
German prosecutors indict alleged helper in plot to attack Taylor Swift concerts in Vienna
Three Swift concerts in Vienna were canceled in early August when the plot was discovered, and Austrian authorities made three arrests.
The indictment in Germany against a young Syrian national, identified only as Mohammad A. in line with German privacy rules, was filed at a Berlin court earlier this month. Federal prosecutors said in a statement that he is accused of supporting a foreign terrorist organization and preparing a serious act of violence.
Prosecutors said that the suspect supported the ideology of the Islamic State group and that, between mid-July and August last year, he was in contact with a young man in Austria who planned to attack a Taylor Swift concert in Vienna.
He allegedly helped by translating bomb-building instructions from Arabic and organizing online contact with an IS member abroad, among other things.
The suspect also allegedly gave his acquaintance in Austria the text for an oath of allegiance to IS, which the latter used to join the group.
He is not in custody, prosecutors said. The court must now decide whether to bring the case to trial and when.

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Reuters
13 hours ago
- Reuters
UK ninja sword ban begins as 1,000 weapons surrendered in knife crime crackdown
LONDON, Aug 1 (Reuters) - At least 1,000 weapons have been surrendered under a British government amnesty launched last month to combat knife crime, the interior ministry announced on Friday, as a new ban on ninja swords came into effect. Overall, knife crime in England and Wales has risen 87% over the past decade, with 54,587 offences recorded last year alone, a 2% rise from 2023 and among the highest rates in Europe. On July 29, 2024, teenager Axel Rudakubana attacked a Taylor Swift-themed children's dance event in the northern English town of Southport, killing three girls and stabbing 10 people in one of Britain's most harrowing knife assaults. Since then, the government has pledged tougher age checks for knife buyers, warned social media firms they could face fines for failing to curb sales and promotion of weapons, and banned zombie-style knives, machetes and ninja swords. Over the month of July this year, the government urged young people to drop off weapons, including bladed ones, at "amnesty" bins or a mobile van - part of efforts to control knife crime, particularly when it involves youths. The government said at least 1,000 weapons have been handed in. A mobile van will be deployed at the Notting Hill Carnival in London later this month in response to past knife-related violence by a small number of attendees. It is unclear whether the "amnesty" bins will stay in place once the month-long campaign comes to an end. The interior ministry did not immediately respond to Reuters' request for comment. Charities and experts call the government's efforts a step forward but say they fail to address the root causes. The interior ministry said that knife-related robberies have fallen in seven highest-risk areas, dropping from 14% of all robberies in the seven highest-risk areas in the year ending June 2024 to 6% in the same period to June 2025. The ban on buying and selling ninja swords is part of the government's pledge to introduce Ronan's Law, named in honour of 16-year-old Ronan Kanda, who was fatally stabbed with a ninja sword in 2022. Campaigner Martin Cosser, whose son was killed in a knife attack two years ago, previously told Reuters that the issue was not just about the weapon itself, but about the "emotional drivers" that lead people to carry knives in the first place.


Metro
13 hours ago
- Metro
'I was in love with an incarcerated man - now he's my Edinburgh Fringe show'
Laurie Magers is laughing off the two years she spent in love with a man in prison for assault with a deadly weapon – because if she can't joke about it, then it's deeply uncomfortable to talk about. Now 33, the US comedian and TV writer behind shows such as Obliterated and CBS Showcase 2023,is looking back on this unusual turn in her early 20s in the form of an Edinburgh Fringe show. 'When I tell this story to people and do the show, I have trouble sometimes believing that this stuff happened to me,' Laurie admits, speaking to Metro over Zoom from an Edinburgh apartment. Laurie was just 23 when she met Bill (not his real name), who was also in his early 20s, while he was on parole from prison, ankle monitor in tow. After meeting on dating app Plenty of Fish – lol, Laurie reflects – they met up at his house because he wasn't allowed out past his 9pm curfew. 'On the first date I wanted to be really cool so I brought a giant bong over to his house to smoke weed,' Laurie recalls. 'I asked what the crime was and to see his ankle monitor. Assault with a deadly weapon should have scared me off, but it didn't.' They immediately had sex, and for the next two years, the rest was history. 'It wasn't the intriguing badboy thing. I was just very desperate for love and relationships and attention,' she says, adding: 'If anybody was into me, I was into them. It could have been anyone, and it was. He could have been a bad guy, and he was.' Laurie was with Bill for four months while he was on parole, until he got locked up again for a previous charge. When she found out it was a sexual offence, she stayed with him still. 'I had such a strong need to be with somebody that I was willing to accept that about him and explain it away. I believed all of his excuses, and I stayed with him. Now as an adult, I can't believe I did that.' Bill was locked up for six years and Laurie said she would wait for him. But after two years of phone sex, love letters, and visits through glass every weekend, she left him – it had 'fizzled' out. It was also an abusive relationship. 