A24
Elizabeth Holmes famously does not blink, whether she's pitching investors or, by her own admission, flirting with a guy.
Is her moony gaze haunting or hypnotic? A calculated act or proof of her naivete? At various points in A24's new documentary, "You Can See Everything," I vacillated between each of the above.
A good portion of Nathan Fielder and Lance Oppenheim's movie could be classified as a provocative staring contest, as Fielder probes Holmes about her life and the demise of her company, Theranos, in the weeks before she reported to prison to serve an 11-year sentence in May 2023.
The answers he gets from Holmes are rarely satisfactory. (At one point, she insists she's never told a lie in her entire adult life; despite being convicted of fraud, she maintains her innocence throughout the film.) But with the camera zoomed in tight on Holmes' every micro-expression and clump of mascara, the movie's power is in the questions it raises in the space between her words.
In these profoundly uncanny scenes, I found myself fluctuating between being freaked out by the lack of emotion in Holmes' vacuous gaze and, to my surprise, pitying her. Then I'd quickly shift back to being freaked out, because what if pity was exactly the reaction that Holmes — a talented, convicted fraudster — was angling for? If she could manipulate her voice to sound more authoritative in the workplace, she could certainly adapt her face to appear more sympathetic onscreen.
It turns out that just because you can see everything, that doesn't mean you know anything. At least not for sure.
A24
Much like its subject, "You Can See Everything" is a slippery mind-trick of a film — part character study, part psychological thriller, part surrealist thought experiment. What it is not, despite its subject, is a movie about a tech company.
The story of how Holmes went from being named the youngest self-made female billionaire by Forbes to being convicted of defrauding investors as the founder and CEO of the blood-testing startup Theranos is well documented. Holmes has already been the subject of a more traditional documentary, Alex Gibney's "The Inventor: Out for Blood in Silicon Valley," which exhaustively maps the discrepancies within Theranos, and a scripted Hulu miniseries, "The Dropout," which dramatizes Holmes' origin story and attempts to illustrate how her ambitions outpaced her abilities.
Both of those works lean into the prevailing narrative about Holmes, who was often pitched as "the next Steve Jobs" and proved especially skilled at wooing powerful men to her cause.
"You want it to be true so badly," Tyler Shultz, a former Theranos employee-turned-whistleblower, says of Holmes' vision in Gibney's doc. "I was working with these devices every single day, and she could still kind of convince me. When I think back on those conversations, I just think, 'How did she do that?'"
A24
The Holmes we see in "You Can See Everything" is tamer, gentler, and, at times, far more submissive than many headlines would have us believe. Yet even Fielder isn't immune to her strange charisma.
Early in the film, Fielder admits to Holmes that he did a lot of research about her tenure at Theranos. He challenges her answers to questions, at one point telling Holmes, "I don't think anyone will ever believe you ever again."
Yet, as time goes on, Fielder seems alternately bemused and unnerved by the onetime wunderkind — though never to the point of aversion. On the contrary, Holmes seems to draw Fielder ever closer, like a close-up magician with a deck of cards in her hands and a trick up her sleeve.
Toward the end of the film, Fielder's memory is called into question. A friend asks if Fielder is retroactively polishing his interactions with Holmes, perhaps unconsciously, because he's grown to care about her. Maybe he wants to protect her.
Seemingly taken aback, Fielder replies, "I'm not putting my feelings into this. I'm just trying to be accurate."
It's one thing to be told someone is a master manipulator, as "The Inventor" and "The Dropout" plainly do. It's quite another to experience the manipulation firsthand. "You Can See Everything" offers audiences the latter.
During a Q&A after an early screening of "You Can See Everything" in New York, Oppenheim described how he, Fielder, and the crew would swap interpretations of what they'd just seen and heard after the cameras were switched off. "The disagreements were so dynamic," Oppenheim recalled.
It's been over three years since their close encounter of the Holmesian kind, and Fielder said he's still trying to process what he felt in her presence.
"I'm really curious to hear what everyone else thinks, and what they make of certain things," Fielder said. "I think it will actually help me understand."
"You Can See Everything" is in theaters now.
In Pakistan’s rapidly growing urban centres, daily life is accelerating. As cities expand, demanding work schedules and household management have made time one of our most precious commodities. Yet, while traditional conversations around food often focus on heritage recipes or shifting culinary trends, a quieter, structural revolution is unfolding. This transformation centres on reliable, daily access to fresh food and essential groceries – a fundamental human necessity.
For millions of households, putting nutritious meals and essential groceries on the kitchen table every day is a daily logistical challenge. In this evolving landscape, digital delivery platforms have moved beyond convenience and become essential infrastructure for modern urban living. The true breakthrough in Pakistan’s delivery landscape is the innovation that’s driving convenience and accessibility. Historically, securing fresh produce or a warm meal meant navigating dense traffic, dealing with localised supply shortages, or settling for whatever was available at the nearest market.
Today, data-driven quick-commerce models have fundamentally altered how Pakistanis access food. Through foodpanda’s hyper-local dark store network, pandamart, and intelligent routing algorithms, technology is shrinking the distance between supply and demand. By optimising rider routes and establishing localised fulfilment hubs, tech platforms drastically cut the time, cost, and friction of moving essentials from source to customers’ doorstep. Whether it is an early-morning delivery of fresh milk and eggs or an affordable dinner after a long workday, digital micrologistics have made food access consistent, predictable, and inclusive.
This structural shift speaks directly to World Food Day’s core message and its global guiding theme, “Innovate today, nourish tomorrow.” True innovation in modern food systems extends far beyond agricultural yields; it requires building smarter, resilient supply chains that eliminate waste, reduce friction, and bridge distribution gaps.
By digitising neighbourhood kiryana stores, empowering home-based food entrepreneurs through initiatives like HomeChefs, helping established (as well as new) restaurants expand their offerings to wider customer cohorts and optimising rapid last-mile delivery, foodpanda is helping construct an agile, modern food and grocery network across Pakistan. In a developing economy, this technological resilience cushions local food systems against urban sprawl, rising fuel costs, and supply chain bottlenecks. At its core, technology fulfils its highest purpose when it directly serves human needs.
