Dowry is still persisting in society in one form or another. This deeply entrenched social practice continues deepen household poverty and cause violence against women. The question is no longer whether Bangladesh has a law against dowry. It does. The more uncomfortable question is why the law has failed to make dowry socially unacceptable and practically difficult to demand. The Dowry Prohibition Act 2018 makes the demand for dowry a criminal offence. Direct or indirect demands can result in one to five years' imprisonment, a fine of up to Tk 50,000, or both. Giving, taking or assisting in the giving or taking of dowry is also punishable. The law even makes dowry-related agreements void. Yet, the existence of legislation has not eliminated the practice. Instead, dowry has increasingly adapted itself to modern economic and social realities.
At the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) COP17, the presence of Indigenous Peoples and Local Communities (IPLCs) is impossible to miss. Indigenous representatives speak at side events, participate in contact groups, advise negotiators and engage across multiple forums shaping the future of global biodiversity policy.
Forty-year-old Farwiza Farhan’s eyes light up instantly when she talks about the Leuser Ecosystem – a national strategic area encompassing a national park, a wildlife reserve, protected forests and other land uses.
The message from Just Rights for Children (JRC) was clear: protecting children must take precedence over customs used to justify their marriage.
Less than 100 metres from military positions facing each other across the Armenia-Azerbaijan border, the forest suddenly disappears.
Bangladesh has achieved remarkable
economic progress over the past few decades. Its garment industry has become globally important, millions of people have entered the workforce, and private businesses have expanded across manufacturing, services, technology and trade. But economic growth alone does not create a healthy business environment. Businesses also need predictable laws, safe workplaces, fair competition, protection of property and contracts, and respect for the rights of workers, consumers and communities.
Bangladesh has earned global recognition for reducing deaths from cyclones and floods. Early warning systems, cyclone shelters, embankments and community preparedness have transformed the country’s disaster response. Yet another climate crisis is receiving far less attention: the economic damage climate change is quietly inflicting on households, farmers, workers, businesses and public finances.
In recent months, Afghanistan’s humanitarian crisis has severely deteriorated, with the UN reporting record-high levels of acute malnutrition and hunger. Compounded by rampant human rights violations, limited access to basic services, and persistent barriers to humanitarian aid, the UN warns that conditions could considerably worsen in the coming months.
Nearly 40 percent of the population of Afghanistan is projected to face high levels of acute food insecurity this winter, and cases of acute malnutrition are expected to soar during 2027, the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO) and the United Nations World Food Programme (WFP) warned.
Afghan women have resorted to online protests as their only available recourse, even though the risks of being caught are high and carry enormous consequences.
CIVICUS discusses the persecution of Uyghurs and activism in exile with Rushan Abbas, an Uyghur American activist, founder and executive director of Campaign for Uyghurs and chair of the Executive Committee of the World Uyghur Congress.
With the city enveloped in a cloak of haze, the urgency of tackling the climate crisis could hardly have been clearer as the four-day Global Tipping Points Conference 2026 drew to a close at Malaysia’s Sunway University on Thursday.
When the Taliban took control of Afghanistan in August 2021, Zahra Nader was pursuing a doctorate in Women and Gender studies at York University in Canada. Nader had planned to return to Afghanistan to continue her research, possibly teach at Kabul University, and continue exploring Afghan women's role in political history.
Nearly three decades ago, in the final stretch of Nepal's civil war, Dr Brandon Kohrt sat with parents whose sons had been conscripted as child soldiers and never returned.
In a world increasingly divided by war, political distrust and competing ideologies, Kazakhstan has spent more than two decades pursuing an unusual diplomatic undertaking: keeping representatives of different religions in conversation.
It has become difficult for Afghan journalists to obtain information from the authorities, who are permitted to use smartphones only with special authorization. This ban particularly affects women, for whom face-to-face interviews are not an option.
Extreme heat is increasingly threatening pregnant women and newborn babies around the world, with almost all maternal health professionals surveyed across five continents saying they have cared for women or infants whose health was affected by high temperatures.
“You’re living a life drained of joy,” is how Shehnaz Sher Ali describes her “perpetually wet and stinky” existence. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” says the 35-year-old, who travelled by bus for more than 12 hours with her husband from their village in Rahim Yar Khan, Punjab, changing diapers whenever possible to keep the smell from reaching the fellow passengers.
Drought has depleted wells, withered fruit trees, and reduced crop yields across Afghanistan. The heaviest burden of the water shortage falls on women in their daily lives, as they must fetch water from increasingly distant sources and use every single drop with extreme care.
Villagers rush to the vulnerable spot of the embankment—early warning of the rising tide has alerted them. Together, they save the village from tidal flooding by repairing the vulnerable embankment, which is at risk from the impact of low pressure in July this year. The message is clear: early warnings of the rising tide save lives and property.
As a young girl, Sarada Murlidharan cringed at the thought of going to school. It was not the studies but the taunts of 'being black' or having dark skin, where fair skin was considered preferential, that made her unhappy.