The world’s oldest person, Sister Inah Canabarro Lucas, has died at age 116, her order announced on Wednesday.

The soccer-loving Brazilian nun officially became the oldest person in the world in January following the death of Japan’s Tomiko Itooka, according to Guinness World Records (GWR).

When Canabarro was born on June 8, 1908, according to GWR, Theodore Roosevelt was still the United States President, penicillin had not yet been discovered, and movies were still silent.

There is some dispute about her exact birth date, as Cleber Canabarro, her 84-year-old nephew, told the Associated Press that her birth was registered two weeks late and she was actually born on May 27.

She was so skinny growing up, Canabarro added, that many doubted she would survive to adulthood, let alone become a centenarian.

She took up religious work as a teenager and always maintained her Catholic faith was the secret to her incredibly long life. “(God) is the secret of life. He is the secret of everything,” she once said, according to LongeviQuest, a database that tracks the lives of supercentenarians. On her 110th birthday, she received a blessing from Pope Francis.

After spending two years in Montevideo, Uruguay, Canabarro moved back to Brazil and lived in Rio de Janeiro before returning to her home state, Rio Grande do Sul, AP reported.

She spent much of her life as a teacher and counted General João Figueiredo, the military dictator who governed Brazil from 1979 to 1985, among her former students.

Canabarro was a lifelong fan of her local soccer club, Sport Club Internacional (Inter), which celebrated her birthday every year. The club released a statement on Wednesday paying tribute to her “kindness, faith and love.”

British woman is now world’s oldest person

Following Canabarro’s death, English great-grandmother Ethel Caterham became the oldest person in the world, at age 115 years and 252 days, according to GWR.

Caterham is believed to be the last living person born in 1909 and is the last British person born before 1913, GWR added.

Canabarro was the second-oldest Brazilian and 15th-oldest person ever, according to LongeviQuest. The title of the oldest person ever recorded belongs to Jeanne Louise Calment. Born on February 21, 1875, her life spanned 122 years and 164 days, according to GWR.

The man sitting in front of us belongs to the Sinaloa Cartel — one of the most powerful and feared criminal networks in the world — and one the US government recently designated a foreign terrorist organization.

This is a gang that “murder, rape, torture and exercise total control… posing a great threat to (the United States’) national security,” according to US President Donald Trump, who has promised to “wage war” against Mexico’s cartels.

It’s taken weeks to reach this man, verify his identity, and persuade him to talk with us. Our contact on the ground here in the Mexican state of Sinaloa has repeatedly reassured him we are not the police. Or DEA agents. Or the CIA.

We arrive at a nondescript house in a residential area on the southern side of Culiacán city and are instructed to cover our camera on the way in. It’s a neighborhood that’s known to be populated by cartels. Once inside, we’re taken to a dimly lit bedroom at the back of the house. A giant painting of Jesus Christ is nailed to the wall, above a rusty looking bed caked in dust. An older, beefy man stands by the window, holding a walkie-talkie close to his ear and anxiously glancing up and down the street where cars and military vehicles pass by.

The cartel member — now a terrorist in the eyes of the US government — sits in one corner of the room. He has a firm handshake and a hefty build. He wears a “Joker” movie baseball cap pulled down over his head, a scarf wrapped tightly around his face, sunglasses to disguise his eyes, and blue latex gloves to cover the tattoos on his hands. Propped up by his chair is an assault rifle. Next to that are two more walkie-talkies, from which cartel look-outs provide a constant stream of feedback on the movements of the Mexican military.

He says he produces fentanyl — the synthetic opioid that has become the most common drug involved in overdose deaths in the United States.

“Of course, of course, things are sad,” says the man, who didn’t give his real name. “(But) you have to continue… Families have to eat,” he shrugs.

For nearly two decades, Mexican authorities have been waging a battle against the cartels, with limited results. And for over five decades, various US presidents have declared wars on drugs. But amid fresh waves of cartel violence and pressure from Trump in the form of threatened US military intervention and higher import tariffs, President Claudia Sheinbaum has adopted a more head-on approach to tackling the issue. (Her predecessor Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s “hugs, not bullets” stance proved woefully ineffective.)

