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Afika Bambaataa, the Bronx‑born architect of modern hip‑hop, passed away at age 67 in Philadelphia early Thursday morning, with officials citing complications from cancer as the cause of death. The Hip‑Hop Alliance, chaired by veteran rapper Kurtis Blow, released a statement honoring Bambaataa’s role as a founding figure of the culture. The group praised his creation of the Universal Zulu Nation, which promoted the movement’s core values of peace, unity, love and fun, while also acknowledging the complexity of his legacy in light of recent abuse allegations. During the 1980s, Bambaataa helped define the sound of hip‑hop, most notably with the 1982 electro‑funk anthem “Planet Rock”. The track, which sampled German pioneers Kraftwerk, positioned him at the forefront of a new musical frontier and led to collaborations with artists such as John Lydon, George Clinton and James Brown. Born Lance Taylor, he launched the Universal Zulu Nation in the late 1970s, drawing inspiration from DJ Kool Herc and the solidarity of South Africa’s Zulu people. This collective became a cultural hub that spread hip‑hop’s ethos worldwide. In the early 1980s Bambaataa also performed with the electronic group Ebn Ozn, further cementing his reputation as a bridge between American street culture and European synth‑pop. His work helped crystallize the electro‑funk genre that dominated clubs across the globe. His activist side emerged in 1985 when he joined Artists United Against Apartheid to produce the landmark protest single “Sun City.” The project featured a roster of high‑profile musicians—including Bob Dylan, Bono, Bruce Springsteen and Run‑DMC—united against South Africa’s apartheid regime. Throughout the 1990s and early 2000s Bambaataa continued to record, culminating in his final album, “Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light” (2004). While his musical output waned, his influence on subsequent generations of artists remained unmistakable. However, Bambaataa’s later years were marred by serious accusations. In 2016, several Bronx men alleged sexual misconduct, which he publicly dismissed as “baseless and cowardly.” A former bodyguard later claimed to have witnessed inappropriate behavior involving teenage boys. The allegations resurfaced in May 2025 when an anonymous plaintiff filed a civil suit alleging four years of abuse beginning in 1992. Bambaataa failed to appear in court, resulting in a default judgment against him. As the hip‑hop community mourns a foundational artist, it also confronts the enduring debate over how to reconcile his cultural contributions with the serious allegations that have come to define the final chapter of his public life.

Korean fried chicken, also known as yangnyeom chicken, has become a global phenomenon, with a presence in over 60 countries and more than 1,800 stores worldwide.The dish, which originated in South Korea, was introduced by American soldiers after the Korean War. However, it wasn't until the 1980s that a Korean chicken shop owner, Yoon Jong-gye, developed a sweet and spicy recipe that made it distinctly Korean.The cultural breakthrough for Korean fried chicken came in 2014 with the Korean drama My Love from the Star, which became a sensation in China and triggered a surge in popularity for Korean chicken restaurants.Today, Korean fried chicken is the most popular Korean food among international consumers, according to a South Korean government survey. The dish has become a staple in many countries, with chimaek, the portmanteau meaning 'fried chicken and beer,' entering the Oxford English Dictionary.The success of Korean fried chicken can be attributed to its simplicity, technique, and adaptability. Korean chicken brands have expanded internationally, with many offering a range of recipes tailored to local tastes.At the heart of Korean fried chicken's success is its unique cooking technique, which involves double-frying the chicken to achieve extra crispiness. The batter, typically made with potato or corn starch, holds up well under the sauce, allowing it to stay crisp even after being boxed up for delivery.Prof Joo Young-ha, a cultural anthropologist, argues that Korean chicken's global success stems from its simplicity and universal appeal. 'Unlike pork, chicken crosses religious prohibition boundaries,' he says. 'And unlike kimchi, which is treated like a side dish, or bibimbap, which isn't immediately obvious as a dish, fried chicken is immediately recognizable as a meal.'

