Credit: Rizwan Tabassum/AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, May 22 2026 (IPS)

Narges Mohammadi, awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for her human rights activism in Iran, has been allowed to go home. After guards found her unconscious in her cell, the apparent victim of a heart attack, she was granted temporary release from prison and transferred to a hospital. However, she still faces the threat of being taken back to jail once her condition has improved.

Mohammadi has been repeatedly imprisoned for criticising the theocratic regime, demanding women’s rights, advocating for prison reform and campaigning against the death penalty. Over her lifetime she’s been sentenced to a total of 44 years. She’s already spent more than a decade behind bars, including 161 days in solitary confinement, and has also been sentenced to 154 lashes. In February she was handed a further seven-and-a-half-year sentence. From prison – where she experienced cardiac and blood pressure problems and severe weight loss – she has documented systematic rights violations against political prisoners, including sexual and physical abuse of women detainees, torture and extensive use of solitary confinement.

Mohammadi’s case is one among many. While her ordeal has rightly drawn international attention, others more distant from the spotlight are in danger. Three more women human rights activists – Pakhshan Azizi, Sharifeh Mohammadi and Varisheh Moradi – are on death row at imminent risk of execution. The dangers they and countless others face have grown sharply since the current war began.

Repression tightens

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has made clear he wants regime change in Iran. On 1 March, an Israeli strike killed Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei. But if the intention was to topple the regime, it didn’t happen. Iran’s ruling theocratic structures run deep, with multiple layers of planned succession. Khamenei’s son Mojtaba Khamenei, injured in the same attack, was quickly named his replacement, despite Iran’s official ideology formally rejecting hereditary succession.

While clerical leaders have been killed, Iran’s coercive apparatus has gained in its day-to-day power, hardening the theocracy into something closer to a military dictatorship, with the Basij, the paramilitary volunteer force long deployed to crush public dissent, now front and centre.

Israeli and US hopes that Iranians would rise up against the regime have been disappointed. Iran has seen successive mass protest waves, each crushed with large-scale lethal violence. They include the Green Movement that demanded democracy in 2009 and 2010 and the Woman, Life, Freedom protests that demanded women’s rights in 2022 and 2023. The latest uprising came in December 2025 and January 2026, triggered by economic collapse, forging a movement that united broad sections of society to demand an end to the theocratic regime. The state suppressed it with shocking brutality, killing thousands and detaining tens of thousands.

By February, the uprising had been crushed. The Israeli-US intervention was unlikely to reignite a meaningful mass protest movement. If anything, for some Iranians the war has stoked patriotism and more intense enmity towards Israel and the USA. The anticipated revolt simply hasn’t happened.

Much of Iran’s vast diaspora has rallied in support of the war as a means of toppling the regime. But while the diaspora is united in demanding change, its array of ethnic minority organisations, Islamist factions, leftists, monarchists and republicans is bitterly divided over what should come next. Reza Pahlavi, son of the last shah, enjoys some support but others are wary about monarchical nostalgia and his close ties to Israel and the USA. The most credible potential unifying figures inside Iran are imprisoned or otherwise silenced.

Instead of losing control, the regime has tightened its repression. Even as Iran’s leaders wage a social media propaganda war abroad, at home they’ve imposed a near-total internet shutdown, including a block on VPN services. The blackout has caused immense economic harm, disrupting businesses and financial transactions and hitting women the hardest. This comes on top of the economic effects of the current US blockade of Iranian ports, sending inflation and unemployment soaring.

Under the cover of war and the internet shutdown, the government has accelerated executions of political prisoners. While precise figures are hard to get, rights groups report close to 200 executions so far this year, most preceded by prolonged torture to extract false confessions. Secret hangings are reportedly being carried out on an almost daily basis. Among those killed are people detained during the January protests. On 4 May, it was reported that three people arrested at protests on 8 and 9 January – Ebrahim Dolatabadinejad, Mohammadreza Miri and Mehdi Rasouli – had been hanged. For families, the suffering doesn’t end there, as authorities reportedly refuse to return bodies and pressure relatives to stay silent.

Local priorities

Democracy and human rights in Iran depend on the regime’s departure. But the latest war isn’t about any of this. For Netanyahu, with an election impending and anger remaining at his corruption charges and Israel’s security failures around the 7 October Hamas attacks, permanent warfare is a political strategy. Donald Trump’s many social media announcements provide little clue of what motivates a president who promised not to mire the USA in foreign wars, but distraction from low popularity ratings and his many appearances in the Epstein files may be a factor.

This war isn’t the way to achieve change. The regime appears entrenched and capable of surviving a longer conflict. Any peace deal would leave it intact, which its rulers would treat as a victory.

Real change will come when protests can grow into a mass movement large enough to withstand the lethal repression the state will inevitably deploy. That can only happen with sustained support that respects the autonomy of local civil society leaders and strengthens their capacity. The immediate priorities must be to protect credible local sources of information amid the information blackout and ensure the safety and security of Iran’s democracy and human rights activists.

Above all, states must press the Iranian government to halt executions and release everyone detained for speaking out, protesting and demanding change, beginning with Narges Mohammadi. Temporary medical release is nowhere near enough. The Iranian regime must let her be free.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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The community works to preserve its identity amid pressure from real estate development and non-Indigenous settlers. Credit: Samuel Tremembé

By Carla Ruas
BELÉM, Brazil, May 21 2026 (IPS)

On Brazil’s northeastern coast, the Indigenous community, Tremembé da Barra do Mundaú, lives on a preserved stretch of land shaped by mangroves, dunes, and deserted beaches. The group of around 160 families is led by women and depends on the 3,500-hectare territory for fishing and subsistence farming.

In 2023, the Tremembé won federal recognition of their ancestral land in the state of Ceará – giving them formal control over the territory.

But their home remains under threat. As tourism has expanded, they have faced growing pressure from real estate developments and around 100 non-Indigenous settlers. A push for renewable energy has also brought nearby wind projects that the community says damage the environment and disrupt their way of life.

“We have many problems here, including trash in our rivers, cars scaring away animals, and people damaging the dunes,” said Cleidiane Tremembé, a local Indigenous teacher. “With the installation of wind farms, many fish species have also disappeared from our river, and we’re catching fewer fish.”

The Tremembé da Barra do Mundaú Indigenous Land protects 27 km of mangrove forest and 8 km of coastline. Credit: Samuel Tremembé

This May, the group will begin investing roughly US$300,000 in efforts to protect their territory. The funds come from the Ywy Ipuranguete (‘beautiful land’) project – an ambitious initiative that aims to distribute a total of US$9 million to 15 Indigenous Lands across Brazil by 2030.

The project is coordinated by Brazil’s Ministry of Indigenous Peoples (MPI), implemented by the Brazilian Biodiversity Fund (FUNBIO), and financed through the Global Biodiversity Framework Fund (GBFF). The GBFF, whose donors include the governments of Canada, Norway and the United Kingdom, is managed by the Global Environment Facility (GEF) – the world’s largest multilateral environmental fund.

According to the GEF, the goal is to support the protection of Indigenous territories as a strategy to conserve biodiversity and strengthen climate resilience.

“A growing body of evidence shows that territories managed by Indigenous Peoples — particularly where land tenure is formally recognised — consistently rank among the most effective settings for maintaining biodiversity, retaining carbon stocks, and preserving ecological integrity, often outperforming both unprotected lands and formally designated conservation areas,” said Adriana Moreira, Lead of the Partnerships Division at the GEF.

If fully implemented, the project would help protect 6.4 million hectares and reach around 61,000 Indigenous people.

Following the project’s launch in March 2025, the Tremembé will be among the first communities to put the funds into action.

Tremembé community member Mateus Castro says their goal is to preserve their land and culture for future generations. Credit: Julia Holanda

Mateus Castro, a community member coordinating the work locally, said the money will be used primarily to acquire drones, radio transmitters, vehicles and a boat to help secure the territory’s boundaries.

“We want to monitor and record the presence of outsiders,” he said in an interview. “This project will allow us to have the tools that give our territory security and autonomy.”

The same equipment would help the community inventory local ecosystems and animal species. Their coastal stretch is home to a wide range of species – from fish and crabs to endangered sea turtles.

“We want to record the species along our coastline so we can use that information as a defence against the licensing of new offshore wind farms,” he said.

With the funding, they also plan to reforest degraded areas, train local environmental brigades, and fund traditional festivals. The first will be the Farinhada Festival that takes place in July. During the festivities, families celebrate cassava as a sacred food and prepare traditional dishes for younger generations.

“In Indigenous culture, everything is connected,” Castro said. “Our goal is to preserve our land, culture, and identity for the children who are yet to be born. We are thinking 100, 200 years from now.”

Future Plans

The Indigenous communities selected to participate in the Ywy Ipuranguete project were chosen by FUNAI, Brazil’s federal Indigenous affairs agency, with input from Indigenous organisations.

The priority was given to groups outside the Amazon, including the Tremembé in Ceará, as part of an effort to decentralise environmental funding. Nearly half of Brazil’s 1.69 million Indigenous people live outside the Legal Amazon, according to the legal census.

“If we look at environmental projects in general, funding, implementation, and resources are usually focused on the Amazon,” said Francisco Itamar Gonçalves Melgueiro, FUNAI’s general coordinator for environmental policies. “That is why we distributed the project across five biomes in Brazil – the Amazon, Pantanal, Cerrado, Caatinga and Atlantic Forest.”

FUNAI also selected communities that had recently removed invaders from their lands, including the Kayapó and Munduruku, who have been in conflict with illegal miners in the Amazon for decades. “After that removal, we see an opportunity for Indigenous peoples to fully retake possession of their territories,” Melgueiro said.

Communities did not need their territories to be fully recognised by the federal government to qualify for the funding. However, they had to submit detailed plans, known as PGTAs, which are part of a broader set of Indigenous territorial and environmental management documents.

During the Farinhada Festival, families celebrate cassava and prepare traditional dishes such as tapioca crepes. Credit: Julia Holanda

“These plans serve as blueprints for their future and cover a wide range of themes and actions,” Melgueiro said. “They are an instrument of the peoples, built by the peoples.”

But many are still working on their PGTAs. More than a decade after Brazil created the framework for these plans, a 2023 civil-society report found that Indigenous communities have received little support for their development, especially during the administration of Brazilian right-wing President Jair Bolsonaro. To date, FUNAI has mapped just 148 PGTAs in a country with more than 800 Indigenous Lands.

The first year of the Ywy Ipuranguete project has been largely dedicated to helping participating communities finalise and detail their PGTAs. The Brazilian Biodiversity Fund (FUNBIO), GEF’s implementing agency, told IPS that this “is a massive and meticulous undertaking”, as they work with Indigenous communities to “determine which PGTA activities are to be undertaken, the best methods for executing them, and the specific implementation arrangements for each Indigenous Land”.

According to Brazil’s Ministry of Indigenous Peoples (MPI), only about 8% of the total budget has been spent so far, mostly on planning, coordination and initial activities. Eventually, MPI said, 75% of the budget will go directly to the communities, with much of the funding transferred to Indigenous organisations. “Investing in Indigenous peoples to maintain their own ways of existing is investing in the survival of humanity itself,” the ministry said in a statement.

Community members say fish species have disappeared from their river following the installation of nearby wind farms. Credit: Samuel Tremembé

“Investing in Indigenous peoples to maintain their own ways of existing is investing in the survival of humanity itself,” the ministry said in a statement.

In Tremembé da Barra do Mundaú, where plans are underway, the community feels ready. The funding will build on years of work, from training young environmental agents to documenting food traditions.

“This is one of the largest resources the territory has ever received,” Castro said. “For us, it’s a huge opportunity to consolidate and strengthen our mission of caring for the land.”

Note: The Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly will be held from May 30 to June 6, 2026, in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.
This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses the cancellation of RightsCon 2026 with Barbora Bukovská, Senior Director for Law and Policy at ARTICLE 19, a human rights organisation that works on freedom of expression and information around the world.

Barbora Bukovská

Why does the cancellation of RightsCon matter?

This cancellation is significant on three levels. First, it means the loss of community. The human rights movement depends on relationships built across borders and over time. RightsCon was one of the few global spaces where civil society organisations, funders, governments, journalists, researchers and technology professionals could meet without political interference. Losing it means losing opportunities to build solidarity and strengthen the networks the movement runs on.

Second, it was a symbolic blow. RightsCon represented the idea that at least one global space existed where civil society could convene freely, protected from political pressure. That illusion is now shattered. The space proved vulnerable. It is yet more evidence of shrinking civic space globally, and the message it sends is chilling: no space is truly protected from state interference any more.

Third, it caused financial damage. Following funding cuts from the USA in early 2025 and reduced funding from other major donor governments, civil society is struggling to secure resources. Organisations had invested precious funding to attend RightsCon, covering travel, organising side events and preparing advocacy materials. These are resources vulnerable civil society organisations cannot afford to waste.

What does this episode reveal about transnational repression?

The cancellation lays bare how emboldened China feels to globalise its political red lines and exercise transnational repression. For years, it has applied pressure on governments to sideline Taiwanese participation in multilateral forums. Taiwan’s leading role in digital rights and technology has long irritated China. What’s new is other governments’ willingness to yield.

China’s tactics have grown more sophisticated. Rather than open confrontation, it leverages threats of diplomatic fallout or lost investment. The pressure now extends into spaces once thought beyond its reach, such as cultural institutions, rights conferences and universities. China has shown it can coerce governments across sectors and at multiple levels.

The wider context matters too. The USA, once a leading global supporter of internet freedom, has retreated from diplomatic and financial backing for digital rights. China’s influence on the African continent has expanded in the absence of rights-based alternatives. When democratic states withdraw support for civil society, authoritarian influence fills the void.

How do China’s leverage and Zambia’s democratic decline combine?

China’s leverage across Africa has grown substantially in recent years. Chinese funding has built major infrastructure in Zambia, including Mulungushi International Conference Centre, the venue where RightsCon was due to take place. Only days before the cancellation, China signed a new agreement to fund further development projects. Zambia carries roughly US$5 billion in debt to China, and that dependency comes with strings attached.

Domestically, the picture is similarly bleak. Despite President Hakainde Hichilema being elected in 2021 on a promise of democratic renewal, civic space has shrunk steadily since. In 2025, parliament passed cybersecurity laws now used to curtail freedom of expression online and detain political opponents. Ahead of the August 2026 general election, the government is enacting further laws designed to entrench its power. Political control is winning out over democratic commitments.

Yielding to Chinese pressure while restricting civic space at home calls Zambia’s commitment to the rule of law and human rights into serious doubt. The debt creates a channel through which China can extract political cooperation. Together, these dynamics create a dangerous precedent for other global south nations facing similar pressure.

What does this mean globally?

The danger extends well beyond Zambia. If a government can cancel a major international civil society gathering without serious diplomatic or institutional consequences, it sends the wrong signals. States must show that interference carries costs. Democratic states, multilateral organisations and regional institutions must impose costs through sustained pressure and exclusion from future convenings.

International human rights mechanisms, including the United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights to Freedom of Peaceful Assembly and of Association, have already condemned Zambia’s decision. But statements alone are not enough. Zambia shouldn’t be considered a reliable host for rights-based global dialogue in future.

If governments can yield to authoritarian pressure at the expense of civil society protections without paying a price, the pattern will spread.

What steps should be taken to protect global civil society forums?

Civil society can adapt but cannot insulate its gatherings from state pressure on its own. Real responsibility lies with states that claim to support human rights. They must send a diplomatic and political signal that interference in global forums is costly and prevent other governments from following Zambia’s example. They must reaffirm their commitment to multi-stakeholder forums and invest in civil society’s ability to convene and participate.

That includes member states of international coalitions such as the Freedom Online Coalition and the Media Freedom Coalition. They must act against restrictions on civic space and freedom of expression, using these platforms to impose costs on governments that interfere with civil society. The behaviour Zambia has just normalised must be made costly.

