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In response to the finding that Russia was behind the Leipzig drone incident, Germany is closing the Russian Consulate-General in Bonn and the Russian House in Berlin, which is suspected of serving as a front for Russian agents. Entry restrictions for Russians and a crackdown on the country's shadow fleet have also been announced. Meanwhile, the EU is preparing another sanctions package.

Romania missed a key EU funding deadline at the end of August by which it would have had to pass or amend a number of laws - including legislation on a gradual phase-out of coal. The country with the highest budget deficit in the EU will now lose up to 870 million euros in funding from the EU recovery fund. The Romanian media are incensed.

Nine years after the bomb attack that killed Maltese journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia, tycoon Yorgen Fenech has been acquitted of orchestrating the crime. It therefore remains unclear who ordered the murder. Suspicions that members of the government may have been involved led to the resignation of the Maltese prime minister in 2020. In its Rule of Law Report, Brussels notes that Malta has made limited progress on the protection of journalists.

À quelques jours de la rentrée scolaire 2026-2027, le ministère de l’Education nationale accélère les préparatifs dans les différentes wilayas du pays. Une attention particulière […]

L’article Rentrée scolaire : nouveau règlement intérieur, manuels, écoles sinistrées… les annonces du ministère est apparu en premier sur .

SEDE Opinion on the draft general budget of the European Union for the financial year 2027
Committee on Security and Defence
Mārtiņš Staķis

Source : © European Union, 2026 - EP

DIGITAL 08H : Avez-vous tenté votre chance ?

Le tirage DIGITAL 08H N°145 a livré son verdict !

Vendredi 04 Septembre 2026

Avez-vous joué ?

Avez-vous misé sur vos numéros porte-bonheur ?

RÉSULTAT : 51 • 19 • 22 • 59 • 78

Félicitations aux heureux gagnants !

Pas encore cette fois ? Gardez le sourire.

Rendez-vous à 11H pour le prochain tirage.

Jouez dans les points de vente de la LNB ou : Tapez *590# ou rendez-vous sur lnbloto.bj

Jouez avec modération et responsabilité. Le jeu doit rester un plaisir.

By James Alix Michel
VICTORIA, Seychelles, Sep 4 2026 (IPS)

There is an older wisdom, quieter than the noise of our times, that whispers a simple truth: we are not the architects of nature, only its guests. Long before there were nations, economies, or even language, there was the pulse of the tide, the patience of coral, the breath of forests exchanging air with the sky. Into that ancient conversation we arrived — late, curious, and forgetful — mistaking our cleverness for sovereignty and our tools for wings.

Yet the sea remembers what we have forgotten. It remembers that every drop of rain has travelled through the roots of trees and the bodies of fish before returning to us as thirst quenched or harvest gathered. It remembers that the reef and the child, the mangrove and the fisherman, the albatross and the sailor, are all verses of the same unfinished poem. To live well is to learn that poem by heart — to know that when one line is silenced, the whole song grows thinner.

And still, something in us reaches further. The same species that learned to read the tides also learned to read the stars. From the first firelit night when a human being looked up and wondered, we have carried within us a quiet, luminous restlessness — a longing to know what lies beyond the horizon, beyond the atmosphere, beyond the reach of our brief lives. It is not vanity that drives this longing, but memory. Perhaps some ancient part of us recognises, in the distant glimmer of a star, a trace of our own origin — the stardust from which our bones were made, the cosmic seed from which life on this small blue world first stirred.

To be human, then, is to live in two directions at once. Downward, into the depths of the sea, where life first learned to breathe. Outward, into the vastness of space, where light itself becomes a form of scripture. Both journeys are acts of reverence. Both remind us that we are neither the centre nor the summit of creation, but its wondering witnesses — creatures endowed with the extraordinary gift of consciousness, and with it, the responsibility to use that gift with humility.

This is the paradox of our species: we are small enough to be humbled by a single wave, and large enough in imagination to send our thoughts across galaxies. We build submarines to touch the ocean floor and telescopes to touch the edge of time. Yet both instruments, in the end, do the same thing — they extend our capacity to wonder. Wonder is the beginning of wisdom, and wisdom is the beginning of care.

Perhaps this is the deepest task of our century: not to choose between protecting our planet and exploring the cosmos, but to understand that the two callings are one. We cannot honour the stars while poisoning the seas. We cannot dream of new worlds while abandoning the one that gave us breath. The reef and the galaxy are written in the same handwriting. To care for one is to prepare ourselves, morally and spiritually, for the other.

Small-island nations know this instinctively. We live at the meeting point of sea and sky, where the horizon is a daily teacher. We understand that fragility and vastness are not opposites but companions — that the smallest coral polyp and the most distant nebula belong to the same continuum of creation. When we speak of protecting the ocean, we are not defending a resource; we are defending a relationship. And when humanity looks upward, dreaming of Mars or of life on some far-off moon, we are not escaping the Earth; we are extending the same longing that first drew our ancestors to the sea.

For those of us shaped by the ocean, this is not philosophy — it is instinct. We have always known that the horizon is not a boundary but an invitation, that the sea is not a possession but a companion, and that the night sky is not empty but full of the same silent kinship that binds us to the coral and the whale.

If humanity can learn, once more, to walk softly among its fellow travellers — on this small blue planet and among the countless worlds beyond — then perhaps our story will not end in exhaustion, but in reverence: the quiet dignity of a species that finally remembered it was never alone, and never was meant to be still.

James Alix Michel, is Former President of the Republic of Seychelles

IPS UN Bureau

 

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