The romantic comedy 'You, Me & Tuscany' offers a wholesome and harmless meet-cute that will appeal to fans of the genre. The film stars Halle Bailey as Anna, a young woman navigating life after her mother's death, and Regé-Jean Page as Matteo, a charming Italian man who sweeps her off her feet.The movie's plot is full of familiar romantic comedy tropes, from the fake engagement to the picturesque Italian setting. However, the film's charm lies in its strong performances from the cast, particularly Bailey and Page. The chemistry between the leads is undeniable, and their romance is sweet and engaging.Despite its charm, the film has received criticism for its lack of originality and predictable plot twists. Some critics have argued that the movie relies too heavily on overused romantic comedy clichés, which detracts from its overall impact.The film's success is significant for the romantic comedy genre, as it marks a shift towards more diverse and culturally specific storytelling. The movie's diverse cast and Italian setting offer a fresh take on the traditional romantic comedy, and its positive representation of Black culture is a welcome change.Overall, 'You, Me & Tuscany' is a charming and engaging romantic comedy that is worth watching for fans of the genre. While it may not break new ground in terms of storytelling, the film's strong performances and picturesque setting make it a delightful watch.

On 23 June 2016, the United Kingdom’s electorate shifted from party‑centric voting to a binary choice between staying in or leaving the European Union. A decade later, about 60 % of the population still define themselves by the side they chose in that single referendum, turning a one‑off political decision into a lasting personal identity.While analysts often focus on the policy fallout—economic turbulence, party infighting, and shifting trade relations—the real impact runs deeper. The referendum ignited a civil‑war‑like split that continues to shape elections, media narratives, and everyday conversations across the country.Before the global upheavals of the George Floyd protests and the Covid‑19 vaccine rollout, Brexit was Britain’s most potent form of identity politics. It spawned new media outlets, such as GB News, and programmes like The Rest Is Politics, while also marginalising older cultural tropes like the “centrist dad” or “gammon” heckler on Question Time. Figures such as Nigel Farage and Zack Polanski now occupy the political fringe rather than the mainstream.The analysis draws on the new book Tribal Politics: How Brexit Divided Britain by political scientists Sara Hobolt and James Tilley. Their longitudinal surveys reveal a simple yet striking pattern: the referendum transformed a previously lukewarm public attitude toward the EU into a powerful, identity‑based habit.Prior to 2016, most Britons held only a mild Euroscepticism and gave the EU little thought. Even former Prime Minister David Cameron tried to silence the issue in 2006, believing it failed to engage voters. The sudden elevation of a niche concern to a national obsession forced ordinary citizens to pick a side, discuss it in pubs, and embed it into their self‑image—a process James Clear describes as building “identity‑based habits”.Data from Hobolt and Tilley show that emotional attachment to the Brexit identity was modest before the vote, rose sharply as the referendum approached, and surged dramatically after the result was announced. The post‑vote period saw a flood of EU‑themed merchandise, street rallies, and even flag‑clashes at cultural events such as the 2017 Last Night of the Proms.Crucially, the tribal divide has not faded. By 2025, only around 40 % of “Leavers” feel comfortable discussing politics with “Remainers”, and the sentiment is reciprocated. This goes beyond mere disagreement; it reflects a level of social discrimination where individuals on opposite sides would hesitate to share a home or marry into each other’s families.The authors note that the split now extends to perceptions of reality itself. Even in 2024, Remainers and Leavers disagreed on basic economic indicators, illustrating how the referendum reshaped not just policy preferences but fundamental worldviews.Class‑based voting, which dominated the 20th‑century British political landscape, has been largely supplanted by this new cultural cleavage. A previous study co‑authored by Tilley showed that the Labour Party’s turn toward the political centre in the 1990s eroded traditional working‑class loyalty. Today, leader Keir Starmer’s working‑class credentials appear largely symbolic, offering little substantive change.With class politics receded, culture wars have taken centre stage. The Brexit campaign’s vague promises about trade left the nation with a protracted, messy adjustment period. Immigration, famously dubbed the “baseball bat” issue by Dominic Cummings, remains the most polarising policy divide, followed by foreign aid and even the death penalty.Hobolt and Tilley’s most striking chart shows that while Remainers and Leavers clash over immigration, they share little disagreement on economic equality, workers’ rights, or public ownership—issues that directly affect household incomes. This suggests that the political battle is driven more by symbolic identity than by material concerns, benefitting those already financially secure.In sum, the United Kingdom’s post‑Brexit reality is one of entrenched tribalism, where a single referendum has reshaped social bonds, political discourse, and perceptions of truth itself. The nation continues to grapple with the legacy of a vote that turned a policy decision into a lasting cultural fault line.