The UN, other intergovernmental organisations and states must work to guarantee the safety and openness of global gatherings. As democratic states withdraw support and authoritarian states expand their reach, the spaces where global civil society can gather, build relationships and advance human rights will continue to shrink. What’s at stake is the infrastructure of global civil society coordination and solidarity.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Credit: Bibbi Abruzzini/Forus - Rabat, Morocco

By Silla Ristimäki, Miguel Santibañez, Emeline Siale Ilolahia and Aoi Horiuchi
HELSINKI, Finland / SANTIAGO, Chile / SUVA, Fiji / TOKYO, Japan, May 20 2026 (IPS)

Just four years of the Agenda 2030 for Sustainable Development remain. What comes after 2030 is already a political battleground.

The next global development framework is being shaped now: through quiet agenda-setting, shifting alliances, financing choices, contested norms, and decisions about who gets to participate and who is pushed to the margins. That matters because the world that will shape what comes next is not the world that adopted the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) in 2015.

The context is harsher, more fractured and less generous. Geopolitical fragmentation is deepening. Armed conflicts are distorting priorities. Climate impacts are accelerating. Development finance is under growing strain. Civic space is shrinking. Public trust in multilateralism is weaker. And too often, the rights, equality and accountability commitments that gave the SDGs their normative force are treated as negotiable.

“We step into the next decade against the background of climate chaos, growing inequality and increasing poverty. The scaffolding for positive change shall be to infuse democratic values in the blood stream of all our governments from the Right to the Left,” says Dr. Moses Isooba, executive director of the Uganda National NGO Forum and Vice-Chair of Forus.

The post-2030 debate must confront the political and structural weaknesses that limited implementation the first time around.

As a civil society network, we have been here from the very beginning. We have secured the adoption of the SDGs with the Beyond 2015 campaign, pushed for innovation and ambition, challenged power, brought forward the voices of communities, and held systems accountable. That role evolves and as we now look “beyond 2030”, we remain present, engaged, and determined to influence what comes next.

One message comes through clearly: the next agenda will only be credible if we are clear about three things — what must be defended, what must be demanded, and what must be declined.

What must be defended

Some foundations of the current framework remain essential and must not be traded away for the sake of political convenience.

The first is universality. One of the most important achievements of the SDGs was to establish that sustainable development is not only a concern for lower income countries, but a universal responsibility. Policies, consumption patterns and economic models that drive inequality, exclusion and ecological harm must be addressed in all regions. High-income countries must not only finance development but also reform their own adverse policies. If the next framework weakens the recognition that sustainable development must integrate social justice, equality, environmental sustainability, peace and human rights, it will not move us forward. It will mark a retreat.

The second is civic space. Civil society participation is one of the conditions that makes accountability, inclusion and implementation possible yet it is increasingly constrained by financial pressures, exclusion from global decision-making processes and erosion of fundamental rights. A future agenda which prioritises resources and protection for civil society supports the building of stable, sustainable societies.

The third is local leadership. Communities and local civil society actors remain closest to the realities that global frameworks claim to address, yet they are still structurally under-resourced and under-represented. Localisation beyond the “buzzword” can bring essential resources for problem diagnosis and planning, increasing effectiveness and legitimacy for sustainable development and peacebuilding.

And finally, what must be defended is multilateralism itself, not as an abstract ideal, but as the shared political space where common commitments can still be built.

“Safeguarding the structures created to advance peace, cooperation and rights sustains global hope and possibilities to address common global challenges. This is in the interests of us all, future generations and the planet.” Silla Ristimäki, Adviser at Fingo. “This is why ambitious reform of the UN cannot be separated from the post-Agenda 2030 discussion.”

What must be demanded

Defending core principles is not enough. Negotiations about the future must also correct what the Agenda 2030 left unresolved.

At the centre of this is financing. A credible post-2030 framework cannot rest on the same unequal financial architecture that has constrained implementation for years. Debt burdens, unequal fiscal space, volatile aid flows and weak commitments have all narrowed the room for governments and communities to act. Financing reforms must include debt restructuring and relief, fairer lending terms, increased concessional finance, stronger domestic resource mobilisation, tax justice, policy coherence and predictable support for civil society.

“Many countries are spending more on debt than education or health. We need to reform the current unjust international financial architecture,” says Aoi Horiuchi, Senior Advocacy Officer at JANIC, the civil society network for international cooperation in Japan.

Accountability must also be stronger. Voluntary reporting and soft review mechanisms have not been enough. A future agenda must be backed by mandatory, transparent and regular review, with independent oversight and a formal role for civil society and local actors in tracking progress and exposing implementation gaps.

And participation must mean more than consultation after decisions are already taking shape. Civil society needs a formalised, meaningful and safe role in both negotiating and implementing the future framework, especially for local actors and groups continuing to face structural or political exclusion.

“Meaningful change comes from meaningful participation. That’s why we need to defend civic space,” says Horiuchi.

What must be declined

Some directions already visible in early discussions must be rejected outright.

A thinner agenda that lowers ambition in the name of consensus must be declined. So must any attempt to weaken universality, rights, gender equality, civic freedoms or climate ambition for political expediency.

The continuation of a financial status quo that deepens inequality while speaking the language of partnership must also be declined. So must accountability arrangements that remain symbolic, selective or performative.

And tokenistic participation must be named for what it is. A process that brings civil society into the room for appearance’s sake while excluding it from agenda-setting, decision-making and follow-through is managed exclusion.

Finally, as development governance evolves, the expanding role of private and philanthropic actors must not come without public-interest safeguards, democratic oversight and accountability. Public goals cannot be left to unaccountable power.

We must get out of silos, create spaces of dialogue, of co-responsibility and raise the question of whether the post-2030 framework will be more honest about power, more serious about accountability, more capable of confronting structural inequality, and more open to those whose lives and rights are most at stake.

Our answer is here:
Defend what must not be lost.
Demand what must be corrected.
Decline what would weaken the future.

IPS UN Bureau

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Credit: Emmanuel Herman/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Hannah Wheatley, Joanna Makhlouf and Taís Siqueira
BAGAMOYO, Tanzania / BEIRUT, Lebanon / WASHINGTON D.C., May 18 2026 (IPS)

In an era when civil society funding is in decline, it’s time to rebel against a broken system.

Today, too much is being asked from the people already doing the most. In a time of multiple and connected global crises – of climate, conflict, democracy, disinformation, global governance, human rights and inclusion – and in a context of intensifying civic space restrictions and collapsing funding, funders and the intermediary organisations that distribute resources somehow expect frontline organisations to transform systemic injustices that have built up over centuries. At the same time, these groups are expected to keep meeting inflexible targets, writing flawless reports and keeping their teams emotionally and physically afloat.

As governments, international organisations, investors, philanthropists, civil society and business leaders meet at the Global Partnerships Conference on the future of international development, it’s time to do things differently.

Let’s stop asking local leaders to transform their communities before they’ve had space to heal. Let’s stop training grassroots organisations to become international clones. Let’s stop intermediaries replicating burnout culture.

No single organisation can undo the long legacy of colonialism or the systemic problems of global capitalism. And they shouldn’t have to. The role of the civil society ecosystem must be to build and protect space, redistribute power and resources and, most of all, stop transferring institutional pressure downwards. If we truly trust local civil society, we must also trust its limits. That means intermediaries must stand their ground with funders, set realistic expectations and champion the right to do less when circumstances demand it.

At CIVICUS’s Local Leadership Labs – an initiative to tackle the barriers that get in the way of local leadership of development – partners often report feeling compelled to deliver ambitious workplans that involve them reaching every district, leading multiple initiatives and facilitating extensive community engagements, even as civic space is closing around them. Driven by passion and the need to prove their worth in a competitive ecosystem, many have overextended without realising the toll on their wellbeing and sustainability.

Burnout is not just about long hours. It stems from impossible expectations in unsafe, high-pressure contexts. Civil society is striving to stretch every grant dollar, prove its worth at every reporting cycle and ensure the survival of communities. In restrictive civic space conditions, these pressures are compounded by harassment, intimidation, surveillance and violence.

The result is a constant feeling of not doing enough, even when the demands are structurally impossible. Over time, this erodes morale, health and leadership sustainability.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, funders proved that another way was possible. They provided unrestricted funding and offered flexibility and simplified reporting. Trust was extended. Partnerships were strengthened. But that willingness to experiment has not lasted.

What must change

It must be recognised that in these conditions, scaling back is not failure. It is how movements endure.

We have seen that investing in healing and reflection is not a luxury. It is what sustains movements. At Local Leadership Labs, partners working with survivors of state violence realised they could not move forward without first addressing exhaustion and trauma. Their care-centred approach showed that the process itself can be the outcome. Taking time for healing and thoughtful collaboration produces more sustainable, transformational results.

This is what the civil society ecosystem should support: not chasing impossible targets, but creating conditions for dignity, reflection and resilience.

Addressing burnout requires more than acknowledgement. It calls for rethinking about how support is structured and how expectations are set. Funders and intermediaries can help break the cycle by:

1. Budgeting time and priority for healing
Leaders are often asked to deliver systemic change while carrying unaddressed trauma. Without space for healing, burnout is inevitable. Intermediaries can normalise pacing, integrate healing into workplans and advocate with funders for timelines that reflect reality.

2. Showing funders the way
Funders need guidance on becoming more adaptable to intensifying civic space conditions and contexts of high volatility. Intermediaries can convene learning spaces where funders reflect on how flexibility and responsiveness protect communities and sustain movements. They can also challenge extractive, funder-driven processes and advocate for spaces where local civil society can lead and influence on its own terms.

3. Bridging, connecting and humanising
Behind funders, intermediaries and frontline civil society are people, all under institutional pressure. Intermediaries can help in both directions, by shielding local partners from unrealistic demands while working with funders to develop an understanding of what’s achievable. By cultivating empathy, they can replace transactional directives with reciprocal accountability, unlocking collaborations that go beyond the extractive.

In many contexts, civil society is holding the line in the face of authoritarianism, even worse attacks on human rights and still stronger repression. The enemies of democracy and human rights thrive when those defending freedoms and demanding social justice burn out. When forced to compete for scarce resources, organisations try to over-deliver to prove their worth, further deepening stress and accelerating exhaustion.

In this context, supporting the wellbeing of local civil society is not optional. It is central to protecting the energy that drives activism. Funders and intermediaries must pause, reflect and reset expectations. If we create space for healing, rest and resilience, movements will survive the current storm, and emerge equipped to resist, transform and win.

Taís Siqueira is Local Leadership Labs Coordinator at CIVICUS: World Alliance for Citizen Participation. Hannah Wheatley is CIVICUS’s former Data Analyst and Joanna Makhlouf is a former member of the Local Leadership Labs implementation team.

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CIVICUS discusses the rising trend of social media bans for children with Marie-Ève Nadeau, Head of International Affairs of the 5Rights Foundation, an organisation that promotes children’s rights in the digital environment.

Marie-Ève Nadeau

Are social media bans an effective way of protecting children?

Today, one in three internet users is a child, and digital technologies increasingly mediate all aspects of their lives, from the classroom to the playground, from their first friendships to how they see themselves. As evidence of harms and risks mounts, lawmakers around the world are racing to impose age limits on children’s access to social media. The instinct to act is right, but the current direction risks missing the point.

The real issue is the conditions children face when online. Children are growing up in a digital environment designed without their distinct rights, needs and vulnerabilities in mind. This is a deliberate choice. Tech companies’ business models prioritise commercial gain over children’s safety and wellbeing, deliberately embedding persuasive design, relentless engagement loops and extractive data practices by default. Fixing this requires more than blocking children’s access.

Age restrictions are not new, yet their effectiveness remains inconclusive. Banning children from specific services while leaving the underlying system untouched lets tech companies off the hook for recommender systems that push harmful content, persuasive design that keeps children compulsively engaged and data practices that exploit their attention for profit. Used in isolation, bans create an illusion of protection while the same harmful design practices continue unchallenged. Children are pushed towards other unregulated environments, such as AI chatbots, gaming platforms and educational technology services, where they face equivalent risks with even less scrutiny.

What do these bans mean for children’s rights to expression and information?

Children’s rights are interdependent and indivisible, and the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child General Comment No. 25 makes clear that all children’s rights apply fully in the digital environment. This includes the right to protection from harm, but also to the rights of access to information, expression and participation. In practice, tech companies have made these rights conditional on the commercial surveillance, exploitation and manipulation of children, eroding their privacy, safety, critical thinking and agency.

Age-based bans that restrict access without addressing underlying design practices create a false choice between freedom and safety. Children need both protection from harm and meaningful access to expression, information and participation. Restricting access without reforming the systems that embed risk fails to uphold the full range of children’s rights.

Who is most harmed by these bans, and what gaps do they create?

Children’s rights apply until the age of 18, yet proposed restrictions often only cover children under 16 and a narrow set of high-risk services. This creates gaps. Children above the age threshold, and those who circumvent poorly implemented restrictions, end up in unregulated spaces outside the scope of bans.

Bans can also entrench inequality. Children are not a homogeneous group, and those facing intersecting vulnerabilities linked to disability, gender, political opinion, race, religion or ethnic, national or social origin may heavily rely on digital spaces for expression, identity safety and support.

At the same time, engagement-based platform design often rewards and amplifies divisive and harmful content, for example on gender-based violence, heightening risks for excluded communities. Blanket bans do not create safer spaces, nor eliminate these harms. Instead, they displace them to less visible, less regulated and even less accountable spaces. Effective protection must ensure children can exercise their rights and have safe spaces of support and community.

How does age verification work, and what does it mean for children’s privacy?

Tech companies routinely invest heavily in targeting advertising and personalising content yet fail to apply the same rigour to protecting children. Age assurance, an umbrella term for both age estimation and age verification solutions, allows companies to recognise the presence of children and act accordingly. It must be lawful, rights-respecting and proportionate to risk. Data collection should be limited to what’s strictly necessary to establish age, and used only for that purpose.

Global privacy regulators found that 24 per cent of services lack any age assurance mechanism and 90 per cent of those relying on self-declaration are easily bypassed. Yet robust solutions exist. Australia’s age assurance technology trial demonstrates that privacy-preserving age verification can confirm age without exposing identity. Technical standards, such as the 2089.1-2024 Standard for Online Age Verification published by the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, show that independently audited frameworks, like those used in product safety or pharmaceuticals, are both feasible and necessary to ensure age assurance systems are secure, proportionate and compliant.

For low-risk services appropriate for all users, there should be no requirement to establish age. Where services or functionalities present risk to children, companies should address or mitigate specific high-risk features rather than gatekeeping entire services.

What should governments demand from platforms to protect children?

Age restrictions have become part of a global playbook, notably in data protection regimes like the US Children’s Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA), which sets 13 as the threshold for consent to data collection. Poor implementation and enforcement of COPPA and similar laws have allowed tech companies to hide behind obscure disclaimers while failing to meaningfully restrict access and profiting from embedding risk into children’s digital experiences.

There’s another way forward. The priority should be holding tech companies accountable, not banning children from the digital world. That means banning exploitative practices, regulating risky features such as addictive design, manipulative recommender systems and extractive data practices, and requiring privacy, safety and age-appropriate design as the baseline.

It also means shifting to systemic risk management: companies should be legally required to anticipate, assess and mitigate how their products expose children to risk. This baseline already exists in other high-risk sectors such as aviation, food safety and medicine, where products must demonstrate safety before reaching the market.

A growing global consensus points to a clear path forward: embedding age-appropriate design, requiring child rights impact assessments, mandating privacy and safety by design and default, establishing effective enforcement mechanisms and ensuring independent auditing. Over 55 leading organisations and experts from all continents have endorsed the 10 best-practice principles developed by the 5Rights Foundation.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Child social media bans: a growing global problem CIVICUS Lens 05.May.2026
Technology: Innovation without accountability CIVICUS | State Of Civil Society Report 2026
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Jabiru Muhammed stands beside a tree planted as part of the Great Green Wall project in his village in Jigawa State. Credit: Promise Eze/IPS

By Promise Eze
GARABADU VILLAGE, Nigeria, May 12 2026 (IPS)

In 2021, Gadeja Shehu and about a hundred farmers in Garbadu village, Zamfara State in northwestern Nigeria, were invited by officials of the National Agency for the Great Green Wall to plant trees across a large stretch of land in their community.