Around 10,000 members of Mexico’s National Guard have been sent to their northern border, in part to stop the flow of narcotics from entering the US. And hundreds of soldiers are believed to have joined preexisting armed forces, marines, National Guards and law enforcement already stationed in Sinaloa state, home to the infamous Sinaloa drug cartel previously led by the notorious drug lord Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán.

The precursor chemicals used to make fentanyl are largely sourced from China, before being cooked up in labs across Mexico, where cartels have well-established control over entire territories — and relatively easy access to the US market. (The Mexican government denies that fentanyl is produced in country, claiming instead that most of the synthetic labs they discover are being used to make methamphetamine.)

Business these days is not good, the cartel member says, acknowledging that the Sinaloa Cartel itself has been significantly weakened by the military’s actions. But they can still survive. Only small quantities of the drug can be produced, he explains, as the group needs to stay nimble in case the authorities carry out impromptu raids.

Using smaller reactors and cooking equipment allows them to dismantle their operation at a moment’s notice, and to smuggle these manageable quantities of drugs through different neighborhoods — and eventually over the border. Sometimes they move location for different stages of production, ensuring they’re only in one area for a short period of time. The cartels are also pouring additional resources into surveillance to keep tabs on the police and military. And much of the production has moved to other states, where the Mexican military has less of a presence.

A mammoth military task

Crammed into a Blackhawk helicopter with the Mexican military, the challenges of disrupting the drug trade can be seen in the sprawling landscape below.

Sinaloa state stretches out for over 22,000 square miles, and the soldiers scour the mountainous terrain beneath them for any signs of tracks, electrical wires or water supplies that could lead to a hideout where drugs are produced. Given that these operations have mostly moved out of the city and are now tucked away somewhere in this vast countryside, they’re much harder to spot.

Fields of marijuana and poppies (used to make heroin) are more visible, but the synthetic drug labs can pop up anywhere and often require only rudimentary equipment: pots, pans, basic protective gear to stop the workers from breathing in toxic fumes, plastic vats where the chemicals are mixed, small reactors used to “cook” the final product and a sheet of tarpaulin that hangs above, so their operation is not visible from the military’s helicopters or drones.

On a visit to one recently discovered meth lab, it was apparent that a small team of cartel employees had been working here up until the day before. The military rarely catch the culprits, who likely scarper as soon as they see the helicopter landing. Left behind are parts of a reactor and big plastic containers of liquid meth, along with piles of perishable food, water and even a pair of jeans — signs that they’d been camped up in this area for several days.

Mexican soldiers wearing gas masks and white Hazmat suits smash through the remaining equipment in sweltering 96-degree Fahrenheit heat, stopping occasionally to mop up sweat pouring from their faces.

A sign was nailed to a post at the entrance of the lab. It read “To make a deal: Cell phone”: an open invitation for any willing soldier to write their phone number and look the other way, presumably in exchange for a payout.

“This literally never happens,” insists Brigadier General Porfirio Fuentes Vélez. “I see the government’s commitment in addressing (the issue of drugs). We know it’s a very serious problem because there’s a market that demands a lot of synthetic drugs. But criminals are increasingly producing less… because the strategy of the current Mexican president is to strengthen the coordination of all agencies at the federal, state, and municipal levels.”

But off the record, almost everyone we speak to acknowledges that corruption is widespread. In fact, the security chief who oversaw a previous crackdown was later convicted in US federal court for taking millions of dollars from the Sinaloa cartel.

War within a war

Rosalinda Cabanillas lets out a guttural wail that echoes across the entire cemetery. The sound of pain that no mother should have to go through. She clings to the white casket carrying her 26-year-old daughter, Vivian Karely Aispuro, whose body was found 17 agonizing days after she disappeared.

“Thank you for the great adventure. Thank you for everything,” sobs 27-year-old Alma Aispuro, as her younger sister’s body is lowered into the ground. A bright, five-piece mariachi band blast out their tunes in a constant loop.

Over the last seven months, violence has surged across Sinaloa, particularly in Culiacán. The city has become awash with blood, as rival factions of the Sinaloa cartel fight a deadly war of vengeance. Two powerful leaders of the Sinaloa cartel were arrested in Texas last July: Ismael Zambada Garcia (known as “El Mayo”, he’s a co-founder of the group) and Joaquín Guzmán López, son of El Chapo. Both stand accused of leading fentanyl manufacturing and trafficking networks. But Zambada was caught after an alleged betrayal by Guzmán López, officials say, driving their followers into opposing groups. (In the US, Zambada has pleaded not guilty on a 17-count indictment accusing him of narcotics trafficking and murder. Gúzman López has pleaded not guilty to narcotics, money laundering and firearms charges.)

