An Israeli drone strike in the southern Lebanese city of Sidon hit a car with two people inside it, killing them both, according to local media. Footage shows multiple cars ablaze after the strike as firefighters battled to put out the flames.
Extreme rainfall and landslides fuelled by the climate crisis killed 7% of the remaining population of the world’s rarest great ape, a study has found, prompting fears for the species’ survival. The research suggests 58 out of the remaining 800 critically endangered Tapanuli orangutans (Pongo tapanuliensis) were killed after more than 1,000mm (39in) of rain fell over four days in Indonesia’s North Sumatra province in November 2025. This equates to 11% of the local population and 7% of the entire species. “It is tragic to lose so many apes in this way. In landscapes where populations are small and fragmented, this type of weather or climate event can have population-level consequences. It is extremely worrying for the future of this ape,” said Prof Serge Wich, a primatologist at Liverpool John Moores University and co-author of the study, published in the journal Current Biology. The scientists overlaid new analysis of satellite imagery with estimates of ape density to work out the impacts of Cyclone Senyar on the orangutan population in its primary habitat in the West Block of the Batang Toru ecosystem, already threatened by mining, palm oil plantations and a large hydropower project. Satellite imagery also revealed that approximately 8,300 hectares (20,510 acres) – 11.7% – of this key forest habitat were wiped out by landslides caused by extreme rainfall. The scientists said human-induced climate change caused by the burning of fossil fuels had increased the rainfall intensity by up to 50%. “The loss of an estimated 58 Tapanuli orangutans to a single climate-induced landslide event is a devastating demographic shock to the world’s rarest great ape,” said Prof Jatna Supriatna, a conservation biologist at Universitas Indonesia. “To prevent the first modern extinction of a great ape species, Indonesia must permanently protect the Batang Toru ecosystem, but our international partners must also meet their global commitments by providing immediate biodiversity-recovery financing.” Previous research has suggested annual losses of 1% of the Tapanuli orangutan population would be sufficient to lead to eventual extinction. The Indonesian government has temporarily paused all major industrial activity in the Batang Toru area to give scientists the opportunity to investigate how best to secure the long-term survival of the Tapanuli orangutan while also assessing the parallel risks posed to human lives. Researchers involved in the study, from Borneo Futures, World Weather Attribution and Liverpool John Moores University, recommended an immediate moratorium on land-use activities that degrade the remaining Tapanuli orangutan habitat, alongside the expansion of protected areas to properly stabilise the population.
Germany has failed, for the first time, in its bid for a non-permanent seat on the United Nations security council (‘Embarrassing’: pressure on Merz after Germany’s failure to win UN security council seat, 4 June). In New York, the federal republic was defeated by Austria and Portugal – and by a clear margin. Did the countries that withheld their votes from Germany pause for even a moment to consider the consequences? Did they ask themselves whether it was wise to subject the second‑largest contributor to the UN – responsible for 5.27% of all state contributions – to such a public rebuff? Evidently not. Otherwise Germany would hardly have been so demonstratively humiliated. This raises an obvious question: why should Germany not now subject its payments to the UN system to a very thorough review? At home, Germans are being asked to accept welfare cuts, higher taxes and gaping holes in the federal budget. Internationally, however, Germany continues to transfer billions year after year. After such an open snub, that is becoming increasingly difficult to justify. If the UN apparently has no need of Germany’s voice or influence, it may have no need of its money on this scale either. Austria and Portugal, now evidently the international community’s preferred choices, might therefore wish to increase their contributions to the UN system accordingly. Austria currently contributes 0.57%; Portugal just 0.3%. Then we shall see whether their enthusiasm lasts – or whether the celebrations are followed rather swiftly by a rude awakening. Michael Pfeiffer Neuhausen auf den Fildern, Germany • Have an opinion on anything you’ve read in the Guardian today? Please email us your letter and it will be considered for publication in our letters section.