Shehu remembers how fierce, dust-laden winds from the Sahara Desert often tore off the roof of his home and damaged his farmland. For him, taking part in the tree-planting exercise was a way to confront this challenge, especially after seeing the impact of similar interventions in other northern states such as Kaduna, Bauchi, and Jigawa, where desertification has degraded once fertile land.

The Sahara is advancing relentlessly across the Sahel, expanding by nearly 10 per cent since the 1920s. In Nigeria, around 35,000 hectares of land are lost each year as the desert continues to encroach southwards.

Trees planted in Garbadu village, Zamfura State. Credit: Promise Eze/IPS

Desertification is causing land degradation in the Sahel. Credit: Promise Eze/IPS

In Garbadu, a community of roughly 6,000 people who rely on farming, many had abandoned their fields, resulting in falling incomes and growing food shortages. However, the tree-planting initiative is beginning to reverse this trend. It is part of the Great Green Wall Initiative, an ambitious plan to create an 8,000-kilometre-long and 15-kilometre-wide belt of vegetation across Africa.

Launched by the African Union in 2007, the initiative spans 11 countries in the Sahel, including Mauritania, Senegal, Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger, Nigeria, Chad, Sudan, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Djibouti. It aims to restore 100 million hectares of degraded land, generate 10 million jobs, and capture 250 million tonnes of carbon dioxide by 2030.

Nigeria’s section stretches roughly 1,500 kilometres, focusing on a 15-kilometre-wide belt of drought-resistant trees across vulnerable northern states.

Initially conceived as a plant barrier, the initiative has since expanded its goals. It now focuses on restoring degraded lands, halting desert expansion, improving soil and water conservation, supporting agriculture and livestock, creating green jobs, and helping communities adapt to climate change.

“The project has been really impactful here. Previously strong winds would rip off our roofs, but now it is no longer frequent. Before the plantation, the soil of the areas where the trees are now barely held water, but now it does have moisture and I’m happy the area is slowly turning green again,” said Shehu, who added that he continues to care for the trees.

Senegalese villagers working in a tree nursery forming part of the Great Green Wall. Photo: FAO/Benedicte Kurzen/NOOR

Family of Funds

The Great Green Wall has attracted significant funding over the years. The Global Environment Facility (GEF), a key partner, has provided more than $1 billion in grants. These funds have helped leverage an additional $6 billion from governments, development partners, and multilateral institutions. The investments have strengthened landscapes, improved livelihoods, reduced poverty, and enhanced food and water security.

Jonky Tenou, Africa Regional Coordinator at the GEF, said the GEF has supported the Great Green Wall Initiative through strategic, programmatic investments over successive replenishment cycles, leveraging its family of funds to build momentum and coherence.

These efforts include the GEF 4 Strategic Investment Program for Sustainable Land Management in Sub-Saharan Africa (SIP), the GEF 5 Sahel and West Africa Program (SAWAP), the GEF 6 Integrated Approach Pilot on Food Security (IAP Food Security), the GEF 7 Food, Land-Use and Restoration Impact Program (FOLUR), and, under GEF 8, the Transformational Approach to Large-Scale Investment in Support of the Implementation of the Great Green Wall Initiative (TALSISI GGWI).

Tela Jubrin, a farmer, planted trees for the Great Green Wall in Jigawa State, Nigeria. Credit: Promise Eze/IPS

Shafi’u Ladan, one of the farmers who participated in the tree planting project in Garbadu, Zamfara state. Credit: Promise Eze/IPS

Sustainable Impact

The TALSISI GGWI, Tenou explained, is designed as a truly programmatic, multi-country platform that builds on lessons learned over the past decade.

“Compared to earlier approaches, TALSISI places stronger emphasis on regional coordination, deeper integration across GEF focal areas, and a clear focus on scalability, learning, and adaptive management. Crucially, the programme also gives greater attention to the institutional, financial, and security constraints that have previously limited effectiveness, helping to create the conditions needed for sustained and transformative impact at scale,” he said.

Observers have noted that the Great Green Wall Initiative has often been criticised for being highly ambitious but slow in delivery — a concern acknowledged by the GEF and its partners. They stress, however, that the programme is not designed as a quick fix, but rather as a long-term intervention aimed at delivering sustained impact over time.

“Progress on the Great Green Wall is assessed through a transformational, system-level lens rather than through isolated output metrics. In Nigeria and across the Sahel, GEF investments have contributed to advancing land degradation neutrality objectives by strengthening sustainable land management practices, restoring ecosystem functionality, and improving livelihoods in highly vulnerable areas,” said Tenou.

Emmanuel Diagbouga, a natural resources planning and management expert based in Burkina Faso, said the effectiveness of the Great Green Wall Initiative depends on a clear and operational multi-level governance framework that connects regional coordination, national planning, and community-level implementation.

Community Ownership Drives Tree Protection

Murtala Bado, the village head of Garbadu, said one sign of the Great Green Wall Initiative’s progress is the behavioural change among community members in a region where deforestation is a serious problem.

He told IPS that people are now aware of the benefits of trees and no longer cut them in the Great Green Wall Initiative project sites. Defaulters who are caught are reported to village leaders and security agencies for disciplinary measures.

“The project has even provided employment opportunities for people here. Farmers who are part of it receive allowances from the government. This project cannot work if there are no people to take care of it. And for people to actually show up and take interest means that it is going to be sustainable in the long term,” he said.

Rising Above the Challenges

The Great Green Wall Initiative has achieved only 30 per cent of its planned execution in participating countries. In Nigeria, progress is higher, at about 50 per cent, but insecurity has slowed the project and remains one of its greatest challenges.

Insurgency in northern states such as Zamfara, Katsina, and Borno, where the project is implemented, has been a major obstacle. For decades, insurgents have imposed taxes, killed villagers, and kidnapped for ransom, targeting anything linked to the state, including environmental projects.

“Insecurity has emerged as one of the most critical risks to the long-term sustainability of the Great Green Wall, particularly in countries such as Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger. Direct operational constraints include armed conflict and the presence of non-state armed groups, which restrict access to restoration sites, force the suspension of field activities, and expose environmental staff and local partners to security threats. Several restored areas have been abandoned due to population displacement and the lack of institutional presence,” said Diagbouga, and the impact is that the budget is diverted toward defence spending.

Tenou said that despite the challenges, the GEF and its partners have responded by adopting flexible and adaptive implementation approaches, including working through local institutions, adjusting geographic focus when necessary, and integrating conflict-sensitive design.

“These approaches help sustain progress while safeguarding communities and ensure that investments remain aligned with GEF’s broader objectives on durability, inclusion, and risk-informed programming,” he said.

Addressing the Funding Gap

Another major challenge facing the initiative is financing. In 2021, $19 billion was pledged at the One Planet Summit to support the Great Green Wall. However, the United Nations Convention to Combat Desertification estimates that at least $33 billion is needed to meet its targets, leaving a significant funding gap. Experts say that even where funds exist, their impact has yet to be fully felt.

“The Great Green Wall project has been observed to be hindered by a massive gap between pledged and disbursed funds, with only a fraction of promised international funding, often less than 10% in some areas, reaching local implementers. It has also been observed that severe bureaucratic delays, lack of local capacity to manage funds, and high regional insecurity are some of the reasons stalling progress,” said Yusuf Maina-Bukar, a former Director-General/Chief Executive Officer of the National Agency for the Great Green Wall, which has been implementing the initiative in Nigeria since 2015.

The GEF acknowledged that coordination across diverse national contexts remains a central challenge of the Great Green Wall initiative but noted that this is addressed through regional frameworks, shared results architectures, and close collaboration with regional institutions such as the Pan-African Agency of the Great Green Wall, while maintaining flexibility to accommodate country-specific priorities.

Maina-Bukar told IPS that collaborating effectively to ensure that funding for the initiative translates into lasting impact requires shifting from a top-down, tree-planting approach to a community-driven, integrated landscape management model. This, he said, should be supported by harmonised, multi-level funding, such as that promoted by the UNCCD, which allows partners to measure, report, and verify implementation using a common framework.

He added that other measures include empowering local ownership, establishing transparent monitoring systems, fostering public-private partnerships, and using tools such as the Regreening Africa App to track and evaluate restoration efforts on the ground.

Despite the challenges, Diagbouga believes that “the Great Green Wall has the potential to become one of the most impactful climate resilience and land restoration initiatives globally.”

Great Green Wall: Achievements

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Burkina Faso

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Ethiopia

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Nigeria

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Niger

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Senegal

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Mali

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Chad

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Sudan

Credit: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Mauritania

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Eritrea

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Djibouti

Graphic: Wilson Mgobhozi/IPS

Note: The Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly will be held from May 30 to June 6, 2026, in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.

This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

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CIVICUS discusses Gen Z-led protests in the Philippines with Charles Zander, a 17-year-old climate justice activist from Bohol and youth campaigner for Greenpeace Philippines.

Charles Zander

What brought you to activism?

I grew up in Bohol, an island province in the Philippines where the climate crisis knocks on our doors every week. When I was younger, politics felt distant, but that changed in 2021, when Typhoon Odette hit our province. My home was severely damaged, but others suffered a lot more. I knew people who lost everything. Coastal communities were flattened and some villages were so cut off that it took weeks for supplies to reach them. In my case, it took two years before we had electricity again, and a year before we had water or I could access education.

My two childhood best friends died in the aftermath, and losing them changed me. At first, I didn’t think I was doing activism. It started with relief work: distributing food, organising community support, listening to people who had lost everything. I realised people needed to be heard. But the more you listen, the more questions appear. Why were some communities still waiting for aid?

Eventually, I realised if you grow up in a place where disasters are routine, silence feels like complicity. I joined local groups working on climate justice, community education and disaster response. And I saw protest as the moment when patience runs out.

What are young Filipinos demanding?

For many young Filipinos, the climate crisis is not a policy issue; it is the story of our lives. Climate injustice is therefore at the core of our struggle, but it connects to many other struggles. We live in a country hit by stronger typhoons every year, yet coal plants still get approved. We have coastal communities losing their homes to storm surges, yet development decisions rarely involve them. We have severe flooding everywhere in the country, and our government is pocketing climate adaptation funds.

When disaster hits, wealthy neighbourhoods rebuild quickly and sometimes are not damaged at all, while remote island communities wait for assistance for months, if not years. Disasters expose inequality, so climate protests are about fairness, about whose lives are considered worth protecting.

How were recent protests organised, and what role did social media play?

There are many active organisations, youth groups and community leaders, and when a major event such as a typhoon or a scandal creates urgency, conversations spread through networks and messaging groups. At some point someone proposes a date, which we often tie to a symbolic moment, such as the day of a national hero. The most recent one, in February, was on the 40th anniversary of the 1986 People Power Revolution. This has practical implications: on holidays, people don’t have school or work, so they can participate without worrying about their livelihoods. And because they’re home, people are paying more attention to social media, which increases our reach.

In this sense, nobody owns the protests. Movements grow because many people decide the moment has come. But organising involves logistics, including permits, safety planning, communication, outreach and coordination among groups with different priorities and strategies. That process can be messy, but it also reflects the democratic nature of grassroots movements. Eventually we all come together and get onto the streets.

Social media platforms, particularly Facebook and Instagram, allow young people to organise quickly across islands, cities and movements. Calls for protests can reach people within hours. Organisers can document events, share live updates and counter disinformation.

We use memes a lot. Older generations might respond to more technical explanations, but Gen Z and Gen Alpha are more reachable through humour and jokes. We also link issues to people’s actual lives so they feel compelled to act. But there needs to be more work on making sure people really know what they are fighting for when they join, not joining because it looks cool on social media.

Ultimately, technology is just a tool. A hashtag cannot replace a community. The underlying work is slower and happens when no one is watching. Protests are the visible tip of the iceberg, but below the surface there are community workshops, policy research meetings with local leaders, training of young volunteers and network-building across the country. A protest is just one day, but organising is the thousands of conversations that make that day possible. Without that groundwork, protests would fade quickly.

What risks have you faced?

For me personally, one of the most tangible dangers has been surveillance, online and offline. After participating in a major climate and social justice march, I noticed my online activity and messages being monitored more closely. It’s a subtle kind of pressure, but it makes you think twice about who you trust, how you communicate, what you post.

There’s also intimidation. At one protest, for instance, local authorities questioned volunteers about their involvement, contacts and affiliations. This is meant to create fear.

This has emotional and practical impacts. It can be exhausting and sometimes isolating. But it also shapes how you organise. You become strategic, deliberate, more protective of your peers. The fact that there are risks shows that those in power recognise the potential of youth movements to challenge the status quo. It is a reminder that our struggle matters.

What have the protests achieved, and where have they fallen short of ambition?

Change rarely arrives all at once. Sometimes protests produce policy progress, stronger commitments and greater attention to issues. Sometimes the impact is cultural. A protest can shift what people believe is possible, what people believe is right.

In the Philippines, the most visible achievement concerned the corruption around flood control projects. Although change is slow, we have seen some politicians arrested. A sitting senator is in hiding right now because of an arrest warrant. If we hadn’t spoken up, we would have lost so much more money from climate adaptation projects while our communities continued to suffer.

But movements also face setbacks. Governments delay action, hiding behind procedural issues, and public attention moves on quickly. This is discouraging. What failure teaches, though, is that we should communicate more effectively, build stronger alliances and sustain momentum beyond a single protest. A movement is not defined by the moment it wins, but by whether it continues after losing.

Is it right to call these Gen Z protests?

I have mixed feelings about it. I understand why the label appears. Many of the visible faces in recent movements are young people. The label captures something real: many young people feel the future they are inheriting was shaped by decisions made long before they had any political voice. The climate crisis is the clearest example. Policies that created the crisis were implemented decades ago, yet the consequences will unfold across the lifetimes of today’s young people. That creates a sense of urgency, and calling these protests Gen Z protests signals that a new generation is politically active and unwilling to remain passive.

But movements are rarely that simple. In almost every movement, people from many generations stand together, students marching alongside workers, community elders joining demonstrations, parents bringing their children, veteran organisers who have been fighting for decades showing up alongside people attending their first protest.

When protests are framed only as Gen Z movements, something important gets lost. It can unintentionally erase the contributions of older generations who built the foundation for these struggles. Every movement stands on ground that someone else cleared. Civil rights campaigns, climate movements and labour struggles didn’t start with Gen Z. These are long historical arcs that young people are entering and pushing forward.

The most powerful movements are intergenerational. Older organisers bring experience, historical memory and institutional knowledge. Younger generations bring new energy, new tools and new ways of communicating. One generation can ignite a movement, but lasting change requires many generations moving together.

It is also wrong to call us leaderless. We are not leaderless; we are leaderful. We just refuse to adopt some of the hierarchical ways of organising of previous generations, because sometimes leading collectively works much better than having someone dictate everything.

What keeps you going?

People, particularly young people, keep going because the problems are immediate and impossible to ignore. Protesting means refusing to accept the future we are being handed and making our voices matter.

Hope is not a passive feeling. It’s found in action, not in waiting. I see hope in the movement, because when young people, elders, students and communities stand together, there’s a shared strength, and the possibility of a world that values dignity, justice and sustainability becomes real. We keep moving because we are not alone. I also find hope in history, because it shows that while change is messy, people have always managed to push the boundaries of what is possible.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Gen Z protests: new resistance rises CIVICUS | State of Civil Society Report 2026
Bulgaria: ‘We protested against a whole system of corrupt governance and state capture’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Aleksandar Tanev 21.Apr.2026
Philippines: ‘We refuse to stay silent while those in power treat public office like private property’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Raoul Manuel 25.Nov.2025

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Credit: Attila Kisbenedek/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, May 8 2026 (IPS)

When Péter Magyar took the stage in Budapest on the night of 12 April, he told the crowd they had ‘liberated Hungary’. The hyperbole seemed justified. His party, Tisza, had won a parliamentary supermajority on the highest turnout since Hungary’s first free election in 1990, ending 16 years of increasingly autocratic rule.

