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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.

The documentary series 'Trust Me: The False Prophet' has shed light on the sinister activities of a polygamous Mormon cult led by Samuel Bateman, who is currently serving a 50-year sentence for luring minors into criminal sex acts.Director Rachel Dretzin, a former investigative journalist for Frontline, worked on the series, which follows a pair of documentary filmmakers, Christine Marie and Tolga Katas, who embedded themselves in Utah's Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (FLDS) community. They earned the trust of the cult members and were invited into Bateman's home, where he presided over 20 'wives', many of them underage.The filmmakers' incriminating footage and witness testimony were essential to the FBI's case against Bateman and other men charged with crimes. The series transcends the true crime genre's typical sensationalism, presenting its revelations thoughtfully and honestly.Dretzin notes that documentary filmmaking can be more effective than the legal system in effecting change, particularly in cases like this where the community is fiercely insular. The series raises questions about the ethics of documentary filmmaking and the blurred lines between observer and participant.The story also highlights the manipulation and indoctrination of young women within the cult, including Naomi, a young woman who becomes a pivotal witness. Her aunt Carole, who defected from the FLDS, shares her insights on how the cult grooms girls for exploitation.Dretzin believes that the story has echoes in our ordinary lives and political landscape, particularly in the era of 'fake news' and echo chambers. The series serves as a reminder of the dangers of closed systems and the importance of critical thinking.

BBC Two’s three‑part series ‘Michael Jackson: An American Tragedy’ attempts to map the arc of the King of Pop from a Midwestern child prodigy to a global phenomenon whose legacy is still contested. Released ahead of the family‑approved biopic Michael, the documentary does not promise fresh revelations; instead, it seeks to place the singer’s meteoric fame, legal controversies and post‑mortem financial empire within a single narrative. The first episode, titled Fame, foregrounds Jackson’s musical genius while also exposing the fraught dynamics of his family life. Interviews with siblings and childhood acquaintances depict a household where “six bunk beds in one room” were the norm, and where fear of their father, Joe Jackson, loomed large. La Toyia Jackson’s recollection that “Michael had a fear of my father – we all did” underscores the pressure that shaped his early years. In The Reckoning, the series shifts to the period of criminal investigations and media scrutiny. Former spiritual adviser Rabbi Shmuley Boteach describes the tragedy as a man who, despite unparalleled attention, remained “utterly lonely.” Prosecutor Ron Zonen argues that the sheer scale of the Jackson enterprise eclipsed the pursuit of justice, noting the obviousness of the abuse allegations in his view. The episode also revisits the 2003 Martin Bashir documentary, which Boteach recalls as a “shock” that contributed to the star’s eventual downfall. The final installment, The Resurrection, examines the attempts to revive Jackson’s career, his sudden death, and the ripple effects of the 2019 Leaving Neverland documentary. The review notes that the allegations have reshaped public perception to the point where many, including the reviewer, find it difficult to engage with his music. The series concludes that the ongoing legal battles—seven alleged victims are currently suing the estate—represent “the most extraordinary effort to uncancel someone in history.” While the documentary assembles an extensive roster of interviewees—family members, former managers, record executives, and even Donald Trump—it occasionally suffers from an overly broad brushstroke that blurs moral clarity. The reviewer acknowledges the valiant effort to strike a middle ground but questions whether such balance is sufficient for a story marked by “wild extremes.” Overall, the series provides a comprehensive, if not groundbreaking, overview of Jackson’s complex narrative, serving as a timely companion piece to the upcoming biopic and a reminder that the conversation around his legacy remains far from settled. Michael Jackson: An American Tragedy is currently streaming on iPlayer.

In the spring of 2002, the modest Free Butt pub on Brighton’s seafront buzzed with a restless energy. Future stars such as Natasha Khan, then a university art student, danced atop the bar while the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thundered through their first UK dates. Behind the scenes, band frontmen like Guy McKnight of Eighties Matchbox B‑Line Disaster served pints, and budding engineers like Steve Ansell of Cat on Form fine‑tuned the sound. The atmosphere felt like a rite of passage, where any performer could slip from a cramped stage to national attention.Unlike the neatly branded scenes of New York’s garage‑rock revival or London’s Libertines‑driven hype, Brighton’s early‑2000s scene resisted a single aesthetic. Rock groups emerged from rehearsal rooms and tiny clubs with wildly different looks and sounds, creating a cultural mosaic rather than a monolithic movement.Electrelane’s guitarist recalls recording their debut Rock It to the Moon in a studio once owned by the Levellers, and crafting their sophomore effort inside a former public toilet. These unconventional spaces proved surprisingly fertile, underscoring the city’s DIY spirit.By the turn of the millennium, the big‑beat dominance of Fatboy Slim and Skint Records had faded, making way for a grassroots rock surge. Sea Power relocated from Reading to Brighton, drawn by the city’s “dilapidated charm and fresh sea air”. Their self‑organized Club Sea Power nights at the Lift offered a chaotic yet liberating platform that eventually caught Rough Trade’s attention.Women played a pivotal role in shaping the scene’s infrastructure. Promoters Lisa Lout and Anna Moulson, both still active, booked seminal shows—including the Strokes’ first UK gig at the Lift in 2001—and helped launch the Great Escape festival. Their efforts ensured that bands such as the Pipettes, Electrelane and Bat for Lashes could share stages and media coverage.Artists recall the city’s palpable sense of belonging. Rose Dougall of the Pipettes describes a landscape where “alternative culture was on every street, from vintage shops to the colour of the houses,” and where “small venues made it feel attainable to launch a project.” Similarly, Brakes frontman Eamon Hamilton contrasts Brighton’s walk‑able, collaborative vibe with London’s darker, more competitive energy.Music journalism mirrored the scene’s intensity. Everett True and photographer Steve Gullick launched Careless Talk Costs Lives in 2002, a deliberately short‑run magazine that championed female writers and bands at a time when the industry was still heavily male‑dominated.As rents surged through the 2010s, many of the cheap flats, rehearsal rooms and iconic venues that underpinned the scene vanished. The Free Butt closed, independent record stores shuttered, and the once‑abundant low‑cost infrastructure dwindled, prompting a migration of creative energy down the coast to places like Margate, Ramsgate, Folkestone and Shoreham.Nevertheless, the remnants of Brighton’s network continue to nurture new talent, from the Kooks to Dream Wife and Gazelle Twin. The city’s strength lies not in a singular sound but in its capacity to host a “constant collision of wildly dissimilar bands,” allowing artists to develop authentically and fearlessly.

