Arts and Culture

Al-Bureij, Gaza Strip – A Sack of Flour, an 11-minute documentary by the emerging filmmaker Mona Abu Qass, draws on her personal experience to examine Israel’s use of starvation against Palestinians in Gaza during Israel’s genocidal war on the enclave.

The film is one of five documentaries by Palestinian women screened Monday at the opening of the second Gaza International Women’s Film Festival, which also marked the official launch of the Gaza Cinema Academy.

The event took place at the site of the al-Nakheel Hall in al-Bureij, central Gaza, under the slogan “Women Creating Life from Death”. The hall is destroyed, like the majority of buildings in Gaza, after three years of Israel’s war, which has killed more than 74,000 Palestinians.

The film captures Palestinians’ struggle to find food in Gaza, the dangers at aid distribution points and the lives lost while trying to obtain flour.

Through Abu Qass’s own experiences, A Sack of Flour explores how the trauma of hunger continues to affect families even after food becomes available again.

Those experiences have renewed relevance as Israeli restrictions on goods entering Gaza and cuts to food assistance have caused shortages and fears of a return to famine.

“The idea for the film stems from a personal experience and a true story,” Abu Qass told Al Jazeera. “It documents daily life in Gaza, weighed down by bombardment, destruction, siege, hunger, and loss.”

“I want to capture details that reveal suffering and people’s determination to hold on to their life,” she added. “I seek to show reality as people experience it and help viewers understand what the war has done to their relationships, dreams, and hopes.”

Highlighting struggles of the disabled

Another film, Beyond Silence, by emerging filmmaker and journalist Raghda al-Buhaisi, explores wartime struggles in Gaza for people with disabilities through the story of a deaf artist who never learned to read, write or communicate through sign language. His art studio in southern Gaza’s Rafah was destroyed by Israel, and his parents and several family members were killed.

After being displaced to Deir el-Balah in central Gaza, another family took him in and set up a modest studio by the roadside. His paintings reflect loss and displacement, expressing what words cannot through colour and line.

“I want to highlight the additional challenges people with disabilities face during war, including displacement, family loss, and the destruction of livelihoods,” al-Buhaisi told Al Jazeera. “Art can cross barriers of language and silence, turning an individual experience of pain into a visual message that conveys Gaza’s suffering to the world.”

Alongside those films were three others by emerging Palestinian women filmmakers – Soso: The Lifeline, Remnants of Light, and Dandana. The films document life in Gaza and the suffering brought by war.

Soso: The Lifeline follows an orphaned child and his donkey, who help people survive in Gaza. Remnants of Light follows a filmmaker struggling with the loss of her family and home, while Dandana tells the story of a mother whose eight children were killed, and who turns to Palestinian songs with her surviving family to cope with her grief.

The five documentaries were produced through a filmmaking diploma programme that began in March and brought together 25 young Palestinian women.

Preserving Gaza’s stories

Festival director Ezzedine Shallah said the films draw on experiences women and girls lived through during the war, offering visual testimony to daily life and giving women space to tell their stories in their own voices.

“Though their subjects differ, the films turn individual pain into broader human stories, revealing war’s psychological and social scars,” he told Al Jazeera. “They preserve stories that might otherwise never reach the screen, transforming suffering into cinematic testimony and bringing Gaza’s stories to audiences beyond its borders.”

The festival, which runs until October 31, features 73 films from 24 countries and offers a broader platform for filmmakers from Gaza and beyond.

But even with events like the festival, filmmaking in Gaza comes with formidable challenges. The destruction of cultural institutions, scarce equipment, limited funding, power and internet outages, and the pressures of war and displacement have severely restricted opportunities for film production. Women filmmakers also struggle to access training, production opportunities and international festivals.

Filmmaker Rima Mahmoud, a co-founder of the festival, said that war and the Israeli siege on Gaza – which predates 2023 – have hindered young women’s filmmaking, pushing some to use simple methods, self-fund projects and document Gaza’s reality even with the difficulties.

“Despite limited resources, these films deserve international exposure,” Mahmoud said. “Their makers need technical and financial support, translation, and partnerships with festivals and platforms.”

Resisting attempts at erasure

Palestinian filmmaker Mai Masri, based in Lebanon and another co-founder of the festival, said the films help young women tell their own stories, resist erasure and preserve collective memory, while building skills and accessing work in Gaza or through digital platforms.

The academy has also developed a filmmaking diploma in cooperation with al-Quds Open University and accredited by the Palestinian Ministry of Education.

Masri said that the academy is also now trying to help directors reach international festivals.

“We are seeking agreements with distributors to screen these films in educational and cultural institutions outside Palestine, and through international platforms and festivals focused on women’s and human rights,” she said.

“This would bring the voices of Palestinian women to a global audience, shed light on their human experiences and artistic creativity, strengthen the presence of Palestinian cinema internationally, and open new horizons for young female directors to reach global screening platforms and film festivals,” Masri added.

Dutch withdrawal is the latest in a number of boycotts by countries unhappy about Israel’s inclusion.

The Netherlands has withdrawn from next year’s Eurovision Song Contest, its public broadcaster NPO has confirmed, citing “sensitivities” over Israel’s participation.

“We have known for some time that Israel’s participation elicits various reactions in society and causes discussion and division,” the NPO’s media director Jurre Bosman said in a statement.

“Therefore, after consultation with the board of broadcasters, the NPO has decided to forgo participation in 2027.”

The announcement follows a decision in August by Dutch broadcaster AVROTROS to boycott the competition. AVROTROS, which usually selects the Netherlands’ entry and broadcasts the show, said the event could “no longer be considered neutral”.

NPO stepped in last month, saying it would take responsibility for the Dutch entry to the competition, before reversing course on Tuesday.

Jet de Ranitz, NPO’s executive chairman, acknowledged that the decision would disappoint fans but stressed that the contest would still be aired on public channels.

“Due to the sensitivities surrounding the themes currently at play, we have decided to take a step back for the time being,” De Ranitz said.

The announcement follows the Netherlands’ boycott of the 2026 edition. Iceland, Spain, Ireland, and Slovenia all pulled out, with the latter three refusing to broadcast the show at all.

More withdrawals

In August, the organisers announced that countries would be unable to host the competition if “an armed conflict, a sensitive geopolitical situation, or any other situation materially affects the security, safety or stability of their state or immediate region.”

But that has not prevented withdrawals, with Ireland already having announced that it will not be participating in next year’s contest for the second year in a row.

Earlier this month, the Czech broadcaster also pulled out of next year’s event, but cited spending cuts as the reason.

Bulgaria will host next year’s edition of Eurovision for the first time in the Black Sea city of Burgas, after Bulgarian singer Darina Yotova, known as Dara, won this year’s contest in Vienna, Austria, with her catchy floor-filler ‘Bangaranga’. 