An autocracy built in plain sight

Ousted Prime Minister Viktor Orbán boasted of turning Hungary into a model of what he called ‘illiberal democracy’. When he returned to power in 2010, he set about dismantling every institution capable of constraining him. His party, Fidesz, rewrote the constitution, restructured the Constitutional Court and gerrymandered electoral districts so thoroughly that in 2014 and 2018, it won two-thirds of parliamentary seats on under half of the vote.

Public broadcasting became a party mouthpiece, and Orbán-connected oligarchs took over private media. Fidesz captured universities and arts bodies. The government used Pegasus spyware against opponents, demonised migrants and LGBTQI+ people as threats to the nation and passed a law criminalising attendance at Budapest Pride. Civil society organisations faced escalating restrictions on their funding, and the government created a Sovereignty Protection Office to investigate and harass them further. The Varieties of Democracy (V-Dem) index eventually downgraded Hungary to ‘electoral autocracy’ status — the first European Union (EU) member state to receive that designation.

The EU’s blind spot

The EU’s response was inadequate. In 2018, the European Parliament triggered Article 7(1) of the Treaty on European Union, the first step in a procedure that could, in theory, suspend a state’s voting rights. In practice, Article 7 was never fully applied, because doing so requires unanimous agreement among all other member states, and there are always states unwilling to go that far. The Rule of Law Conditionality Regulation, in force since 2022, allowed the EU to freeze up to US$32 billion in funds for Hungary, but this mechanism too was compromised by political calculation. In December 2023, the Commission released around US$12 billion in cohesion funds seemingly in exchange for Hungary lifting its veto on Ukraine aid, effectively trading rule-of-law conditionality for foreign policy compliance.

Ultimately, the EU did not solve its Orbán problem; Hungarian voters did. This suggests structural reforms are still needed to prevent another autocrat from playing the same blocking game Hungary did.

After Orbán

Previous opposition coalitions in Hungary failed partly because Orbán’s machine had a reliable weapon against them: the accusation that they served Brussels, Hungary-born funder George Soros and a cosmopolitan elite detached from Hungarian values. Magyar, a former Fidesz insider who broke with the party in February 2024 following a scandal over a presidential pardon granted to a man convicted of covering up child sexual abuse, was immune to that weapon. His campaign was deliberately post-ideological, focused on corruption, crumbling public services and economic stagnation, while Orbán ran a fear-based campaign centred on the EU and the war in Ukraine. Voters chose economic reality over a manufactured threat. In the end, the electoral architecture Orbán had built to reward the first-placed party converted Tisza’s win into a supermajority of 141 of 199 parliamentary seats.

But Magyar’s victory will not necessarily bring a progressive transformation. He is a conservative politician leading a centre-right party whose platform made no explicit commitment on LGBTQI+ rights. During the campaign, he criticised the Budapest Pride ban as a distraction rather than a rights violation, committing only to protecting freedom of assembly more broadly. His victory speech promised a Hungary where ‘no one is stigmatised for loving someone differently from the majority’, but this was a shift in tone rather than a policy commitment. LGBTQI+ rights are unlikely to regress further under Magyar, but recovery will depend on sustained pressure from civil society.

Orbán may be out of government, but Fidesz appointees remain embedded throughout the state apparatus. Magyar has pledged to invite the European Public Prosecutor’s Office to examine alleged misuses of EU funds, dismantle the Sovereignty Protection Office and drop proposed legislation that would have further extended powers to restrict civil society. Delivering on those pledges and unravelling 16 years of institutional capture will require sustained political will.

Hungarian civil society faces its first genuine opening in 16 years. To make the most of it, it will need to push hard and consistently for the restoration of civic space, the rule of law and LGBTQI+ rights, and not mistake a change of government for a change of direction.

For the EU, Magyar’s victory opens a window to change a decision-making structure that allows a single member state to hold the bloc’s foreign policy hostage. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen’s call for qualified majority voting for foreign policy decisions may now gain traction. But the broader question of how the EU enforces its democratic standards against a member state determined to flout them remains open. The EU should resolve it before the next challenge arises.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Attendees at the NPT Review Conference side event titled 'Preventing Nuclear Use and Escalation: Lessons from Nuclear Close Calls. ' Credit: Naureen Hossain/IPS

By Naureen Hossain
UNITED NATIONS, May 8 2026 (IPS)

The consequences of nuclear warfare would transcend borders and the impact would be felt across generations. Yet knowing this, member states, including nuclear-armed states, are increasingly flouting the nuclear taboo, while also relying heavily on deterrence to prevent fallout.

Throughout the Cold War period, there were stories of nuclear “close calls”—moments where the world could have been plunged into nuclear warfare were it not for human intervention or sheer luck. The Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962 and the Petrov incident of 1983 may be more well-known examples from history, but others may also reveal what lessons should be taken from these ‘close calls.’

At the sidelines of the 2026 NPT Review Conference, academics, government and civil society convened to discuss just that. On May 1, at an event convened by Soka Gakkai International (SGI) and the James Martin Center for Nonproliferation Studies (CNS), people came together to deliberate over past and present efforts to prevent nuclear escalation. The panelists argued that these stories demonstrate how nuclear deterrence may not be an effective security strategy towards disarmament or even nonproliferation.

Chie Sunada, Director of Disarmament and Human Rights, SGI Peace Center, speaks in a panel on nuclear escalation risks. Credit: Naureen Hossain/IPS

“The history of close calls—Cuba, Petrov, Black Brant—and many other less well-known events does not tell us that deterrence works. It tells us that deterrence has, on a number of documented occasions, almost failed,” said George-Wilhelm Gallhofer, Director for Disarmament, Arms Control and Non-Proliferation in Austria’s Federal Ministry for European and International Affairs. “Luck is not a security strategy. And yet, the global security order, 60 years on, still rests on it.”

Gallhoffer went on to suggest that the nuclear taboo needs to be reinforced once more by promoting honest dialogue between nuclear powers and non-nuclear states, where the non-nuclear states remind all parties of the stakes at play. Doctrines like the NPT and the Treaty for the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons (TPNW) should be regarded as security treaties, not only moral or ethical frameworks.

Elayne Whyte, a professor at Johns Hopkins and former UN Ambassador of Costa Rica, also echoed this sentiment, adding that the issue of nuclear danger is just as rooted at the societal level as it is through legal frameworks. The shared understanding of nuclear danger is not only produced through weapons systems or treaties but also through decision-makers and the values of society.

“It is [the] 21st century; we also have to acknowledge that the erosion of the nuclear taboo cannot be separated from the wider nationalist trends that rank human lives unequally and make it easier to imagine that mass destruction inflicted on others is […] tolerated,” said Whyte.

Emerging technologies such as artificial intelligence threaten to further complicate nuclear escalation, wherein nuclear states, in an effort to stay ahead of the curve, adopt these technologies for their perceived potential to reduce the human margin of error. The automation of decision-making in nuclear weapons use is not entirely new, as was seen in 1979 and 1980, when the North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) received several false alarms through errors in their missile warning system.

Yanliang Pan, a research associate at CNS, remarked that these cases proved that automated systems would still be susceptible to automation bias and compressed decision-making time, thus increasing the likelihood of accidents. Although humans should still have ‘meaningful’ control over decisions of nuclear use, Pan noted that these close calls occurred while humans were in control. “We should be talking about the effect of automation on the reliability of human control, rather than simply human control as an antidote to automation,” said Pan.

At present, academic research can uncover recurring patterns in how nuclear close calls were handled and what that can tell decision-makers about risk reduction in this space. According to Sarah Bidgood, a postdoctoral fellow at the UC Institute on Global Conflict and Cooperation, recent studies have looked into how there might not be a singular framework for crisis management that could apply across nuclear close calls. When it comes to crisis management and risk reduction, the dynamics of previous nuclear close calls do not exist in a monolith, but there are variations in the outcomes instead. The lessons that leaders take from such situations may not lead to a shift away from nuclear weapons. Instead, these events may reinforce what leaders already think about the risks and benefits of nuclear weapons. If a leader regards nuclear weapons for a perceived strategic value, then after a close call, they may be just as likely to embrace new capabilities that would allow them to threaten the use of weapons across multiple levels of conflict. Bidgood raised the question of what this scenario would mean for the future of risk reduction in the present geopolitical environment.

“We need to be quite skeptical of this conventional wisdom that we often hear in our community… which is that to get arms control and risk reduction back on track, maybe we need another event like the Cuban Missile Crisis. Because if my theory is right, what this tells us is that the next crisis could just as easily lead us farther down a very, very different path. And that’s something that I don’t think we as scholars or practitioners have really accounted for,” said Bidgood.

Such near-misses may often be thanks to individual human judgement calls rather than the positions of nuclear states. Chie Sunada, Director of Disarmament and Human Rights at the SGI Peace Center, recalled the example of an incident during the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, where a near-miss also brewed in the Pacific, which would have targeted an uninvolved third party. During this time, U.S. military bases hosted nuclear missiles in Japan that were powerful enough to level cities. The base in Okinawa received what seemed like authenticated launch orders. However, the most senior field officer on site, Captain William Bassett, found discrepancies with the launch orders and the missiles’ readiness level, including that the missiles at this base were primarily targeted at China. So he ordered subordinates to stand down.

Sunada warned that the sense of urgency that informed decisions on nuclear de-escalation was missing from the current discourse and that the reality of nuclear fallout and the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki would be “fading into abstract history.” She urged that nuclear disarmament education would be a “vital mechanism” for maintaining “strategic restraint” by recognizing that a key element for its success is empathy for the pain of others, which is itself a form of deterrence.

“We cannot continue to outsource our survival to luck,” said Sunada. “We urge all state parties to recognize that risk reduction requires more than just adjusting military doctrines. It requires a fundamental shift in how we understand these weapons, driven by education. By cutting the chain of hatred and nurturing the heart that cherishes and is respectful to others, we achieve the ultimate disarmament and pure, proper peace education.”

Note: This article is brought to you by IPS Noram in collaboration with INPS Japan and Soka Gakkai International in consultative status with ECOSOC.

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CIVICUS discusses the status of political prisoners in Venezuela with Manuel Virgüez, director of Movimiento Vinotinto, a Venezuelan human rights organisation that works for citizen empowerment, democracy and justice.

Manuel Virgüez

What’s the status of political prisoners?

Following the 2024 presidential election, the state detained around 2,000 people as part of what it called Operation Tun Tun. In early 2026, around 1,000 remained in detention, although various organisations put the total at between 950 and 1,200, depending on the classification criteria they use. Since 8 January, when Jorge Rodríguez, President of the National Assembly, announced imminent releases, and following the approval of an amnesty law, that number has fallen to around 450.

Among those released were human rights defender Rocío San Miguel, activist Javier Tarazona and journalist Eduardo Torres. The vast majority of those released were members of civil society or political activists. On 16 April, it was unofficially reported that around 50 former employees of Petróleos de Venezuela, detained in 2025, had been released. If this is confirmed, the current number of political prisoners remaining would be around 380.

The group that remains in detention consists mainly of dissident military personnel and former public officials. The authorities are reluctant to release them because they pose a direct threat to the regime’s stability. They are the ones who have suffered the worst treatment: various organisations, including Movimiento Vinotinto, have documented enforced disappearances, inhuman treatment, torture and persecution of family members. In some cases, people remained missing for weeks or months, with no knowledge of their whereabouts or whether they were still alive. These are some of the most serious violations recorded in recent decades in Venezuela.

How did these arrests differ from previous ones?

Two things distinguished them from previous waves of repression. The first was the abusive use of the concept of ‘eradication’, provided for in the Organic Code of Criminal Procedure, to transfer all cases to courts in Caracas. People detained in states such as Bolívar, hundreds of kilometres from the capital, were required to appear there. This was an unprecedented violation of the procedural principles of Venezuelan law. Not even in the 1960s, in the face of guerrilla movements, was there such a concentration of cases in a single court.

The second thing was the criminalisation of everyday acts. The state used anonymous reports via mobile apps to identify and arrest people, and a simple WhatsApp status update could be treated as an act of terrorism. The presumption of innocence ceased to exist in practice and the burden of proof was reversed: it was the detainee who had to prove they were not guilty.

What does the amnesty law entail and what does it exclude?

The law provides for the closure of cases linked to political events from different periods in Venezuelan history. This is no minor matter. After years of mass detentions and restrictions on freedom, the state implicitly acknowledges that those people should not have been imprisoned. The credit goes, above all, to the detainees’ families, human rights organisations and the international community.

But the law falls short. It does not provide for any mechanism of redress for those who were unjustly detained. Nor does it provide for the restitution of property. Many political prisoners had their businesses, homes and vehicles confiscated and won’t recover them on release. The law also offers no clear guarantees for those in exile. On 16 April, former legislator Alexis Paparone returned to Venezuela and was detained for several hours before being brought before a court, demonstrating that returning remains risky.

The law effectively excludes dissident military personnel and makes no provision for the thousands of politically motivated dismissals that have taken place, in violation of International Labour Organization Convention 111, nor for political disqualifications. As long as leaders such as María Corina Machado are unable to exercise their political rights, there can be no talk of a genuine transition.

What conditions are required for a genuine democratic transition?

There can be no reconciliation without justice. What Venezuela has experienced is one of the darkest periods in South America’s recent history. Bringing victims and perpetrators together without a prior process of accountability is not reconciliation; it is impunity. Where there’s no justice, there’s vengeance, and that generates endless cycles of violence. Societies that have not dealt with their crimes have carried that wound for generations.

For there to be justice, profound institutional reform is needed: in the armed forces, the electoral system, the judiciary and the public prosecutor’s office. Cosmetic changes are not enough. It will be a long-term process, but the first steps must be taken to call general elections and move towards real economic recovery.

What’s possible, and necessary, is a pact of coexistence: an agreement to respect the constitution and live without mutual persecution. But such a pact requires the Chavista regime to acknowledge its mistakes and its crimes. Without that, any transition will remain incomplete.

Even so, I am optimistic. Venezuelan civil society, despite all it has lost, remains standing. There are signs that something is changing, and we must seize this opportunity. I’m confident that we will be able to lay the foundations for a democracy that says ‘never again’ to authoritarianism.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Venezuela: ‘People once again believe they can influence what happens in their country’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Pedro González Caro 29.Mar.2026
Venezuela: democracy no closer CIVICUS Lens 29.Jan.2026
Venezuela: ‘We are seeing an economic transition, but no democratic transition’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Guillermo Miguelena 29.Jan.2026

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Hadi Ali Chatha (left) and Imaan Hazir Mazari (right) in the front seat, taking Asad Toor (at the back on the left) home after his release from Rawalpindi’s Adiala Jail, on March 17, 2024. Credit: Asad Toor

By Zofeen Ebrahim
KARACHI, Pakistan, May 5 2026 (IPS)

“We’ve abandoned this couple completely; we have not done even 1% of what they did for us all these years!” said journalist Asad Ali Toor.

Arrested on January 23, 2026, two lawyers, also husband and wife – Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chatha – were sentenced the next day to 17 years under the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act (PECA), 2016 (amended in 2025) – a law Mazari had described as even more ‘draconian’ than its original version. Fines of Rs36 million (USD129,261) each were also imposed on the two under Sections 9 (glorification of an offence), 10 (cyber terrorism), and 26-A (false and fake information) under the same law.

“They have not violated PECA, and in my opinion the prosecution failed to prove any of the ingredients of any offence under the law,” said human rights activist and lawyer Jibran Nasir. He added that “the military elite and the new chief justice in the Islamabad High Court have taken a personal dislike to Imaan and Hadi.  He noted that “The laws may be inherently flawed, even draconian, but more dangerous is their malicious application by the state.”