Jon McClure, the Sheffield‑born frontman of Reverend and the Makers, has taken a seat on the board of Sheffield FC – the world’s oldest football club – after joining a new minority‑ownership group with David Bianchi. The move marks the first time the musician has taken on a formal role in a football institution.McClure, a lifelong Wednesday supporter, first approached the club eight years ago but felt he wasn’t yet “in a mature enough position” to steward a cultural landmark. Since last month he has been actively reviewing the club’s operations and seeking ways to modernise a team that currently competes in the ninth tier of English football.The appointment comes as Sheffield FC enjoys a surge in interest, having recorded a club‑record league attendance of 1,172 spectators for a recent defeat to Tadcaster. The side will host the same opponents again in a Northern Counties East League playoff semi‑final after finishing third in the division.Unlike the high‑profile takeovers at Dagenham & Redbridge or Wrexham, McClure insists his approach will be “more considered”. He acknowledges the club’s history of “years of dysfunction” and warns against “putting rocket boosters on a three‑wheeler”, emphasizing a need for steady stabilisation before growth.Founded in 1857, Sheffield FC’s claim to fame is its role in codifying the modern game – a narrative McClure says is “still under‑told”. The club boasts the first football kit, the first recorded derby and a unique FIFA order of merit shared only with Real Madrid, offering “global IP opportunities”, according to the chair.To translate heritage into footfall, McClure has introduced free entry for children, hoping to lift typical matchday crowds from 300‑400 to larger numbers. He also highlights a logistical hurdle: the club’s “Home of Football” ground sits in Dronfield, Derbyshire, outside Sheffield’s city limits, prompting a long‑term ambition to relocate to a multi‑purpose venue in the city centre.McClure’s celebrity connections are already bearing fruit. He invited Sheffield music legend Richard Hawley to a recent fixture and maintains a friendly rapport with Sheffield United manager Chris Wilder, despite the historic rivalry between the city’s clubs.In a nod to modern digital culture, McClure’s brother Chris created the viral persona “Steve Bracknall”, the fictional assistant manager of the Royal Oak. When the Royal Oak played a real match at Sheffield FC, the event drew over 2,000 fans on the ground and half a million online viewers, including Robbie Williams, branding it “the biggest game in Sunday league history”.Looking ahead, McClure is keen to expand the club’s junior and women’s programmes, envisioning an “1857 Academy” that could scale globally if built on the right foundations. While a leap to the Northern Premier League is the realistic target, the broader goal is to cement Sheffield FC as a thriving community hub that honors its status as the birthplace of football.

The UK's reliance on glyphosate, a widely used herbicide, has come under fire from campaigners who argue that its use has spiralled out of control. Glyphosate, known for its effectiveness in killing weeds, has been linked to various health risks, including cancer, and environmental damage.Originally pioneered by Scottish farmers in the 1980s to dry crops before harvest, the use of glyphosate has expanded globally. In the UK, over 2,200 tonnes of glyphosate were applied in 2024, with more than half used on wheat and other cereals. This represents a 10-fold increase in usage over the past three decades.Despite the World Health Organization classifying glyphosate as 'probably carcinogenic to humans' in 2015, its use has remained high. Bayer, the manufacturer, maintains that its herbicides do not cause cancer, but this stance is contested by many health and environmental organizations.Campaigners, including Nick Mole of Pesticide Action Network UK, are urging the government to phase out and ultimately ban glyphosate, citing its links to a range of cancers and other life-threatening diseases, as well as its impact on the environment. They argue that safer, more sustainable alternatives are available and should be adopted by farmers and local councils.However, some agricultural experts, like Helen Metcalfe of Rothamsted Research, suggest that glyphosate is used differently in the UK compared to the US, where genetically modified crops are involved. The shift towards 'regenerative' farming practices has contributed to the increased use of glyphosate, as it helps protect soil health and prevent erosion.The debate over glyphosate's safety and environmental impact continues, with the EU banning its use in pre-harvest desiccation in 2023 due to concerns about food accumulation. In the US, Bayer has offered $7.25bn to settle lawsuits alleging that Roundup, which contains glyphosate, can cause cancer. The UK government maintains that pesticide use is strictly regulated and only approved if it does not harm human or animal health or the environment.