Since its first edition in 1956, Eurovision has become the world’s biggest live televised music event. It catapulted Swedish icons ABBA to worldwide fame, as well as boosting artists such as Celine Dion and Olivia Newton-John. 

Alora, Spain – The train chugs steadily out of Malaga station, its rhythmic clatter carrying it inland towards the mountains of the Guadalhorce Valley, where whitewashed villages cling to hillsides.

Beyond the window, pomegranate trees grow close to the tracks. Palms and cypress trees stand alongside young orange saplings planted in neat rows and, farther out, olive groves whose leaves shimmer between green and silver in the breeze. Above the rugged mountains, small white clouds float across an immense blue sky, like pieces of popcorn.

Over the train’s rattle, an announcement in Spanish comes through the speakers: “The next station is Aljaima.”

The name derives from the Arabic al-khaima, meaning “the tent”, a small echo of another language, another time.

And then Alora, where the town rises around a rocky hill crowned by the remains of an old fortress. Some etymologists suggest the town’s ancient name may derive from the Arabic al-lawra, loosely translated as “the light”.

The railway station is quiet in the midday heat.

A large black pick-up truck rumbles into the station car park and stops. Henrietta Szovati, a British-Hungarian Muslim, steps out, having driven down from the mountains to collect provisions.

Dressed in a loose blue shirt and cream trousers, she offers a warm embrace. Silver earrings dangle beside her face, and a sea-blue scarf is wrapped around her hair like a turban. A pair of red-framed spectacles rests on top.

She apologises for the truck’s state. Dust has settled on the dashboard, and bits of dried grass have found their way inside. “It is a working vehicle,” she says, more accustomed to hauling things across farmland than ferrying visitors from railway stations.

For the past two years, she and her husband, Ajmal Masroor, a therapist and imam, have been transforming an old farmhouse and its surrounding land into the House of Andalus. The project aims to bring people closer to southern Spain’s Islamic history and the natural world.

Nearly 400 olive trees dot the 14 hectares (35 acres). She wants to plant more and make it a thousand-tree olive grove, she says with a smile, glancing out of the truck’s open window.

The road winds higher into the mountains. Wildfires, Henrietta says, swept through parts of the surrounding region at the height of summer, and the landscape still bears the season’s harshness. Reddish-brown earth gives way to patches of parched scrub and exposed rock, while slabs of silvery-grey stone jut sharply from the slopes.

“That’s slate,” Henrietta explains, pointing through the windscreen. The Spanish word is pizarra, she adds, the same name as the neighbouring town.

Oranges flourish here, as do figs and avocados. And mangoes that are better than those from South Asia, Henrietta emphatically declares.

As we drive further into the mountains, Henrietta gestures towards a neighbouring property. “That’s my neighbour, Juan Garcia.”

Henrietta buys lemons, avocados and honey from him. Sometimes he comes over to help with the olives. It’s this sense of community and neighbourliness she found harder to come by in Britain, where she has lived since 2001, marrying Ajmal a year later.

“I feel like an outsider there. I’m still not ‘one of us’ after more than 20 years.”

As a Muslim and as a European, she says, Spain feels familiar in a way no other place does. Hungary was never an option, she adds, describing its government as “racist and right-wing”. And in Britain, she says, being Muslim can feel unavoidably political, her faith viewed through headlines and public arguments about Islam.

In the mountains above Alora, she feels her neighbours meet her first as Henrietta: the woman who lives up the track and joins in village life.

“Practising Islam here is just easier,” she adds.

Yet Spain is not immune to the political currents sweeping across Europe. The far-right Vox party has made opposition to immigration and what it calls the “Islamisation” of Spain central to its campaigning, raising questions about how secure that sense of belonging might be.

With a sigh, Henrietta acknowledges that being Muslim can be difficult anywhere in the world today. But she prefers to focus on what she can build, rather than on political circumstances beyond her control. “Circumstances change, but community, connections and faith don’t,” she says.

For her, that means building relationships with neighbours, even when they hold different beliefs. A sense of community, she argues, is forged through everyday encounters rather than political rhetoric.

On a visit to Juan Garcia’s home, his 79-year-old mother, Maria, is curious about the scarf wrapped around Henrietta’s hair.

The women are standing in Maria’s living room, its shutters drawn against the afternoon sun. A portrait of Jesus hangs on the wall.

Henrietta explains that she is Muslim and that covering her hair is part of her faith, a way to feel closer to God. Maria is Catholic. The conversation turns to the Virgin Mary, who also covered her hair.

But Maria insists all that matters is being a good person. If you cannot be good, none of the outward signs of faith means very much.

There is no awkwardness between them, no need to defend or explain their beliefs. The conversation moves on.

It is such ordinary encounters that have made Andalucia feel like home, Henrietta says. But her connection to this part of Spain runs deeper than the friendships she is making. It also stems from a deep respect for a history that stretches back more than 1,000 years.

For British Muslim travel writer and historian Tharik Hussain, author of Muslim Europe, the fascination is understandable. Al-Andalus was the medieval Muslim-ruled territory of modern-day Spain and Portugal. Its heartland lay in the south, in what is now Andalucia, home to cities such as Cordoba, Seville and Granada, where surviving monuments still evoke a period when Muslims helped shape European civilisation.

Its eventual loss, he says, has given it an almost “Atlantis-like aura” in the Muslim imagination, a longing reflected in Muslim literature over the centuries, from the 17th-century historian al-Maqqari to the 20th-century poet Allama Iqbal.

For nearly eight centuries, Muslim dynasties ruled parts of the Iberian Peninsula, leaving behind palaces and fortresses with horseshoe arches, intricate zellij tilework, carved yeseria plasterwork, and curling Arabic calligraphy. Their legacy endured in irrigation channels known as acequias (from the Arabic al-saqiya), scholarship, language and traditions that continued to shape Spain long after the fall of Granada in 1492.

Britons have long headed to Andalucia in search of a place in the sun. But among those putting down roots here are Muslims drawn by something more: The chance to reconnect with a history in which Islam was part of Europe, and to build lives where their faith feels less like a defining difference.

Yet the Andalucia they are entering is not a vanished kingdom waiting to be rediscovered; it is modern Spain, with its own economic pressures, social divisions, and complicated relationship with the past.

What happens when the dream of al-Andalus meets the realities of living here?

Far-right President Abelardo de la Espriella says he will wage a ‘counterrevolution’ against cultural institutions.

Colombian President Abelardo de la Espriella has announced he is spearheading a cultural “counterrevolution” that includes removing dozens of exhibits from the National Museum, drawing protests and comparisons to United States President Donald Trump.

De la Espriella, a conservative Trump ally, said last week that he wants to prevent cultural institutions from being taken over by what he calls “atheist social communism”.

Since then, exhibits have been taken down that once addressed the history of social movements, including feminist and LGBTQ+ activism, and Colombia’s political violence.