The amendments on PECA were pushed through parliament within a week, without debate, and signed into law by President Asif Ali Zardari. The move triggered nationwide protests by journalists and rights groups, who warned that the law lacked safeguards. The government, however, defended it as necessary to regulate social media, arguing that similar frameworks exist globally.

Charges, Judgment and Allegations

The judgment stated that Mazari was accused of “disseminating and propagating narratives that align with hostile terrorist groups and proscribed organisations”, while Chatha was charged with reposting her content. The police report also alleged her social media content portrayed the armed forces as ineffective against groups such as the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) and Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan.

Protestors gather outside the Islamabad Press Club to mark 100 days of the two lawyers’ continued detention. Credit: Rana Shahbaz

For Toor, who runs the YouTube channel Asad Toor Uncensored, the case is deeply personal. In 2024, he spent 20 days in Federal Investigation Agency custody and 12 in solitary confinement at Rawalpindi’s Adiala Jail, the same prison where the couple is now held.

Arrested on February 26, 2024, on “digital terrorism” charges linked to his coverage, among other things, of a Supreme Court ruling stripping the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf of its election symbol, he was granted bail on March 17, 2024.

He credits Mazari and Chatha with securing his release. “They argued that journalists should not face criminal charges for “honest criticism” of court judgments, citing then Chief Justice of Pakistan Qazi Faez Isa and Attor­ney General for Pakistan Mansoor Usman Awan.”

But journalists like Toor are not alone in feeling what he describes as “a certain vacuum.”

Rana Shahbaz’s milk stall was demolished by the city administration. Credit: Rana Shahbaz

‘It Feels Like I’ve Lost My Right Arm’

The two lawyers had built a reputation for taking on cases few lawyers would touch.

“Imaan and Hadi have always taken up cases most lawyers shy away from due to their controversial or dangerous nature — including blasphemy accusations, enforced disappearances, and press freedom cases — often representing the most marginalised people, without charging anything,” said rights activist Usama Khilji, director of Bolo Bhi, an advocacy forum for digital rights.

“It feels like I’ve lost my right arm,” said a woman, who requested anonymity, as she struggles to secure the release of her brother and more than 400 others accused of blasphemy, languishing in jail across Pakistan.

“In the past three years, I have met countless lawyers and even judges, but no one fought like Imaan. She missed nothing – every detail mattered; she was relentless,” said the woman, talking to IPS.

Leading the campaign, she said most of the accused came from poor backgrounds. “She didn’t even charge for the photocopying of documents submitted to the court – she paid out of her own pocket.”

An Amnesty International poster protesting the 100 days since Hadi Ali Chatha and Imaan Hazir Mazari were jailed. Credit: Amnesty International

The sense of loss extends well beyond individual cases.

Rahat Mehmood, mother of missing poet and writer Mudassir Naru, who disappeared in 2018 described the couple’s arrest as devastating.

“It’s like my support system has collapsed,” she said over the phone from Faisalabad. “Not just for me—these two were a ray of hope, an anchor for hundreds of mothers, especially Baloch mothers.”

Mazari’s work, she said, was not limited to legal representation.

Her grandson, Sachal, was just six months old when his father was taken and later lost his mother in 2021. Court hearings, Mehmood recalled, became rare moments of relief. “They played hide-and-seek, raced around, and she would bring him toys and candy. Tell me—who does that?”

Although her son’s case has not been heard in over a year, Mehmood said that, with Mazari by their side, they had always had hope. “But now,” she added, “it’s all darkness.”

At the wedding of Imaan Mazari and Hadi Ali Chatha, Sachal (son of Mudassir Naru) sits between the two, on the far right; in black, Rahat Mehmood, Naru’s mother, sits. Credit: Rahat Mehmood

Mazari’s advocacy extended beyond the courtroom. She appeared in two of the three press conferences held by families of the blasphemy accused, which drew “huge crowds and media attention”. Today, more than 120 people are out on bail. “It’s because of the efforts of these two,” said the sister of the accused.

Their absence is being felt acutely among many others with the least protection.

A week after the lawyers’ arrest, Rana Shahbaz, a street vendor, went to visit Mazari in jail but was turned away. “I was told by jail authorities no one was allowed to meet her.” He had brought dry fruits, juices and clothes, which authorities refused to accept.

Shahbaz, president of the Anjuman Rehri Baan, Islamabad (association of street vendors), which represents over 20,000 street vendors, said Mazari had been instrumental in securing relief for them. Despite holding licences from the Metropolitan Corporation Islamabad, they routinely face raids and eviction by city administrations.

“Last year because of Madam Imaan, the Islamabad High Court stopped authorities from removing our stalls. She presented video evidence showing stalls being dismantled despite having permits,” Shahbaz said.

Since their arrest, he added, the pressure has returned.

“The day they were arrested, an official told us, ‘Call your lawyers now — I’ll see who stops me.’ She was right — only Madam Imaan had the courage to stand up for us,” said Shahbaz, whose stall has been destroyed thrice in the past two years.

“It costs Rs150,000 (USD 538) to set up these makeshift stalls – financed through a bank loan with a monthly instalment of Rs7,000 ($25). Each time authorities dismantle them, repairs cost up to Rs40,000 (US$144), making it impossible to keep up with repayments and pushing me toward default,” he said. Last week, despite having a valid licence, his lassi (yoghurt drink) and fresh milk stall were demolished.

The pretext for crackdowns can be anything—from late-night vending to fines for not displaying price lists or even refusing to offer “freebies” to the police. “Madam Imaan knew well that vendors are exempt from the curfew time for regular shops or that we can only display the price list once it comes from the city authorities and it doesn’t until midday,” he pointed out.

Like many others, Shahbaz said, the two lawyers worked for vendors for free. “We didn’t even know what the basic legal processes cost,” he said.

Muted Response

Despite the breadth of their work, support beyond affected communities has been limited.

“I hold both the journalist and legal fraternities responsible for doing virtually nothing,” said Toor. “Individual voices may struggle, but unions and bar councils have the power to pressure the government.”

Toor’s assessment is shared by lawyer Nasir. He acknowledged that the legal fraternity, with “many lawyers, like judges, appear to be motivated by self-preservation as opposed to the preservation of the constitutional and fundamental freedoms” and which has “blunted its effectiveness” and left it “equally vulnerable” in the long run.

Yet, even as this institutional weakness is laid bare, others frame the duo’s actions less as miscalculation and more as conscious defiance. Media development expert Adnan Rehmat argued that while some may see them as having paid a heavy price for their stance, the two have a long history of public-interest resistance. “They consciously chose to risk themselves to highlight state abuses, and their courage should be lauded—and we must continue raising our voices in their favour.”

As a result, sporadic protests have failed to shift the situation. With public pressure waning, the battle has moved to the courts.

An Uncertain Path

But even there, justice has remained elusive.

The Islamabad High Court refused interim relief. “Everyone knows the 17-year sentence is the product of a sham trial. No superior court in any modern judicial system would uphold it,” said senior advocate Faisal Siddiqi, the lawyer representing them.

Undeterred, the defence has moved the Supreme Court of Pakistan after the IHC failed to fix an early hearing for nearly two months – a delay which Siddiqui called “unheard of” and a ploy to “deny Imaan and Hadi their deserved liberty”.

The bail petition has since been accepted by the Supreme Court, offering a glimmer of hope. “It is our only and last hope,” said Siddiqi.

One hundred days on, that hope remains uncertain.

What is clearer, however, is the void left behind – felt in courtrooms, in protest spaces, and in the lives of those who had come to rely on the two lawyers willing to take risks few others would.

For many, it is not just their absence that is being measured in days but also the growing silence it has left behind.

“I cannot fathom why people like Imaan and Hadi are being punished—and for what,” said Mehmood. “They deserve to be saluted, not jailed!”

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Excerpt:

Credit: UN Photo/Manuel Elías

By Samuel King
BRUSSELS, Belgium, May 4 2026 (IPS)

In January, the government of Algeria succeeded in locking two civil society groups out of access to the United Nations (UN). It raised questions at the UN Committee on Non-Governmental Organizations, known as the NGO Committee, about two civil society groups with accreditation. It alleged that Italian organisation Il Cenacolo was making politically motivated statements at the UN Human Rights Council and the Geneva-based International Committee for the Respect and Implementation of the African Charter on Human and Peoples’ Rights (CIRAC) was selling UN grounds passes. Four days later, it called a vote to revoke their status. Other states urged delay, but the no-action motion failed, and 11 of the body’s 19 members voted to recommend that the UN’s Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) revoke Il Cenacolo’s accreditation and suspend CIRAC’s for a year.

As the primary gatekeeper for civil society participation at the UN, the NGO Committee controls ECOSOC consultative status, which allows organisations to attend UN meetings, submit written statements, make oral interventions, organise side events and access UN premises. Its mandate, set out in ECOSOC Resolution 1996/31, is straightforward: to facilitate civil society access to the UN system.

Such access is particularly valuable for organisations working in repressive contexts, where domestic advocacy is suppressed. It can mean the difference between a community’s concerns being silenced or becoming a matter of international record. In practice, however, the Committee has so consistently worked to obstruct rather than enable access that it is widely known as the ‘anti-NGO Committee’.

On 8 April, in an almost entirely uncompetitive vote, ECOSOC members elected 19 states to serve on the NGO Committee for four-year terms. Only 20 candidates ran for the 19 seats. UN states are organised into five regional blocs, and four of them presented closed slates, putting forward only as many candidates as the number of seats available.

As a result, the Asia-Pacific group selected China, India, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE), states with consistent track records of silencing civil society. Latin America and the Caribbean is represented by the likes of Cuba and Nicaragua, which suppress dissent and routinely detain critics. Four of the five African states elected have repressed or closed civic space. Two states elected from the Western European and Other States group, Israel and Turkey, have also recently intensified their repression of civic space.

The one exception was the Eastern European group, where Estonia and Ukraine won seats in a three-way contest, keeping out authoritarian Belarus, which received only 23 votes against Estonia’s 44 and Ukraine’s 38. As in 2022, when Russia lost a similar race, the result showed that competitive elections open up scrutiny and produce better outcomes. The problem is they rarely happen.

Overall, 13 of 19 newly elected states are rated as having closed or repressed civic space by the CIVICUS Monitor, our research initiative that tracks the conditions for civil society around the world. Only one, Estonia, has open civic space. Fourteen of the 20 candidates had been named as carrying out reprisals against people engaging with the UN.

In the run-up to the election, the International Service for Human Rights published scorecards assessing all 20 candidates against eight criteria; 12 of the 20 met none. Over 80 civil society organisations called on ECOSOC member states to hold competitive elections and vote for candidates committed to civil society access. Forty independent UN human rights experts, including special rapporteurs on human rights defenders and on countries including Afghanistan, Iran and Russia, issued a statement warning that Committee members were abusing the accreditation process to block access for human rights organisations. All these warnings went unheeded.

The withdrawal of accreditation from Il Cenacolo and CIRAC, which awaits ECOSOC confirmation, was unprecedented, but it sits within a long pattern of obstruction. At the Committee’s latest regular session in January, 618 applications were under consideration, 381 of which had been deferred from previous sessions.

The backlog is no accident. States ask repetitive questions about minor details and make short-notice requests for complex documentation to repeatedly delay applications until future sessions. States that repress civil society at home do the same in the international arena, targeting organisations that work on issues they deem controversial or opposed to their interests. Three states – China, India and Pakistan– stand out as the worst abusers of this mechanism, having asked almost half of the 647 questions posed to applicants during the January session. Repeated deferrals raise the costs for civil society organisations, draining financial resources and time.

The UN’s current financial crisis is compounding the problem. The consequences of funding cuts were visible at the latest session, when the question-and-answer session was cancelled following an early adjournment. The loss of the only opportunity for organisations seeking accreditation to engage directly with the Committee fell hardest on smaller organisations that had travelled to New York to take part.

The UN’s current cost-cutting drive could at least be used as an opportunity to push for online participation and other efficiency reforms to reduce the bureaucratic burden of repeated requests for information. Beyond this, there’s a need to reassert that the Committee’s function is supposed to be that of an enabler rather than an obstructor.

The NGO Committee determines whether the voices of communities facing repression and violence can be heard in the UN system, and it’s been hijacked by states with every interest in ensuring that they cannot. The floor can’t be left clear for states that repress civil society to act as gatekeepers. States that claim to support civil society must be willing to put themselves forward.

Samuel King is a researcher with the Horizon Europe-funded research project ENSURED: Shaping Cooperation for a World in Transition at CIVICUS: World Alliance for Citizen Participation.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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In the low tide, an i-Taukei fisherwoman gathers cockles along the Nasese sea wall in Fiji, a tradition weathered by time and tide. The assessment Climate Change Implications for Fisheries and Aquaculture in the Pacific Island Region looks at women’s contributions across fisheries and aquaculture systems, from harvesting to trade. Credit: Josh Kuilamu/SPC

By Sera Sefeti
SUVA, Fiji, May 4 2026 (IPS)

For generations, Pacific people have understood the ocean not as a resource but as identity, sustenance, and survival. Today, that relationship is being tested in ways science is only just beginning to fully capture.

For the first time in the region’s history, every Pacific Island country now has a clear, data-driven picture of what climate change will mean for its waters and its own Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ).

This shift marks more than just a scientific milestone. It is a turning point in how the Pacific can understand, manage, and defend its ocean in a rapidly changing climate.

From Regional Averages to National realities

The updated assessment, “Climate Change Implications for Fisheries and Aquaculture in the Pacific Island Region”, builds on a 14-year-old vulnerability study. But unlike its predecessor, this version moves beyond broad regional trends.

It goes deeper into country-specific realities.

In a region where ocean territories dwarf landmass, this matters. The Pacific controls around 27 million square kilometres of ocean, yet only about 2 percent of that is land. Fisheries are not just an industry – they are the backbone of economies, cultures, and food systems.

“This is quite amazing,” says SPC Climate Change Project Development Specialist Marie Lecomte, referring to the ability to assess climate impacts at the EEZ level. “The ocean is so big, and land masses are so tiny… it has always been very difficult to downscale ocean models to something meaningful for countries.”

Now, that gap is beginning to close.

Rising ocean temperatures and changing chemistry are reshaping marine ecosystems, impacting people’s livelihoods and national economies. Credit: Douglas Picacha/IPS

Why This Science Matters Now

For Pacific leaders, the climate crisis is not abstract. It is negotiated in global forums, defended in policy rooms, and lived daily in coastal communities.

Yet one persistent challenge has been the lack of evidence.

This report begins to change that.

It provides:

• Updated scientific data on ocean conditions
• Country-level projections of fisheries decline
• A clearer understanding of how climate change cascades from ocean systems into economies and livelihoods

In doing so, it transforms science into something actionable:

• A diagnostic tool showing what lies ahead
• A planning guide for adaptation
• A negotiation tool for global advocacy

For a region often described as the moral voice of climate negotiations, this evidence adds weight to that voice.

The Pacific controls around 27 million square kilometres of ocean, yet only about 2 percent of that is land. Now each country in the region will have a data-driven picture of the effects of climate change in its waters. Credit: Francisco Blaha/SPC

What the Science Reveals

The findings are sobering.

Rising ocean temperatures and changing chemistry are already reshaping marine ecosystems. The report maps, with unprecedented clarity, a chain reaction: warming waters alter fish biology, leading to fish stocks’ decline, which will ultimately result in the impact on people’s livelihoods and national economies.

At the centre of this crisis are coastal ecosystems, i.e. coral reefs, mangroves, and seagrass beds, the ecological foundations of Pacific fisheries.

These systems are under intense pressure from both climate change and human activity.

“For mangroves, they are also constrained by infrastructure development,” Lecomte explains. “If you build a new hotel, then you get rid of the mangrove.”

