Latest news with #Min
Saba Yemen
2 days ago
- Saba Yemen
Russia Uses "Shanghai", "Legushka" Drones to Deliver Ammunition, Evacuate Wounded
Moscow - Saba: The Shanghai and Legushka drones are used by paratroopers in the Dnieper Group to deliver ammunition and supplies to the front lines, evacuate the wounded from the battlefield, and also as assault vehicles, a paratrooper officer codenamed "Min" told Sputnik. The officer said, "What is special about this robotic technology? What is unique about it? It has a tracked base. This means that an off-road drone on a wheeled base, for example, can cross rough terrain and even come to a stop. This is because of the soft rubber tracks, which allow for smooth operation. Wheeled technology already has problems. The swamps are shallow, easily reaching a depth of half a meter." The Shanghai and Ligoshka drones enable use over long distances and in more difficult terrain, increasing the unit's range. The paratrooper emphasized that an important additional advantage of the Shanghai is its high payload capacity. The officer confirmed, "The drone can easily carry 200 kilograms. This means that two wounded soldiers can be easily transported, either loaded with ammunition or logistical equipment." The Dnepr paratroopers use the off-road robotic drones to transport ammunition and supplies to the front lines, evacuate wounded personnel from the battlefield, and serve as assault vehicles. In response to a question about the possibility of loading a TM-62 anti-tank mine onto a Ligoshka drone, Min told the agency: "It will work from here to there: absolutely true." It's worth noting that the Dnieper Group of Forces' paratrooper units now possess a large number and a wide range of ground-based UAVs, allowing them to be used wherever necessary to accomplish combat missions while minimizing the risk to the lives of Russian Armed Forces personnel. Whatsapp Telegram Email more of (International)
News18
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- News18
NewJeans' Bid For Independent Activities Rejected By Seoul High Court
The court has dismissed the injunction appeal by NewJeans, stopping the group from carrying out independent activities without ADOR. NewJeans' efforts to pursue independent activities have hit another roadblock, with a second court ruling going in favour of their label, ADOR. According to reports, the Seoul High Court has dismissed the group's appeal and upheld the earlier decision barring them from carrying out any independent work without ADOR's involvement. The ruling reaffirms ADOR's legal authority as the group's official management. Back in March, the Seoul Central District Court had granted ADOR's request for an injunction, preventing the members from engaging in solo activities such as signing advertisement deals without the agency's consent. Although the group formally objected to the ruling, their appeal was rejected in April by the same court. The members then appealed the injunction decision to the High Court. View this post on Instagram A post shared by NewJeans (@newjeans_official) ADOR Reacts To Court Decision A day after the court denied NewJeans' appeal, ADOR stated to urged the members to return to the label and resume their activities. It also expressed gratitude to the court for the judgment. 'There was a ruling in the appeals hearing that once again clearly confirmed that ADOR is the agency of NewJeans. We express our deep gratitude to the court for its judgment. We hope that this decision will serve as an opportunity for the members to return to where they belong as NewJeans and resume their activities," the statement read, as quoted by Soompi. Mentioning that the group is soon approaching its third debut anniversary in July, ADOR also assured it would provide the utmost support to help the group achieve greater growth and progress. View this post on Instagram A post shared by NewJeans (@newjeans_official) NewJeans-ADOR Feud NewJeans, who attempted to rebrand as NJZ, has been in a lengthy dispute with their record label, ADOR, since August 2024, when HYBE allegedly forced out the group's mentor, Min Hee Jin. They even issued an ultimatum to reinstate Min, further claiming workplace harassment while working with the label. In a November 2024 press conference, NewJeans announced their departure from the company, claiming that their exclusive contracts were terminated due to ADOR's alleged breach of contract. In response, the label filed a lawsuit to confirm the validity of the contracts and sought an injunction to prohibit the members from working independently. Despite the legal setbacks, NewJeans appears to be unconvinced to return to ADOR. During the second hearing of ADOR's lawsuit, one of the members was quoted as saying by Allkpop, 'The trust between us has completely collapsed. We have crossed a river of no return," suggesting that reconciliation is highly unlikely. First Published: June 18, 2025, 11:45 IST
Sydney Morning Herald
5 days ago
- Politics
- Sydney Morning Herald
Inside the secret hospital for the wounded soldiers of Myanmar's resistance