In Pakistan’s evolving gig ecosystem, foodpanda anchors its platform around a central mission: to put a meal on every table. This motto reflects an operational commitment to give every consumer seamless, affordable access to fresh groceries and quality food with just a few taps on a smartphone screen. It means equipping micro-entrepreneurs and local merchants with digital tools to expand their reach and protect their livelihoods. It also means building a connected ecosystem where farmers, local sellers, delivery riders, and families thrive together.
As Pakistan accelerates its transition toward a fully digitised economy, online platforms play a role that extends well beyond delivering food. By turning technological innovation into reliable, daily nourishment, foodpanda is laying the foundation for a more connected, efficient, and inclusive food future for all Pakistanis – one delivery and one meal at a time.
The post How digital delivery is innovating Pakistan’s food ecosystem appeared first on Daily Pakistan English News.
For the third installment of MS NOW’s “The Voter Files,” we went to West Des Moines to hear from two groups of reluctant Trump voters — one group from the city’s suburbs and another from small towns and rural areas. Most have split their tickets in past elections.
Of the three states we’ve visited so far, Iowa offers Democrats the clearest and most hopeful picture. In Maine, Republican Sen. Susan Collins’ standing as a long-tenured institution may help her withstand Democratic momentum. In Michigan, Democrat Abdul El-Sayed’s struggles with some of his party’s traditional constituencies have kept the race tight.
But in Iowa, Democrats have taken the national distrust of Trump’s self-dealing and pointed it at Republican Senate candidate Ashley Hinson, raising questions about how her wealth has grown since she entered Congress. The resulting cynicism may give Democrat Josh Turek enough of an edge to win: enough crossover votes and enough depressed Republican turnout.
Low marks for Trump
National polls show President Donald Trump at the lowest approval of his second term, and the Iowans we met were no more generous. All of them said they were unenthusiastic about voting for him in 2024. Asked to rate his second term on a scale of one to 10, none went higher than a six, most gave him a four or a five, and the lowest assessment was a two.
“Five is almost too generous,” said Diane, an independent. “He has a lot of room for improvement.”
One participant called him “unhinged.” Another described his second term as “a personal session, like his playground.”
For these voters, the clearest evidence of broken promises is the cost of living. Consumer prices are up 3.7% over the past year.
“Our prices were going to come down. Cost of living was going to get easier,” said Janella, a Republican. “Still haven’t seen it.”
Then there’s Trump’s decision to go to war with Iran. In national polling, only roughly 34% of Americans say Trump’s decision to go to war was the right one. He promised no new wars, and when he took office in January 2025, the United States wasn’t at war. Now, voters see not only continuing conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza, but a new war with Iran that Trump launched.
“It seems like we’re in more wars than ever before,” said Tim, an independent.
Jack, another independent, tied the broken promise to avoid war to rising costs.
“I think we’re paying for that at the gas pump, grocery store, etc.,” he said. Gas prices have jumped 34% over the past year, and groceries prices are up around 2.5%.
They’d do it again
These voters went into Trump’s second term with their eyes open. Some dreaded a return to the drama of his first term and voted for him anyway.
“Do I really want to deal with all the drama that comes with him?” said Kristi, an independent, recalling her decision in 2024. “But then, what was my other choice?”
“He’s gotten worse,” Janella said, describing a president who has dropped any pretense of working with his own party, let alone with Democrats.
Yet for all their misgivings, when asked whether they would change their 2024 votes, all but one agreed they would vote for him again over Kamala Harris.
“There were no other options,” said Dirk, a right-leaning independent, raising his hand.
It’s this sentiment — that they would choose Trump again — that helps explain why Trump’s sagging approval hasn’t translated into decisive Democratic leads in some battleground states.
Two years later, what drives these voters as they weigh their Senate and House options is less Trump himself than a broader distrust of politics.
Kate, an independent, offered the most charitable view of Trump’s presidency.
“At least he is trying,” she said. “At least he is pushing a button somewhere.”
In theory, that’s a low bar for the opposition to clear. But these voters don’t see a compelling alternative from Democrats, or any vision that convinces them the party would do better.
No home with Democrats?
“Right now, we’re stuck with a Republican Party that will do nothing to offend Trump, and a Democratic Party that will do nothing except try to go after Trump, any way, shape, or form,” Dirk said. “So in the end, we all get screwed.”
The Iowans echoed what we heard from similar voters in Maine and Michigan: Democrats seem unmoored, fixated on Trump and short on concrete policy. Most alienating of all is their sense that Democrats look down on them for voting for Trump.
“I feel like they all think that we’re like racist,” Chandler said. “It’s like they always think that we’re all against everything. It’s just their agenda that they try to push on us.”
Some said those assumptions about their motives ignore the real circumstances and needs that shaped their votes.
“Personally, my vote was motivated by potential changes that Trump could make to the economy,” Anne said.
Democrats, Janella argued, were not paying attention to their lived reality.
“They need to stop all the fighting and bickering amongst themselves, and really genuinely take a good look at what the American people are dealing with,” Janella said. “This is our livelihood we’re talking about, and every single politician has forgotten about that.”
Will they skip the Senate race?
Disenchanted with Republicans and unconvinced by Democrats, some of the Iowans we met are weighing not who to support in the Senate race, but whether to vote in it at all.
The two groups split sharply. Of the 10 rural and small-town voters, six are leaning toward Hinson and four are considering Turek. None of the 10 suburban voters is considering Hinson; seven said they would leave the Senate race blank, and the other three are considering Turek.
Focus groups aren’t polls, and 20 voters can’t predict a statewide race. But if the 2024 electorate turns out again and that pattern holds in suburbs and small towns across Iowa, Turek could be well positioned to win. He wouldn’t need to convert Trump voters wholesale, just persuade some to cross over and many others to skip the race.
For Hinson, the danger isn’t that these voters have embraced Democrats. It’s that they’ve given up.
“You just lose all faith in everybody eventually because nothing gets done, and you lose trust and become cynical,” Jack said.
The post Iowa’s independent Trump voters are mad as hell — but still probably won’t vote Democratic appeared first on MS NOW.
This is an adapted excerpt from the Oct. 14 episode of “The 11th Hour with Ali Velshi.”
