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The new academic term began in Gaza in late March, but the usual bustle of students catching buses to campus has been replaced by the stark reality of displacement.Israel’s relentless campaign has turned most university buildings into rubble and shelters, forcing a shift to online learning that many students in tents cannot access due to lack of electricity, water, food and reliable internet.Against this backdrop, a glimmer of hope has emerged. In the overcrowded al‑Mawasi district of Khan Younis, the US‑based NGO Scholars Without Borders has erected a makeshift “University City,” a wooden and metal structure designed to bring students back into a real lecture hall."Our mission is to bring education closer to students in a better environment," said Hamza Abu Daqqa, the organisation’s Gaza representative.The facility houses six halls that can accommodate up to 600 students each day. Powered by solar panels, it offers internet access, improvised green spaces and even a small business incubator to help students explore entrepreneurial ideas.University City operates on a rotating weekly schedule, allocating each day to a different institution so that multiple universities can share the limited space. Priority is given to courses that require hands‑on instruction, such as practical labs and discussion‑based classes.Prominent Gaza institutions—including the Islamic University, Al‑Azhar University and the Palestine College of Nursing—have already begun using the site.For many students, this is the first time in years they have set foot in a space that feels like a real university. "When I saw this place, I was amazed," said 20‑year‑old nursing student Mariam Nasr, who fled Rafah and now travels four kilometres on foot to attend classes.Another first‑year student, Amr Muhammad, echoed the sentiment: "Being here with other students, discussing and engaging in class makes a huge difference."The broader picture remains grim. UN experts have labeled Israel’s systematic targeting of Gaza’s academic sector as “scholasticide.” More than 7,000 university students and staff have been killed or injured, and over 60 university buildings have been completely demolished, according to the Euro‑Med Human Rights Monitor.Materials for University City were sourced entirely within Gaza, a testament to the community’s resilience amid soaring costs and scarce resources. Yet the initiative is hampered by the same blockade that restricts reconstruction supplies, fuel and safe transport.Students still face daily hurdles: damaged roads, limited cash, and unreliable transport—often relying on worn‑out vehicles, donkey carts or long walks. "My father could only give me eight shekels (about $2.64) for a ride," Mariam explained, highlighting the economic strain.Even once inside the halls, challenges persist. Power outages and unstable internet make it difficult to print materials or follow online lectures, forcing many to rely on old phones and intermittent connections.Nevertheless, the atmosphere inside University City is one of determination. "For medical education, in‑person learning is essential," said Dr Essam Mughari of the Palestine College of Nursing. "Seeing students gather again restores something vital."For students like Mariam, the drive to continue studying is deeply personal. "My cousin, a nurse, was killed when an airstrike destroyed her family’s house. I study to heal others and honor her memory," she said.While University City now serves hundreds daily, thousands of Gaza’s students remain without comparable facilities. Abu Daqqa stresses that the project is only the beginning: "We have built dozens of makeshift schools, but the need is far greater. Imagine what could be done if the needed resources were allowed through."