For scientists, the assessment Climate Change Implications for Fisheries and Aquaculture in the Pacific Island Region offers the most comprehensive dataset for policymakers and communities. Credit: John Nihahuasi/SPC

Across the Pacific, the risks are not evenly distributed.

Low-lying island nations, already facing sea-level rise and extreme weather, are doubly exposed. Their dependence on fisheries for food and income leaves little buffer against decline.

The consequences are stark:

• Reduced food security
• Declining incomes
• Increased vulnerability of coastal communities

Yet even in this “doom and gloom” narrative, the report resists fatalism. Instead, it offers a framework for adaptation and resilience.

However, in the Pacific, the situation is not starting from zero.

For centuries, communities have managed fisheries through customary practices like tabu areas, seasonal closures, and community governance.

The report reinforces these approaches while introducing new strategies:

• Climate-smart aquaculture
• Diversifying target species
• Improving value chains (earning more from less catch)
• Protecting and restoring coastal/blue ecosystems

It also highlights a critical but often overlooked dimension, which is women’s contributions across fisheries and aquaculture systems, from harvesting to trade work that remain under-recognised despite their central role.

Science, Power, and the Politics of Survival

Perhaps the most powerful implication of the report lies beyond science — in politics.

Despite being one of the most climate-impacted sectors, fisheries are largely absent from global climate negotiations.

This is where the findings become more than a report. It becomes leverage.

With pre-COP discussions and COP31 on the horizon, Pacific countries now have something they have long needed.

“If Pacific delegations can come to pre-COP saying we have the latest science… and we all agree on how we want to act with the regional climate change strategy for coastal fisheries being pre-endorsed,” Lecomte says, “it’s a unique chance to showcase fisheries as part of the ocean–climate nexus.”

Beyond the Data: A Call to Act

This report does not just document change but also demands a response.

It bridges worlds:

• Between science and storytelling
• Between policy and lived experience
• Between global negotiations and village shorelines

For scientists, it offers the most comprehensive dataset yet when it comes to the Pacific and its EEZ; for policymakers, it is a roadmap; for communities, it is a validation of what they already know.

That the ocean is changing and so must we.

But in that change lies something powerful. For the first time, the Pacific is not just speaking from experience. It is speaking with scientific evidence.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses Bulgaria’s Gen Z-led protests with Aleksandar Tanev, founder of Students Against the Mafia, an informal student organisation that took part in mass protests against corruption and state capture.

Aleksandar Tanev

What brought you to activism and these protests?

I am a Russian-Bulgarian citizen, because my father is Bulgarian and my mother is Russian. I lived in Bulgaria until I was about five years old and then moved to Russia, where I lived until a few years ago. From around the age of 12 I became interested in politics and started asking questions. I took part in my first protest in Russia at age 17 and participated in campaigns for independent parliamentary candidates. When Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, my life changed drastically. On the first day I took part in a protest that turned out to be my last. I immediately started receiving threats, and on the same day I received a draft notice from the military registration office. I decided to leave.

Bulgaria was one of the first countries to suspend flights from Russia. But my brother, who was doing an internship at the Bulgarian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, told me a humanitarian flight was being organised to evacuate Bulgarian citizens. I managed to sign up and flew to Sofia. I started a new life in Bulgaria, remembering the language and meeting new people.

When I arrived, I found so many people had been exposed to Russian propaganda. I had to explain over and over what the real situation in Russia was. For two and a half years I worked at the Bulgarian Red Cross helping Ukrainian refugees. I enrolled at Sofia University and gradually reintegrated into my home country.

When the protests broke out, I was in Germany and saw the photos and videos of young people taking to the streets. I thought the time had finally come to do something. What triggered the protests was a government budget that included tax increases but no institutional reforms. People may struggle to understand complex political issues, but when the government takes money from them, they understand. Very quickly, the protest went beyond the trigger issue and turned into a protest not just against the government, but against a whole system of corrupt governance and state capture.

At that moment, I realised students were the driving force, and started an informal group called Students Against the Mafia. We told major media about it and began preparing our first action. We attached a three-by-four metre banner reading ‘Students Against the Mafia’ to the balcony of Sofia University’s rector’s office while an international conference was being held inside. We held a student march and joined the big protest.

What’s the current level of trust in institutions?

Bulgarians, including young people, are very disappointed by the actions of those in power. Bulgaria is a parliamentary democracy and people had a lot of expectations when it joined the European Union (EU) but have since become increasingly disappointed. Trust in state institutions is overall very low, and so is trust in civil society organisations and other parts of society. This is dangerous, because it may mean a loss of trust in democracy.

People don’t really understand the difference between government and civil society. They think NGOs are organisations created by the government to control society or financed by foreign states to lobby for their own interests. There is very little critical thinking. People don’t fact-check information and instead absorb propaganda and dangerous narratives.

My personal goal is to try to bring back trust in civil society, showing that civil society groups are instruments of people power. That’s why we show our faces, our goals and our actions.

Who took part in the protests?

Very different parts of Bulgarian society protested, and with very different ideas. There were pro-European people, Eurosceptics and people who had never been interested in politics before. What united them was that they were tired of the injustice of a system in which you can’t change anything for the better because power is captured by a small elite.

Politics is a revolving door: Boyko Borissov, the prime minister at the time, was prime minister three times, and his party was in power for over a decade. Delyan Peevski, leader of the Movement for Rights and Freedoms, was sanctioned under the US Magnitsky Act for corruption in a controversial scandal, representing a merger between political power, media influence, institutional dependence and impunity. The same group of politicians captured the government, parliament and the most important institution, the courts. This meant that change wasn’t going to come from institutions.

While protesters had many different complaints and demands, they all shared the hope for normal governance and the feeling that this couldn’t go on.

How were protests organised, and what role did social media play?

The first big protest was half organised, half spontaneous: the call came from a political party, but it echoed well beyond party supporters, so the turnout was much bigger than anybody expected. It was a broad national protest.

The organiser was the pro-European, anti-corruption coalition We Continue the Change – Democratic Bulgaria. After the party made the announcement, people started sharing it on social media and in personal conversations, and soon there was this protest energy in the air. Everyone was talking about it.

In between protests, people waited for the signal from this political party to come back out. We didn’t think to organise our own protests. Instead, we prepared actions and performances to stage at the next protests the party organised. And each time, more and more people came, because those who had previously protested shared the call within their own small networks.

Social media helped us enormously, because traditional media in Bulgaria is captured too. Corrupt politicians have a strong influence over traditional television channels but they don’t control social media. So Facebook, Instagram and other platforms filled the space of independent media. On social media, we can share and talk freely. To Gen Z protesters, the protests became an extension of this space: they came to the protests to speak their minds.

One problem was that during the protests, the internet was very slow. We thought the authorities caused this deliberately, but it’s also possible mobile operators simply couldn’t handle so many people in one place. Either way, social media was key to the success of the protests.

Do you agree with the label that these were Gen Z protests?

I do. In fact, to one of the protests we brought a five-metre banner that read ‘Gen Z is coming’. It was shown by the Daily Mail, Reuters and other international media.

While I think the label is correct, we shouldn’t interpret it literally. Many different age groups took part in the protests. What made them Gen Z protests was the participation of so many young people who gave them a face of hope. But it was only because all Bulgarian society joined in that we succeeded in bringing down the government.

What risks did protesters face?

Honestly, compared to Russia, the risk wasn’t very high. But that doesn’t mean everything was okay. For instance, some students faced pressure from their universities not to go to protests. Students who helped me spread the word about Students Against the Mafia at their university got warnings from the administration not to do it again. That’s not acceptable. Students have the right to express their opinions freely, including through protest.

Provocateurs showed up towards the end of each protest. They covered their faces and brought some kind of explosives, and police started beating protesters. Because of this, most regular people left after a couple of hours. We think these provocateurs may have been sent by the parties in power to discredit protests.

Some people were unnecessarily scared. I protested very actively and nothing happened to me, though I should be honest that when you become visible, that gives you a degree of protection, and this may not be true of everyone.

What did the protests achieve, and what comes next?

The government fell. That’s a big achievement. And Bulgarian society woke up. A lot of people who previously thought politics was something dirty, something separate from their personal lives, understood they had a responsibility.

But there’s still a long way to go. All this protest energy needs to be transformed into electoral energy. Power is built not only in the streets but also within institutions. If we don’t turn this energy into votes, all the effort will have been useless. Voter turnout in the last election prior to the protests was under 40 per cent. This is not representative democracy; it is a disaster. We cannot expect change to happen when only 40 per cent of voters actually turn out.

Diaspora voting rights are also under threat. The opposition Revival party proposed limiting polling stations outside the EU to just 20 locations, far too few for the large Bulgarian communities in the UK, the USA and elsewhere. The proposal was backed by most governing parties; only Peevski opposed it. Revival’s stated aim was to limit votes from Turkey, which tend to go to Peevski’s party. But the measure would hit all diaspora communities: over 60,000 voter applications were submitted for the 19 April election, over twice the figure from the previous election. Unlike voters in Turkey, who can travel to Bulgaria to vote in person, those in the UK and USA cannot. This was a deliberate attempt to suppress the votes of people who have left and who tend to vote for change.

Following the main protests, we also started organising actions against the chief prosecutor, Borislav Sarafov, the one who ultimately decides whether a corruption case will be investigated. According to Bulgarian law, a temporary chief prosecutor can only hold the post for up to six months. But now they say that this law doesn’t apply to him because he was already in the role when the law was passed. So this temporary prosecutor can now potentially stay in this position for life. We have held four or five protests against him, but so far we have not succeeded.

What keeps me going is the desire to live in a fair society where the state is at the service of the people, and not the other way around. But in a democracy, you have to change things yourself. You can’t wait for someone to do it for you. Living in Russia, I understood that if you don’t fight for justice and truth, there is always a danger that power will take over everything. There’s this phrase I keep coming back to: if you are not interested in politics, politics will start to take an interest in you. That’s my motivation.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Gen Z protests: new resistance rises CIVICUS | State of Civil Society Report 2026
‘People reacted to a system of governance shaped by informal powers and personal interests’ CIVICUS | Interview with Zahari Iankov 18.Dec.2025
Bulgaria: stuck in a loop? CIVICUS Lens 24.Oct.2022

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Children involved in the UActive visit a school in the Mykolaiv region that Russian forces destroyed. It cannot be rebuilt. Credit: UActive

By Ed Holt
BRATISLAVA, Apr 28 2026 (IPS)

“What’s important is to make sure that you can immerse yourself in an environment that is positive for your mental health and wellbeing,” says Olena*.

Olena, from Ukraine’s Kharkiv region, was just 12 when Russia’s full-scale invasion of her country began on February 24, 2022. Over the last four years she has seen all her close friends leave the small town she lives in, most to move abroad, and experienced deadly bombings by Russian forces on her home town.

Meanwhile, much of her schooling in that time has been online because the permanent threat of shelling makes it unsafe for authorities to keep her school open.

She admits all this has taken a toll on her mental health.

“I had the most devastating experience when my town was bombed and some people were killed. The sound of explosions and drones causes constant tension still,” she tells IPS.

“I miss having all my friends here. Before the war, we used to spend so much time together – walking around the city, celebrating each other’s birthdays, and simply sitting somewhere and talking for hours. Now many of them are abroad, building new lives. I’m happy they are safe, but I deeply miss the feeling of unity,” she says.

“And for almost four years we [kids in the town] have been studying online. We see our classmates much less, and simple things like chatting during breaks or working on group projects feel like something from another life. We grew up faster than we expected.”

Olena is just one of millions of children in the country whose lives have been upended by the conflict.

As the full-scale invasion goes into its fifth year, research shows the devastating effect it has had on Ukrainian children, displacing millions, plunging many into poverty, and exposing them to the loss of loved ones and other trauma. Meanwhile, 1.6 million have had their education disrupted due to displacement, facility damage, and insecurity. According to UNICEF, one in three children are unable to attend in-person school full-time and more than 1,700 schools have been damaged or destroyed. The Save the Children group has said that Ukrainian children missed 20 percent of lessons during the last academic year alone because of frequent air raid warnings.

Meanwhile, Save the Children has estimated that over a million children have spent hundreds of days with either no or limited face-to-face teaching as schools have moved to online learning for security reasons since the start of the war. This came not long after schools had finished lengthy periods of online learning implemented during the Covid pandemic, meaning some children have had little in-class learning since 2020.

All this has taken a huge toll on the mental health of children and adolescents, local and international groups working with kids in the country have said.

According to UNICEF, a third of households have reported children displaying signs of psychosocial distress.

“Children’s mental health is increasingly under strain. The constant fear of attacks, displacement, endless sheltering in basements, and isolation at home with limited social connections have left children and adolescents struggling,” Toby Fricker, UNICEF Ukraine Chief of Advocacy and Communication, told IPS.

This has been expressed in a variety of emotional and physical expressions of symptoms, mental health experts have said.

These include irritability and emotional instability, particularly among adolescents, and social withdrawal.

“It can be said with sad certainty that since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russia, which is now in its fifth year, the most common issues observed among adolescents are increased anxiety, fear, and chronic stress related to a constant sense of danger and uncertainty. Many teenagers experience emotional exhaustion, sleep problems, difficulties with concentration and learning, as well as decreased motivation,” Daria Lavrenko, a psychologist in the Kyiv region who works with children aged 12 to 18 who have been displaced from regions near the frontlines, told IPS.

Children participate in UActive programmes which include rebuilding infrastructure damaged in the war. Credit: UActive

“Manifestations of social isolation and difficulties communicating with peers have also become quite common, largely due to prolonged distance learning, frequent air raid sirens, and the loss of a familiar school environment. In addition, adolescents often show deep grief reactions due to the loss of relatives on the frontline or as a result of Russian attacks on civilians. Increased irritability, emotional instability, and difficulties with emotional regulation are also frequently observed, which are natural psychological responses to the prolonged traumatic experience of war,” she said.

But severe somatisation of symptoms, including facial tics, involuntary head movements, and speech disorders, have also been frequently reported. Sleeping disorders are common, especially among young children.

“These are common reactions when the body is suffering the consequences of mental health strain,” Viktoria Kondratyuk, a psychologist who works with the humanitarian group War Child on projects in Ukraine, told IPS. “It affects the immune system, weakens it, and that’s why you see so many [children] getting sick, especially in the winter],” she added.

Since the full-scale invasion, the Ukrainian government has moved to increase provision of mental health support through the approval of key legislation and the implementation of a nationwide mental healthcare programme.

At the same time, NGOs are working with regional administrations and local communities to improve public access to mental health services and psychosocial support, including providing informational and educational activities and integrating psychosocial support into existing social and educational services. It is hoped this will expand access to assistance for vulnerable groups and greater support for children and adolescents.

However, problems with access to such services, and recognition of mental health problems by those affected, mean many children are not getting the help they need, experts say.

“Many teenagers who experience psychological difficulties as a result of the war do not receive the help they need in time. This is partly due to limited access to specialists in certain regions where infrastructure has been damaged or where there is a shortage of mental health professionals. At the same time, attitudes toward mental wellbeing remain an important barrier,” said Lavrenko.

“Some teenagers avoid seeking help because they fear judgement, do not want to appear ‘weak’, or believe that their experiences are not serious enough. In addition, prolonged life under the conditions of war changes how young people perceive their own emotions. Many painful feelings—such as fear, anxiety, and helplessness—may be minimised or suppressed as the psyche attempts to adapt to constant danger and maintain the ability to function. This is a natural psychological defence mechanism; however, it can also lead to children and adolescents remaining without the support they need for long periods of time.

“Furthermore, adults do not always immediately notice or correctly interpret children’s emotional difficulties, as they themselves are often exhausted by the ongoing traumatic reality of war,” she said.

Lavrenko added that a different approach needed to be taken to mental health care given that Ukraine has been at war for so long.