'We had a cute relationship, but he also cheated on me and body shamed me and a lot of other things,' Laurie reflects. 'Looking back at it, it was absolutely an abusive relationship, but at the time, I was really in love with him and just ignoring all of these things,' she says. Bill wanted Laurie to lose weight and made her join a gym. She's bisexual, so they would check women out together. He would point at women smaller than her and say: 'That's what you should look like.' 'There were also some maybe not-so-isolated incidents where there was some physical roughness during sex that was outside of my comfort zone. The consent was foggy,' Laurie says. 'My goal is to give the audience the same emotional whiplash that I felt during the relationship,' she explains. 'Comedy and traumatic dark stuff, they're just so close together,' Laurie says, adding: 'The stuff I did was silly. You have to laugh about it or it will be uncomfortable.' When he was locked up, Bill was the best boyfriend in the world. He was also bored, and Laurie was useful. Laurie once even thought very seriously about smuggling him drugs into prison in her vagina. She would also do things on the outside to sweeten his relationship with powerful inmates, like hand cash around and send messages to their associates. It's an exposing and personal piece of theatre – it's also political, about the US prison system and corruption – but Laurie isn't worried about sharing her story with her audience. 'The part I'm scared of is – in the best case scenario, where everybody in the world sees this – is him finding out about it. That's a little scary to me in the back of my head. But I like telling the story,' she says. How does this experience sit with Laurie after 10 years? 'It was a bad idea, but I don't regret it,' Laurie says, making the point that she got a good story out of it. 'It didn't trauma damage me to the point of no return.' It did, however, contribute to Laurie's insecurities about her body, her lovability, and her ability to trust. While Laurie doesn't really seem fazed throughout our interview, she turns solemn when talking about the good friends looking out for her she lost along the way. More Trending 'I honestly think maybe parts of how bad it was haven't really hit me yet,' she says, explaining: 'I think about it as a story now more than an experience. 'I almost look at it like it happened to someone else. Like, there's a step removed. 'Maybe over the course of this month, those two things will come together, and that would be kind of beautiful.' Do You Accept These Charges? is airing every day at the Edinburgh Fringe in August at Pleasance Courtyard Below at 15.10. Tickets here. Got a story? If you've got a celebrity story, video or pictures get in touch with the entertainment team by emailing us celebtips@ calling 020 3615 2145 or by visiting our Submit Stuff page – we'd love to hear from you. MORE: Comedy that made critics 'laugh until it hurts' earns surprise 91% on Rotten Tomatoes MORE: 'I was in Amazon Prime's biggest surprise hit – now you can watch me in a hotel room' MORE: Nostalgic film sequel breaks records on Netflix with 46,700,000 views


Telegraph
14 hours ago
- Telegraph
The tragic story of the hippy who died defying the Stasi
Matthias Domaschk was only 23 years old when his body was found dangling from a heating pipe in a Stasi prison, on April 12 1981. Two days earlier, Matthias, known as 'Matz' to his friends, had boarded the fast train from his home town of Jena to East Berlin, the capital of East Germany, or the German Democratic Republic as it was officially known. All he had wanted to do was attend a birthday party there – but he never arrived. Suspicious that Matz might have plans to disrupt the 10th Congress of the ruling Socialist Unity Party (SED) held in Berlin that weekend, the Stasi had him and his friends arrested en route. Forty-eight hours later, Matz was dead. Attempts to revive the young man were in vain. The Stasi recorded his death as suicide, but many of his friends and relatives suspected, and still suspect, foul play. But that isn't the point of Generation GDR: Truth, Freedom and One Man's Last Journey, a book written in German by Peter Wensierski and translated seamlessly into English by Jamie Bulloch. It's about the life of Matthias Domaschk, and the one thing that is certain about his death: Matz died desperate and alone, in a place that had broken his spirit. A veteran journalist, Wensierski is uniquely positioned to investigate this story. He began his career in 1979 with reports from the GDR and has spent decades chronicling the inner workings of the post-war state. It's likely down to his journalistic credentials, too, that Wensierski has prioritised readability over academic accountability, choosing to drop footnotes – despite studying around 60,000 pages of archival material – as well as reconstructing some of the speech and thought processes of Matz and those close to him. As a result, Generation GDR reads as an intimate portrait of Matz's search for personal freedom, ground up by one of the most pervasive surveillance systems in human history. Supported by a network of police officers, teachers and citizen informants, the Stasi had begun to destroy Matz's life long before it ended. From the regime's point of view, he had belonged to the most dangerous type of opponent: he didn't want to leave East Germany but rather wanted to stay and reform it. With his long hair, hippyish clothes and a commune-type lifestyle, he resisted the petit bourgeois ideals of his elders. Like many other Left-wingers of his generation, Matz didn't want the GDR to dissolve, nor for it to become capitalist. 