Assam, India – Under the sweltering April sun, Akram Ali stood amid the rubble of his four‑room house, a home he had built over 45 years ago. The demolition, part of a government‑led bulldozing operation on March 14, turned his residence into a pile of debris.Bulldozers descended on Islampur, a Muslim‑majority neighbourhood on the outskirts of Guwahati, and for four hours razed homes across 177 hectares (437 acres). The sweep rendered 400 families homeless, including Ali, who now lives in a tarpaulin shanty a few kilometres from his former home.Ali, a daily‑wage worker, told Al Jazeera that despite identifying as Goriya – “son of the soil” – his house was destroyed. The Goriyas are an Assamese‑speaking Muslim community traditionally settled in the tea‑belt region. In 2022, the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) officially recognised the Goriya, along with four other Muslim sub‑groups, as “Indigenous” to Assam.While this designation has afforded the Indigenous Muslims a degree of cultural safety, it has not shielded them from the state’s aggressive land‑clearance drives. Ali questioned the distinction, asking, “Weren’t our homes demolished because we are Muslims?”Muslims make up more than a third of Assam’s 31 million residents, according to the 2011 census. Of these, roughly 6.3 million are Bengali‑speaking “miyas,” often labelled “outsiders,” while about 4 million belong to Indigenous groups like the Goriya.The BJP, led nationally by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, has been courting the Indigenous Muslim vote ahead of the April 2026 state elections, where it seeks a third consecutive term after governing since 2016. Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma, who has spearheaded the party’s crackdown on “miyas” since 2021, claims the government will “never target” Indigenous Muslims.Political analyst Bonojit Hussain explains that the BJP’s outreach serves two purposes: softening its communal image and capturing decisive vote blocks in constituencies where Indigenous Muslims and Hindus together decide the outcome. In seats such as Nalbari, where Indigenous Muslims account for over 25 % of the electorate, and Barkhetri, with roughly 80,000 Muslim voters, the community’s support can swing the result.Upper Assam, a region with a strong Assamese‑speaking identity, is especially critical. Journalist Firoz Khan notes that Indigenous Muslims influence the outcome in seven or eight of the 39 seats there, prompting the BJP to temper its overtly anti‑Muslim rhetoric in the area.Despite the party’s overtures, many Indigenous Muslims remain skeptical. Moinul Islam, spokesperson for the rights group Sadou Asom Goria Jatiya Parishad, warned that the BJP’s broader anti‑Muslim policies—evictions, voter‑list objections, and alleged deportations—are unlikely to win their votes.Earlier in 2025, similar demolition drives displaced hundreds of Goriya families in Lakhimpur and Golaghat districts, and a systematic campaign to challenge Muslim names on electoral rolls further strained relations.BJP spokesman Kishore Upadhyay dismissed the allegations as “malicious, biased and politically motivated,” but Indigenous groups argue the pattern signals an attempt to erase their cultural legacy.Recent actions by the state government reinforce this perception. Chief Minister Sarma renamed the only medical college in Barpeta—previously bearing the name of Goriya freedom fighter Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed—arguing that institutions should reflect their geographic location. Critics view the move as symbolic of a broader effort to marginalise Muslim contributions to Assam’s history.In December 2025, Sarma also proposed dropping the hyphen in “Sankar‑Azan,” a name that celebrated the syncretic legacy of 15th‑century polymath Srimanta Sankardev and 17th‑century Sufi saint Azan Peer. Communist Party member Isfaqur Rahman warned that such revisions reflect a “slow erasure of Assamese Muslim heritage.”For Ali, the demolition has hardened his political stance. “After being evicted, the chief minister called us illegal immigrants and broke our backs by destroying our homes,” he said. “We are the new miyas.”