Rehab did not happen to Lena Dunham; she walked into it. The writer describes the moment she entered a stone‑manor facility in the Berkshires, Massachusetts, and was immediately asked to remove her designer shoes and answer mundane questions about her diet, a surreal welcome that felt like a college orientation—except many of the fellow residents struggled with IV heroin. She notes the unsettling blend of patients and staff, all dressed in ordinary clothes, making it impossible to tell who was who. A tattooed man in a Harley‑Davidson shirt turned out to be a sober companion, while a grandmother knitting in slippers battled a severe Benadryl addiction that had once ruined her daughter’s wedding. “Never judge a drug addict by their Patagonia half‑zip fleece,” she writes. Using the pseudonym “Rose O’Neill” – after the pioneering cartoonist – Dunham reflects on feeling trapped in a cycle reminiscent of the late‑career decline of the early 20th‑century artist. It was only after she allowed staff to use her real name that she began to reclaim her identity. Her therapist, Dr. Mark, a kindly man in khakis, asked her to articulate the root causes of her admission. Dunham linked her descent to chronic physical illness, relentless stress from supporting multiple families, hormonal turmoil after a hysterectomy, and a fraught romantic relationship. She also disclosed past sexual trauma, describing the rehab experience as “a fever dream” that echoed those memories. Medication played a paradoxical role. While Klonopin eased anxiety and Percocet dulled pain, the initial IV dose produced a euphoric “shiver through the whole body, better than any orgasm.” She acknowledges the temporary relief as a “pause button” that allowed her racing thoughts to quiet, yet also recognized the danger of dependence. Group sessions revealed complex dynamics. A fellow patient, Walter, breached confidentiality, prompting staff to enforce policy and send him home. The ensuing discussion divided the group, with some defending Walter’s lapse and others demanding accountability. Dunham’s own voice was subdued, emphasizing the tension between personal safety and collective responsibility. In a values‑mapping exercise, Dunham listed ART, FAMILY, MAKING PEOPLE FEEL SEEN as her core priorities, contrasting them with the values of the people she had surrounded herself with during active addiction. This exercise highlighted the stark misalignment between her aspirations and the environment she had inhabited. Despite the strict regimen, Dunham was granted a brief leave to attend the 2018 Met Gala. The decision sparked intense debate among staff about safety, yet she ultimately walked the red carpet, feeling “wan and haunted” amid flashing cameras and champagne she could not enjoy. The experience underscored the surreal juxtaposition of celebrity life and rehab recovery. During the final week, she formally identified as an addict and faced the pivotal question from Dr. Mark: “Do you want to be sober?” The answer marked a turning point, culminating in a moment of pure joy as she ran outdoors, feeling her legs move of their own accord. She closes with a vivid scene of spotting a robin’s egg on the grass, a simple yet profound reminder of life’s unexpected beauty. The memoir Famesick, published by Fourth Estate on 14 April, expands on these revelations and invites readers into the often‑hidden world of addiction behind the celebrity façade.

Brandon Holtz, a 39-year-old real estate broker from Illinois, has achieved an incredible feat by qualifying for the Masters tournament as an amateur golfer. Ranked 3,262 in the world amateur golf rankings, Holtz secured his spot by winning the US Mid-Am, a route into the Masters for amateur players aged 25 and over.Holtz's journey to the Masters is an unlikely one. He didn't play golf at college, instead being on a basketball scholarship at Illinois State. He only took up golf seriously after finishing college, spending his early 20s on the mini tour trying to make it as a pro. However, it cost him more than he won, and he eventually paid $200 to the US Golf Association to have his amateur status reinstated in 2024.His background in elite college basketball has proven to be more helpful than his short time on the Hooters Tour. As a shooter, Holtz was able to perform under pressure, a skill that suited him well in the Mid-Am, a matchplay event. He won it with his driver, which he says is the best club in his bag.Despite struggling in his first round with a score of 81, Holtz remains optimistic. 'This is a dream come true really,' he said. 'The experience as a whole is incredible. It was definitely not what I wanted to do on the golf course today, but I had a lot of fun.'Holtz's story is an inspiration to many, showing that it's never too late to pursue your dreams. As he said, 'I'm 39, chasing a dream and here we are.'

The Gulf Cooperation Council is reassessing its security model after the brief but intense US‑Israel campaign against Iran. With American bases on Gulf soil turning the region into a target for Tehran’s missile and drone barrage, Gulf capitals are looking to diversify their defence partners beyond the United States. Iran’s lingering missile arsenal and its demand to retain control of the Strait of Hormuz remain the central security dilemma. The strait channels the bulk of Gulf oil trade, and Tehran’s insistence on keeping a foothold there was a sticking point in the cease‑fire talks scheduled to begin in Islamabad. Gulf air defences boasted a high interception rate, claiming to have neutralised more than 90% of the 2,256 drones and 563 missiles that struck the United Arab Emirates, the hardest‑hit member of the bloc. Nevertheless, the Gulf is split on how to engage Iran moving forward. A hawkish bloc led by the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain favours a tougher stance, while Saudi Arabia, Qatar and others are open to restoring diplomatic ties. In a rare development, Saudi Arabia and Iran held their first official conversation since the conflict began, with foreign ministers discussing measures to lower tensions and restore regional stability. Security scholars such as Bader Mousa Al‑Saif of Kuwait University argue that Gulf states must broaden their security network, forging alliances with regional powers like Turkey and Pakistan rather than relying solely on the United States. He warned that the region needs a model that shields it from a perpetual state of war. Pre‑war trends are now accelerating: Saudi Arabia recently signed a defence pact with Pakistan, the UAE announced a partnership with India, and all three Gulf states – Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Qatar – entered rapid defence agreements with Ukraine to counter Iranian drone threats. Talks of a “Muslim NATO” have largely faded, but a new alignment dubbed “Step”, involving Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt and Pakistan, is taking shape. The coalition’s purpose remains ambiguous, oscillating between counter‑Iran and counter‑Israel objectives, and internal rivalries complicate cohesion. The United Kingdom, which helped protect Gulf airspace during the hostilities, is also seeking deeper defence‑industrial cooperation with Saudi Arabia, as discussed by Prime Minister Keir Starmer in Jeddah. UAE political scientist Abdulkhaleq Abdulla predicts tighter security ties with the United States and a growing willingness among Gulf states to engage with Israel on military and intelligence fronts. Analysts such as Yasmine Farouk of the International Crisis Group note that Saudi Arabia’s extensive oil infrastructure, Red Sea ports and sheer geographic size give it a strategic advantage in post‑war reconstruction, though the cost of rebuilding could strain its Vision 2030 diversification agenda. Looking ahead, the Gulf is expected to layer additional security partnerships—particularly with European nations—while investing heavily in air and missile defence, hardened ports, desalination facilities, maritime surveillance and alternative export routes. As Andreas Krieg of King’s College London observes, the United States remains the only power with a full‑scale military architecture in the Gulf, but its bases are increasingly viewed as “tripwires” rather than protective shields.