The changes have sparked protests by civil rights groups, artists and students who have accused the government of censorship and warn that important parts of the country’s history could be erased.

Dozens of demonstrators gathered on Wednesday outside the National Museum in downtown Bogota as riot police guarded its entrance.

“I find it outrageous that they want to erase part of our history,” said Azul Riascos, a history student.

He said the government was promoting a vision of Colombia as exclusively white, Catholic and Spanish-speaking. That image, he explained, excluded Black, Indigenous and LGBTQ+ communities.

Gimena Sanchez-Garzoli, director for the Andes at the Washington Office on Latin America, a research and advocacy organisation, said the Colombian government’s approach reflects a broader trend among Trump allies who are copying US political narratives and strategies.

Trump has been fiercely critical of museums in Washington, particularly those tied to the Smithsonian Institution.

The White House released a report in July branding leaders of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History as radical activists and has ordered signs to be installed outside the museum telling visitors that some of the exhibits are inaccurate.

Nearly three months after that order, such signs haven’t been installed. The museum’s director, Anthea Hartig, told Congress that the White House report “does not fairly or accurately characterise the full body of work at the museum”.

Sanchez-Garzoli said Trump’s cooperation with allied Latin American governments on security and counternarcotics efforts also has an ideological dimension.

“These are imported narratives about terrorism and about being ‘woke,’” anthropologist Arturo Sanabria said during Wednesday’s protest, describing the Colombian government’s approach as a form of neocolonial intervention.

Colombia’s Culture Minister Paola Holguin said the government was reviewing and redesigning exhibitions and curatorial practices at other museums overseen by her ministry.

The Foreign Ministry also renamed a courtyard previously honouring an Indigenous leader, describing the change as part of the president’s campaign against “woke” ideology.

“The government is making serious efforts in a cultural battle that probably doesn’t exist,” political scientist Estefania Cardozo said outside the museum. “It is inventing one to erase identities that cannot be erased because they already exist.”

Bitupan Deka was out shopping for a “gamusa” (traditional scarf) with his mother in India’s northeastern state of Meghalaya when he noticed something unusual.

“Every shop selling the scarf had the same handful of patterns repeated over and over,” he told Al Jazeera over the telephone from Shillong, the capital of Meghalaya.

“When I asked around, I found that weavers in Sualkuchi [district in neighbouring Assam state] are paid a one-time fee of roughly 2,000 rupees [$21] for each design they develop, instead of royalties. Cutting down the number of designs they produce was a cost-saving practice followed by the manufacturers.”

This discovery prompted Deka, an assistant professor of computer technology at Shillong’s MIT University, to create a system that can produce infinite new designs for such fabrics.

“My work isn’t meant to replace the traditional designers. I hope, instead, that it will become a tool in their hands to create new and modern motifs more easily, so the consumers can have variety,” Deka said.

Once the patent, which is being applied for under the research and development department of his university, comes through, Deka plans to monetise the system by making it a commercial designing service that the textile industry can avail.

In India’s varied textile traditions, patterns and motifs carry the memory of a place and the mythology of its people – sometimes even the history of migrations.

The designs are imagined by weavers from things that exist around them, and then painted with locally available colours, mostly using carved clay and wooden frames. These weavers do not simply reproduce a pattern; they inherit it. Their hands hesitate where their grandmother’s did, and they know why a particular flower must face left.

A computer has no such inheritance or hesitation. It learns by analysing pictures and repeating them in endless variations. And yet, as Deka’s system shows, the computer can now draw and weave the same flower.

The Rekh Sanganeri Dataset is a similar system developed for hand-block printed Sanganeri textiles from the western Indian state of Rajasthan. It includes high-resolution images of printed patterns, annotated down to ink bleed and slight misalignment – the imperfections that are the hallmark of the handmade work.

Its developer, Reddy Sai Nivas C, says it should be used as a resource for research and art, not as a substitute for artisans.

But the disclaimer is the paradox: Tools built to preserve a craft are making its visual language easier to digitally reproduce without involving the craftsperson.

Dinesh Chhipa comes from one of the oldest Chhipa families, an artisan and merchant caste renowned for dyeing and block printing. He is a Bagru designer – a block printing technique from Bagru town in the western state of Rajasthan – and a textile businessman.

“Traditional craft is slow to produce. Even if someone offered us a fortune, we wouldn’t be able to produce these pieces in mass numbers, so I don’t fault those using digital technology and AI to fill the gap,” he told Al Jazeera.

“But don’t borrow craft and regional names like Bagru and Jaipuri [named after the capital city of Rajasthan]. These designs and motifs were born out of a culture and necessities of the communities they come from.”

Who owns culture when it turns into plain data?

India has been digitising its textile memory for years – from the Botanical Survey of India’s historical collections to the Bharatiya Vastra Shilpa Kosh, a national portal built by the state-run National Institute of Fashion Technology and the Centre for Development of Advanced Computing (C-DAC).

Without documentation, the fragile traditions and knowledge could disappear. But digitisation also allows the same archive to be used by an AI system seeking to reproduce these crafts at scale.

At the India AI Impact Summit in New Delhi in February this year, Indian software company Tata Consultancy Services (TCS) showcased Bridgital Loom, an AI system that converts textile designs into loom-ready instructions. LED lights on the loom guide a weaver through the thread sequences of intricate Banarasi and Kanchipuram patterns – named after the cities where these iconic arts grew.

TCS says the technology helps weavers execute complex designs faster and with fewer errors, and is meant to be a bridge between the artisans and technology. A pilot project that uses the loom is already under way at Kanchipuram, a town in southern Tamil Nadu state.

In an interview with the online platform Digit at the New Delhi summit, the head of AI strategy at Bridgital Loom, Muthulakshmi Nellaiappan, pointed out that a new weaver takes more than 15 years to master the art.

“With the technologies we have in hand … the younger weaver who has just entered the skill can become a master much sooner,” she said.

Technology flattens the master-apprentice hierarchy of traditional knowledge systems. The weaver no longer has to conceptualise or remember patterns, colours and codes; he blindly follows the machine’s instructions, handing creativity and memory to AI.

Nellaiappan said that since a large percentage of India’s looms are non-electronic, TCS has ensured its system works with handlooms as well and that it was essential for scaling up the technology.

But digital looms also raise another question: Who owns culture when it turns into plain data?

For generations, India’s textile knowledge sat outside intellectual property systems. It lived in community memory, passed from master to apprentice with no certificate of ownership. Kanchipuram, Mekhela-Sador, Sanganeri and Banarasi are names for places that these textiles helped shape, not merely emerged from.

Now, this knowledge is entering generative models that owe nothing to these traditions.

For designers and manufacturers, the possibilities are seductive: Motifs combined at will, colours changed with a command, and thousands of designs generated instantly. The machine offers abundance.

