inches from a face, recording, relentless. And in the days that followed, the clip of that moment threaded its way through social media, court filings and heated debates about free speech, identity and accountability.
Graham Linehan — the writer and co-creator of the beloved sitcom Father Ted — is standing trial at Westminster Magistrates’ Court accused of harassing Sophia Brooks, a transgender young person, over a period in October last year, and of seizing and damaging her mobile phone at a London conference. The alleged incidents happened when Ms Brooks was 17; she is now 18. Mr Linehan has pleaded not guilty.
Outside the Battle of Ideas
Picture a chill October morning near the conference venue in central London: earnest conversations over takeaway coffees, clipboards, placards and the omnipresent hum of livestreams. The Battle of Ideas festival is, by design, a place for argument — a marketplace of competing opinions. But what happened on 19 October spilled over from that marketplace into the legal arena.
According to a statement read in court from Mr Linehan’s police interview, he says he was “first approached by Tarquin” when he arrived and felt he was being harassed — filmed at close quarters, provoked about his private life. “The taunting from Tarquin was completely unnecessary. In response I grabbed the phone and threw it to one side,” Linehan told police, adding that it was a “reflex response” and that he “did not intend to cause any damage.”
For the prosecution, the story is more damning: prosecutors say the defendant used social media to relentlessly single out and abuse the complainant, posting derogatory references and conducting a campaign that the court heard was “oppressive” and “vindictive.” A video shown to the court appears to capture the moment a phone is taken from the complainant’s hand.
How the court is handling identity and language
In a detail that underscores how law, language and identity can collide, District Judge Briony Clarke said the prosecution would address the complainant by their affirmed gender name, while noting the defendant’s position that the complainant is male. The tension between court formality and the fraught debates playing out publicly was palpable in the room.
“The judge’s approach is procedural — to ensure the complainant’s dignity and legal protections,” said a criminal law specialist I spoke to outside the court, who asked not to be named. “But you can see how these procedural choices become politicised in the public square.”
Voices at the margins and the centre
Outside the courthouse, people stopped to talk. A young activist who had followed the case posted on their phone, hands trembling. “I came because these confrontations don’t happen in a vacuum,” she said. “They’re part of a pattern: online abuse, followed by seeking out people in public spaces. That shouldn’t be normalised.”
Down the road, a regular at a nearby cafe — a 60-something who recalled watching Father Ted with her family — sounded conflicted. “I don’t agree with everything he says,” she told me. “But the idea of anyone having their life examined on social media and then turned into a public fight — that’s unsettling.”
These competing sympathies were echoed by campaigners and commentators. “We have to protect young people from targeted harassment,” said an equality campaigner. “At the same time, public figures have platforms that can inflame situations. The question is how the law sets boundaries without chilling legitimate debate.”
Context: When online spat meets offline law
The case sits at the knotty intersection of several modern trends: the amplification power of social media, a cultural moment of intense debate over transgender rights and identity, and a judicial system that is increasingly asked to adjudicate behaviours born online but played out face-to-face.
Experts point out that harassment prosecutions have become more common as courts and prosecutors respond to the realities of online abuse spilling into real life. One legal educator explained, “Harassment, in law, isn’t merely rude speech — it’s behaviour that causes alarm or distress and that a reasonable person would consider oppressive.”
- Allegation: Repeated harassing social media posts aimed at the complainant between 11 and 27 October.
- Allegation: Seizing and causing damage to a mobile phone on 19 October.
- Defence: Acts were a reflex to perceived provocation and harassment; no intent to cause damage; posts were journalistic in the public interest.
How do you draw the line? When does persistent exposure become harassment? When does the right to call out public behaviours turn into a campaign of abuse? These are not purely academic questions: they define the lived reality of teenagers who find themselves the target of adult controversy, and they define the responsibilities of public figures who wield large followings.
Young people, public performance and the politicisation of youth
The age of the complainant — 17 at the time — adds another layer to the debate. In recent years, teenagers have emerged as ardent political actors, often using smartphones as tools of accountability and activism. But those same tools expose them to adults with larger platforms and more established audiences.
“People forget that a teenager’s decision to film someone is rarely benign; it can be a tactic of protest, yes, but also a way to document what they perceive as wrongdoing,” said an academic who studies youth activism. “And when things go viral, the stakes escalate quickly.”
Which prompts a question: should the courts be the main forum for settling these disputes, or should universities, event organisers, and social platforms take more responsibility for preventing escalation? There’s no neat answer — only a messy, ongoing negotiation between speech, safety and power.