Since then, Culiacán has become paralyzed by regular shootouts between the two factions, as well as the military. More than 1,200 men, women, and children have been killed in the past year, more than double the toll of the previous 12 months, according to the State Council of Public Safety (a citizens’ organization). Hundreds more have gone missing.

Though the military’s presence has helped calm the situation somewhat, it’s far from under control, and fear runs deep among many residents. Attendance at local schools is down, and children are taught how to take cover in case they find themselves trapped between gunfire. As night falls, the usually vibrant city is eerily quiet — apart from the occasional sound of gunfire. A self-imposed curfew still mostly stands, with bars and restaurants closing early. Volunteer paramedics whizz round on motorbikes, responding to a stream of medical emergencies resulting from violent incidents.

Alma says that her sister Vivian was not involved with the cartels, and we found no evidence to suggest otherwise. “But the violence raging here in Culiacán led to this happening. Because before the war we’re experiencing now, there were codes — and women and children were respected. After the war, those codes no longer exist,” she says.

Anyone with even the slightest involvement with members of the cartel could be at risk. And even those who keep their distance, we were told by residents living through this, can find themselves taken hostage or murdered.

Miguel Calderón, who lives in Culiacán and works for the State Council on Public Security, believes that things could be even worse.

“That pressure (from the Trump administration) has translated into tangible results here, into better coordination that translates into all these issues of inhibiting criminal activity, especially its firepower… If it weren’t for federal forces and all this military support from the national government, the problem would be two or three times worse.”

Ultimately, though, he believes it’s difficult to maintain this pressure when so many young men are being recruited into the cartel every day, with promises of paychecks far bigger than they’d receive otherwise. He says that something needs to be done to seriously curb the US demand for the drugs produced here. Without that, the Sinaloa cartel are likely to remain a prominent, wealthy force — and more families will feel anguish like that of Vivian Aispuro’s family.

“After my sister, that same day we found her dead, five women disappeared, including girls and others the same age as my sister. And we’re afraid, honestly, I’m afraid. I’m afraid for my family. I’m afraid to be a woman in Mexico, and I’m afraid that no one will help us, no one will listen to us, and that no one cares about us,” says Alma, as she watches the gravediggers shovel dirt over her sister’s grave.

The pontificate of Pope Francis profoundly shook up the Catholic Church.

His restless 12-year-papacy, with its focus on a “poor church for the poor,” called on Catholicism to leave its comfort zone and pitch its tent among the poorest communities. Francis opened discussions on topics that were once viewed off limits, such as the role of women. He welcomed LGBTQ Catholics as “children of God” and opened the door for remarried divorcees to receive communion. He also generated attention with his strong critiques of economic injustice and calls to protect the environment.

Throughout his papacy, however, Francis faced fierce resistance from small, but noisy, conservative Catholic groups and a certain amount of indifference and silent resistance from bishops in the hierarchy.

Now, as 133 voting members of the College of Cardinals prepare for the conclave, the closed-doors process to elect Francis’ successor, they face a weighty choice: Build on the late pope’s reforms and vision, or slow things down and embark on a course correction.

Those who will process into the Sistine Chapel on Wednesday to begin the process to elect a new pope could not have failed to notice the outpouring of affection for Francis after he died.

When Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, the Dean of the College of Cardinals, talked warmly about Francis’ vision for the church as he delivered the homily at Francis’ funeral, the crowd gathered in St. Peter’s Square repeatedly applauded. And in East Timor, which Francis visited in 2024, around 300,000 people attended a Mass for the late pope on the same day as the funeral. All of this has led one retired cardinal to urge his confrères to take note.

“The people of God have already voted at the funerals and called for continuity with Francis,” Cardinal Walter Kasper, 92, a theological adviser to the late pope, told La Repubblica, an Italian daily newspaper.

In other words – read the room.