The artisan, on the other hand, has always lived with scarcity: Of money, bargaining power, or recognition.

Ananthalakshmi Vadivel, a third-generation weaver and owner of Vadivel Silk Looms in Kanchipuram, says their venture is already competing in the market with cheaper Kanchipuram sarees produced on electronic looms.

“Perhaps, with AI, these sellers can create trending designs faster and cheaper to attract mass consumers. But these imitations can never replace the original,” she told Al Jazeera.

“There will always be a market for authentic Kanchipuram and handcrafted textiles, no matter how much technology makes the imitation cheaper. True Kanchipuram weave, colour, and designs can only be created by hand, and discerning buyers know this.”

Then again, the question is no longer whether AI can recreate a textile. It sure can. The question is: Who gets paid when it does?

Legal gaps

In December 2025, the federal government’s Department for Promotion of Industry and Internal Trade floated a statutory “blanket licence” – a system where AI developers could train models on lawfully obtained copyrighted material without seeking permission from each rights holder. Once commercialised, those systems would owe royalties to copyright owners at rates set by the government.

But intellectual property (IP) laws assume a traceable work with a traceable author. A motif, on the other hand, is communal property, its technique passed down through generations with no single originator.

In such cases, who is entitled to royalty and copyright? The artisan who first created the design? The photographer who documented it? The researcher who assembled the dataset? The developer who built the tool? India’s laws offer no clear answers. The artisan whose name never appeared on a label may once again be missing from the paperwork.

Meanwhile, the government is planning a dedicated AI-handloom research department under the Centre of Excellence for Handloom Technology at the Indian Institute of Technology (IIT) in the capital, New Delhi. Inaugurated in August, the $1.4m facility aims to modernise India’s handloom sector by combining traditional weaving heritage with contemporary technology.

The government also plans to register thousands of weavers and fit their handlooms with sensors that convert weave patterns into digital data, and issue QR-coded tags to trace provenance. Maharashtra’s Vingatha system does something similar at the state level by authenticating handloom sarees such as Paithani and Karvat Kathi.

The idea is simple: If a saree can tell you where it came from, the person who made it becomes harder to erase.

While these measures cannot stop AI-enabled design and mass production, they may give artisans more visibility and turn each piece into an archive.

In art galleries, the traditional textiles are increasingly shedding the label of craft for the more lucrative category of contemporary art.

Gurjeet Singh, an artist from Chandigarh city, recently hosted a textile-based solo show in New York. His work transforms discarded fabrics, buttons and embroidered scraps into sculptures that explore queer identity and social prejudices surrounding gender and sexuality.

Sayan Chanda, an Indian artist based in London, works with cut and rewoven vintage Bengali quilts to question fixed notions of cultural belonging. Gurugram-based artist Sumakshi Singh uses delicate embroidery and suspended thread structures to reconstruct the architectural fragments of vanished homes, gardens and personal histories. There are many more.

In New Delhi, 20 such artisans and craft-led collectives featured last month at an art show celebrating the traditional textile crafts.

“Our aim is to present these traditional crafts as living practices that continue to evolve through contemporary artisans, rather than as heritage to be archived. Kanmai Payun, one of the artists featured in the show, for example, is the last practitioner of Fulor Saneki, a flower pattern used by Assamese weavers. We encouraged her to teach her 17-year-old son so the craft outlives her,” Aparupa Ray Ganguly, the curator of the show, told Al Jazeera.

But as textiles gain value in art galleries, their makers do not necessarily gain automatic control over their work.

In April, another art exhibition in New Delhi, titled No ‘One’ Maker, saw artisans missing from the show’s preview, exposing how traditional textiles are aestheticised, but the people who carry that knowledge remain unrecognised.

“You cannot separate the names from the community. Call your mass-produced work digital prints and leave the traditional names to the original artisans,” says Chhipa, the artisan and merchant from Rajasthan.

As a London borough moves to cut ties with Haifa, test your knowledge of the world’s twin cities.

Hackney, a borough in east London, is consulting residents until October 14 on whether to end its twinning with Haifa, Israel’s third-largest city, a link that dates back to 1968.

The Green Party-led council voted on July 28 to end the partnership in principle, citing its values and human rights commitments amid Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza. Councillors will make a final decision after the consultation and a review of the borough’s twinning policy.

What are twin cities?

Twin cities, also called sister cities, are places in different countries linked by formal friendship agreements. These relationships can support school exchanges, cultural events and civic visits, though many become inactive over time.

Can you guess which cities are twinned? Take our quiz below.

How twin cities began

Modern town twinning grew after World War II as a way to rebuild trust and foster peace. Coventry and Stalingrad (now Volgograd), both heavily bombed during the war, established a friendship link in 1944, often cited as the first modern city-twinning relationship.

The US city of St Paul and Japan’s Nagasaki established a sister-city partnership in 1955 to promote reconciliation after the atomic bombing of the latter in 1945. Cities have since formed links because of shared histories, similar roles as capitals or ports, or communities with roots in both places.

Why do cities cut ties?

Because twinning is often symbolic, ending a link can allow a council to make a statement. Several UK councils suspended or ended links with Russian cities after the 2022 invasion of Ukraine.

Prague’s relationship with Beijing also ended in 2019 amid a dispute involving Taiwan, after which the Czech Republic established a partnership with Taipei. Hackney’s proposal is the latest example of cities reassessing their international ties.

The cultural exchange comes amid strengthening ties between the two countries.

Israel has returned 22 ancient artefacts stolen from Greece, a cultural exchange that comes as the two countries strengthen ties.

Greek and Israeli officials did not provide details on Tuesday on how the artefacts were discovered in Israel or the circumstances surrounding their illegal removal from Greece.

The Israel Antiquities Authority’s Theft Prevention Unit had located the items, Pninat Yanay, Israel’s ambassador to Greece, said.

Greek Minister of Culture Lina Mendoni accepted the objects from the Israeli Antiquities Authority at a ceremony held at the National Archaeological Museum in Athens.

“It is the first time that Israel has returned antiquities to Greece, marking the starting point of closer cooperation between the two countries for the protection of cultural heritage,” Mendoni said.

“Every return of a cultural object to its place of origin has a broader symbolic and moral dimension.”

The collection includes 15 Attic vases, six Corinthian vases, and a bronze female statuette.

The objects are dated between 700 BC and 320 BC.

Yanay said the return of the antiquities created “the conditions for further strengthening cooperation between Greece and Israel”.

Greece-Israel relations

Greece and Israel have strengthened energy and defence ties in recent years.

In August, Israel signed a $3.5bn defence deal to build a multi-layered air defence system in Greece, called the Achilles Shield. It is the largest defence deal between the two countries, and one of the most significant export agreements in Israel’s recent history.

For more than 40 percent of US presidents, the fraternity hall was an early stop on the road to the White House.