Donald Trump's decision to accept a two-week ceasefire in Iran has created a stir within his Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement, with some supporters expressing mixed reactions to the development. While some have defended the president's decision, others have accused him of betrayal and capitulation.The ceasefire, which was agreed upon after more than a month of war, has been hailed as a victory by both the US and Iran. However, critics argue that the agreement has failed to achieve its objectives, with Iran's regime still intact and its nuclear facilities persisting. The strait of Hormuz remains closed, and fighting continues in Lebanon.Dinesh D'Souza, a right-wing commentator, defended Trump on social media, stating that the president had outsmarted his critics and proved himself to be the adult in the room. Similarly, Matt Schlapp, chairman of the American Conservative Union, expressed confidence in Trump's decision-making, citing his real, actionable intelligence.However, not all supporters are convinced. Matthew Feinberg, a self-described 'MAGA Jew', expressed disappointment, stating that the ceasefire allows the IRGC to regroup and rearm. Laura Loomer, an activist and Islamophobe, also criticized the outcome, saying that the negotiation didn't yield any significant benefits for the US.The Pew Research survey found that, among Republicans, there had been an 18-point decline in confidence in Trump's policymaking about Iran since 2024. Despite this, Republicans aged 65 and older remain overwhelmingly confident in Trump's ability to make good decisions on Iran.

János Bődey's photograph of two elderly ladies dressed as bride and groom in a Hungarian retirement home has captured the essence of joy and love in old age. The image is part of his series Carnival at the Retirement Home, which showcases the fulfilling lives of pensioners who have overcome difficulties.In Hungary, the average pension is approximately £500 a month, making it challenging for retirees to afford leisure, culture, or travel. Additionally, the health of Hungarian pensioners often falls short of Western standards, and securing a spot in a retirement home can be a lengthy process.Bődey's subjects, Magdolna, 87, and Irén, 86, have lived with their husbands for over 50 and 62 years, respectively, until their spouses passed away. They attribute their long and happy lives to a combination of good genes, an active lifestyle, and a healthy marriage.The photographer's series aims to serve as a role model for both peers and the middle generation, demonstrating that it's possible to lead a fulfilling life in old age. The elderly ladies recommend a healthy, active life with plenty of walking and traveling, as well as avoiding debt.Bődey's work is a departure from his usual coverage of conflicts and social issues. He finds inspiration in the happiness and playfulness of the carnival celebrations, which begin in February to mark the end of winter.The photographer's experience has taught him the importance of preparing for retirement by gathering emotional and financial resources, setting goals, and being creative. His series has been shortlisted for the Sony World Photography Awards 2026 and will be exhibited at Somerset House in London from April 17 to May 4.

Daniil Medvedev's Monte Carlo Masters campaign ended in disaster as he suffered a 6-0, 6-0 loss to Italian wildcard Matteo Berrettini. The world No 10's frustration boiled over as he smashed his racket multiple times and discarded it in a courtside dustbin.The match was over in just 49 minutes, with Medvedev failing to win a single game and committing 27 unforced errors. Berrettini's dominant performance marked his first tour-level win of 6-0, 6-0 and his first victory over a top-10 opponent since last season's Monte Carlo Masters.Berrettini praised his gameplan, saying "it was one of the best performances of my life". He added that he "missed three shots in the entire match" and credited his effective strategy and potent weapons for the win.Medvedev's outburst comes amid renewed discussion on player frustration during matches. The incident follows Coco Gauff's racket-smashing at the Australian Open, which sparked debate on player conduct and potential solutions like "rage rooms" for venting frustrations.

Lin Yu-ting, the 30‑year‑old Taiwanese Olympic champion, secured a bronze medal at the Asian Boxing Elite Championships in Mongolia, marking her return to competition after a gender‑eligibility controversy that clouded her 2024 Paris Olympic triumph.Competing in the 60kg division for the first time, Lin was defeated in the semifinals by North Korea’s Won Un Gyong, resulting in a third‑place finish.Her coach, Tseng Tzu‑chiang, told Taiwan’s Central News Agency that the shift to a higher weight class presented “new opponents’ skills, strategies and styles,” and that the tournament served as a valuable learning opportunity.Lin had opted out of last year’s World Championships after World Boxing announced mandatory sex testing for female athletes, a policy introduced following the high‑profile gender disputes involving Lin and Algerian boxer Imane Khelif after their gold medals in Paris.Following an appeal by Taiwan’s boxing federation, World Boxing cleared Lin to compete in the female category last month, enabling her participation in the Asian championships.Looking ahead, Tseng indicated that Lin aims to compete at the Asian Games in Nagoya, Japan later this year, noting that while her physical condition was not yet optimal, the experience provides “room for improvement and a clear path forward.”In parallel, the International Olympic Committee has introduced a new eligibility policy that excludes transgender female athletes from women’s events, aligning with a U.S. executive order. The IOC stated that eligibility will be determined by a mandatory gene test, limiting participation to “biological females.”