Francis’ supporters say that only a pope willing to continue what the late pontiff started will do so. But the politics of a papal election process are subtle. Anyone overtly campaigning to be pope immediately disqualifies themselves and the cardinals must vote according to what they discern to be the will of God. Still, that doesn’t mean simply sitting in their rooms and praying for divine inspiration on how to vote.

Each morning during the pre-conclave period the cardinals meet in the Paul VI synod hall for “general congregations.” Then, in the evenings, they often continue the discussions over a plate of pasta and a glass of wine, with several seen eating in trattorias in the Borgo Pio, a village-like quarter near the Vatican.

A fault line is already emerging. Some cardinals want the next pope to follow firmly in Francis’ footsteps and focus on the “diversity” of the universal church, whose axis has shifted away from Europe and the West. Others are calling on the next pope to emphasize “unity” – code for a more predictable, steady-as-she-goes approach.

Austen Ivereigh, a papal biographer and Catholic commentator, puts the two positions this way.

“The first (diversity) sees Francis as the first pope of a new era in the Church, showing us how to evangelize today, and how to hold together our differences in a fruitful way,” he explained.

“The second (unity) sees the Francis era as a disruption, an interruption, that now needs to be reined back by a return to a greater uniformity.”

Those pushing the “unity” line include some of the most vociferous critics of the late pope, such as Cardinal Gerhard Müller, the Vatican’s former doctrine chief who Francis replaced in 2017. Characterizing the last pontificate as a divisive authoritarian, he recently told the New York Times: “All dictators are dividing.”

Most cardinals will not share Müller’s characterization, and cardinals have repeatedly expressed appreciation for Francis’ concern for those at the margins and his ability to connect with people.

But a number of them are rallying around the “unity” slogan and have plenty of criticisms of the last papacy, including his decision to embark on a major, multi-year reform process – the synod – that has opened questions about women’s leadership and how power is exercised in the church.

Some also didn’t like Francis’ full-throated critiques of priests who like to wear elaborate vestments or his offering of blessings to same-sex couples, which has been rejected by some bishops in Africa. The feeling among the “unity” group, which has the support of some retired cardinals, is that the next pope needs less of the disruptive style of Francis.

The leading “unity” candidate, it would appear, is Cardinal Pietro Parolin, the Holy See Secretary of State. He would not represent an obvious break with Francis, but his style would be very different. Parolin is a mild-mannered, thoughtful Italian prelate who oversees the Vatican’s diplomacy, which has included a provisional agreement with China over the appointment of bishops.

But Parolin’s sceptics point to his lack of experience working at the church’s grassroots and his flat delivery of a homily at a Mass for around 200,000 young people in St Peter’s Square, the day after Francis’ funeral. As he read from his notes, the cardinal seemed unable to engage the congregation, in stark contrast to Francis, who frequently spoke off-the-cuff and would often engage in a back and forth with young people.

Others see the unity argument as superficially attractive but having the wrong focus. One of those is Cardinal Michael Czerny, who worked closely with Pope Francis, and has led the Vatican office for human development. He said that unity – while essential – cannot be a program or a policy.

“The terrible danger is, if you make this your obsession, and if you try to promote unity as your primary objective, you end up with uniformity,” he said. “And this is exactly what we don’t need. We spent decades now trying to learn to get beyond uniformity to a true catholicity, a true pluralism.”

Czerny added: “It’s interesting the words (unity and uniformity) are so close, but the difference is huge. I think one is the kiss of death, and the other is life and abundant life.”

Will of the people

Each night during the nine official days of mourning that follow the death of a pope, a cardinal presides at a Mass and has an opportunity to reflect on Francis’ pontificate. It’s harder for cardinals to be openly critical of the late pontiff while others among them are asking in these Masses how the cardinals can build on what Francis started.

“I think of the multiple reform processes of Church life initiated by Pope Francis, which extend beyond religious affiliations,” Cardinal Baldassare Reina, the vicar of Rome, said in a homily this week.

“People recognized him as a universal pastor. These people carry concern in their hearts, and I seem to discern in them a question: What will become of the processes that have begun?”

That need to continue the reforms begun by Francis could favor a candidate such as Cardinal Mario Grech, who leads the synod office, and which has showcased the diversity of the church. The reform-minded German cardinal Reinhard Marx has been among those arguing for a pope who continues in the line of Francis, as has Cardinal Jean-Claude Hollerich of Luxembourg, who played a leading role in the synod.