Fraternal organisations, more commonly known as fraternities or frats, have a long and storied history on college campuses in the United States.

One industry group, the North American Interfraternity Conference (NIC), represents 58 fraternities spread across 600 schools. It claims nearly 200,000 undergraduate students as active members and an alumni population of 4.2 million.

The draw for college-aged men is the promise of brotherhood, a bond that transcends keg parties and late-night revelry. Like sororities and other members-only student organisations, fraternities are often touted as pathways to personal, academic and professional success.

But critics argue that some fraternities have leveraged their exclusivity to encourage and normalise violence, dangling social acceptance as a reward for compliance.

“This isn’t [some sort of] a hobbyist club,” said anthropologist Aldo Cimino, a Kent State University professor who studies fraternity hazing. “It is the seriousness of the affiliation that has generated the intensity of these induction rituals.”

In recent weeks, one case has renewed debate over fraternity culture and whether the campus organisations use their exclusivity to shield bad behaviour.

In September, an anonymous woman known as Jane Doe filed a civil lawsuit against the Chi Phi fraternity at Cornell University and seven of its members, accusing them of gang raping her during a party on the night of October 19, 2024.

Doe’s sorority, Delta Delta Delta, and Cornell itself are among the co-defendants.

Her lawsuit raises questions about fraternity and sorority culture at US schools, collectively known as “Greek life” for the groups’ use of Greek lettering and symbols.

Upon her admission to Cornell, Doe argues she encountered a “glorified – yet materially false and misleading – facade” for Greek life.

“She arrived on a campus where the University actively promoted Greek membership as a ‘vital’ part of the campus community and endorsed these organizations as well-managed, worthy pathways to new friendships and improving one’s educational and professional opportunities,” the lawsuit said.

The complaint accuses the fraternities of instead perpetuating a pattern of sexual assault and abuse.

What are fraternities?

Now a multibillion-dollar industry, fraternities in the US trace their origins to men-only clubs established at some of the country’s oldest universities.

The tradition began at the College of William and Mary in 1776, when Phi Beta Kappa was founded as a secret society for debate and scholarly exchange.

Its adoption of the Greek alphabet, oath of secrecy, and arcane membership rites helped establish a blueprint for future fraternities and sororities. Often with houses of their own, fraternities eventually grew into informal extensions of the campus residential system.

Historian Nicholas Syrett wrote about the origins of such groups in his book The Company He Keeps: A History of White College Fraternities.

In an interview with Al Jazeera, he explained that fraternities have long embraced so-called masculine ideals. But those ideals have changed from generation to generation.

In the past, fraternities sought to position themselves in “opposition to boyhood” by embracing “independence, strength of character, handsomeness and loyalty”, Syrett explained.

But their modern iteration has shifted to include a greater emphasis on “athleticism, sexual success with women, and recklessness” as well as alpha-male posturing.

Syrett argues that the fraternity system’s cult of toughness reflects a wider matrix of gendered expectations and social hierarchies.

Early fraternity men, Syrett says, prized intellect and academic distinction, provided neither betrayed too much effort. But “this has largely taken a backseat in contemporary fraternities”, he explained.

“When [men] are initiated, they are taught that loyalty to the brotherhood is of the utmost importance,” Syrett said of fraternities today. “This leads to the keeping of all kinds of secrets, including things that are against the rules and/or the law.”

A mark of elite status

In the two and a half centuries since the first fraternities were formed, Greek life has expanded to include different races and identities outside of white men.

Some Greek groups have even eschewed the traditional gender divide altogether to better embrace transgender and non-binary members.

But fraternities and sororities overall tend to act as “microcosms of the larger society”, according to Elizabeth Allan, a professor at the University of Maine and director of its Hazing Prevention Research Lab, “with race, pretty privilege and economic segregation helping shape the system”.

“The [social] stratification that we see in the larger society is going to be reflected, in large part, in many of these organisations, unless they’re actively working to disrupt it,” she added.

Between membership dues and rent at fraternity chapter houses, Greek organisations can price out all but the more affluent students, according to Allan.

“Pretty privilege” – the social bias in favour of those deemed conventionally attractive – can add to the pressure, with sorority applicants in particular shelling out hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars for cosmetic treatments and outfits.

Experts say the sense of exclusivity that many fraternities and sororities cultivate is a powerful draw for incoming students, who see membership as a path to upward social mobility.

That perception is reinforced by the groups’ internal dynamics. Many sororities and fraternities encourage networking among members.

A 2021 Gallup survey commissioned by the NIC and the National Panhellenic Conference found that 42 percent of fraternity or sorority alumni said a fellow member had helped them find an internship or job.

Meanwhile, 51 percent of Greek members reported having a job waiting at graduation or found employment within two months. The rate was much lower among those who were not members of such fraternities or sororities, at 36 percent.

How hazing shapes fraternities

Critics often point to hazing rituals in particular as shaping a culture of violence at some fraternities and sororities.

Hazing is a process through which prospective Greek life members undergo humiliating and sometimes perilous tasks to secure admission.

The phenomenon is prohibited by law in most US states, though the definitions, penalties and scope of such laws vary. The consequences, however, can be deadly.

One of the earliest recorded deaths associated with fraternity hazing took place at Cornell in 1873.

At the time, a group of “pledges” – would-be fraternity members – were blindfolded and led far from campus at night, with instructions to make their way back on their own.

In the dark, one of the pledges, Mortimer M Leggett, and two fraternity members stumbled over a cliff and plunged into the gorge of Six Mile Creek. The two fraternity members survived. Leggett, however, did not.

Secret initiation rituals can forge an “informal psychological social contract in which members feel obligated to protect the organisation”, according to Pietro Sasso, who studies college student experience at Old Dominion University.

Some members may feel the need to rally around the fraternity even when “doing so conflicts with their personal values or responsibilities to others”, Sasso added.

“My research on fraternity cultures suggests that organisational socialisation can normalise behaviours that individuals might otherwise question, making the environment itself an important part of prevention,” he explained.

Inside Doe’s lawsuit against Chi Phi

Doe’s case cites some of the social pressures and incentives that lead young men and women to Greek life on campus.

“She was drawn to the sorority and its promises of sisterhood and lifelong friendships, the status it conferred on its members, and the community it provided on campus when she was over 1,000 miles away from home,” the lawsuit said of Doe.

But Doe said she joined Cornell’s Greek community without being fully aware of the pattern of sexual assault associated with the local fraternities.

During Doe’s first semester, in 2022, there were at least five reported cases of victims at Cornell being drugged, and two alleged cases of sexual assault. All of those cases, according to her lawsuit, took place at fraternities.

Two years later, on the night of the alleged gang rape, Doe claims she was pressured by fraternity members to take drugs like ketamine, marijuana and alcohol. After agreeing to a threesome, she said she found herself in a “room full of predatory, fraternity men” who raped her while she was incapacitated.