“Under current conditions, improving adolescents’ mental health cannot be limited only to traditional approaches to psychological care. Ukraine is living through a full-scale war for a fifth year, and in this context, support for mental health often comes from things that are considered a normal part of life for teenagers in other countries: the ability to study consistently, communicate with peers, participate in extracurricular activities, think about the future, and make plans for their careers. This is why it is extremely important to create and expand programmes aimed at addressing educational losses and restoring opportunities for adolescents to socialise,” she said.

IPS spoke to a number of teenagers in different parts of Ukraine about mental health and access to services for them and their peers.

While not all have accessed specific mental health services, some said they had and that it had helped them. Some said they felt there was adequate access for them to psychosocial services, but others said it was woefully lacking, especially in schools where they felt it should be either discussed in classes more frequently or even taught formally as a subject.

“Teachers rarely discuss this in schools – it needs to be made part of the curriculum,” Andrej*, 16, from the Kyiv region, told IPS.

However, all of them pointed to the benefits of the kind of programmes referred to by Lavrenko.

The teenagers who spoke to IPS were involved in one such programme, UActive, in which children participate in initiatives helping rebuild towns and cities damaged by fighting.

They all said the project had given them a sense of purpose and hope for the future.

“Being part of UActive became a source of hope. It reminded me that even in dark times we can build something meaningful. Through our meetings and projects, I felt unity, support, and real motivation to act instead of just worrying,” said Olena.

“Some special sessions organised by UActive orientate toward working with different aspects of mental health… encouraged me to seriously analyse my mental health and seek support when I need to,” Nadezhda*, a teenager from Kyiv, told IPS.

Organisations involved in projects for children in the country told IPS that programmes focused on child mental health could have a profound effect on improving child wellbeing.

“For adolescents, civic engagement helps them connect with their peers and find a sense of purpose amid the uncertainty of war. UNICEF’s UPSHIFT programme is one example of this, where we train youth teams and equip them with the skills they need to lead and implement projects that support the needs of their communities. Such activities also provide a sense of purpose at a time when they feel like they have little control over their lives and the situation unfolding around them,” said Fricker.

However, while both the children and organisations which spoke to IPS said access to such programmes and other forms of psychosocial care are key to helping children at the moment, they also believed that ultimately the best way of improving child mental health would be for the war to end.

Even then, though, experts believe that even after an end to the fighting, people will be struggling with mental health problems related to the conflict for many years to come.

“When a child lives for years in an atmosphere of danger, loss, instability, and constant stress, it inevitably affects the development of their psyche, their sense of safety in the world, and their ability to trust in the future. In terms of long-term consequences, some teenagers may continue to experience heightened anxiety, difficulties with emotional regulation, challenges in relationships, or uncertainty about their future for many years even after the war ends,” said Lavrenko.

She added though that there was hope that with proper action now, some of the worst long-term effects among children might be mitigated.

“It is important to remember that the human psyche has significant potential for recovery, especially when adolescents receive support, a stable environment, access to education, and opportunities for socialisation. This is why it is extremely important to invest in programs that support children and adolescents now, helping them gradually regain a sense of safety and build a healthy future,” she said.

*Names of all children have been changed for security reasons.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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A worker operates a geothermal pipeline at the Laudat plant in Dominica, part of a clean energy project supported by the Global Environment Facility. The project illustrates the kind of system-wide transition GEF-9 aims to scale across small island developing states. Credit: Alison Kentish/IPS

By Alison Kentish
SAINT LUCIA, Apr 27 2026 (IPS)

The gap between global environmental ambition and real-world progress is widening, with less than five years left to meet key climate and biodiversity targets.

Against that backdrop, attention is increasingly turning to how international environmental finance can deliver faster, deeper change on the ground.

Earlier this month, nations pledged $3.9 billion to the Global Environment Facility (GEF) for its latest funding cycle, known as GEF-9, running from July 2026 to June 2030.

The new cycle is being positioned as part of the response to lagging global environmental action. The GEF will aim for an important upscaling of conservation efforts across terrestrial and marine environments and, importantly, will also aim to influence and transform how economies produce, consume and develop.

What GEF-9 Is Trying to Change

The Global Environment Facility is the world’s largest multilateral environmental fund, supporting developing countries to meet commitments under multilateral environmental agreements on climate change, biodiversity, land degradation, chemicals and ocean governance.

That comprises six global environmental agreements, including the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change and the Convention on Biological Diversity.

But officials say GEF-9 reflects a shift in thinking, adding that incremental environmental action is no longer enough to keep pace with accelerating ecological decline.

“The global community has set very ambitious goals for 2030 and, regrettably, we are nowhere close to achieving them,” said Fred Boltz, Head of Programming at the GEF. “As a consequence, the shared environmental challenge we now face is to manage a changing Earth system to sustain a healthy planet for healthy people.”

In this context of change and uncertainty, existing approaches have reached their limits.

“Upscaling conventional solutions is not sufficient to address our planetary-scale, existential challenge,” Boltz said.

From Projects to Systems Transformation

At the core of GEF-9 is a deliberate shift toward what the organisation describes as “systems transformation”, consistent with the GEF Integrated Programs (IPs) which are an important complement to funding traditional environmental projects that are necessary but not sufficient to address planetary challenges.  Systems transformation through the GEF IPs aims to change underlying incentives, institutions and pathways that currently drive climate change, ecosystem and biodiversity loss, land degradation, and pollution.

Rather than treating environmental damage as a series of isolated problems, the GEF IPs are built around the idea that economies themselves must be reshaped to operate within ecological limits. That includes the major systems that determine environmental outcomes at scale: food systems and agriculture, urban development, production supply chains, and land, water and ocean use.

The approach reflects what GEF describes in its strategic framework as a response to “accelerating global environmental crises” and the need for a more integrated response that aligns multilateral environmental agreements and development efforts.

“In addition to conserving the most important areas, restoring degraded ecosystems and preserving the adaptive capacity of our Earth, we must urgently focus on transforming human production and consumption practices,” said Boltz, pointing to the scale of change required to meet global environmental targets.

Under GEF-9, this shift is being operationalised through four linked pathways.

The first is expanding and diversifying environmental finance, including through blended finance models that combine public funding with private investment to close persistent financing gaps.

The second is embedding nature more directly into national development planning, ensuring environmental priorities are not treated as stand-alone goals but integrated into economic decision-making, fiscal policy and sector planning.

The third focuses on what the GEF calls “valuing nature in the economy”, including internalising the value of nature in economic designs and decisions, mobilising private capital, and aligning investment flows with environmental agreements through tools such as natural capital accounting and nature-positive value chains.

The fourth is broader “whole-of-society” engagement, which places Indigenous peoples, local communities, civil society, youth and women more centrally in the design and implementation of environmental programmes. The GEF considers that, as stewards of the Earth, all of them must take part in its conservation while also benefiting from the wealth of nature.

Taken together, these approaches reflect what the GEF describes as a shift toward nature-positive development. This is where economic growth and environmental protection are no longer treated as competing priorities but as interdependent goals.

Rather than funding isolated conservation projects, GEF-9 is therefore designed to operate across entire landscapes and seascapes, recognising that ecosystems, economies and communities are deeply interconnected and must be managed as such.

A Shift in How Environmental Finance Works

A key change under GEF-9 is how environmental action will be financed.

The fund is expanding its use of blended finance by combining public funding with private investment to unlock significantly larger flows of capital.

While earlier cycles used this approach in limited ways, GEF-9 is expected to scale it up as part of a broader strategy to close persistent environmental financing gaps.

Boltz said the focus is now on upscaling and transformative change rather than incremental gains.

“We are really focusing on transforming human production and consumption practices and operating at a scale in the conservation of ecosystems that enables planetary adaptation to a changing climate and to unrelenting human demand for ecosystem goods and services,” he said.

New financial instruments, including outcome-based bonds and nature-linked investment mechanisms, are also expected to play a greater role in attracting long-term private capital.

What It Looks Like on the Ground

In practice, the shift is already visible in energy transitions in small island states.

In Dominica, geothermal energy development supported through GEF-linked financing is expected to replace around 65% of fossil fuel-based electricity generation.

The impact goes beyond emissions reductions.

For island economies dependent on imported fuel, such transitions can reduce energy costs, ease fiscal pressure and improve resilience to global price shocks.

“This systems transformation benefits the environment in Dominica and benefits the global community by reducing greenhouse gas emissions while also ensuring lasting human benefits for the people of this island nation, in turn increasing the likelihood of success and sustainability for those investments,” Boltz said.

GEF-9 approach. Graphic: IPS

Integration Replaces Silos

Another defining feature of GEF-9 is integration across sectors and across the GEF “family of funds” – a shift away from treating the conservation of biodiversity, land and ecosystems, marine and freshwater systems, chemicals and waste management, and climate change mitigation and adaptation as separate sectors with distinct investments and isolated efforts.

Instead, projects are increasingly being designed to address these challenges together, reflecting the reality that environmental systems do not operate in isolation.

The approach is driven by both efficiency and impact. Combining interventions is expected to deliver multiple benefits at once, while avoiding fragmented efforts that can undermine long-term results.

Under this model, a single intervention can generate overlapping gains across different environmental priorities. Mangrove restoration, for example, can strengthen coastal protection against storms, support biodiversity habitats and store carbon. Sustainable agriculture initiatives can improve food security while also reducing pressure on soils, forests and freshwater systems.

The approach is also linked to broader GEF-9 priorities around scaling impact across landscapes and seascapes, rather than limiting action to protected areas or project boundaries. That includes managing ecosystems as connected systems, where upstream land use, coastal resilience and marine health are interdependent.

Boltz said this shift reflects how environmental pressures are actually experienced by countries on the ground.

“Countries face a spectrum of environmental challenges that do not neatly fall into different categories and the GEF must operate and support the achievement of lasting environmental outcomes in this reality,” he said.

Focus On Vulnerable Countries and Communities

The new cycle also places stronger emphasis on countries and communities most exposed to environmental risks, reflecting greater equity in how global environmental finance is distributed.

Small island developing states and least developed countries are expected to receive a larger share of resources under GEF-9, alongside increased support for Indigenous peoples and local communities who are often on the frontlines of conservation but historically underfunded.

Boltz said this shift is now embedded in the fund’s programming priorities, including a formal commitment to expand Indigenous-led environmental action.

“We have committed to an aspirational target of 20% of GEF financing to support Indigenous peoples’ efforts in environmental stewardship across the GEF family of funds. We have also significantly expanded a dedicated financing instrument to support Indigenous peoples’ stewardship. That has increased fourfold. It was 25 million in GEF-8. It’ll be 100 million in GEF-9.”

He added that the increase reflects growing recognition that environmental outcomes are stronger when local and Indigenous communities are directly resourced and involved in decision-making, particularly in areas such as forest management, land, water and ocean stewardship and biodiversity protection.

What Success Will Look Like

By 2030, success under GEF-9 will not be measured only by financial commitments or project delivery.

Instead, it will be judged by whether structural changes begin to take hold, whether energy systems become cleaner, ecosystems more resilient and economies less damaging to nature.

Boltz said the benchmark is long-term transformation.

“Success looks like maintaining the core elements of what is necessary for a vibrant and resilient planet,” he said, pointing to shifts in the conservation of large marine, terrestrial and freshwater systems and transformations in food systems, supply chains, and urban development.

Why It Matters Now

With global environmental targets under increasing pressure, GEF-9 represents a test of whether international finance can move at the speed and scale required to influence real-world systems.

The initial $3.9 billion commitment pledged by GEF donors in April secures the financial foundation for the next cycle, but it also raises expectations about delivery.

For countries already experiencing the impacts of climate change, particularly small island states, the question is no longer about ambition.

It is about whether systems can be reshaped quickly enough before environmental thresholds are crossed.

Note: The Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly will be held from May 30 to June 6, 2026, in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.
This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Excerpt:

Credit: Phil Nijhuis/ANP via AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Apr 27 2026 (IPS)

Yasmin Ullah, from Myanmar’s persecuted Rohingya minority, is determined to see justice. On 13 April, she filed a complaint alleging genocide against Myanmar’s president, Min Aung Hlaing, to Indonesia’s Attorney General’s Office. Min Aung Hlaing led the 2021 coup that ousted a democratically elected government and this month was named president following a sham election held amid intense repression, rubber stamping the army’s continuing grip on power. However secure he appears in his position, Yasmin Ullah’s legal action offers hope his impunity may not be guaranteed.

The complaint accuses Min Aung Hlaing of genocide against Rohingya people, a predominantly Muslim ethnic group denied citizenship despite being long established in Myanmar. He’s accused of being responsible for the burning of Rohingya villages, forced evictions, killings and mass rape in a 2017 military operation, during which around 24,000 Rohingya people were killed and over 700,000 forced to flee. The UN’s fact-finding mission and its Independent Investigative Mechanism for Myanmar have extensively documented atrocities. Civil society has played a key role in gathering testimonies from survivors and preserving evidence.

The case was made possible by changes to Indonesia’s criminal code that came into effect in January. While civil society has raised concerns about revisions to other parts of the code that restrict Indonesian people’s ability to speak out and protest, this particular change stands out as a positive development, enabling people to bring charges against alleged perpetrators of atrocities in other countries under the principle of universal jurisdiction.

Universal jurisdiction on the rise

Universal jurisdiction applies to crimes under international law, such as genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes, on the grounds that these crimes are an offence against humanity as a whole and as such aren’t bound by borders.

Some states, including France and Germany, have passed laws to enable universal jurisdiction prosecutions. Many powerful states however still refuse to recognise the principle, citing national sovereignty, the long-established doctrine of immunity for heads of state and the potential for prosecutions to be politically motivated.

Yet the question of whether government leaders should be immune from prosecution has increasingly been contested. Immunity wasn’t granted when leaders of Sierra Leone and former Yugoslavia were prosecuted for crimes committed during civil wars, and the Rome Statute, which established the International Criminal Court (ICC), removed the principle of immunity where it has jurisdiction. Ironically, the Trump administration, which resists international accountability over its officials, may have contributed to further eroding the doctrine of immunity by abducting Venezuela’s president Nicolás Maduro and placing him on trial for drug trafficking.

Universal jurisdiction cases have increased since the end of the Cold War. Belgium, Finland and Germany convicted people for their role in the Rwanda genocide. Switzerland secured the first guilty verdict for crimes committed in the Liberian civil war, while France convicted another Liberian war criminal in 2022. Germany convicted a Bosnian paramilitary soldier of genocide and, in 2021 and 2022, found two Syrian officials guilty of atrocity crimes.

Hopes of justice

Rohingya people have no hope of justice in a country that refuses even to recognise them as citizens, so diaspora civil society organisations are seeking it wherever they find opportunities. In 2025, an Argentinian court issued arrest warrants against Min Aung Hlaing and other senior Myanmar officials on crimes against humanity and genocide charges, in a case brought by a Rohingya organisation. Earlier this year, a human rights organisation filed a criminal case against the Myanmar regime in Timor-Leste. When authorities appointed a senior prosecutor to examine the case, Myanmar retaliated by expelling Timor-Leste’s ambassador.

These efforts complement proceedings in international courts. In 2024, the ICC issued an arrest warrant against Min Aung Hlaing for crimes against humanity, while in January, hearings began at the International Court of Justice in a case brought by the Gambian government accusing Myanmar of breaching the Genocide Convention. It isn’t a question of choosing between national jurisdictions and international courts, but rather of taking every avenue available to demand justice.

Universal jurisdiction has its limits. Those accused tend to be safe when they hold power; when states have successfully prosecuted perpetrators, it’s after they’ve lost the power that enabled their crimes. Currently, this means attempts to hold Israel’s leaders accountable for the genocide in Gaza, such as arrest warrants a Turkish court issued against 37 officials, only have symbolic value. Cases motivated by political point-scoring also risk discrediting the principle, as when a body created by Malaysia’s former prime minister Mahathir Mohamad found an array of US officials guilty in absentia, without legal basis or consequence.