Before the war, Ko Khant was a chef in Yangon. He made Western-style food: burgers, bread and pasta. Only a teenager then, he knew little of dictators. In his sheltered, small world inside Myanmar's biggest city, he knew even less of the rebel armies on his nation's faraway frontiers. Soon, both would consume him. More than 200 kilometres to the east of Yangon, another young man had worked the rice paddies at a village in the Myanmar borderlands with Thailand. Min Aung, then 21, had no other vocational ambition than this. One day, perhaps, he would be a husband and father. Then, on February 1, 2021, Ko and Min's vastly different worlds collapsed. Myanmar's military, known as the Tatmadaw, rolled through Yangon and the capital of Naypyidaw, blocking streets, shutting down the internet and imprisoning members of the recently re-elected civilian government, including its leader, Aung San Suu Kyi. It was a coup. The generals, unable to accept their proxy party's massive defeat, took power for themselves, ending Myanmar's six-year interval of electoral democracy. And so began a civil war. By its fourth anniversary this year, it had claimed an estimated 50,000 lives, including those of 6000 civilians. In time, these horrific events, overshadowed by atrocities in Gaza and Ukraine, would deposit Ko and Min here, a large but otherwise unremarkable-seeming elevated home at a secret location in Thailand. Behind the ordinary gates, ethnic Karen nurses, physiotherapists and various other volunteers treat about 120 men. Many of the patients are amputees. At least one young man, keen to show off the long scars running across his crown, carried an acquired brain injury. It is a clandestine rehabilitation hospital for those wounded fighting to free Myanmar from the brutal military regime. This masthead was recently given rare access inside the property on the condition that no one was photographed without their permission and that no identifying particulars were published. The secrecy stemmed from the fear that Thai authorities, who had not given permission for the operation and would not want to be seen as picking sides in the war, could move to shut it down. Downstairs on the open-walled ground level, men passed the hours on their phones. Dogs wandered among electric fans and makeshift beds. Power cords and drying clothes hung from the low ceiling above concrete floors. Upstairs, an amateur cook stirred a giant pot of catfish curry. This masthead met Ko and Min separately inside a small treatment room that doubled as an office. A painting of Suu Kyi furnished one of the walls. On another was a sketch of a man bending open prison bars, with words printed in English: 'Nobody can restrain our spirit from injustice chains.' 'I don't regret what happened to me,' said Ko, leaning forward in a plastic chair, the stump of his right wrist propped on the armrest. 'I only regret getting injured so early.' Flee or give in Loading After the coup, rural villagers like Min, with no money to pay off marauding Tatmadaw conscription officers, fled or gave in to the threats. Min chose to flee, soon linking up with the Karen National Liberation Army (KNLA), a powerful and long-established ethnic armed organisation fighting for self-determination – and now against the junta – out of eastern Myanmar. In Yangon and other cities, street protests demanding the new regime step down were met with killings, torture and arrests. Ko, who at first neither believed nor understood what had happened in his country, eventually joined the heaving crowds with an enthusiasm that saw him marked for punishment. He, too, fled deep into the countryside. 'I stayed out there for about three days, but I couldn't hide any more,' he said. 'I said goodbye to the people at home and told them I was going to join the revolution.' Like Min, he joined the KNLA, completing a few months of basic training before being sent to the fluid front lines. Ko and Min were among tens of thousands of ordinary Myanmar civilians – doctors, teachers, chefs and farmers – who took up arms to fight the new military regime. Some joined ethnic armies. Others joined the People's Defence Force, the newly formed armed wing of the ousted government. The KNLA put Ko to work as part of a team collecting unexploded ordnance to be repurposed as landmines. One day, part of a 120-pound mortar that Ko was handling blew up, tearing off his right hand and blinding him in his left eye. 'If the whole bomb exploded, you wouldn't find my body any more,' he said. After recuperating at the secret hospital but no longer able to fight, Ko stayed on as a volunteer, teaching the wounded soldiers how to cook, and supporting them in their darker hours. 'In the future, I plan to start a business to earn money and support this place if possible,' he said. 'I am more comfortable with the knife now [in my left hand], though I cannot work as fast as before.' The resistance has made some stunning gains, but the regime remains entrenched in Myanmar's centre. Using Russian-made warplanes, the weakened Tatmadaw has been able to sustain a brutal and often indiscriminate bombing campaign across rebel-held portions of the country. Last month, an airstrike on a school in central Sagaing region reportedly killed as many as 20 students. Loading Min, who was wheeled into the small treatment room after Ko had returned to his volunteer duties, said he longed to return to the war. But a man needs legs to fight the Tatmadaw. He recounted how his team had stormed a military base held by 50 regime soldiers. At the entrance, Min stepped on a landmine. Later that day, one of his friends stepped on a landmine, too, and was 'cut in half'. Eventually, his comrades took the base. 'All I can do right now is wait for my full recovery and discharge from the hospital,' he said, rubbing one of his still-bandaged stumps. 'After that, I will go back to my battalion and stay with my commander. 'I will follow him and guard him. I will cook for him and become a chef for him and the other soldiers. I cannot go to the front line and fight with them any more. I can only help from the back.' Even if the regime collapsed and peace returned to Myanmar, Min would never again farm the rice paddies of his village. Nor, he lamented, would he start a family.