A photo of a group chat included in her lawsuit shows one Chi Phi member informing his fellow fraternity brothers that there was “free pussy” in an upstairs alumni room. A member of the chat replies, “I f***ing love chi phi.” Another chimes in, “Like you can walk in and whip it out.”

Several of the men have denied any wrongdoing.

But the case has sparked questions about whether the culture of Greek life contributes to a high rate of sexual assault in fraternities and sororities.

One 2021 survey published by the American Psychological Association tracked male students from high school through their second year of college. It found that fraternity members were 62 percent more likely to report sexual aggression during their first two years of college.

Separately, a 2009 study published in the journal Violence Against Women estimated that 29 percent of sorority members reported suffering sexual assault during college, roughly four times the rate of non-members.

Reforming Greek life

After the alleged gang rape in 2024, Cornell’s Chi Phi chapter was closed, and the fraternity remains barred from campus. Two male defendants in Doe’s lawsuit were expelled, while another two were suspended.

But some student activists say too little is being done to reform Greek life in the wake of Doe’s case. They want stronger measures to enforce accountability within private, members-only groups where secrecy often reigns.

CJ Barles, a junior at the University of California, Davis, is one of the students across the US organising protests in support of Doe. She told Al Jazeera she understands the appeal of the fraternity and sorority systems.

“Affiliated students say it looks good on their resume,” Barles explained. “They see it as a built-in cult, a seat at the table and a crew to call their own.”

But Barles said she has heard troubling reports. Some fraternities, she explained, hold parties “requiring every man” to arrive with several women in tow. That requirement says “a lot about the culture some of these spaces cultivate”, she added.

At a rally last week, Barles and other protesters called on the University of California system to implement new measures to hold fraternities accountable for sexual assault, including enshrining students’ right to withdraw consent during sexual encounters.

But Barles said she left feeling dumbstruck by the accounts of sexual violence shared by women on campus, many of whom spoke from personal experience.

“It’s unbelievably upsetting, the amount of stories I heard,” said Barles. The litany of grievances has fanned her scepticism of the Greek system: “I wouldn’t step within a mile of most of them.”

Renoir art heist suspects were planning ‘imminent’ second robbery, prosecutors say.

Two paintings by the impressionist master Renoir which were stolen from a French museum last month have been found damaged behind a false wall in a private home after police made several arrests ahead of what prosecutors say was an imminent second heist.

Marseille prosecutor Nicolas Bessone said six suspects were arrested on Wednesday after authorities discovered they were planning to target the Fondation Maeght in Saint-Paul-de-Vence, home to one of Europe’s largest collections of modern art.

Bessone said the arrests were prompted by the “very strong suspicion that another heist was imminent”.

“We were very clearly looking at the repetition of a criminal scheme”, said Eric Antonetti, the head of the Alpes-Maritimes judicial police.

On September 8, thieves used an electric saw to cut through a fence to enter the Renoir Museum in Cagnes-sur-Mer on the French Riviera, according to investigators.

An alarm sounded and police officers arrived four minutes later, a swift response that “apparently caused the perpetrators to panic,” Bessone said.

The stolen works, “Madame Colonna Romano” and “Young Woman at the Well” by impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir, were valued at about 4.2m euros ($4.7m), Bessone said.

The thieves also attempted to steal two other Renoir paintings, “Madame Pichon” and “Coco Reading”, which depicts Renoir’s young ‌son ‌Claude. They abandoned them in the museum gardens while fleeing police.

“As they fled, they were unable to take all four paintings and abandoned two of them, which were later found in a protective sleeve,” he said.

Damaged and torn

The paintings were found hidden behind a false wall in a house on Friday. Both works were damaged and will need ⁠restoration. One of the paintings, “Madame Colonna Romano”, had been torn.

“These two paintings are not simply works of art. They are part of our city’s history,” Bryan Masson, the mayor of Cagnes-sur-Mer, near Nice, said on Friday. “Knowing they have been recovered is an immense relief.”

The recovery came almost exactly one month ⁠after the theft, following an investigation that used ⁠DNA evidence, mobile phone geolocation data and surveillance video.

The two key suspects include a 29-year-old, who was charged after investigators recovered DNA from a bag left behind during the getaway.

They ⁠were charged with organised theft and other offences. A third man, accused of hiding the paintings, was charged with organised handling of stolen goods.

A fourth suspect, who investigators say was approached about buying the artworks, was charged ‌with handling stolen goods and taking part in a criminal conspiracy.

Bessone said the suspects had denied planning a second museum raid, but he added that he did “not believe the principal suspect visited that ‌museum simply out of a love of art”.

War-driven price rises

Prices for precious metals actually began rising with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine back in early 2022, but economists say prices surged significantly with the US and Israeli attacks on Iran.

In 2023, silver prices in India largely fluctuated between $725 (70,000 rupees) and $830 (80,000 rupees) per kilogramme, rising to around $985 (98,000 rupees) in 2024. But this year, amid the conflict with Iran, silver prices briefly soared as high as $4,670 (450,000 rupees) per kg before easing after the ceasefire. Even now, after some decline, prices are hovering around $2,600 (250,000 rupees) per kg, more than three times their levels just a few years ago.

Dr. Salahuddin Ayyub, an economist and international trade expert with India’s Ministry of Commerce and Industry, said geopolitical conflicts have triggered unprecedented volatility in global commodity markets.

“When stock markets become volatile, investors move their money into safer assets, such as gold and silver,” Ayyub explained. “This sudden surge in demand pushes the prices of precious metals sharply upwards.”

The consequences have been particularly severe in India, he said, because gold and silver remain deeply intertwined with weddings, other cultural traditions and family savings. As prices continue to rise, many households are increasingly opting for lower-cost alternatives, such as artificial jewellery.

He warned that while consumers may find substitutes, those whose livelihoods depend on the precious metals industry, including artisans, silversmiths, jewellery shopkeepers and traditional craftsmen, have far fewer options.

“The impact extends well beyond consumers,” Ayyub said. “Entire communities whose incomes depend on these metals are now facing shrinking demand and growing economic uncertainty.”

The surge in silver prices has had another consequence that is often overlooked by the government and policymakers. According to Ayyub, when a country witnesses a sharp rise in demand for imported precious metals, governments often intervene to curb imports and protect their foreign exchange reserves.

“India depends heavily on imported silver. A sudden spike in imports puts pressure on the country’s foreign exchange reserves, so the government tries to discourage excessive imports through tariffs and other restrictions,” Ayyub said.

These import duties are eventually passed on to consumers. “As tariffs increase, the landed cost of silver rises. That is one of the reasons why silver prices in India are currently trading above global prices,” he said.

Globally, silver currently costs $2,100 (201,000 rupees) per kg, but in India, it’s more than 20 percent higher because of heavy government import taxes and strict licensing that chokes off supply. India depends on imports to meet more than 80% of its domestic silver demand and its purchases account for over 20 percent of the global trade in refined silver.