Where this goes next
The trial is ongoing. Mr Linehan denies the harassment charge and the allegation of criminal damage. Prosecutors say they will show a pattern of conduct on social media that amounts to harassment; the defence says the posts were justified scrutiny of activist tactics and that the phone was grabbed in a moment of reflexive self-defence.
In the coming days, the court will weigh evidence, witness testimony and the context in which a brief but explosive encounter unfolded. The outcome will matter for the individuals involved — and it will resonate in a broader culture still learning how to be civil online and accountable in public.
So, reader: what do you make of it? When a camera becomes a weapon, and a tweet becomes a verdict, how should a society protect privacy without silencing dissent? The answers are as complicated as the human lives at the centre of this case — and they demand that we look beyond the headlines to the people and places that make up the story.
Macron Announces 26 Nations Pledge Security Support for Ukraine
After the Summit: A Pact of Promise — and a Dark Reminder
On a damp late-afternoon in Paris, beneath the ornate frescoes of the Élysée Palace, leaders left the room carrying a mix of resolve and unease.
French President Emmanuel Macron stood beside Ukraine’s Volodymyr Zelensky and announced a startling, almost cinematic commitment: 26 countries had agreed to be ready to deploy forces to Ukrainian soil — on land, at sea or in the air — as part of security guarantees should a peace deal with Russia ever be reached.
It was a statement intended to reassure; a public promise to bind flesh and steel to paper. But for many who heard it — diplomats, soldiers, aid workers, ordinary Ukrainians — the pledge was also a reminder of how fragile peace remains, and how high the stakes are.
A New Kind of Guarantee
“This is not a parade of flags,” a senior French defence official told me after the announcement. “It is a line in the sand: a promise to rebuild, to rearm, to be present if diplomacy finally delivers.”
The meeting in Paris brought together 35 leaders from what Macron called a “coalition of the willing,” a loose umbrella of mainly European countries that have been negotiating the contours of post-conflict security for months. Of those, 26 have now signalled readiness to place forces in Ukraine in support roles, deterrence roles, or as part of a formal peacekeeping architecture.
The coalition’s plan centers on two strands: first, material commitments to rebuild and bolster Ukraine’s armed forces; second, the prospect of multinational troop deployments as a reassurance mechanism if and when a ceasefire crystallises. Macron and Zelensky said the group had spoken with US President Donald Trump during the summit and that Washington’s contribution would be finalised in the coming days — a crucial component, given that European ministers want American guarantees as a “backstop.”
“We don’t want theatrical gestures,” a British diplomat said. “We want credible capacity — logistics, air surveillance, demining, medical units. And we want clear US firepower in the wings if deterrence fails.”
What “presence” could mean
Expectations were deliberately vague by design. “Presence” may translate into training brigades, maritime patrols in the Black Sea, airlift capabilities, or small battlegroups embedded with Ukrainian units. It might also mean engineers to clear mines and specialists to shore up ports and power grids.
Such missions would be costly and politically complex. Germany and other countries said they would participate in rebuilding Ukrainian capabilities, but Berlin insisted it needed clarity — especially about the extent of US involvement — before committing troops.
The Brutal Counterpoint: Aid Workers Killed
The diplomatic choreography in Paris was overshadowed by a brutal reality check on the ground in Ukraine: a Russian rocket strike north of Kyiv killed two members of the Danish Refugee Council who were clearing mines near Chernihiv, around 125km from the capital.
Kaja Kallas, the EU’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, reacted sharply. “This attack underscores the brutality of this war,” she said. “Attacks on humanitarian missions are a grave violation of international law. The EU remains steadfast in supporting Ukraine and will hold those responsible accountable.”
An aid worker who asked to remain anonymous told me over a trembling phone line: “We came to make things safer, to remove the things that maim children and farmers. To die while doing that — it is a nightmare.”
Deaths like these puncture any abstract conversation about “security guarantees.” They turn diplomatic language into blood. They remind us that while generals and presidents speak in terms of battlegroups and sanctions, families bury neighbors, and villages rebuild under a sky still dangerous with drones and missiles.
Who’s In, Who’s Holding Back
Macron declined to list the 26 nations publicly. But among the countries that have publicly signalled willingness are France and Britain. Ireland — a country with a proud peacekeeping tradition — said it would consider contributing troops if a credible peace deal were reached. Ireland’s Tánaiste and Minister for Defence, Simon Harris, candidly said: “If there is a peace agreement, Ireland — as part of this coalition — will want to assist.”