The Age
5 days ago
- Politics
- The Age
Inside the secret hospital for the wounded soldiers of Myanmar's resistance
Before the war, Ko Khant was a chef in Yangon. He made Western-style food: burgers, bread and pasta. Only a teenager then, he knew little of dictators. In his sheltered, small world inside Myanmar's biggest city, he knew even less of the rebel armies on his nation's faraway frontiers. Soon, both would consume him. More than 200 kilometres to the east of Yangon, another young man had worked the rice paddies at a village in the Myanmar borderlands with Thailand. Min Aung, then 21, had no other vocational ambition than this. One day, perhaps, he would be a husband and father. Then, on February 1, 2021, Ko and Min's vastly different worlds collapsed. Myanmar's military, known as the Tatmadaw, rolled through Yangon and the capital of Naypyidaw, blocking streets, shutting down the internet and imprisoning members of the recently re-elected civilian government, including its leader, Aung San Suu Kyi. It was a coup. The generals, unable to accept their proxy party's massive defeat, took power for themselves, ending Myanmar's six-year interval of electoral democracy. And so began a civil war. By its fourth anniversary this year, it had claimed an estimated 50,000 lives, including those of 6000 civilians. In time, these horrific events, overshadowed by atrocities in Gaza and Ukraine, would deposit Ko and Min here, a large but otherwise unremarkable-seeming elevated home at a secret location in Thailand. Behind the ordinary gates, ethnic Karen nurses, physiotherapists and various other volunteers treat about 120 men. Many of the patients are amputees. At least one young man, keen to show off the long scars running across his crown, carried an acquired brain injury. It is a clandestine rehabilitation hospital for those wounded fighting to free Myanmar from the brutal military regime. This masthead was recently given rare access inside the property on the condition that no one was photographed without their permission and that no identifying particulars were published. The secrecy stemmed from the fear that Thai authorities, who had not given permission for the operation and would not want to be seen as picking sides in the war, could move to shut it down. Downstairs on the open-walled ground level, men passed the hours on their phones. Dogs wandered among electric fans and makeshift beds. Power cords and drying clothes hung from the low ceiling above concrete floors. Upstairs, an amateur cook stirred a giant pot of catfish curry. This masthead met Ko and Min separately inside a small treatment room that doubled as an office. A painting of Suu Kyi furnished one of the walls. On another was a sketch of a man bending open prison bars, with words printed in English: 'Nobody can restrain our spirit from injustice chains.' 'I don't regret what happened to me,' said Ko, leaning forward in a plastic chair, the stump of his right wrist propped on the armrest. 'I only regret getting injured so early.' Flee or give in Loading After the coup, rural villagers like Min, with no money to pay off marauding Tatmadaw conscription officers, fled or gave in to the threats. Min chose to flee, soon linking up with the Karen National Liberation Army (KNLA), a powerful and long-established ethnic armed organisation fighting for self-determination – and now against the junta – out of eastern Myanmar. In Yangon and other cities, street protests demanding the new regime step down were met with killings, torture and arrests. Ko, who at first neither believed nor understood what had happened in his country, eventually joined the heaving crowds with an enthusiasm that saw him marked for punishment. He, too, fled deep into the countryside. 'I stayed out there for about three days, but I couldn't hide any more,' he said. 'I said goodbye to the people at home and told them I was going to join the revolution.' Like Min, he joined the KNLA, completing a few months of basic training before being sent to the fluid front lines. Ko and Min were among tens of thousands of ordinary Myanmar civilians – doctors, teachers, chefs and farmers – who took up arms to fight the new military regime. Some joined ethnic armies. Others joined the People's Defence Force, the newly formed armed wing of the ousted government. The KNLA put Ko to work as part of a team collecting unexploded ordnance to be repurposed as landmines. One day, part of a 120-pound mortar that Ko was handling blew up, tearing off his right hand and blinding him in his left eye. 'If the whole bomb exploded, you wouldn't find my body any more,' he said. After recuperating at the secret hospital but no longer able to fight, Ko stayed on as a volunteer, teaching the wounded soldiers how to cook, and supporting them in their darker hours. 