There is a famous saying attributed to Plato about the price society pays for treating politics with indifference: “One of the penalties of refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors.”
Here we are — way past the “being governed by our inferiors” stage of things. We are being governed by a would-be autocrat, his ruthless Cabinet of sycophants and a cabal of oligarchs. Donald Trump has sent masked ICE forces into American neighborhoods, where they snatch our neighbors off the streets and fire at protesters and into vehicles. He’s targeting his most vocal critics for investigation, indictment, arrest and harassment.
But Trump and his accomplices aren’t stronger than you are, and participating now means more than simply voting — it means resisting.
On Tuesday, a judge indefinitely blocked the president’s press ban. For the last month, Trump has tried to block three news networks — MS NOW, CNN and Politico — from the White House simply because he does not like the stories they publish. Expectedly, a White House spokesperson has already said they will appeal the judge’s ruling.
Trump is following an established roadmap: an allegedly anti-establishment outsider takes advantage of a right-wing populist movement and is elected president in 2016. Yes, that’s how Trump came to power, but it’s also how Rodrigo Duterte was elected in the Philippines.
Duterte was a brutal leader who presided over what he called a “war on drugs.” But in reality, it was a justification for government-linked vigilantes to openly carry out savage murders in the streets of the Philippines. Those murders became known as “extrajudicial killings.” And to this day, nobody knows exactly how many “extrajudicial killings” took place under his leadership. Some estimate the death toll to be as high as 30,000.
Regardless, Filipino journalists with spines of steel pursued the story relentlessly, and the Duterte administration punished them for it. Many reporters and outlets were targeted, but few felt Duterte’s wrath worse than Maria Ressa, the founder of the digital news site Rappler.
Rappler was a fearless critic of the government. Its journalists wrote many stories laying out the truth about Duterte’s so-called war on drugs and the widespread corruption that happened during his administration.
In response, the government retaliated against Rappler — many times. In 2018, one of its reporters was once barred, without warning, from entering the grounds of the presidential palace, the Philippines’ equivalent to the White House.
During a nationally televised State of the Nation address in 2017, Duterte accused Rappler of being foreign-owned. In a follow-up statement, he added, “Not only is Rappler’s news fake, it being Filipino is also fake.”
A government task force accused it of being associated with communists as part of an effort to shut it down, and the outlet even had its license revoked at one point.
Ressa herself was targeted. In November 2018, she was charged with a series of tax-related crimes, including tax evasion. A few months later, she was arrested and charged under an anti-cybercrimes law that the Duterte administration widely used to go after journalists and other critics. A court found her guilty, but the case remains under appeal.
Despite all of those attacks, Ressa showed the world how to stand up to a dictator. She endured years of being treated as a criminal and never wavered from defending her rights and those of the free press.
All of the tax-related charges against her have since been dropped. Rappler’s license was also restored by the court, and it remains a top news site in the country.
In 2021, Ressa was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her work. Meanwhile, Duterte is awaiting trial at The Hague after he was arrested and charged by the International Criminal Court with crimes against humanity last year.
In Ressa’s new book, “The Fight Back: A Citizen’s Guide to Standing Up to Dictators,” she offers Americans a blueprint for confronting an autocratic leader — and defending democracy before it’s too late.
“Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s the decision that something matters more,” she wrote. “It’s the first step in the fight back.”
Allison Detzel contributed.
The post Journalists who stood up to an autocrat have a blueprint for fighting Trump appeared first on MS NOW.
President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has abandoned much of the diplomatic restraint that characterised his dealings with Donald Trump since their confrontation in the Oval Office in February 2025. In an interview on 14 October, the Ukrainian president accused his American counterpart of moving towards Russia and choosing the wrong side of history.
His intervention followed a series of American decisions that have increased pressure on Kyiv while offering Moscow economic and diplomatic advantages. A controversial agreement involving Russian diesel exports, uncertainty surrounding the provision of American intelligence and sudden restrictions on military satellite communications have brought relations between the two countries to their most difficult point since Trump’s return to the White House.
Zelenskyy’s criticism was unusually personal. Questioned about whether he felt betrayed by Washington’s recent decisions, he acknowledged the sense of betrayal but emphasised that Ukraine’s survival could not be treated as a commercial negotiation. He said Ukraine was not selling its country and argued that an American president claiming to act as an intermediary must not favour one of the belligerents.
The shift reflects the apparent exhaustion of a strategy Kyiv has pursued for more than a year: avoid openly challenging Trump, maintain personal contact with the White House and hope that American support can be preserved through diplomatic accommodation. That calculation is becoming increasingly difficult to sustain as Washington’s demands threaten to constrain Ukraine’s military operations without producing corresponding concessions from Russia.
The immediate demonstration of Ukraine’s dependence on American technology came during the night of 13–14 October, when SpaceX imposed restrictions on Starshield, the military-grade version of its Starlink satellite communications service.
According to accounts provided by Ukrainian frontline commanders, the changes disrupted connections to terminals travelling above approximately 160 kilometres per hour, forcing the abandonment of several drone missions. The restrictions affected systems used for reconnaissance, interception and strikes against Russian military targets.
As EU Today reported on 14 October, the disruption exposed a weakness extending beyond individual drone missions. Satellite communications form part of Ukraine’s operational infrastructure, supporting the movement of battlefield information, remote weapons control and communications across areas where conventional networks are vulnerable to Russian electronic warfare.
An interruption imposed remotely by a commercial provider can therefore affect military capabilities without any physical attack on Ukrainian equipment. Decisions taken outside Ukraine’s military command structure can alter the effectiveness of systems already deployed on the battlefield.
Ukraine’s Defence Ministry subsequently opened discussions with American officials, SpaceX and NATO partners while examining alternative communications arrangements.
Later on Wednesday, former Ukrainian defence minister Mykhailo Fedorov announced that Starlink functionality at speeds up to 160 kilometres per hour was being restored. Work was still required to remove the restrictions on Starshield altogether. The partial reversal offered immediate operational relief but did not resolve the underlying dependency.
There is no established evidence that the Trump administration ordered SpaceX to impose the restrictions. Nevertheless, their timing, amid mounting disagreements over Ukraine’s military operations, has reinforced Kyiv’s concerns about relying on communications infrastructure controlled by an American company.