Israeli airstrikes devastated Lebanon on Wednesday, killing more than 300 people and wounding 1,165 in a span of just 10 minutes. The strikes, which targeted over 100 sites across the country, have been described as one of the deadliest mass killings in Lebanon since the end of the civil war in 1990.Omar Rakha, a survivor, recounted his terrifying experience: he was bleeding and face down on the street when he realized a building next to his in Beirut's Barbour neighborhood had been destroyed by two Israeli bombs. The neighborhood, once considered safe, felt like a war zone.The Israeli military claimed it had targeted Hezbollah 'command and control centers' in the bombing campaign dubbed 'Operation Eternal Darkness.' However, residents and Lebanese officials argue that the strikes mainly killed civilians. Lebanon's prime minister, Nawaf Salam, accused Israel of targeting 'densely populated residential neighborhoods' and killing unarmed civilians in breach of international law.Dr. Ghassan Abu-Sittah, a surgeon at the American University of Beirut Medical College, described the overwhelming influx of wounded, including children pulled from under the rubble. 'The youngest was an 11-month-old. I had to operate on him just to relieve some pressure in the head,' he said.The airstrikes have escalated tensions and raised concerns about the potential for further conflict. The war in Lebanon, which started after Hezbollah launched rockets at Israel on March 2, has left around 1,800 people dead and 5,873 wounded.

The recent two-week ceasefire announced by US President Donald Trump in the war on Iran has sent shockwaves through Israel. The move has been met with criticism from Israel's opposition leader, Yair Lapid, who called it one of the greatest 'political disasters in all of our history'. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu's office issued a statement supporting the US decision, claiming that 'Iran no longer poses a nuclear, missile and terror threat to America, Israel, Iran's Arab neighbours and the world.' However, Netanyahu's war aims of preventing 'Iran from developing nuclear weapons' and creating 'the conditions for the Iranian people so they can remove the cruel regime of tyranny' remain unachieved.Despite significant military successes over the past 40 days of attacks on Iran, neither of Netanyahu's goals has been achieved. The Iranian regime is still in place, its ballistic missile programme could be rebuilt quickly, and it still has 440kg of enriched uranium at 60 percent purity, enough for 10 bombs.Analysts say that Iran has emerged stronger as a result of the war, with key victories including the survival of the Iranian government and its decision to close the Strait of Hormuz, one of the world's key energy arteries. The ceasefire has also given Iran an opportunity to continue with newly imposed levies on ships for safe passage through the Strait.Criticism of Netanyahu's handling of the war has been swift, with Ofer Cassif of the left-wing Hadash party saying that the prime minister has 'failed politically, failed strategically, and didn't meet a single one of the goals that he himself set'. Ahron Bregman, a senior teaching fellow at the Department for War Studies at King's College London, said that 'Israel achieved almost nothing tangible' and that the ceasefire has 'strained the US relationship'.

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.”