In a revealing glimpse of the club’s ironclad exclusivity, a 2019 iMessage exchange shows Jeffrey Epstein pleading with Steve Bannon to secure a membership for Paul, Weiss partner Brad Karp. Bannon dismissed the request, describing Augusta’s governing families as "crackers" from the Old South who distrust lawyers and bankers, underscoring the club’s cultural gatekeeping. That anecdote illustrates a broader truth: money alone cannot buy entry to the Masters. Even former President Donald Trump has never been able to force his way onto the Augusta grounds, a rarity among high‑profile U.S. sporting events. Traditionally, most tickets are allocated to lifelong local patrons, a practice that has been frozen since the 1970s. The only official avenue for the public is an annual lottery, where the odds are so slim they make Tiger Woods’ chances of a sixth Green Jacket look generous. In practice, however, a lucrative secondary market emerged, with scalpers selling tickets for up to 50 times face value and operating just outside the 2,700‑foot anti‑scalping boundary mandated by Georgia law. Last year’s Masters turned into a "bloodbath" for the resale industry. An executive from a local hospitality firm reported that around 200 ticket holders were denied entry after the club began rigorously enforcing its anti‑scalping policy. Patrons were sometimes escorted to a room, asked for identification, and interrogated about how they obtained their tickets – a process likened to a police stop. According to insiders, the club’s four‑day tickets now contain RFID chips that allow staff to track each badge’s location nightly. The embedded barcodes allegedly store the buyer’s address, enabling staff to pinpoint resale activity. Some reports claim the club is even purchasing resale tickets en masse to uncover the identities of sellers, then sending a politely worded letter that permanently bans the recipient from the grounds. Ticket platforms have felt the impact. StubHub has introduced a new contract that makes sellers fully liable for any fees or charges if a buyer is turned away, while SeatGeek has ceased offering Masters tickets altogether. This decisive move by Augusta National signals a broader shift in how elite sports events manage secondary markets. Ultimately, the crackdown serves a dual purpose: protecting the club’s brand integrity and reinforcing its reputation as an institution that remains untouched by even the most powerful political figures. As the Masters approaches, the message is clear – the only way onto Augusta’s hallowed fairways is through its own tightly‑controlled channels, not through the influence of money, politics, or the resale trade.

Stephen Fry opened his appearance on ITV’s The Assembly with a startling question: “You tried to kill yourself a couple of times. Are you happy to be alive now?” The boldness set the tone for a conversation that veered far from the usual celebrity‑friendly script.The programme distinguishes itself by placing a well‑known guest in front of a panel of young adults with neurodivergence or learning disabilities. Free from the conventional safeguards of mainstream talk shows, the panel asks questions that are simultaneously unconventional and deeply human, prompting guests to respond without the usual rehearsed veneer.For Fry, the format proved liberating. Known for translating complex ideas into accessible language, he used the platform to discuss suicidal ideation, likening the experience to the lingering memory of a broken limb—painful yet now distant. This candidness allowed him to reaffirm why he remains a cultural touchstone.One of the most memorable moments came when a participant asked, “I read that you are bipolar. One of my family has that. How can I help them?” Fry responded with a vivid analogy, describing bipolar disorder as a “rainstorm raging inside you—eventually the sun returns, and it’s the weather, not the person, that changes.” This explanation resonated as both compassionate and educational.The interview oscillated between gravitas and levity. Fry fielded whimsical queries such as “Can you help me meet Céline Dion?” and “How much have you spent on cocaine?” alongside the probing “Are you a top or a bottom?” The juxtaposition amplified the emotional weight of the serious topics.At one point, a young panelist named Luca chose not to ask a question, instead performing William Wordsworth’s poem “The World Is Too Much With Us” with theatrical flair—a rare blend of poetry and performance that underscored the show’s experimental spirit.Another highlight involved Jacob, a panel member who brandished a list of Fry’s past advertising gigs—Heineken, Twinings, Honda, and more—before delivering the punchline, “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for money?” The extended joke built a collective laugh that softened the subsequent, more probing inquiries.Critics have likened the show’s tone to a hybrid of Radio 4’s In the Psychiatrist’s Chair and the cheeky, irreverent style of classic British comedy interviews such as those with Dame Edna Everage or Mrs Merton, creating a unique space where vulnerability and humor coexist.The episode concluded with Nina Simone’s “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free” playing as Fry reflected on his experiences with antisemitism and bipolar disorder. Moved by the music, he rose and danced, offering a visual testament to the therapeutic power of the format.The Assembly aired on ITV1 and is now available for streaming on ITVX.