India more than doubled its effective import taxes on gold and silver in May. That saw silver imports plunge by 87 percent to just $75.6 million that month, down from $566.2 million the previous year, the country’s lowest level in over three years.

High silver prices are now forcing Lucknow’s brides to make tough, sometimes devastating, decisions.

The recovered Renoir paintings, valued at millions, were stolen in a daring heist at Cagnes-sur-Mer last month.

Two paintings by the French Impressionist artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir that were stolen from a museum in southern France a month ago have been recovered, the town’s mayor said.

“These two paintings are not simply works of art. They are part of our city’s history,” Bryan Masson, the mayor of Cagnes-sur-Mer, near Nice, said on Friday. “Knowing they have been recovered is an immense relief.”

Six people have been arrested in connection with the theft, local authorities said. Masson did not say where the paintings were found or in what condition.

How the theft unfolded

Two thieves broke into the Renoir Museum a little before 6am on September 8, cutting through a fence to enter the grounds, smashing a window and using an electric saw to cut the clips securing the frames, Masson said at the time.

He described them as “well equipped” and “well informed”.

The museum alarm sounded at 5:48am, and municipal police arrived five minutes later, forcing the thieves to flee.

They had taken four paintings, valued by the mayor at about nine million euros ($10.5m).

Two of the stolen works – Renoir’s “Portrait of Madame Pichon” and “Coco Reading” – were later found dropped in the museum garden, the prosecutor’s office said at the time.

The two works that remained missing were “Portrait of Madame Colonna Romano” and “Young Woman at the Well”, the office said.

Police said last month that the thieves were not first-time offenders and had scoped out the premises.

The Marseille prosecutor opened a theft investigation into an organised gang, and the national office for trafficking in cultural goods joined the probe.

A string of museum heists

The museum, opened in 1960, is in the painter’s last home, where he died in 1919.

“This incident should serve as a warning about the protection of our museums,” Masson said after the robbery.

The theft came less than a year after jewels worth about $100m were stolen from the Louvre in Paris in a daylight robbery.

The four suspected robbers have been arrested, but the jewels have not been found.

In August, Italian police said they had recovered paintings by Renoir, Cezanne and Matisse worth more than $10.4m that were stolen from a museum in March.

New Delhi, India – Stand-up comic Brijesh Jha posted a parody video on Instagram last week to protest the removal of his name, along with his father’s and sister’s, from a voter list in the eastern Indian state of West Bengal.

The video, which alleged that India’s Chief Election Commissioner Gyanesh Kumar had disenfranchised millions of voters at the behest of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), garnered 1.7 million views after it was posted on September 29.

Two days later, Meta, the United States-based company that owns Instagram, took the video down, citing “local laws” without giving further explanation.

“I felt very helpless that day. I have only one thing in this country – that I can vote. If you take that away from me, then I have nothing left. So I didn’t know what to do. As an artist, I can just make art, or I can protest,” the Mumbai-based artist told Al Jazeera.

Jha said his parody song was removed because the Modi government is “scared” after an investigation by the Indian Express newspaper last month revealed that two of the election commission’s three members had raised serious concerns over a controversial revision of voter rolls being conducted by the poll panel across the country.

The exercise, known as the Special Intensive Revision (SIR), was launched in June last year to identify deceased, duplicate or dubious voters and remove them from the rolls. So far, the process has deleted more than 130 million voters – nearly 14 percent of India’s total voters, an overwhelming number of them Muslims who do not usually vote for Modi’s Hindu nationalist party.

The Indian Express investigation found that two of Kumar’s fellow election commissioners had formally objected at least 14 times to key decisions linked to the SIR exercise taken by their chief.

Opposition politicians and critics accused Kumar, a Modi government appointee, of acting at the behest of the BJP and demanded an independent inquiry into the decisions taken by the election commission during his tenure.

The revelations have led to street protests across India, demanding Kumar’s resignation.

On Tuesday, police in the capital New Delhi briefly detained the main opposition leader, Rahul Gandhi, and other leaders of his Congress party as they tried to march to the election commission office.

“The country has been hijacked by Narendra Modi through vote theft,” Gandhi told reporters. “What has been done to our country is called treason. Nobody is going to escape.”

In response, the BJP accused the opposition parties of “making a concerted effort to change the government”.

“They are deliberately attacking India’s democracy and constitutional institutions,” a BJP spokesman told reporters on Tuesday.

The Congress protesters and their political allies were back on the streets on Wednesday. Their demonstrations followed a series of protests by the satirical Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) and a group of left-wing students in Mumbai and New Delhi since October 2. The CJP has planned another demonstration in New Delhi on October 10 if Kumar does not resign by then.

‘Question the people in power’

What stood out in these protests was an increasingly inventive language of dissent, driven by humour, art and music, with much of it existing online alongside the demonstrations on the streets.

But a crackdown on such memes and jokes has also been simultaneous.

According to the Indian Express newspaper, the government issued nearly 195,000 content-blocking orders to Instagram, Facebook and YouTube between March and July this year – an average of one blocking order every 68 seconds.

Rejecting the newspaper report, the government said in a statement, “With 600 million users in India posting up to 78,703 items every 68 seconds, it is reasonable to expect that on average, one of these items may not be lawful.”

The crackdown came after the Modi government tightened rules governing online content in February. According to the new rules, social media platforms must remove content that a government authority or court has declared “unlawful” within three hours of receiving the order, down from 36 hours previously.

Among those whose works were taken down was political cartoonist Satish Acharya.

Several of Acharya’s cartoons, some up to three years old, were removed and his Instagram account was blocked in India from September 28 until late on October 5, he told Al Jazeera.

“At different phases of history, people used cartoons as a tool to express their protest and question the people in power. With the advanced use of social media, cartoons appear in different forms now, sometimes memes and reels,” the 55-year-old said.

“I have a lot of hope in Gen Z. They are fearless, they are creative and they care for the country. Our politicians can learn a lot from them.”

Stand-up comic Jha, who attended the CJP’s protest in Mumbai, agrees. “The more cruel the power is, the softer, more humorous and more artistic the protest becomes,” he told Al Jazeera.

But Jha has refused to apply for a reinstatement of his name in the voters’ list.

“I think they will see this interview and probably I will be in some detention centre. I just want to see what will happen. I’ll not register my name again,” he said.

However, he had a satirical message for Modi as he urged the Indian leader to stop the crackdown on online content.

“Please give back my right to vote. You are a great leader with a 56-inch chest. You shouldn’t be scared of one video,” he said, invoking a long-held right-wing boast about Modi’s famous bust.

The emperor is a symbol of Bulgarian national identity whose repatriation stoked tensions with Greece.

More than 1,000 years after his death, the remains of medieval ruler Czar Samuel have arrived in Bulgaria.