The dispute over satellite access coincides with growing uncertainty about American intelligence cooperation.
Following Russian ballistic missile strikes on Kyiv on 12–13 October, Zelenskyy complained that Ukraine had received no advance warning from its international partners. The attacks damaged residential buildings and energy infrastructure, while Ukraine’s authorities raised concerns about the absence of advance intelligence.
Advance information about Russian missile launches is particularly important when ballistic weapons leave civilians only minutes to reach shelters. Intelligence cooperation also supports Ukrainian air-defence units in assessing threats and preparing interceptions.
Trump denied on 13 October that Washington had stopped sharing intelligence with Ukraine. Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha likewise confirmed that cooperation continued. The absence of warnings about particular attacks therefore cannot be equated with a complete suspension of American assistance.
Yet the consequences of unreliable warning arrangements remain serious. For Ukraine, the distinction between information withheld, delayed or simply unavailable offers little protection when Russian ballistic missiles reach civilian neighbourhoods without sufficient warning.
The wider concern is that intelligence provision could become another instrument of diplomatic pressure. Accounts of negotiations over Ukrainian attacks on Russian refineries have raised the possibility that Washington might use such assistance as leverage. Reports of explicit threats have been disputed, but the controversy has increased uncertainty surrounding a capability central to Ukraine’s defence.
The confrontation has also exposed a contradiction in Washington’s approach to the war.
Trump’s agreement allowing Russian diesel to return to international markets offers Moscow additional export opportunities at a time when Ukrainian attacks have damaged refining capacity and disrupted domestic fuel supplies.
The American administration has justified the arrangement partly through the need to ease fuel prices. Yet the initially announced quantities are modest in relation to international petroleum markets, raising questions about how much immediate relief the measure can realistically provide.
For Putin, its diplomatic significance may be considerably greater. Russia has secured a relaxation of American economic restrictions while Washington simultaneously presses Kyiv to limit attacks on the infrastructure that generates revenue for Moscow’s war economy.
The commercial implications of Washington’s sanctions reversal extend beyond the initial shipment volumes. The Treasury authorisation permits certain transactions involving Russian-origin diesel until April 2027, creating opportunities for international traders and financial intermediaries while leaving the broader sanctions framework formally intact.
Trump’s proposed energy ceasefire has compounded the difficulty. As EU Today examined earlier this week, Kyiv has offered to suspend strikes against Russian energy facilities if Moscow reciprocates. Russian attacks on Ukrainian power infrastructure have nevertheless continued.
An arrangement in which Ukraine stops targeting Russian refineries while Russia retains the ability to strike Ukrainian electricity generation would remove an important source of pressure on Moscow without protecting Ukrainian civilians.
Such an outcome would change the military and economic conditions of the war in Russia’s favour, regardless of how Washington describes its diplomatic objectives.
Zelenskyy’s sharper language also reflects a possible reassessment of where influence over American policy can be exercised.
For much of Trump’s second presidency, Kyiv’s diplomacy has concentrated on preserving a workable relationship with the president himself. That approach assumes that personal engagement can influence White House decisions even when Trump’s broader political instincts favour accommodation with Putin.
The events of October suggest that this strategy has reached its limits.
Ukraine’s alternative is not necessarily an outright confrontation with Washington. Rather, it involves placing greater weight on Congress, the American defence establishment and the institutional relationships that have supported Ukraine since Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022.
There is a historical precedent. During Trump’s first presidency, Congress supported military assistance to Ukraine despite differences within the administration over relations with Russia. Under Joe Biden, congressional resistance also demonstrated how domestic American politics could determine the timing and scale of weapons deliveries.
The months-long delay in approving the 2024 military assistance package contributed to severe ammunition shortages at a critical stage of Russia’s offensive operations. Ukraine’s loss of Avdiivka illustrated the danger of making battlefield planning dependent on political negotiations in Washington.
The congressional elections on 3 November 2026 could alter the balance of power. A change in control of either chamber would increase opportunities for oversight, investigations and legislative pressure on the administration, although Congress cannot independently direct every aspect of intelligence sharing or presidential diplomacy.
A less compliant Congress could nevertheless make it politically harder for the White House to restrict Ukrainian assistance without explanation.
For European governments, the dispute carries implications extending well beyond the immediate confrontation between Trump and Zelenskyy.
The transatlantic security relationship has historically depended on the assumption that American military capabilities, intelligence networks and political commitments would remain available to European allies during a major security crisis.
That assumption is increasingly difficult to reconcile with an American administration prepared to link assistance to Ukraine with wider commercial negotiations and domestic political objectives.
The consequences are particularly acute in areas where European capabilities remain insufficient to replace American systems quickly, including satellite intelligence, strategic reconnaissance, missile defence and specialised communications.
Europe can expand weapons production, finance Ukrainian purchases and develop alternatives to American technology. Replacing the full range of capabilities provided by the United States, however, requires investment measured in years rather than months.
The problem will not necessarily disappear when Trump leaves office. His return to power demonstrated that the American foreign-policy consensus which supported European security for decades can be challenged through the electoral process.
Future American administrations may seek to restore traditional alliances, but European governments must now account for the possibility that another election could reverse those commitments.
For Zelenskyy, the immediate calculation is exceptionally difficult. Public criticism risks provoking further retaliation from a president whose administration still controls capabilities essential to Ukraine’s defence. Continued diplomatic restraint, however, has not prevented Washington from offering concessions to Russia or introducing uncertainty into Ukraine’s military planning.
His latest intervention suggests that Kyiv is no longer convinced that avoiding confrontation will preserve American support. The question is whether greater political scrutiny of Washington’s decisions can prevent a further erosion of assistance before Russia turns the resulting military advantages into territorial gains.
The European Commission is promising more support to Egypt, even as Egyptian warplanes reportedly bomb in Sudan and authorities carry out a campaign of violence against the refugees it hosts.
The civil war in Sudan includes reports of genocide, chemical-weapons use, mass rape, and starvation, forcing some 1.2 million Sudanese people into Egypt, which was described as a priority migration-busting partner by commission president Ursula von der Leyen on Tuesday (13 October), who also promised continuing support for Cairo.