Not everyone is ready to leap. Germany has taken a cautious line, saying any decision on a military role depends on the precise nature of the guarantees and how the US would back them. The coalition’s leaders have long insisted that European deployments require a US backstop — legal, logistical, and political — to be viable.
Russia pushes back
From Moscow the reaction was swift and uncompromising. Maria Zakharova, a ministry spokeswoman, dismissed any idea of foreign troops on Ukrainian soil as “absolutely unacceptable,” arguing such deployments would “undermine any security” and risk escalating tensions across Europe.
President Vladimir Putin has publicly ruled out NATO troop deployments in Ukraine as part of any settlement, while also suggesting the door to negotiations remains open “if common sense prevails.”
“Why are we interested in what Russia thinks about troops in Ukraine? It’s a sovereign country,” Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte said bluntly. “Russia has nothing to do with this. I think we really have to stop making Putin too powerful.”
Sanctions, Energy, and the China Question
Alongside the military talk, the coalition has been sharpening economic levers. In their call with President Trump, European leaders urged Washington to coordinate new sanctions targeting Russia’s oil and gas sector — a key revenue stream for Moscow — and to press China to curtail financial flows that could indirectly support Russia’s operations.
A White House official said Trump emphasised that Europe must stop purchasing Russian oil and should place economic pressure on China. Whether such measures will materialise, and whether they will be enough to bend Russian policy, remains an open question.
Consider the scale: energy sales have been central to Russia’s budget. Cutting off oil and gas revenues is not an abstract punitive measure; it’s an attempt to change the material calculus of war. But it risks protracted pain for European consumers and could push global energy markets into turbulence.
What Would a Peacekeeping Mission Look Like?
There is no single template. Peacekeepers could be observers, interposition forces, humanitarian escorts, or rapid-response units. They could be multinational under an EU, UN, or ad hoc coalition banner. Each configuration brings its own legal implications, rules of engagement, and political risks.
“A peacekeeping mission needs legitimacy and a clear mandate,” said Dr. Elena Morozova, a conflict specialist. “Without clear legal backing and a political settlement, troops on the ground will be targets, not peacemakers.”
- Primary conditions for deployment would likely include a signed ceasefire, verified withdrawal of forces from certain areas, demilitarised zones, and guarantees of humanitarian access.
- Support services — demining teams, medical units, engineers — would be essential from day one.
- And international judicial mechanisms would be necessary to investigate attacks on civilians and aid workers.
Why This Matters to You
This is not a European story alone. It is a test of whether middle powers can stitch together credible security in a world where great-power competition is intensifying and where traditional alliances are being questioned.
Ask yourself: who guarantees the guarantee? If a coalition promises to defend a sovereign nation, what mechanisms ensure it can actually do so without spiralling into a wider conflagration?
The answers will shape not just the fate of Ukraine, but how democracies respond to aggression in coming decades. Will Europe build autonomous capacity to deter threats? Will the US remain a reliable backstop? Will economies accept short-term pain for long-term security?
On the Ground: Voices from Ukraine
In Kyiv, a teacher named Olena said, “We want peace, not parades. We want the mines cleared, the electricity fixed, our children safe.”
A farmer near Chernihiv, boots still dusted with black earth, told me: “There is fear, yes. But also a stubborn hope. If Europe is coming to help rebuild, that hope will have weight.”
Those human voices cut through diplomatic rhetoric. They ask of leaders something simple and profound: not only strategies and maps, but protection for everyday life.
Conclusion: Between Promise and Peril
The Paris summit planted a seed — a coalition prepared to put bodies and resources into a shaky peace. But seeds require careful tending. Without clarity, legitimacy, and robust international backing, even the most well-intentioned deployments can become liabilities.
For now, the commitment is a promise on paper, and a pledge on camera. Whether it becomes a reality will depend on the messy, painful work of negotiation, on the willingness of powers to accept costs, and on the simple, human imperative to shield aid workers and civilians from harm.
As you read this, consider: in a fractured world, how do we choose to guarantee peace? With words? With money? With soldiers? With patience — or with courage? The answer will determine not only the fate of Ukraine, but the shape of international order for years to come.