A symbol of Bulgarian national identity, Samuel was a warrior emperor who battled the Byzantine Empire to expand his kingdom before suffering defeat and dying soon after in 1014. His supposed remains were discovered in a Greek border area in the 1960s.

The coffin and remains were flown on Saturday to the Bulgarian capital, Sofia, on board a military aircraft that was surrounded by air force fighter jets.

Thousands of people poured into a public square to honour the czar’s arrival, which capped years of fraught negotiations between Bulgaria and Greece until an accord was reached this week.

Bulgarian politicians across the spectrum paid tribute to the medieval ruler, listening to the national anthem and a 21-gun salute.

“Today, we Europeans are learning to read history with a desire to belong not only to our homeland, but also to the culture that unites us across the entire European continent,” Bulgarian Prime Minister Rumen Radev said.

“That is why Europe must not reopen old wounds but must work for peace as the supreme good,” Radev continued, referring to the centuries-old rivalry between neighbouring Greece and Bulgaria.

Crowds cheered as fighter jets performed a flypast.

Martin Nestorov, a 42-year-old software engineer, told the AFP news agency he attended the ceremony “to welcome Czar Samuel back to Bulgaria, where he belongs”.

“I am here because I am Bulgarian, and a Bulgarian is returning to his homeland,” added Tsanka Zlatkova, 65, a retired art historian.

A procession brought the remains to be laid in the Church of Saint Sofia, a sixth-century basilica that is the capital’s namesake and where church officials say Samuel was baptised.

Competing claims

The handover of Samuel’s remains is part of a broader accord between the Greek and Bulgarian culture ministers.

In exchange, Greece is slated to receive 48 objects that Bulgarian troops pillaged from churches and monasteries in Greece during World War I.

Speaking before the handover, Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis said he hoped the ceremony would boost Greece’s campaign to repatriate the Parthenon Marbles, a collection of 2,500-year-old marble sculptures taken from the Acropolis in Athens and later displayed in the British Museum.

“The global community is essentially re-evaluating its longstanding stance on protecting cultural heritage,” Mitsotakis said, adding that historical heirlooms “cannot be treated as the spoils of war”.

Bulgaria is not the only country to have claims on Samuel. A huge statue of the czar stands in the North Macedonian capital of Skopje, with Macedonians claiming him as “their” ruler.

In 2022, a bilateral commission recommended presenting Samuel as the head of a state that “most contemporary historiographers consider to be the Bulgarian Empire”, based in what is currently North Macedonia.

Mammoth deal has raised questions about corporate consolidation and editorial independence in media.

A United States judge has entered an order giving the green light for the media giant Paramount to complete its $110bn acquisition of entertainment company Warner Bros., despite fears about the long-term impacts of media consolidation.

On Wednesday, US District Court Judge Araceli Martinez-Olguin approved a settlement between Paramount, Warner Bros, and a group of 12 states that had sued to block the merger.

In her ruling, Martinez-Olguin described the proposed deal as a “fair, reasonable, and good faith approach to address the competitive harms”.

Analysts have long raised concerns about the acquisition, one of the largest media mergers in history.

The coalition of states that sued to block the deal, led by California, had argued that combining Paramount with Warner Bros would effectively stifle media competition. They estimated that nearly one-third of all theatrical releases and basic cable programming would be consolidated under the merger.

But the states abandoned their lawsuit in favour of a settlement on September 21.

The five-year agreement requires Paramount to abide by theatrical film release quotas, committing to 30 releases per year in the US.

It also mandates that the combined company must keep negotiations with cable providers for Warner-owned channels separate from its deals for Paramount-owned channels.

The settlement approved on Wednesday also includes the creation of a five-member panel meant to safeguard the editorial independence of CNN and CBS, two major news networks.

But sceptics have pointed out that the merger puts a large swath of US media under the control of David Ellison, who leads Paramount.

Under Wednesday’s agreement, Ellison is in charge of appointments to the board that would oversee news independence.

The Paramount CEO is the son of billionaire Oracle founder Larry Ellison, a strong backer of pro-Israel causes who has close ties to the administration of President Donald Trump.

The founder of the film production company Skydance, David Ellison acquired Paramount last year as part of another controversial merger.

The 2025 Paramount-Skydance deal brought CBS under Ellison’s control. Ahead of the merger, sceptics questioned the abrupt cancellation of the CBS comedy show The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, which had been critical of Trump.

Ellison later installed Bari Weiss, a pro-Israel media figure, as the head of CBS News in a move that also raised questions about diminished independence within major journalism outlets.

Some critics depicted Wednesday’s settlement as a further capitulation to powerful corporate interests.

“Allowing one Trump-aligned, foreign-owned conglomerate to dominate American news and entertainment is a disastrous outcome,” Senator Elizabeth Warren of Massachusetts said in the wake of the settlement’s announcement.

But public officials like California Governor Gavin Newsom had called on his state’s Attorney General Rob Bonta to scrap the 12-state effort to block the deal and to pursue a settlement instead.

Paramount emerged victorious from a bidding war with the streaming giant Netflix in February to win control of Warner Bros’s holdings.

That includes a series of media and entertainment services, including the film studio Warner Bros Pictures, CNN and HBO Max. The Trump administration approved the deal without alterations in June.

As autumn approaches, the rhythmic thud of wooden mallets pounding lamb echoes across courtyards and back lanes in Kashmir, where cooks prepare Wazwan – a lavish, multi-course mutton feast that remains central to traditional wedding celebrations.

Wazwan arrived in the valley from Central Asia in the 14th century, when rulers brought skilled chefs along with the carpet and shawl weavers that later defined the region’s craft heritage.

Today, the feast is both a marker of social status and a powerful symbol of Kashmiri identity.

Among its guardians is 74-year-old Ghulam Nabi Baba, a veteran Wazwan chef who traces his lineage to those early migrants. His forefathers settled in Srinagar’s old city as part of a community of cooks known as Wazpora.

“There were only seven mutton dishes at that time. Over the centuries we added more, and now there are around 20,” Baba said.

He explained how the number of dishes and the amount of meat often reflect a family’s wealth.

“Forty years ago in Delina [a village in north Kashmir] I cooked 4,500kg (9,920 pounds) of meat. That was a very big wedding. Normally, at an average marriage we cook 200kg (440 pounds),” he added.

Despite the expanding menu, the core techniques have changed little. Lightly spiced meat is still pounded by hand before being simmered slowly over wood fires – a labour-intensive process Baba has followed since joining his father as a cook at 15.

But the pressures of modern life are reshaping the tradition. Baba’s son has chosen to open a restaurant rather than work weddings, saying the round-the-clock demands are too exhausting.

He believes he is still carrying forward the family’s centuries-old culinary legacy – just in a different setting, as Wazwan adapts to contemporary tastes and lifestyles.