In a letter sent to the 27 heads of state and government ahead of an EU summit on Thursday in Brussels, she spoke of “offering protection and durable solutions in … host countries”, as well as further aid for Sudanese people who had returned to parts of the country, now deemed relatively safe.
But her warm words stand in sharp contrast to internal EU documents on Sudan, released by the London-based group Statewatch earlier this month, and which speak of an Egyptian-led campaign of violence against the Sudanese it is tasked to help.
“The Egyptian authorities have continued arbitrary arrests, detention and deportation campaign against migrants, asylum seekers and refugees, with a sharp escalation of forced deportations being observed since January 2026,” said the Irish EU presidency, in an internal document written in September.
Estimates suggest Egypt hosts over nine million migrants and refugees.
Some 80 percent are Sudanese, Syrian, Yemeni, and Libyan nationals. Of those, just over 1 million are officially registered as refugees. Most come from Sudan.
And Egypt’s crackdown also comes amid a massive 74 percent funding cut for the UN’s refugee agency in the country, even as the EU’s financial support to Cairo increases, already totalling €5bn.
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The European Union has long presented itself as a global defender of democracy, human rights and the rule of law. Yet its growing enthusiasm for closer relations with the Gulf monarchies raises an increasingly uncomfortable question: how much are those principles worth when substantial economic and strategic interests are at stake?
On October 16th, the European Parliament will host senior parliamentary representatives from the six members of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC): Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain and Oman.
The conference, chaired by European Parliament President Roberta Metsola, will address parliamentary cooperation, maritime security and the geopolitical consequences of Russia’s war against Ukraine.
On paper, the initiative represents an entirely reasonable diplomatic exercise. Europe needs reliable energy supplies, secure international shipping routes and constructive relations with influential Middle Eastern governments.
But there is another side to this developing partnership, one that Brussels cannot simply dismiss as an inconvenient complication.
Several Gulf governments maintain political systems in which meaningful democratic opposition is severely restricted, freedom of expression is curtailed and individuals can face imprisonment for challenging those in power.
The question is not whether Europe should maintain diplomatic relations with such countries. It plainly must.
The question is whether those relations should be celebrated as strategic partnerships without demanding meaningful improvements in the treatment of their own citizens.
Saudi Arabia’s international image has undergone a remarkable transformation in recent years.
Under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, the kingdom has promoted ambitious economic reforms, tourism projects and international sporting events designed to present a modernising society. Yet this carefully cultivated image sits uneasily alongside its human rights record.
Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have repeatedly documented concerns over executions, restrictions on political dissent, arbitrary detention and the treatment of women’s rights activists.
The murder of journalist Jamal Khashoggi in Istanbul in 2018 remains an enduring symbol of the dangers faced by critics of the Saudi leadership. A 2021 US intelligence assessment concluded that the Crown Prince had approved an operation to capture or kill Khashoggi, an assessment rejected by Saudi Arabia.
Qatar, meanwhile, has attracted sustained criticism over the treatment of migrant workers, particularly during preparations for the 2022 FIFA World Cup. Although labour reforms were introduced, human rights organisations continue to question their implementation and the effectiveness of protections against exploitation.
The UAE, despite its reputation for modernity and commercial sophistication, has similarly faced criticism over restrictions on political expression, detention of dissidents and the absence of meaningful electoral democracy at national level.
Bahrain has been criticised for imprisoning opposition figures and restricting political freedoms, while concerns about migrant labour protections and freedom of expression extend across other Gulf states, albeit with important differences in their individual records.
These are not minor administrative shortcomings. They concern fundamental rights that the European Union claims to regard as universal and non-negotiable.
There is an unmistakable contradiction in Europe’s approach. The European Parliament routinely condemns authoritarian practices in Russia, Belarus and other countries where political freedoms are suppressed. It demands accountability, democratic reform and respect for international law.
Yet when dealing with wealthy Gulf monarchies, the language often becomes considerably more accommodating. Economic opportunity, investment, energy security and regional stability suddenly dominate the conversation.
Such selective emphasis risks creating the impression that Europe’s commitment to human rights is determined less by universal principle than by the commercial and geopolitical importance of the country concerned.
That is a dangerous perception for an institution whose international credibility depends heavily upon its moral authority.
If the imprisonment of political opponents is unacceptable in Moscow or Minsk, why should comparable abuses become less objectionable when committed by governments possessing substantial sovereign wealth funds or strategically important energy reserves?
Europe cannot reasonably demand consistency from others while appearing unwilling to apply it to itself.
None of this diminishes the genuine importance of cooperation with the Gulf. The Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea are essential maritime corridors connecting Europe with global energy suppliers and Asian markets. Threats to commercial shipping, regional instability and the activities of Iran-aligned armed groups present legitimate security concerns.
Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has also demonstrated the dangers of excessive dependence upon unreliable external partners. Diversifying energy relationships is therefore a sensible strategic objective.
Moreover, Gulf governments possess considerable diplomatic influence, including relationships with states and political actors that European governments may struggle to engage directly.
But strategic necessity does not automatically confer moral legitimacy.
Indeed, Europe’s previous dependence upon Russian energy offers a particularly sobering lesson. For years, European governments convinced themselves that extensive commercial engagement with Moscow would encourage moderation and political stability.
Instead, economic interdependence failed to prevent Russian aggression, leaving Europe exposed when that relationship collapsed. It would be reckless to assume that expanding commercial relations with authoritarian governments necessarily produces political liberalisation.
The proposed conference also raises questions about the meaning of parliamentary dialogue.
The European Parliament is a directly elected institution, accountable to hundreds of millions of citizens through competitive democratic elections.
The political institutions of the Gulf states operate under markedly different arrangements, with varying degrees of appointed representation, limited electoral participation and executive authority concentrated within ruling families.
Describing these relationships simply as parliamentary cooperation risks obscuring fundamental differences in democratic legitimacy.
Dialogue can undoubtedly serve a useful purpose. But it should not be allowed to imply an equivalence between representative democratic institutions and political structures in which citizens have far fewer opportunities to challenge those governing them.
Nor should participation in prestigious European institutional events become an exercise in international reputation management for governments facing serious human rights allegations.