US could unravel EU trade pact if it loses tariff dispute
When Tariffs Meet Treaties: A White House Ultimatum and a World on Edge
It was a hot, fluorescent-lit Tuesday at the White House press briefing room, the kind of day when words from the podium ricochet and don’t easily fade. President Donald Trump stepped up to the microphone and, in his blunt, theatrical cadence, suggested the United States might have to “unwind” recent trade deals with the European Union, Japan and South Korea if the Supreme Court rules against his administration on a tariffs case.
“We made a deal with the European Union where they’re paying us almost a trillion dollars,” he said. “I guess we’d have to unwind them.” The line landed like a pebble thrown into a global pond—small at first, then widening into waves of worry, curiosity and, for some, a grim kind of political theater.
The Scene Beyond the Headlines
Stop for a moment and picture the ripple effects. In a Cleveland storefront, a small manufacturer of stamped metal parts looks up from the bench where workers grease cogs and talk sports. “If the rules change overnight,” says Maria Lopez, who runs the shop with her brother, “we’ll be deciding whether to keep three of our guys or let them go. These aren’t abstract things to us.” Her hands, callused from years on the shop floor, gesture toward a stack of imported coils on the pallet—materials that may carry a levy, a savings, a cost, or a political message depending on next week’s legal headline.
Across the Atlantic, at a café near Brussels’ European quarter, diplomats speak in lower tones. A senior EU trade official, who asked not to be named, sighed. “We worked months—years—on frameworks that were supposed to stabilize commerce. To have them potentially swept aside by a court case tied to a separate tariffs regime? It undermines trust in predictable governance.”
What Is at Stake?
At its heart, the dispute revolves around a set of tariffs the Trump administration slapped on imported goods in recent years—some framed as “reciprocal” or retaliatory measures, others part of broader campaigns against what policymakers called unfair trade practices. An appeals court recently found many of those tariffs unlawful; the White House has signaled it will ask the Supreme Court to reverse that decision.
Legal scholars caution that the situation is legally complex and politically loaded. If the Supreme Court upholds the appeals court’s ruling, the government could be forced to remove certain duties. The president’s comments suggest that, should that happen, some of the separate trade arrangements negotiated with allies could be renegotiated or even dismantled.
Ryan Majerus, a former senior U.S. trade official, told me, “From day one, these EU and bilateral pacts were frameworks—flexible, politically negotiated structures—so saying they can be unwound is less a legal claim than a negotiating posture. It’s leverage wrapped in a warning.” His voice was calm, seasoned, the voice of someone who has sat across from foreign ministers at a negotiation table and knows how much bluff can be involved.
Numbers that Ground the Argument
Consider the scale. Transatlantic trade in goods and services routinely exceeds a trillion dollars a year; the EU and the U.S. are each other’s largest trading partners for services, and among the largest for goods. U.S. tariffs imposed during the trade confrontations of the late 2010s covered hundreds of billions of dollars worth of imports. Economists warn that duties like these rarely remain an abstract burden on a foreign supplier: they twist through global value chains and often raise costs for American businesses and consumers.
“Tariffs are taxes on economic activity,” says Dr. Elaine Chen, a trade economist at an Ivy League university. “They can protect certain domestic industries, yes—but they also raise input costs for manufacturers, and studies show some tariff hikes translated into higher prices for U.S. consumers.” She cites peer-reviewed research that connects specific tariff episodes with measurable upticks in consumer prices and disruptions to supply chains.
Voices from the Ground
In Busan, a mid-sized electronics parts exporter paused between loading crates to explain how fragile globalized production really is. “We have machines here that assemble tiny chips for cars. If rules change, buyers might cancel orders. It takes years to reconfigure a factory,” she said, checking her phone to confirm shipment details. “It’s not just policy. It’s livelihoods.”
In Washington, optimism and alarm collide. Senator Ron Wyden, the top Democrat on the Senate Finance Committee, accused the administration of sowing confusion. “They can’t get their story straight about whether their trade deals will hold any water if the tariffs are struck down,” he said in a terse statement. It’s a reminder that politics is never far from commerce in these debates.
What Would “Unwinding” Look Like?
Unwinding a trade agreement is not a flip of a switch. It would mean reopening negotiations, renegotiating terms on tariffs, quotas, regulatory cooperation, and standards that affect everything from car parts to digital services. For business leaders, the mere threat of that process can freeze investment and make long-term planning difficult.
- Short-term effects could include market volatility and temporary supply chain delays.
- Medium-term effects might be new tariffs or restrictions on goods, leading companies to source differently.
- Long-term outcomes could reshape the architecture of global trade, prompting some industries to reshore while pushing others to diversify supply chains.