It was a glorious balmy night, and I was walking home from dinner. I’d just eaten fried red mullet from the Black Sea on a pavement terrace, listening to the cries of the last swifts as darkness crept over the city. A couple of blocks from where I was staying, there was a curious sight: a couple and their dog were standing over a hedgehog, which was standing seemingly irresolute in the road. I wasn’t sure the couple were doing the right thing by shining their phone torches at the poor creature, but their intentions were clear enough: they were trying to protect it and chivvy it out of the way of the traffic. As a car bore down, I flung myself into the street, like a latter-day Roberta from The Railway Children, and waved my arms to get the driver to stop. At the same time, the couple’s dog gave an encouraging bark to the tiny animal, which scuttled across to the opposite pavement, and into the safety of a yard. Everything always feels heightened in Kyiv, and I was apt to overthink into this moment many metaphors of escape, protection and destruction. Hedgehogs, by the way, are a surprisingly common sight in Kyiv. So too are the “hedgehogs” made from metal beams welded together in a three-dimensional star-shape, a highly effective obstruction for tanks. (The other favoured tank obstructors are known as “dragon’s teeth”, because of their resemblance to monstrous molars rising from the ground.) After this small drama had concluded, I realised two things: that I had really, really needed the creature to survive, and that it was perhaps odd that strangers in the street should have found it necessary, in the middle of a horrific war, to band together in unspoken defence of a hedgehog. Later that night, the Russian military unleashed a long-expected combined missile attack on the city. I woke up with a start around 2.30am, my heart racing. It took a moment for my ear to tune into the sound: was it outgoing, or incoming? Yes: outgoing – air defence. Later came Shahed drones, which sound like airborne lawnmowers, punctuated by the small-arms fire of the Ukrainians. The sonic landscape of missile, while now familiar to my Ukrainian friends, is so remarkable to me that I can never stop myself recording it on my phone. The next morning, my brilliant colleague, the photographer Julia Kochetova, and I went out to report on the damage in two areas nearby: one, a fancy new development where the large glazed windows of almost every apartment had been blown out, and another in a much less prosperous part of the city, where ordinary Soviet-era blocks had been badly affected. Seven people were killed in that night’s attacks, 90 injured and an unknown number left with a now-ordinary set of problems to deal with, on a sliding scale scale from smashed up home to shattered car windscreen. How do you live like this, with the knowledge that it might be your turn tonight for death, injury, or a destroyed apartment? When Julia and I visited the modern development, we spotted the young woman pictured above sitting by a huge, now glassless, window, with a beautifully made caffe latte in her hand. She gave us a quick wry smile. *** The art of war When I am in Ukraine, I write about culture, not politicians. I write about the artists who are documenting the conflict – transforming the raw and tender material of life lived in wartime into poetry, or plays, or music, or artworks that that can express what is, in normal discourse, unsayable. I’ve expanded this work into a new book, Ukrainian Lessons: Art in a Time of War, which is out in August. (You can preorder it here at the Guardian Bookshop). The doings of Volodymyr Zelenskyy always seem very far from this world – as they also seem, on the whole, from my conversations with Ukrainian friends. It’s true that there is optimism about the frontline, though not in every direction. Places Julia and I visited last year, such as the beautiful monastery town of Sviatohirsk, are now in the kill zone, exposed to direct fire, no longer on the list of possibilities for a behind-the-lines reporter like me. While politicians and diplomats talk, and optimistic headlines are written, I see my friends dealing with the messed-up day-to-day of a steady, relentless, and cruel campaign of air attacks that is taking lives and homes, and painfully eroding Kyiv’s urban fabric. It’s a violence and terror that people in Ukraine have been obliged to absorb into their lives, at who-knows what psychological cost. And every time it happens, there it is: on the streets you see the quiet, stolid work of rescuing and evacuating, of sweeping and cleaning, of replacing and mending. On it goes, the work of reopening, improvising and endlessly, ceaselessly adapting. • Join Charlotte and a panel of acclaimed Ukrainian writers on Wednesday 30 September, at 1930 BST at Conway Hall in London, as they reflect on the profound connections between war, art and life. Book tickets here to attend in-person or on livestream. • To receive the complete version of This Is Europe in your inbox every Wednesday, please subscribe here.
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Umbrellas have been banned on a beach in Sardinia for anyone between the ages of 10 and 65 in the latest flashpoint in Italy’s long-running beach disputes. The measure was among several imposed by local authorities at Punta Molentis beach in Villasimìus, on Sardinia’s south-east coast, as part of an initiative to protect its pristine environment. On top of having to pay €10 to set foot on the public beach, only families with children under 10 are permitted to pitch an umbrella – just one, at that – and those over 65. The measure has not gone down well with beachgoers, generating a mix of incredulity and bemusement online, as well as raising concerns about the risks of skin cancer or heatstroke. “To put up an umbrella I have to rent a child??” asked a commenter beneath a post announcing the guidelines on the Facebook page of Villasimìus’s council. Another joked: “So to come to the beach with an umbrella I either bring my grandad or need to have a child between now and tomorrow?” Some called for a boycott of Punta Molentis, while others said they would simply go to a beach where they could shield themselves safely from the sun. Punta Molentis is reopening after being closed since last July after a devastating wildfire started by arsonists. Villasimìus council said the fire and “exceptional marine weather events” had moved it to impose stricter rules in order to preserve the natural beauty of Punta Molentis, which is located within a designated conservation area. “For this reason it’s necessary to limit the [human] impact and ensure the protection of this heritage for future generations,” the council said in a notice on its website. People are also banned from putting up gazebos, tents or other forms of shade providers. The rules will remain in place until the end of October. Meanwhile, on Jesolo beach near Venice, authorities have reduced the number of lounger and umbrella spots by 20,000 in an attempt to create more space between visitors. Italy’s public beaches often get crowded, especially owing to the rising cost of renting loungers at private beach clubs. According to recent figures from Italy’s largest consumer watchdog, Altroconsumo, the average cost of renting two loungers and an umbrella at a private concession has increased by 24% within the past five years, and 6% in the past year alone. As a result, many Italians are snubbing beach clubs while protests calling for more free beaches have intensified in recent years.