The European Parliament has an opportunity to demonstrate that closer cooperation need not mean abandoning its principles.
It could insist that human rights form a substantive part of future engagement, including scrutiny of political imprisonment, freedom of expression, judicial independence and migrant worker protections.
It could also establish mechanisms for monitoring progress rather than relying upon diplomatic assurances.
Such measures would not necessarily undermine economic cooperation. They would establish that the relationship carries responsibilities as well as benefits.
Ultimately, the issue is not whether Europe should talk to the Gulf monarchies, but whether it possesses the political courage to challenge them.
A European Union that condemns authoritarianism in one part of the world while accommodating it elsewhere risks reducing its professed values to little more than diplomatic convenience.
Europe may need the Gulf’s energy, investment and strategic influence, but it should not have to surrender its conscience to obtain them.
And if Brussels cannot reconcile its commercial ambitions with its democratic principles, it must confront a deeply uncomfortable possibility: that Europe’s foreign policy is increasingly being guided not by the values it proclaims, but by the wealth and influence of those sitting across the negotiating table.
President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has placed an important qualification on Donald Trump’s proposed energy ceasefire: Ukraine will stop attacking Russian energy facilities only if Moscow stops targeting Ukraine’s electricity generation and distribution infrastructure. Speaking at the Warsaw Security Forum on Monday, 12 October, Zelenskyy confirmed Kyiv’s willingness to accept a reciprocal arrangement while pointing out that Russian attacks had continued after the American president announced that a ceasefire was already in effect.
The sequence of events has exposed a fundamental weakness in Washington’s initiative. On 11 October, Trump announced an immediate energy ceasefire, declaring that Russia and Ukraine had both agreed to suspend attacks on energy infrastructure. Yet Kyiv had not received the agreement’s terms, Moscow had offered no public confirmation, and Russian drones continued striking Ukrainian power facilities, including a combined heat and power plant in Kharkiv.
Zelenskyy’s response was deliberately restrained. Rather than reject Trump’s initiative, he welcomed the possibility of an agreement while insisting that Russia demonstrate its acceptance through its actions. His remarks also exposed the difference between announcing a diplomatic understanding and establishing an enforceable military arrangement.
The apparent symmetry of an agreement prohibiting attacks on energy facilities disguises substantial differences between the two countries.
Russia retains an extensive oil-refining industry, producing fuels for domestic consumption, military operations and export. Ukrainian drone attacks on refineries have consequently become an instrument of economic warfare, disrupting production, increasing operating costs and forcing Moscow to divert resources towards protecting strategically important industrial installations.
Ukraine occupies a different position. Its major oil-refining capacity was devastated early in the full-scale invasion, including the Kremenchuk refinery. Russia’s present campaign is concentrated heavily on electricity generation, substations, heating systems and other installations essential to maintaining civilian life and economic activity.
An agreement narrowly focused on oil refineries would therefore protect an important Russian asset while offering Ukraine comparatively little protection. A comprehensive energy ceasefire could be reciprocal, but only if it explicitly covered the infrastructure each side actually possesses and attacks.
Zelenskyy’s insistence on equivalent obligations is consequently more than a negotiating formula. It seeks to prevent Washington from treating attacks on Russian fuel production and the destruction of Ukraine’s electricity and heating networks as interchangeable military activities without examining their respective consequences.
The distinction becomes particularly consequential with winter approaching. A Ukrainian suspension of attacks on Russian refineries could allow Moscow to restore production and rebuild damaged facilities. Unless Russia simultaneously halted attacks on Ukrainian energy infrastructure, Kyiv would surrender an important means of pressure while remaining exposed to further disruption of electricity and heating supplies.
The concern in Kyiv is no longer confined to the proposed ceasefire’s wording. European officials have disclosed that Washington is threatening to restrict military assistance and intelligence sharing unless Ukraine suspends its strikes against Russian refineries.
According to accounts of the American pressure campaign, the threatened measures include suspending the Prioritised Ukraine Requirements List (PURL), the NATO-coordinated mechanism through which European countries finance purchases of American weapons for Ukraine. Reuters was unable to independently verify the reported threats, and the White House had not responded publicly.
If implemented, such restrictions would establish a direct connection between Ukraine’s willingness to accommodate Washington’s energy priorities and its access to essential military support.
This creates an imbalance in the negotiations. Moscow could continue military operations while Kyiv faced the possibility of losing American assistance for refusing an agreement whose Russian obligations remain undefined.
The ceasefire proposal also needs to be examined alongside Trump’s separate agreement with Putin, announced on 9 October, to increase Russian diesel supplies.
Trump stated that Russia would initially release more than 300,000 tonnes of diesel, followed by another 500,000 tonnes in November and one million tonnes thereafter. Further supplies were envisaged, depending on Russia’s refining capacity.
The US Treasury subsequently issued General Licence 135, authorising transactions involving Russian-origin diesel that would otherwise face sanctions restrictions.
The initial volumes are unlikely to transform international diesel markets. Nevertheless, the agreement gives Washington a commercial interest in maintaining Russian refinery output at precisely the moment Ukrainian attacks are disrupting it.
Trump has an evident domestic incentive to seek lower fuel prices before the American congressional elections on 3 November. Putin, meanwhile, has an interest in preserving Russia’s refining capacity and reopening sanctioned markets.
These interests need not prove the existence of a coordinated political strategy against Kyiv. They do, however, create conditions in which American economic priorities and Russian military objectives could converge.
The possibility becomes more significant when considered alongside Trump’s public criticism of Zelenskyy and his suggestion that Ukraine requires different leadership.
The most consequential scenario is one in which Washington demands immediate Ukrainian compliance while leaving Russia’s obligations subject to subsequent negotiation.
If Kyiv suspends refinery attacks without obtaining verifiable Russian commitments, Moscow gains relief from a costly Ukrainian campaign. If Kyiv refuses, Washington could present that refusal as an obstacle to peace and use it to justify restrictions on military assistance.
This is a possible negotiating outcome, not an established secret agreement between Trump and Putin. There is no publicly verified evidence that the two presidents arranged the ceasefire specifically to force Ukraine into such a position.
