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The conflict in Gaza has resulted in a significant number of amputations, with over 6,000 adults and children undergoing amputations since October 2023, according to the WHO and Palestinian Ministry of Health. Ola Jamal, 36, is one of the many Palestinians who have been forced to flee Gaza due to the conflict. She was breastfeeding her two-month-old son, Zain, when a missile struck al-Nasr hospital in Gaza, causing her to lose her arm. Jamal and her family were forced to separate, with her children being cared for by another family. This traumatic experience has had a lasting impact on Jamal and her children, with her son Zain still experiencing nightmares and trauma two years after the event. Shadi Sharif Ayesh al-Sous, a father of two, lost his leg in a missile strike while collecting firewood. He had his leg amputated above the knee and now waits to return home to Gaza. However, many Palestinians in Egypt face significant challenges, including restricted access to healthcare and prosthetic care due to their uncertain legal status. Yousef El Deeb, a certified prosthetist at Orthomedics in Cairo, says his clinic has treated about 300 Palestinian patients since October 2023, mostly through the support of NGOs. However, the lack of documentation and uncertain legal status of Palestinians in Egypt makes it difficult for them to access long-term prosthetic care without the support of NGOs. The situation for Palestinians in Egypt is further complicated by their lack of formal residency or refugee status. Without valid residency permits, survivors are often restricted to hostels or share a flat with other families, unable to work and living under the constant pressure of temporary status. This lack of documentation makes accessing hi-tech, long-term prosthetic care almost impossible without the support of NGOs.

Mint, the new drama from Charlotte Regan, is a bold reimagining of the classic love story, Romeo and Juliet. This electrifying drama tells the tale of impossible love between two people from bitter crime rival families.The series stars Emma Laird as Shannon, the daughter of a Scottish crime family, and Benjamin Coyle-Larner, also known as Loyle Carner, as Arran, the prodigal son of a different crime family. Their eyes meet across a down-at-heel train station, and they are incompatible and irresistible to one another.Charlotte Regan drew inspiration from her own experiences and those of her cast and crew. The drama features a unique visual style, with sparse dialogue and a focus on visual storytelling. The show's use of Super 8 fragments and VHS-style footage adds to its distinctive aesthetic.The cast, including Laura Fraser and Lindsay Duncan, deliver powerful performances that bring depth and nuance to the story. Emma Laird praises Regan for keeping her acne in the show, saying it's a huge part of her character's authenticity.Mint is available on BBC iPlayer from Monday, April 20th, with the series airing on BBC One from 9 pm that night.

The two‑child benefit cap, introduced in 2015 by Chancellor George Osborne as a fairness measure, has been widely criticised for penalising families rather than influencing birth rates. Eleven years on, evidence shows the policy did not reduce family size but instead increased hardship for the poorest households.Research estimates that the cap pushed 350,000 children into poverty and drove another 700,000 deeper into deprivation. The impact fell disproportionately on the most vulnerable universal‑credit claimants, with a notable over‑representation of Muslim and Jewish families. Affected children missed out on school uniforms, extracurricular activities, and even regular meals.On Monday, the government announced the cap’s removal – a move that analysts say could deliver the most significant reduction in child poverty seen in a single parliamentary term. Modelling suggests that by 2030 450,000 children could be lifted out of poverty, while roughly 480,000 families may see an annual boost of £4,100. Parents anticipate being able to avoid food banks, afford hot school meals, and prevent bullying linked to clothing.The reversal was not inevitable. Persistent campaigning by think‑tanks, charities, and a handful of rebellious Labour MPs – some of whom faced suspension for defying party whips – forced the issue onto the political agenda. Nevertheless, the editorial notes that an estimated four million children will remain in poverty without further systemic reforms, such as raising Universal Credit rates and increasing local housing allowances.Public opinion remains divided: a recent YouGov poll found that six in ten Britons previously supported keeping the cap, though support for removal rose when the policy was framed as giving every child a good start. The editorial warns that other parties, including Reform UK, have pledged to reinstate the limit, underscoring the need for Labour to consolidate this victory and push for broader anti‑poverty measures.

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

Dan Levy, creator of the hit sitcom 'Schitt's Creek', ventures into cringe comedy with 'Big Mistakes', a Netflix series that, while entertaining, struggles to find its footing. Levy stars as Nicky, a pastor hiding his relationship from his family and congregation, alongside Taylor Ortega as his rebellious sister Morgan. The show's strength lies in its cast, particularly Levy and Ortega, who deliver charming and hilarious performances. Laurie Metcalf also shines as their emotionally unstable mother. However, the plot often falters, relying on implausible developments and generic portrayals of organized crime. The dynamic between Levy's character and Ortega's is a highlight, showcasing Levy's expertise in crafting bickering, boundary-pushing on-screen families, reminiscent of 'Schitt's Creek'. The familial drama and cringe comedy elements are more engaging than the show's attempt at an organized crime storyline. Despite its shortcomings, 'Big Mistakes' is not a major failure but rather a passable effort. Levy's talent for creating relatable, flawed characters and humorous situations makes the show enjoyable, even if it doesn't quite reach the heights of his previous work.

Since its inauguration in 1875, Mumbai’s Sassoon Dock has transitioned from a Gulf‑bound trading hub to the beating heart of the city’s fishing sector. Today, the once‑bustling harbour is marked by an unsettling silence.Rows of fishing boats sit idle under the morning sun, their colourful flags fluttering against the skyline. The familiar chorus of net‑unloading, diesel‑engine rumble, ice‑hauling and fish‑monger shouts has faded.Boat owner Shekhar Chogle, weather‑worn from years at sea, has been compelled to keep his vessel moored since the conflict began. Plummeting earnings, relentless labour costs and diesel prices soaring above $1.20 per litre ($4.54 per US gallon) have rendered fishing operations virtually impossible.The dock’s diesel pump now sits abandoned, draped with a wilted marigold garland. A worker returns from the petrol station empty‑handed, his wooden barrow holding six unfilled containers, underscoring the fuel shortage that has crippled cooperatives that normally supply affordable fuel, ice and equipment to fishers.This fuel crisis reverberates beyond Mumbai, affecting fishing communities throughout India and wider Asia. Fishers confront a stark choice: stay ashore and forfeit income, or brave the sea at the risk of further financial loss, jeopardising both individual families and entire coastal economies.A recently announced two‑week ceasefire between Iran, the United States and Israel offers a glimmer of hope, yet analysts warn that normalising fuel supplies will take time.For Chogle, the clock is ticking. “Our income has dropped significantly since we have not been able to take our boat out to sea,” he lamented.Despite the soaring fuel costs, a few boats still venture out. Morning markets persist, though catches are modest. Women in vibrant saris haggle over the limited fish, and a mother balancing a baby on her hip scrutinises each purchase, weighing cost against necessity.“If diesel prices don’t come down soon, I don’t know how we’ll survive,” Chogle warned, encapsulating the precarious future of Mumbai’s once‑thriving fishing trade.

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.”

Iranians marked a day of mourning on April 8, 2026 to remember the victims of the Minab school strike. Across various cities, families, officials, and citizens participated in ceremonies that highlighted the profound loss suffered by the community.Organisers emphasized the need to honor the deceased while calling for measures to prevent similar tragedies in the future. The commemorations, reported by Al Jazeera, reflect ongoing public concern over school safety and the broader social ramifications of the incident.

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.