How the Courts and the Market Might Respond
Legal analysts note the Supreme Court’s composition—often described as leaning conservative—may slightly increase the odds that at least some tariffs survive. But predicting a nine-justice bench’s response to a novel legal question is always dicey. This case could set precedent about executive power, trade law, and how much latitude presidents have in imposing duties for national security or retaliatory purposes.
Markets respond to certainty. “When legal uncertainty remains, firms delay investment,” says a consultant who works with multinational manufacturers. “That hesitation can translate into lost jobs, slower wage growth, and postponed upgrades to plants.”
Questions for the Reader
What if this is not just a domestic political gambit but a test of global economic order? If trade agreements can be renegotiated or revoked based on a domestic court’s interpretation of tariff law, what does that do to the fragile trust upon which global commerce rests? How should democracies balance national leverage against the need for stable rules that businesses and workers rely upon?
These are not theoretical concerns. They live in Maria Lopez’s shop, in the export lines at Busan’s docks, in Brussels conference rooms and the blinking terminals on Wall Street. They live in the quiet calculations of corporate CFOs and the government lawyers poring over statutes and past precedent.
Final Thought
This is a story about power, law, and the human cost of economic chess. It’s about presidents and justices, yes—but also about the line workers, shop owners and exporters whose days are shaped by decisions in courtrooms and Oval Office meetings. As the Supreme Court considers whether to step in, the world watches. The question is not just who wins in legal terms, but whether we can keep the scaffolding of global trade steady enough for ordinary people to build their lives upon.
Putin warns Western forces in Ukraine would be targeted
The Thin Line Between Deterrence and Escalation
On the windswept edge of Russia’s Pacific coast, Vladimir Putin spoke with a calm that carried a threat. At an economic forum in Vladivostok he said bluntly that any Western troops on Ukrainian soil would be “legitimate targets.” The sentence landed like a flat stone on a still pond: small, simple, and rippling outward in ways that will be felt for months to come.
Across Europe, in a stately Paris hall where flags and handshakes usually signify diplomacy rather than defiance, leaders pledged a new form of protection for Ukraine. Twenty-six nations—by their own count—have committed to a “reassurance” force that would deploy in the wake of a peace deal or ceasefire, intended to deter a repeat Russian attack. It was, as President Volodymyr Zelensky put it, “a first concrete step.”
Two visions of peace collide
Read them together and you see the clash at hand: one side warns that Western presence equals provocation; the other believes that absence invites aggression. Neither view is naïve. Both are freighted with history.
“We are not talking about boots on the frontline,” Emmanuel Macron said in Paris, standing next to Zelensky. “We are talking about presence—on land, at sea, in the air—meant to prevent a new major aggression.” In his view, the reassurance force is a kind of post-war insurance policy, a way of making clear that Europe will not be found wanting the morning after any accord.
For Moscow, that is intolerable. “Foreign, especially European and American, troops cannot provide guarantees to Kyiv,” Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said, echoing a position that Moscow has returned to again and again. Put simply: for Russia, certain foreign military footprints are a red line. For Kyiv and its allies, those same footprints may be the only credible deterrent.
On the ground: mines, grief, and ordinary courage
While summit rooms buzz with statements and strategy, people continue to live with the aftermath of nearly three years of war. In northern districts recently vacated by Russian forces, demining teams—often from humanitarian groups—still comb fields, ditches, and children’s playgrounds for death in waiting. A rocket attack killed two members of a Danish mine-clearance unit this week; the grief on local Facebook pages was raw and immediate.
“You don’t see the danger until you step on it,” said Olena, a teacher who returned to her village outside Kharkiv to rebuild what she can. “We come back with buckets of hope, but also with pockets full of fear.”
These are the human stakes behind sterile security debates: the children who cannot play in the park until someone certifies the soil; the farmers who cannot sow a field until the mines are cleared; the families who can’t make a long-term plan because the horizon keeps shifting.
What exactly would a reassurance force do?
- Presence: deterrent patrols at sea and in the air, perhaps bases for observers, and a visible multilateral footfall in towns far from current front lines.
- Monitoring: verification of any ceasefire conditions, as well as mine-clearance support and humanitarian logistics.
- Training and regeneration: rebuilding the Ukrainian armed forces so they can defend their territory credibly.
These tasks sound practical. But they are also political. They require unanimous buy-in on definitions, rules of engagement, and what happens the moment one side claims the other violated the agreement.