Nevertheless, the combination of the diesel agreement, American pressure over refinery strikes and the premature announcement of a ceasefire creates a credible risk that Ukraine could be required to make concessions before Russia demonstrates any corresponding restraint.
The implications extend beyond Ukraine. European governments financing American weapons through PURL would find their own assistance programmes vulnerable to Washington’s decisions over an energy arrangement negotiated separately with Moscow.
For Brussels, the immediate question is therefore whether European military support can remain dependable if American commercial interests increasingly influence the conditions attached to supplying Ukraine.
Ukraine’s attacks on Russian refineries cannot by themselves compel Moscow to end the war. They can, however, impose material economic costs and complicate Russia’s ability to maintain fuel production, exports and military logistics.
Abandoning those attacks without an enforceable agreement would remove pressure from Moscow without ensuring that Ukrainian civilians receive any corresponding protection.
Zelenskyy’s position preserves an alternative: simultaneous, reciprocal restrictions covering electricity generation, heating installations, oil refineries and other specified energy infrastructure, supported by clear verification procedures and consequences for violations.
Whether Washington is prepared to enforce such an arrangement against Russia remains unanswered.
The central danger for Kyiv is not an energy ceasefire itself. It is an arrangement in which Ukraine’s obligations are immediate and enforceable through the threat of lost American support, while Russia’s obligations remain uncertain.
Until that imbalance is resolved, Trump’s initiative risks delivering Moscow protection for its oil industry without securing protection for Ukraine’s energy system.
The EU’s annual rule of law report, tackling advancements in corruption and fundamental rights, shares overly optimistic improvement that is far from the reality on the ground, a civil liberties group revealed.
Presented on a sweltering Friday in July, the EU commission’s 2026 rule of law report failed to avoid scrutiny, with NGO Civil Liberties Union for Europe (Liberties) observing a gap between professed achievements in member states and the reality of a significant lack of implementation of Brussels’ recommendations.
“This year’s Report shows continued positive progress across many Member States. And that is precisely why our Rule of Law Report matters. It has become a reference point, helping to shape national debates and drive reforms across our Union,” EU Commission president Ursula von der Leyen said back then in a statement.
But of all recommendations in the July report, Liberties’ Gap analysis report revealed that only four percent had been fully implemented, while 54 percent show limited to no progress.
“The Commission’s Rule of Law Report has the potential to be one of the EU’s strongest tools for preventing democratic backsliding,” said Kersty McCourt, Liberties’ rule of law expert. “But when recommendations are repeatedly issued without being implemented, and new threats are not identified early enough, the system loses its power”.
The report, published on Monday (12 October) and shared in advance with EUobserver, found that almost all recommendations issued in 2026 were regurgitations of those given in previous years, with only seven new recommendations being introduced this year.
The commission’s annual report “fails to unpack why some problems remain so entrenched,” Liberties said.
In its own study, the Berlin-based NGO suggested the reasons for slow movement to be bound from a lack of willingness from member states, a vacuum in the EU’s enforcement mechanisms, or issues becoming “so entrenched that progress is effectively impossible.”
This reduces the function of the report as a warning system for identifying early signs of democratic backsliding, since recommendations on emerging issues remain unaddressed and even if are formally adopted, often don’t translate into effective implementation.
Liberties observed this to be evident in the example of Nordic countries, which have grown to be exempt from scrutiny due to their traditionally strong reputations.
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EU leaders will mouth hollow criticism of West Bank settlers at next week’s summit, while staying mute on Israel’s genocide in Gaza – in sharp contrast to the 2026 Nobel peace prize.
The EU “strongly condemns the continued and growing settler violence against Palestinian civilians and calls for accountability”, they aim to say in a declaration in Brussels on Thursday (15 October), according to a draft seen by EUobserver on Friday.
And they are to warn of “legal, economic, and reputational consequences for [Israeli] businesses participating” in building a settlement in the E1 area of the West Bank, which would destroy the two-state solution by chopping the region in half.
It remains to be seen if Slovenia’s pro-Israeli prime minister, Janez Janša, will sign up, after he ranted on X in August that he would veto this type of thing.
But even if Janša agreed, it would still amount to EU impunity for settlers, as there was no mention of banning settler imports or even blacklisting more settler extremists.
“The EU keeps condemning illegal settlements that it trades with, financing the very occupation and abuses it claims to oppose. How does that make any sense?,” said Claudio Francavilla from Human Rights Watch.
The summit draft also voiced “grave concern over developments in Gaza”, where “protection of civilians must be ensured”, and urged Israel to let in more aid.
Israel has killed some 1,450 people in Gaza since an October 2025 ceasefire.
It has killed over 74,000 Palestinians and displaced 1.8 million people in Gaza since 2023, but the EU leaders’ passive-tense language did not blame Israel for civilian deaths or mention Gaza “accountability”.
And that will put our 27 prime ministers and presidents at odds this Thursday with Europe’s moral compass, international law, and public opinion.
The Norwegian Nobel Committee gave the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize on Friday to Navi Pillay, a South African judge, who had chaired a UN commission that found Israel guilty of “genocide” in Gaza and worked for the International Criminal Court (ICC) in The Hague, which has indicted Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu for war crimes.
She was “a bigot … propagating blood libels,” he said on X.
Israeli foreign minister Gideon Sa’ar said: “[Nazi propaganda chief] Joseph Goebbels is probably applauding in hell.”
And US president Donald Trump joined their Nobel-bashing by imposing sanctions on the ICC.
But three other Nobel laureates, from Colombia, DR Congo, and Liberia were among global VIPs who also wrote to the European Commission on Friday urging trade sanctions on Israel, in a sign of wider revulsion.
And “if the EU was serious about fulfilling its obligations under international law, or indeed in terms of its own stated values and policies, it would go much, much further [in terms of sanctions],” said H. A. Hellyer, from the Royal United Services Institute (RUSI) think-tank in London.
Palestine solidarity marches in Berlin, London, Rome, and Warsaw on Saturday showed that ordinary Europeans wanted their elected politicians to take action.
Some 83 percent of Germans and 88 percent of Italians now disapproved of Netanyahu, said the Pew Research Centre in June.
Blood and rubble
The latest EU summit draft pledged support for Palestinian elections.