A “diversity” candidate could come from Asia or be closely connected to the church’s frontline missions. In this vein, there is some talk of Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle of the Philippines, but he is not the only possibility.

Outcome hard to predict

The group of cardinals choosing Francis’ successor is a diverse body drawn from virtually every corner of the globe; during his pontificate Francis dramatically re-shaped the body of cardinals, making appointments to countries that had never had a cardinal before.

But it means that many of them don’t know each other well, and during the discussions in the Paul VI synod hall, the cardinals have been wearing name badges. The intense media interest also seems to have startled cardinals unused to being swarmed by groups of reporters and cameras when they enter or leave the Vatican.

It is much harder to predict how such a diverse body is going to vote. However, it seems the cardinals from the “peripheries,” who represent the shift in the Catholic Church’s axis away from Europe, largely share the late pontiff’s vision and are primarily focused on how the next pope responds to the crises facing the globe.

“Religions must unite in a common cause to save humanity,” he said. “The world urgently needs a new breath of hope – a synodal journey that chooses life over death, hope over despair. The next pope must be that breath!”

The cardinals entering the Sistine Chapel next week for conclave are not just casting their vote for a new pope, but making a critical decision that will impact the church for years to come.

Germany’s domestic intelligence agency on Friday classified the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) as an extremist entity that threatens democracy, a move enabling it to better monitor the party that came second in February’s federal election.

The BfV agency’s finding, based on a 1,100-page expert report, that the AfD is racist and anti-Muslim allows the authorities to increase surveillance of the party, including by recruiting confidential informants and intercepting communications.

The stigma could also hamper the party’s ability to attract members, while public funding could be at risk.

The AfD, which currently tops several opinion polls, condemned the decision, while political analysts said it risked further fueling support for the party.

“Central to our assessment is the ethnically and ancestrally defined concept of the people that shapes the AfD, which devalues entire segments of the population in Germany and violates their human dignity,” the domestic intelligence agency said in a statement.

“This concept is reflected in the party’s overall anti-migrant and anti-Muslim stance.”

The AfD has “defamed and vilified” individuals and groups, stirring up “irrational fears and hostility toward them,” it added.

In the party’s first response to the report, the leader of a regional parliamentary group, Anton Baron, said: “It is sad to see the state of democracy in our country when the established parties now resort to the most politically questionable means to act against the strongest opposition party.”

Heated debate

The intelligence decision comes days before conservative leader Friedrich Merz is due to be sworn in as Germany’s new chancellor and amid a heated debate within his party over how to deal with the AfD in the new parliament.

The party won a record number of seats, theoretically entitling it to chair several key parliamentary committees.

A prominent Merz ally, Jens Spahn, has called for treating the AfD as a regular opposition party in parliamentary procedures, arguing that this approach prevents the party from adopting a ‘victim’ narrative.

However, other established parties as well as many within Spahn’s own conservatives have rejected that approach – and could use Friday’s news as justification for blocking AfD attempts to lead key committees.

“There is tension between a party’s claim to chair positions based on its size and the freedom of conscience of the members of parliament,” said political scientist Wolfgang Schroeder at Kassel University.

“Now, these members can argue that AfD representatives do not meet the necessary standards. The signs are mounting that the AfD is not a normal party, and as a result, it will continue to be marginalized.”

The classification could reignite attempts to get the AfD banned, but Germany’s outgoing chancellor Olaf Scholz, whose Social Democrats will be the junior partner in Merz’s new coalition, advised against rushing to outlaw the AfD.

“I am against a quick shot, we have to evaluate the classification carefully,” he said on Friday at a church convention in the northern city of Hanover.

The German parliament could also attempt to limit or halt public funding to the AfD – but for that authorities would need evidence that the party is explicitly out to undermine or even overthrow German democracy.

Certain factions of the AfD such as its youth wing had already been classified as extremist, while the party at large was classified as a suspected extremist case in 2021.

Created to protest the euro zone bailouts in 2013, the euroskeptic AfD morphed into an anti-migration party after Germany’s decision to take in a large wave of refugees in 2015.

That the BfV agency needs a certain classification to be able to monitor a political party reflects the fact it is more legally restrained than other European intelligence services, in reaction to the country’s experience under both Nazi and Communist rule.