The politics inside the coalition
Not all the 26 countries are marching in lockstep. Differences are large, and they matter. Germany is cautious, unwilling to commit troops without a clarified framework. Italy says no to soldiers but might help monitor an agreement. The United States, represented at the Paris summit by special envoy Steve Witkoff, offered qualified support—but the scale and mode of U.S. participation remains uncertain.
“We must avoid creating the impression that Europe will go to war by proxy,” said a senior European diplomat who asked not to be named. “At the same time, walking away from deterrence after we’ve watched repeated attempts at annexation would be a historical mistake.”
There are also geopolitical ripples. Putin’s recent visits to Beijing and meetings with other world leaders have left Western capitals asking whether Moscow seeks to reshuffle the map of alliances—or merely to blunt Western unity. In Beijing, images of Putin and Xi standing together at a military parade were broadcast like a quiet reminder that powerful friends will watch one another’s backs.
Questions that will not go away
Here are the thorny queries that will shape decisions in the coming months. Would a reassurance force actually deter a future incursion, or simply become a target? If Western troops are hit, how far will countries go to respond? Is Europe prepared to field a sustained, multinational presence without the United States taking a leading role? And perhaps most humanly: what does “security” mean to a family trying to rebuild a home mined with old shrapnel and new memories?
“Deterrence is only as strong as the will behind it,” said Marta Novak, a Warsaw-based security analyst. “If states signal they will stand and act, you raise the price for any would-be aggressor. But if the signal is ambiguous, you may only deepen the vacuum.”
Where this fits in the bigger picture
The debate over troops and guarantees is not just about borders or bases; it’s about the rules that govern the international system after conflict. It is about whether Europe can finally shoulder more of its own security or whether fissures between capitals will leave room for revisionist ambitions. And it is about the trade-offs democracies make: when to risk escalation, and when to accept an uneasy calm.
A human choice as much as a strategic one
Walking through a makeshift market in one Ukrainian town, I listened to a man named Petro describe how he teaches his daughter to plant potatoes in a field that may or may not be safe. He shrugged and smiled—a small, stubborn thing. “We dream of peace the way we dream of rain in summer,” he said. “You cannot live on dreams, but without them you do not plant.”
So what do readers think? Would you accept the presence of foreign troops on your soil to guarantee peace that might otherwise never come? Or would you fear that such a presence is a promise of more violence rather than a shield against it?
The answers are not easy, and the consequences are heavy. As leaders parse legal frameworks and military planners sketch scenarios on maps, the people of Ukraine will continue to clear their fields, rebuild their shops, and tell stories—some bitter, some hopeful—around kitchen tables. The world’s task is to translate those tableside hopes into policies that protect lives without plunging the continent into fresh, avoidable conflict.
For now, the thin line between deterrence and escalation persists. It runs across summit rooms and minefields alike, and who steps forward first—into danger or into a careful, multilateral commitment to peace—may determine the shape of Europe for a generation.
Madaxweyne Xasan on safar ugu ambabaxaya dalka Itoobiya oo xiisad kala dhexeyso
Sep 05(Jowhar)-Madaxweyne Xasan Sheekh Maxamuud iyo wafdi uu hoggaaminayo ayaa bilowga todobaadka soo socda u safraya magaalada Addis-ababa ee caasimadda dalka Itoobiya.
Russian outlets accuse Ukraine of orchestrating drone incursion into Poland
Under the Radar: A Night of Drones, Doubt and Poland’s Crackling Airspace
When the first alert lit up control rooms and kitchen radios in eastern...
Bolsonaro to appeal 27-year prison term over attempted coup
A Verdict That Echoes: Brazil at a Crossroads
In the hush of a Brasília morning, hundreds of millions of Brazilians leaned toward screens — TVs,...
European Union leader delivers defiant address amid intensifying political pressure
Strasbourg at a Crossroads: Von der Leyen’s Moment and Europe’s Double Bind
The hemicycle in Strasbourg hummed like a pressure cooker. Lights glared, cameras circled,...
Trump says suspect arrested and in custody over Charlie Kirk’s murder
A Campus Shudders: The Shooting That Shook Utah Valley
When a routine spring evening at Utah Valley University turned into a scene of raw grief...
Albania names AI-created minister hailed as ‘corruption-free’ innovation
Diella, the AI Minister: Albania’s Bold, Beautiful Gamble with Technology and Trust
On a warm spring evening in Tirana, under the glassy gaze of the...