“The European Union stands ready to support the electoral process, including by the deployment of an EU Election Observation Mission,” it said.
But EU words were being buried in blood and rubble faster than the summit statements could be updated.
The Palestinian vote would have to be postponed until at least late 2027 due to the “security and economic conditions” created by Israel in the West Bank, the Palestinian Authority warned France, also on Friday.
Meanwhile, the EU summit will fall two weeks before Israeli elections on 27 October and the leaders’ empty words might be tactical – so as not to throw meat to far-right Israeli zealots in a rabid atmosphere.
But Europe’s quietism is also due to Germany and Italy’s internal politics and its psychopathological mix of World War 2-guilt, raging far-right populism, and transatlantic realpolitik.
“I don’t think this [the draft EU summit text on the Middle East] is a strategy, so much as a statement of the lowest common denominator in EU foreign policy,” RUSI’s Hellyer said.
And going back to the Nazi slurs against the 2026 Nobel, Israeli author Gideon Levy said in the Haaretz daily on Saturday: “No, Sa’ar … If Goebbels has a reason to applaud, it is upon seeing what has happened to the country that arose from the ashes of the Holocaust.”
“Goebbels is applauding perpetrators of genocide around the world, particularly the one in Gaza,” said Levy.
So long as Berlin and Rome don’t realign their compasses, Europe’s silent blessing for Palestinian erasure will feed Israeli hardliners’ schizoid and delusional sense of self-righteousness.
“As long as Israel is not willing to … admit, at least partially, to its crimes, it will never change,” Levy said.
President Donald Trump’s decision to reopen trade in Russian diesel has implications extending well beyond American fuel prices. The agreement, announced ahead of November’s congressional elections, coincides with negotiations over Russian energy assets and mounting American pressure on Ukraine to suspend attacks against Moscow’s oil infrastructure.
The US Treasury’s General Licence 135, issued on 9 October, authorises transactions involving Russian-origin diesel until 7 April 2027. Unlike Trump’s public announcement, which referred to specific quantities destined for the American market, the licence establishes no corresponding volume ceiling or restriction confining authorised trade to the United States.
Its provisions permit American businesses to participate in eligible international transactions involving Russian diesel, including associated financial and commercial services. Existing sanctions remain formally in force, but an important category of Russian petroleum trade has been reopened.
The arrangement potentially benefits not only Russian producers but also American commodity traders, financial institutions and intermediaries capable of purchasing Russian fuel and distributing it internationally.
The legal mechanism offers Washington considerable flexibility. Rather than formally abandoning restrictions imposed over Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the administration can authorise selected transactions while maintaining the broader sanctions framework.
Congress’s Lindsey O. Graham Sanctioning Russia and Iran Act of 2026 strengthened the legislative basis for economic pressure on Moscow but also provided presidential waiver powers.
General Licence 135 was issued under existing Treasury sanctions authorities, rather than necessarily through those waiver provisions. Nevertheless, the combined framework leaves the administration substantial discretion over the practical application of economic restrictions.
Washington can consequently maintain its declared sanctions policy while selectively restoring commercial relations with Russia. European governments, which have maintained extensive restrictions on Russian energy, have little influence over such unilateral American exemptions.
The timing becomes more revealing when considered alongside negotiations over Lukoil’s international assets.
American investors have been exploring the acquisition of the Russian company’s overseas operations, including oilfields, refineries, storage facilities and retail distribution networks. The portfolio has been valued at approximately $20–22 billion.
Among the prospective investors is billionaire Todd Boehly, while discussions concerning Russian-American economic cooperation have involved Trump’s representatives Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner.
An American-controlled acquisition of Lukoil’s international network could complement the commercial opportunities created by the diesel authorisation.
Russian petroleum products could potentially be purchased and marketed through American-controlled businesses, allowing Russian suppliers to retain export revenues while intermediaries earn profits from financing, distribution and resale.
No evidence establishes that General Licence 135 was specifically designed for the prospective Lukoil purchasers, or that Trump personally holds an interest in the proposed transactions. Nevertheless, the parallel negotiations suggest the possibility of an emerging commercial arrangement under which American intermediaries assume a greater role in Russian energy exports.
The consequences for Ukraine could be considerable.
Kyiv has expanded attacks against Russian refineries, fuel depots and petroleum infrastructure, seeking to reduce Moscow’s export earnings and disrupt supplies supporting its armed forces.
Trump has repeatedly criticised these strikes, linking them to higher international fuel prices. His administration now has an additional commercial reason to seek their suspension.
On 11 October, Trump announced an energy ceasefire between Russia and Ukraine, although President Volodymyr Zelenskyy indicated that Kyiv had not agreed to such an arrangement.
Ukraine has maintained that any suspension of attacks against Russian energy facilities must be matched by an end to Moscow’s strikes on Ukrainian power infrastructure.
An agreement protecting Russian refineries without equivalent Russian concessions would preserve an important source of Kremlin revenue while depriving Kyiv of military and economic leverage.
The immediate political advantage for Trump is apparent. Rising diesel prices have become a concern ahead of the 3 November midterm elections, particularly among farmers and transport businesses. Additional Russian supplies offer the administration an opportunity to demonstrate action on domestic fuel costs.
Yet the six-month Treasury authorisation extends considerably beyond the election, suggesting commercial objectives that cannot be explained exclusively by short-term electoral considerations.
The emerging pattern is one of bilateral economic engagement with Moscow proceeding independently of a settlement in Ukraine. Russian energy trade is being selectively reopened, American investors are pursuing Russian-owned assets, and Washington is seeking restrictions on Ukrainian operations against the infrastructure underpinning those commercial interests.
For European governments, this threatens the cohesion of the sanctions regime. Brussels may continue restricting Russian energy revenues while Washington authorises transactions that restore access to international markets.
The larger prospect is a system in which Russia retains export earnings, American intermediaries acquire profitable commercial positions, and sanctions become instruments of bilateral negotiation rather than coordinated Western pressure.
Trump’s diesel agreement may therefore represent the opening stage of a wider economic accommodation with Putin, negotiated while Russia continues its war against Ukraine and without any corresponding Russian commitment to withdraw from occupied territory.
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