'The lot that we drew when we were born was the half of Germany in which we had fewer freedoms and fewer opportunities. But the whole time we hoped that the future was on our side, that socialism was the more progressive society,' Wensierski writes, reconstructing Matz's thoughts. 'The dinosaurs in the SED currently in power in Berlin simply haven't got it right.' So Matz began asking awkward questions in school. Like so many others, his father had been coerced to join the ruling SED party in exchange for an uninterrupted career and certain privileges, such as travel to foreign countries for work. When Matz was 13, he asked his teachers why his father had been forced to join when surely all SED members should do so out of true conviction. His parents were immediately summoned to the school. Matz later became involved in the Junge Gemeinde, a Protestant youth organisation, where he met like-minded people who became both friends and lovers. When the singer and regime-critic Wolf Biermann, who had emigrated to the GDR from Hamburg as a teenager, was expatriated in 1976, Matz joined the vociferous protests coming from artists and intellectuals all over East Germany against the regime's decision. This was when the Stasi interrogated him for the first time. Determined not to cow under the pressure, Matz continued to support arrested comrades. He travelled to Czechoslovakia and Poland, where he met more like-minded young people. Here, Wensierski sketches a life full of youthful idealism. Moments of pristine happiness sit alongside moments of deep depression. The Stasi never let Matz out of their sight, narrowing his room to build a free life more and more. Just before gaining his A-level equivalents, Matz was expelled from class, barring his access to university education. Things eventually became too much for his estranged partner Renate, who was also constantly harassed by the Stasi. She eventually decided to live in West Germany with their young daughter Julia. By the time Matz embarked on his ill-fated journey to Berlin on April 10 1981, the Stasi suspected him of subversive activity, to the point of political terrorism. Matz was clearly well integrated into a network of friends and fellow dissidents – as became evident after his death, when more than 100 people attended his funeral, despite the Stasi's attempt to suppress the gathering. This was a regime run by a generation of political dinosaurs whose paranoia came from a different age. Stasi boss Erich Mielke himself had been trained in political terrorism in Moscow in the 1930s and honed his skills during the Spanish Civil War. Now he ran the Stasi, still seeing shadows of his own behaviour in a new generation that had grown up in peacetime and without Stalinist schooling. Just over a week before Matz died in one of his prisons, Mielke gave a speech to his staff in which he outlined his belief that there were six types of citizens, ranging from outright 'enemies' with a 'hostile-negative attitude' to those 'on whom can party and state depend at all times'. The latter was the only positive category out of six. It was this deep-seated mistrust of its own people that drove the regime to curtail the life opportunities of people such as Matz. As the author points out, Matz was a young man who would have challenged authority in any system. Born in 1957, he belonged to a generation of intellectuals keen to unshackle 'themselves from the authoritarian spirit of post-war society, battling their parents' conformity and apathy'. In contrast to Western democracies, the GDR left little room for alternative lifestyles. In that respect, the title of the English translation does this book no favours. This isn't a book about an entire generation but about those who chose lives that differed from the mainstream. Much to the frustration of civil rights campaigners, most people in the GDR simply tried to get on with their lives, considering people like Matz troublemakers. Most East Germans did what they felt they had to, which is why there were no uprisings between the major eruptions of unrest in 1953 and 1989. Wensierski's book, then, is about the impossibility of a different life in the GDR, about the hostility those who chose not to blend in encountered not just from the Stasi but also from their peers. In his research of this story, Wensierski found himself reminded of his earlier 'work on the 1950s and 1960s in West Germany, when almost a million young people were put into children's homes because they didn't correspond to the desired norm'. Whether in East Germany, West Germany, Britain or America, Wensierski muses, long-haired youths like Matz were told to 'Have a wash! Get yourself a job!' But there's no moral equivalence between such attitudes in West Germany and the way Matz's spirit was broken by the GDR, and Wensierski doesn't claim this either. Though it details events that occurred nearly half a century ago, Generation GDR reads like a cautionary tale for our time. Speaking to 30 former Stasi agents, the author found himself baffled by how those 'who destroyed other people's lives' found it possible to 'believe that they were part of building a more humane society'. His villains aren't shadowy figures in grey cloaks but complex humans who did what they did out of opportunism, idealism or coercion. We live in an age where many people in positions of authority feel their own outlook to be morally superior and that other views and lifestyles should not be aired or encouraged. Today, voices are also silenced, careers destroyed and life chances diminished, all in the name of building a 'kinder' future. Generation GDR delivers a powerful warning from history – against the curtailment of individual freedoms in the name of a supposed greater good. ★★★★☆