'In the future, I plan to start a business to earn money and support this place if possible,' he said. 'I am more comfortable with the knife now [in my left hand], though I cannot work as fast as before.' The resistance has made some stunning gains, but the regime remains entrenched in Myanmar's centre. Using Russian-made warplanes, the weakened Tatmadaw has been able to sustain a brutal and often indiscriminate bombing campaign across rebel-held portions of the country. Last month, an airstrike on a school in central Sagaing region reportedly killed as many as 20 students. Loading Min, who was wheeled into the small treatment room after Ko had returned to his volunteer duties, said he longed to return to the war. But a man needs legs to fight the Tatmadaw. He recounted how his team had stormed a military base held by 50 regime soldiers. At the entrance, Min stepped on a landmine. Later that day, one of his friends stepped on a landmine, too, and was 'cut in half'. Eventually, his comrades took the base. 'All I can do right now is wait for my full recovery and discharge from the hospital,' he said, rubbing one of his still-bandaged stumps. 'After that, I will go back to my battalion and stay with my commander. 'I will follow him and guard him. I will cook for him and become a chef for him and the other soldiers. I cannot go to the front line and fight with them any more. I can only help from the back.' Even if the regime collapsed and peace returned to Myanmar, Min would never again farm the rice paddies of his village. Nor, he lamented, would he start a family.
Straits Times
5 days ago
- Politics
- Straits Times
Gunman who shot two Minnesota lawmakers still at large as manhunt continues
Melissa Hortman, a former assembly speaker and her husband, Mark, pose for a photograph at the annual Humphrey-Mondale Dinner in Minneapolis, Minnesota, U.S., June 13, 2025. Minnesota House DFL Caucus/Handout via REUTERS Law enforcement establish a security perimeter near the residence of senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman after Hortman and her husband, Marc, were shot and killed earlier in the day, in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, U.S., June 14, 2025. A 57-year-old named Vance Luther Boelter is suspected in the double murder, which, according to Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, is thought to be a politically targeted assassination. REUTERS/Tim Evans A neighborhood resident inspects tire tracks from law enforcement vehicles in the front yard of a residence associated with 57-year-old Vance Luther Boelter, the suspect in the shooting deaths of senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman and her husband Marc, in Minneapolis, Minnesota, U.S., June 14, 2025. REUTERS/Tim Evans Law enforcement establish a security perimeter near the residence of senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman after Hortman and her husband, Marc, were shot and killed earlier in the day, in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, U.S., June 14, 2025. A 57-year-old named Vance Luther Boelter is suspected in the double murder, which, according to Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, is thought to be a politically targeted assassination. REUTERS/Tim Evans Police tape blocks off a street near the residence of senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman after Hortman and her husband, Marc, were shot and killed earlier in the day, in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, U.S., June 14, 2025. A 57-year-old named Vance Luther Boelter is suspected in the double murder, which, according to Minnesota Governor Tim Walz, is thought to be a politically targeted assassination. REUTERS/Tim Evans The Minnesota State flag flies at half-staff, after a man killed senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman and her husband Marc, outside the Minnesota State Capitol in St. Paul, Minnesota, U.S. June 14, 2025. REUTERS/Ellen Schmidt Bullet holes mark the front door of Minnesota state Senator John Hoffman, who was shot alongside his wife, Yvette, in what is believed to be an attack by 57-year-old suspect Vance Luther Boelter, who is also the lead suspect in the shooting deaths of senior Democratic state assemblywoman Melissa Hortman and her husband, Marc, in Champlin, Minnesota, U.S., June 14, 2025. REUTERS/Tim Evans Gunman who shot two Minnesota lawmakers still at large as manhunt continues MINNEAPOLIS - A massive manhunt entered a second day on Sunday in Minnesota for the gunman who killed a Democratic state lawmaker while posing as a police officer, a crime that Governor Tim Walz characterized as a "politically motivated assassination." The suspect, whom police identified as Vance Luther Boelter, 57, fled on foot when