The line stretched for more than 7km (four miles). Mourners sang rock songs, waved banners, and carried speakers blasting music while smoke rose from makeshift barbecues and vendors sold T-shirts bearing the image of a bald man with sunglasses. As evening fell, a drizzle set in, but the queue remained. At the end of the line in Avellaneda, outer Buenos Aires, stood a chapel containing the body of a rock star. Hundreds of thousands of people attended the wake on Sunday for the singer Carlos “Indio” Solari. Solari, who died on Friday from a stroke at the age of 77, was widely regarded as Argentina’s most popular musician: his last concert in 2017 was attended by as many as 400,000 people. But his popularity challenges assumptions about a shared Latin American cultural sphere: Solari was virtually unknown outside Argentina and neighbouring Uruguay, which shares much of its cultural and linguistic heritage. His lyrics – usually dense, cryptic, and laden with literary, political and historical references – inspired a devoted following that cut across generations, though it is particularly strong among working-class young people. Ji ji ji, a frenetic anthem, or La gran bestia pop, a critique of the music industry, are ubiquitous at weddings, football matches and parties across Argentina. Phrases such as “every prisoner is a political prisoner” or “violence is to lie” became mottoes for political resistance. Solari co-founded the influential rock band Patricio Rey y sus Redonditos de Ricota in 1976. After the group split in 2002, he continued performing with a new band until Parkinson’s disease forced him to stop appearing live. He openly identified as a Peronist, and the far-right government of Javier Milei rejected permission for a wake in the congress building. The ceremony was instead held in Avellaneda, a district governed by Peronists. “The best things in Argentina were El Indio and Maradona,” said Lorena Núñez, one of the mourners waiting in line. Núñez, an Uruguayan pharmaceutical worker, crossed the Río de la Plata to attend the wake. “He taught us the value of the word – by forcing us to think to interpret his lyrics,” she said. Quoting verses from Solari’s songs, her friend Matías Rodríguez, who travelled with her, said: “El Indio isn’t just a singer: to us, he’s like family; to me, he’s my old man.” Pablo Alabarces, a sociologist who studies popular culture, said the reason Solari’s music did not travel was “the poetic and musical language”. “It is a very distinctive style of rock that you don’t hear elsewhere in Latin America. That cryptic yet working-class poetic style is very Argentine. There is no such thing as ‘neutral’ Spanish in El Indio’s poetry, which makes it comprehensible only to a local audience,” he said. Alabarces said Solari’s career exposed the limits of cultural globalisation. While contemporary genres such as trap and reggaeton circulated easily across Latin America, rock music remained shaped by distinct national histories and political experiences. “Making rock music under the PRI’s ‘perfect dictatorship’ in Mexico is not the same as doing so under Videla’s terror regime in Buenos Aires,” he said. According to Pablo Perantuono, a journalist who co-authored a book about Solari’s band, his music was rooted in a cultural synthesis that was cosmopolitan yet “distinctly Argentine”, drawing on disparate influences including tango, the beatniks, and Anglo-American rock music. “It is an exceptional movement because it is very hard to track its bloodline,” he said. Solari self-produced his music, refused major labels, rarely gave interviews, and cultivated an austere, working-class image even in his concerts – things that, Perantuono said, his fans at home appreciated as “a very strong statement of principles” but hampered his music’s chances to be marketed overseas. “Argentine audiences have a kind of visceral passion in their tastes that you probably won’t find anywhere else,” said Perantuono, arguing that foreign bands such as the Ramones or the German punk band Die Toten Hosen have had a bigger following in Argentina than in their home countries. At Sunday’s wake, mourners threw flowers, shirts and banners on to Solari’s coffin. Daniel “Roli” González, a 37-year-old maintenance worker, struggled to hold back tears. “It’s beautiful; it’s a privilege to experience this,” he said, gesturing towards the crowd, which kept singing. “You can’t experience this anywhere else. This is unique.”