President Donald Trump warned on Tuesday that a U.S. attack on Iran could cause "a whole civilization to die tonight," a statement that sparked immediate backlash from climate icon Greta Thunberg. The Swedish activist, known for her outspoken stance on climate change and the Gaza crisis, described the president’s remarks as a normalization of genocide and urged the public to reject such rhetoric. In an Instagram video posted shortly before a cease‑fire was announced, Thunberg lamented the "muted" reaction to the threat, asking, "What the f*** is anyone even doing at this point?" She emphasized that the world has become accustomed to "total annihilation of entire peoples" and the "systematic destruction of the biosphere," urging viewers to demand an end to these narratives. Poll data reveal a stark generational split on the war. A Pew Research Center survey released Tuesday showed that while 67 % of Republicans aged 65+ believe the conflict will curb Iran’s nuclear ambitions, only 25 % of Republicans aged 18‑29 share that view. When asked about the war’s impact on Iranians, just 7 % of older Republican voters said they would be worse off, compared with nearly 28 % of younger voters. Among Democrats, the age gap is less pronounced but still significant: 60 % of young Democratic respondents (18‑29) think the war will harm Iranians, versus 48 % of those over 65. Similar patterns emerge in other surveys. Emerson College found that 75 % of respondents under 50 fear a new world war within four years, compared with 54 % of those over 50. A Politico poll of self‑identified “MAGA Republicans” showed that only 49 % of those under 35 believe Trump has a concrete plan for the Iran conflict, versus 70 % of older supporters. These findings echo a broader historical trend: younger Americans, many of whom grew up in the shadow of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, display a more isolationist outlook. A December 2025 Pew poll indicated that only 39 % of 18‑29‑year‑olds consider active U.S. involvement in global affairs important, compared with 73 % of seniors. The generational divide also extends to attitudes toward Israel. The same Tuesday poll reported that 84 % of young Democrats and 57 % of young Republicans hold an unfavorable view of Israel, whereas older respondents are considerably less critical. Thunberg’s criticism of Trump aligns with her longstanding activism on Middle‑East issues. Last year she joined a humanitarian flotilla bound for Gaza, only to be detained and deported by Israeli forces. Her latest condemnation underscores a growing sentiment among Gen Z that calls for accountability and an end to war‑like rhetoric. In summary, the controversy surrounding Trump’s Iran threat has amplified existing generational tensions in the United States, with younger citizens increasingly questioning the efficacy and morality of U.S. military interventions while demanding a shift away from language that normalizes mass violence.

British computer scientist Adam Back has vehemently denied claims that he is the elusive creator of Bitcoin, known as Satoshi Nakamoto. A recent report in the New York Times had suggested that Back was Nakamoto, but he quickly took to social media to refute the claims. In a thread on X, Back stated, 'I also don’t know who satoshi is, and I think it is good for bitcoin that this is the case, as it helps bitcoin be viewed [as] a new asset class, the mathematically scarce digital commodity.' This denial comes after a years-long effort to unmask Nakamoto, the mysterious author of the bitcoin white paper which laid the theoretical foundations for modern digital currencies. The speculation surrounding Nakamoto's identity has been ongoing for years, with previous attempts pointing to Nick Szabo, Hal Finney, and an 'unknown Australian genius' who was later revealed to be a fraud. The latest trail led to Back, a London-born computer scientist and entrepreneur, who was a member of an online anarchist cryptography community called the cypherpunks in the early 1990s. Journalist John Carreyrou claimed to have found similarities between Back and Nakamoto by analyzing decades of old internet postings and shared niche interests. However, Back attributed the similarities to 'a combination of coincidence and similar phrases from people with similar experience and interests.' Not everyone is convinced by Back's denial, with some speculating that he may still be Nakamoto. Stephen Murdoch, a professor of computer science at University College London, noted that while there are indications that it could be Back, 'there’s no smoking gun.' Meanwhile, Dr. Jacky Mallett, an assistant professor of computer science at Reykjavík University, suggested that Satoshi was 'almost certainly more than one person,' citing updates to the bitcoin code that suggest multiple contributors. Back is the owner of a bitcoin treasury firm that is merging with a publicly traded company. If he were indeed Nakamoto and the owner of 1.1m coins worth tens of billions of pounds, he would have to disclose this to the Securities and Exchange Commission, as it could materially affect the bitcoin market.