officers confronted him at the Brooklyn Park home of former Minnesota House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, who were both killed. The gunman earlier had shot and wounded another Democratic lawmaker, state Senator John Hoffman, and his wife Yvette at their home a few miles away, authorities said. Minnesota U.S. Senator Amy Klobuchar, a Democrat, said on Sunday morning that authorities believe the suspect is still in the Midwest, adding that an alert had been put out in neighboring South Dakota. "Clearly, this is politically motivated," she said, noting that the state's entire congressional delegation - Republicans and Democrats - issued a shared statement condemning the shootings. The suspect left behind a vehicle outside Hortman's house in suburban Minneapolis that resembled a police SUV, including flashing lights, and contained a "manifesto" and a target list of other politicians and institutions, officials said. Authorities had not publicly identified a specific motive as of Saturday evening. Boelter has links to evangelical ministries and claimed to be a security expert with experience in the Gaza Strip and Africa, according to online postings and public records reviewed by Reuters. "There clearly was some through line with abortion, because of the groups that were on the list and other things that I've heard were in this manifesto. So that was one of his motivations," Klobuchar said. Boelter had been appointed in 2016 by Walz' predecessor to a state advisory board, where he served alongside Hoffman, according to state records. Authorities said they were not certain yet whether the two had any meaningful interactions. "There's certainly some overlap with some public meetings, I will say, with Senator Hoffman and the individual," Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension Superintendent Drew Evans told reporters on Saturday. "But we don't know the nature of the relationship or if they actually knew each other." ABC News, citing law enforcement officials, reported the list of targets featured dozens of Minnesota Democrats, including Walz, who was also the Democratic vice presidential candidate last year. The killing was the latest in a series of high-profile episodes of political violence, including the attack on former Democratic U.S. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi's husband in 2022, the attempted assassination of Donald Trump during last year's presidential campaign and an arson attack at Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro's house in April. Republican and Democratic politicians across the country reacted with shock and horror and issued calls to tone down increasingly heated political rhetoric. Klobuchar said she had seen both Hortman and Hoffman at a political dinner on Friday, just hours before they were shot. "We started out together in politics, moms with young kids, and somehow she was able to balance getting to know every door, knock on every house in her district, while raising two children - Girl Scout leader, she taught Sunday school," she said of Hortman, 55. Klobuchar said both Hoffmans were "hanging in there" after undergoing surgery for multiple gunshot wounds. GUNMAN POSED AS OFFICER The attacks started around 2 a.m. (0700 GMT) on Saturday, when authorities said the gunman shot the Hoffmans in their home in Champlin before driving several miles to Hortman's home in Brooklyn Park. Police went to the Hortman house proactively at the request of a sergeant who responded to the Hoffman attack and was concerned other politicians might be at risk. The gunman immediately fired upon the two officers when they arrived, and when they returned fire, he ran. The FBI released photos of the suspect wearing a rubber mask and a police-like uniform. David Carlson, 59, told Reuters he has shared a house in Minneapolis with Boelter for more than a year and last saw him on Friday night. He said he received a disturbing text from Boelter at about 6 a.m. on Saturday. "He said that he might be dead soon," said Carlson, who called police. Police said they found flyers with "No Kings" printed on them in the gunman's car in reference to the thousands of nationwide "No Kings" protests on Saturday against the Trump administration, but that there were no known direct links between him and the movement. "Such horrific violence will not be tolerated in the United States of America," Trump said in a statement. Trump has faced criticism from some opponents for using inflammatory rhetoric at times when talking about his political rivals. In one of his first moves in office earlier this year, Trump pardoned nearly everyone criminally charged with participating in the January 6, 2021, Capitol attack. REUTERS Join ST's Telegram channel and get the latest breaking news delivered to you.