Actions under universal jurisdiction, when targeted at evident offenders, can nonetheless help build moral pressure and signal that justice may eventually come. At a time when the brutal and illegitimate Myanmar regime is buttressed by China, India and Russia, and with the USA easing its pressure in pursuit of economic benefits, it matters that other countries keep holding the line, isolating the junta and exposing its atrocities.

It matters all the more when pressure comes from Southeast Asian countries, depriving the Myanmar regime of the excuse that human rights accountability is a western imposition. Two members of the Association of Southeast Asian nations, Indonesia and Timor-Leste, have now taken action against a fellow member. But other attempts in the region have faltered. Philippine authorities declined to proceed when five survivors of atrocities filed a case in 2023, while an investigation civil society filed with Indonesia’s national human rights commission that same year, alleging that Indonesian companies were supplying military equipment to Myanmar, has so far seen no progress.

As 2026 president of the UN Human Rights Council, Indonesia is uniquely placed to take the lead in the pursuit of justice for atrocity crimes. Indonesian authorities must treat this case as a priority and give it the attention and resources it needs.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Protests ahead of the 1st Conference Transitioning away from Fossil Fuels. Credit: Kefas Matos

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, Apr 24 2026 (IPS)

A high-stakes international summit in Colombia starting today (April 24) is expected to sharpen global efforts to phase out fossil fuels, as governments, scientists and Indigenous leaders warn that the world is running out of time to avert irreversible climate damage.

During a virtual press briefing on April 16, Colombia’s Environment Ministry and a diverse panel of experts outlined expectations from the upcoming Fossil Fuel Phase-Out Summit in Santa Marta. The event is being positioned as a critical platform to accelerate energy transition and address mounting pressure from Indigenous communities living on the frontlines of extraction.

It was at the Belém Climate Conference in 2025, wherein a coalition of over 80 countries unanimously decided to act decisively to phase out fossil fuels that have been driving three quarters of global greenhouse gas emissions.

On the sidelines, 24 countries went further: they issued the Belém Declaration, pledging to work collectively toward a just, orderly, and equitable transition aligned with 1.5°C pathways. To this end, Colombia and the Netherlands volunteered to co-host the First International Conference on Transitioning Away from Fossil Fuels.

The Conference is taking place from 24 to 29 April 2026 in Santa Marta, Colombia. The organisers invited 97 national governments and 30 subnational governments. The high-level segment convenes on April 28–29, 2026.

“We are in a moment of no return. It is clear that there is climate change and that there is no denialism. This is the moment… to accelerate the transition and the progressive elimination of fossil fuels,” said Luz Dary Carmona Moreno, Colombia’s Vice Minister for Environmental Land Use Planning.

The summit comes at a time of growing geopolitical tension and continued global dependence on fossil fuels. Carmona noted that conflicts and economic instability continue to be shaped by oil, gas, and coal and stressed that there is an urgent need for structural change.

“The economy continues depending on fossil fuels,” she said, pointing to global crises that reflect the entrenched role of hydrocarbons.

Colombia has framed the Santa Marta conference around three strategic pillars. The first focuses on overcoming global dependence on fossil fuels. The second addresses transformation of supply and demand systems. The third seeks to rethink multilateral cooperation frameworks.

Carmona emphasised that the conference aims to produce a concrete roadmap, backed by science, public participation, and political will.

“This conference seeks common points to accelerate the transition, concrete actions and enablers that allow that acceleration,” she said.

The event has already drawn strong international participation. According to Colombian officials, 45 countries have confirmed attendance, along with 13 ministers and a broad coalition of civil society groups, indigenous organisations, academics, and private sector actors.

More than 2,800 participants, including grassroots organisations, Indigenous communities, youth groups, and labour unions, have registered to take part.

Indigenous Leaders Warn of “Unjust Transition”

For Indigenous leaders, however, the urgency of the climate crisis is matched by frustration over what they describe as a gap between rhetoric and reality.

Oswaldo Muca, General Coordinator of the Organisation of Indigenous Peoples of the Colombian Amazon (OPIAC), said communities continue to bear the brunt of extraction despite promises of a “just transition”.

“We are very concerned. We talk about a just transition, but in practice it is not true,” Muca said.

He described ongoing environmental degradation in Indigenous territories, including illegal mining, deforestation and mercury contamination.

“Mining continues. Extraction continues. Deforestation continues. The territories and Indigenous peoples continue suffering this problem, and it is becoming more serious every day,” he said.

Muca also criticised the lack of direct benefits for local communities, noting that profits from extraction often leave the country while environmental damage remains.

“The resources do not reach Indigenous territories but they destroy the territory and leave the damage,” he said.

He called for Indigenous participation at every stage of policymaking, from design to implementation, across technical, political, legal and financial dimensions.

Science Points to Sharp Cuts

Scientific findings presented during the briefing reinforced the scale of transformation required.

Dr Marcel Llavero Pasquina, a researcher at the University of Barcelona, said limiting global warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius would require drastic reductions in fossil fuel production.

“Eighty-six percent of oil and gas reserves currently under production should be prematurely decommissioned,” he said.

Even under a less ambitious 2-degree scenario, at least 12% of producing reserves would need to be phased out.

Pasquina also warned that no new fossil fuel exploration is compatible with global climate targets. “At least 10,000 of the existing oil and gas extraction contracts should be cancelled,” he said.

He highlighted the economic tensions shaping climate negotiations, noting that fossil fuel companies stand to lose trillions of dollars under transition scenarios.

“Fossil fuel companies… have a material and quantifiable conflict of interest,” he said, arguing they should be excluded from climate policymaking.

At the same time, governments face significant fiscal challenges, with potential revenue losses estimated at US$117 trillion globally under a 1.5-degree pathway. Still, Pasquina stressed that these costs are outweighed by the human and environmental toll of inaction.

“These transition costs are dwarfed by the climate costs communities would otherwise suffer,” he said.

Policy Momentum Builds

Despite the scale of the challenge, policy experts pointed to growing momentum worldwide.

Paola Yanguas Parra, a policy advisor at the International Institute for Sustainable Development, said governments have already begun implementing measures to restrict fossil fuel expansion.

“We found… 58 active restrictions, which go from bans and moratoria to exploration and licensing,” she said.

These measures include protections for ecologically and culturally significant areas such as the Amazon, as well as restrictions on extraction methods like fracking.

Yanguas Parra noted that such policies often make economic sense in addition to environmental benefits.

“You would take a huge environmental, social and climate cost… for something that would not even make you enough profit,” she said, referring to unviable extraction projects in remote regions.

She added that the summit offers an opportunity to shift global discussions from whether to transition away from fossil fuels to how to implement that transition effectively.

“This coalition will focus on implementation, on learning from each other,” she said.

Amazon at a Crossroads

Speakers from across the Amazon basin warned that the region is increasingly being treated as a new frontier for fossil fuel expansion.

Alana Manchineri, an Indigenous leader from Brazil, described the climate crisis as an immediate reality rather than a distant threat.

“There is no more space for delays,” she said.

She warned that oil and gas projects are already causing widespread damage, including water contamination, biodiversity loss and rising conflict.

“It is not just environmental damage but violations of rights and ways of life,” she said.

According to Indigenous organisations, more than 320,000 square kilometres of Indigenous land in the Amazon basin are already affected by oil and gas blocks.

Manchineri stressed that any transition must fully incorporate Indigenous knowledge and leadership.

“This path will only be legitimate and effective with the full participation of Indigenous peoples,” she said.

Beyond COP: Complement, Not Replacement

Panellists repeatedly emphasised that the Santa Marta summit is not intended to replace existing UN climate processes but to complement them.

“There are groups of countries… that have gathered to discuss more focused issues,” Yanguas Parra said, describing the summit as part of a broader ecosystem of climate cooperation.

Pasquina offered a more critical view, arguing that while UN climate negotiations have produced frameworks like the Paris Agreement, they have failed to curb rising emissions.

“The COP  has been a great success on paper. In reality, emissions have only been increasing,” he said.

He suggested that initiatives like Santa Marta could increase pressure on countries that have resisted stronger action.

A Test of Political Will

As preparations intensify, expectations for the summit remain high. Colombian officials say the final outcome will be a report outlining actionable steps and mechanisms to accelerate transition.

“We want the report not to remain just another document. We expect people to turn it into action,” Carmona said.

For many participants, the success of the summit will depend on whether it delivers concrete commitments rather than broad declarations.

Indigenous leaders, in particular, say the credibility of the process hinges on real inclusion and tangible change on the ground.

“If we do not take real and effective actions. We can talk about a just transition, but in reality, other mechanisms will continue destroying the territory,” Muca warned.

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CIVICUS discusses Gen Z-led protests in Nepal with Abhijeet Adhikari (Abhi), a lawyer and political activist who took part in the protests.

Abhijeet Adhikari

What drove young people onto the streets, and what were their demands?

Since this protest was decentralised, there was no uniform agenda but rather a pile of frustrations with the workings of the political system.

A decade ago, Nepal introduced a new federal democratic constitution that people saw as a new beginning that would lead to development and better living conditions. But politicians didn’t live up to those aspirations and instead played a game of musical chairs with the post of prime minister, with a few politicians from the three biggest political parties taking turns and not allowing new parties or people in their own parties to rise against them. There was no clear separation between government and opposition, and five or six governments would rotate in quick succession during one parliamentary term. It was hard to hold anybody accountable.

Nepal’s economy is highly dependent on remittances sent by migrant workers, and following high school, every young person thinks about where to go to find a job or a better life. This went on for years, and frustration with politicians who only thought about their own benefit continued to accumulate.

The trigger was the government social media ban. Following a trend in Bangladesh and Sri Lanka, young people had started comparing their lives with those of politicians’ kids, and a trend called ‘nepokids’ exposing their lavish lifestyle went viral on TikTok. It seems that security agencies advised the then-prime minister that things might get out of control, so he decided to ban the platforms. He didn’t realise our generation was born with the internet and social media, meaning we know how to use VPNs to access the web. The ban only added another layer of frustration at not being able to express our frustration.

Once we were on the streets, we organised our demands. The first was the reversal of the social media ban. The second was an end to the musical chairs game between top-tier politicians. And the third was reform of the Commission for Investigation of Abuse of Authority, the institution that deals with corruption.

We tried to put all of this in language young people would connect with. We used AI tools to generate Gen Z-friendly slogans, such as ‘delete corruption’ and ‘stop putting filters on our democracy’. People also brought anime-inspired posters, particularly One Piece characters. The whole aesthetic was very uniquely Gen Z.

How did events unfold on 8 and 9 September?

We gathered at Maitighar Mandala, a symbolic monument located in the heart of Kathmandu, and planned to march to the Everest Hotel, which is the closest you could get to the parliament building, as the streets beyond the hotel were blocked. When we arrived, we were surprised there were very few security personnel there. We didn’t know that earlier, people had come towards parliament from various sides, with electric fence-cutting machines and kerosene. A few violent groups pushed the crowd towards restricted areas. The police, who weren’t prepared to handle the crowds, panicked and started shooting at protesters. Within four hours, they killed 19 people, including children, some of them in their school uniforms.

Before the protest, there had been rumours of international rules prohibiting shooting at people in school uniforms, and many people thought that if students marched in front, police wouldn’t shoot at them. That sadly wasn’t the case.

The next day, people took to the streets again, and some opportunist groups did too. Someone put up a website with politicians’ home addresses, and mobs marched to their homes and set them on fire. They also burned down government buildings, including parliament, executive offices and the Supreme Court.

The prime minister resigned and protesters pushed for the dissolution of parliament, which the president then did. Following further pressure on social media and in critical circles, a retired Supreme Court judge was brought in as transitional prime minister. Even though this was not the constitutional process, people accepted it as a temporary solution to regain political stability, and it was this prime minister who paved the way to a peaceful and fair election.

How were the protests organised, and what role did social media play?

Protests were decentralised. Two Discord channels were used, which no longer exist because all those violent plans, arson included, were discussed there. But only around 2,000 people were on Discord before the protest, and many more groups joined spontaneously. Those who were already activists posted about the protests on social media.

Some of us joined as a group, and thought we were at the centre of it, but when we reached Maitighar, we felt like drops in the ocean. It was a massive protest, and we didn’t know who was leading it.

The day before, we had got together and planned, and many other groups did the same. We shared the call through Instagram and TikTok. Some went to schools and asked school departments to give a half-day waiver so students could join.

After the protest, the Discord channel grew to around 10,000 people, who started voting on Discord for who should become prime minister. The person who received the most votes on Discord eventually became prime minister. It was a very Gen Z way of doing politics.

However, I think ‘youth-led’ would be a more appropriate label than Gen Z protest. Gen Z might be accurate from the perspective of social media driving it. But while people in the city who have access to the internet may have Gen Z characteristics, the same age group in rural Nepal may not fit the description.

What risks did you and other protesters face?

On the first day, when we reached the Everest Hotel and saw the crowd push further, I was aware I should not go beyond that point. But when we heard on social media that people were entering the parliament building, we ran through another alley. A special task force police officer, there to guard the parliament building, loaded his gun and pointed it directly at me. But he didn’t fire.

After the protest turned violent, the police searched every place where protesters could be hiding, taking people out and beating them. From around noon un late night, eight or nine of us hid in a cubicle. It was dangerous to go back home, because there were lots of police in civilian clothes on the streets. During those two or three days when the army had effectively taken over and there was no functioning government, we had reason to believe our phones were being monitored.

Now there are people in prison and facing criminal charges for throwing stones or making TikTok content while the parliament building was burning. But those who manipulated the crowds and instigated violence supposedly in the name of the movement do not seem to be facing consequences.

How has the movement organised since the protests?

After the protest, people from different circles started forming their own Gen Z groups. There are over 40 now. A few of them, including Gen Z Alliance, Gen Z Civic Forum and Gen Z Front, are still active. Some have remained informal, some have registered as non-governmental organisations and some have formed political parties, although they didn’t receive a significant share of the vote. These are the ones who positioned themselves as guardians of the Gen Z movement, but not in terms of the aspirations and values we actually had.

People continue to take to the streets because the Karki Commission, formed to investigate who is responsible for the 19 deaths on 8 September and for the arson and vandalism on 9 September, has submitted a huge report, but the government has not yet released it. This has happened before: in the 1990s, when democracy was restored, a similar committee, the Malik Commission, produced a similar report that was never made public. In the 2006 transition, the report by the Rayamajhi Commission wasn’t made public either. People won’t have it again and are demanding transparency.

What did the protests achieve, and what lessons have you taken from them?

I believe more in institutions and processes than in charismatic figures and results. So I think it would have been best not to dissolve parliament. By the second day of protests, we could have pushed for any law we wanted, because parliamentarians’ morale was so low that they would have agreed to almost anything protesters demanded. Instead, we demanded the dissolution of parliament.

Negotiations should have been held mostly by the president’s office as the only legitimate institution after the prime minister’s resignation, but instead, the army dominated negotiations. That was another blunder. The negotiation process itself should have been taken into public discussion. After that, the focus should have been on reforming the party system and making the system more accountable, but instead, we thought everything would change if new people were brought in. The problem is that the new will eventually become old, and any new party that doesn’t create radically different structures will end up like the old political parties.

I also think that when it comes to protest, organised leadership is best, because in decentralised structures no one can be held accountable if things go wrong. Also, they allow people to push their own agendas and the real demands of protests risk being lost.

Additionally, I am concerned that while bottom-up protests arising from rural areas may produce more inclusive and progressive results, urban-centred protests arising in reaction to governance failure and lack of economic opportunity may end up leading to polarisation and the rise of authoritarian figures. After this protest, political dynamics have shifted towards delivery. People have started demanding meritocracy, forgetting all about inclusion. Even if this government successfully delivers on people’s aspirations, it could be like the government in India, providing good infrastructure but dismantling political institutions, disrupting the social fabric and promoting religious extremism.

How do you see the future of Nepal’s democracy?

Right now, people have put their expectations and trust in a single person, while trust in institutions is shrinking by the day. Even civil society has lost credibility. Two decades ago, civil society was at the forefront of the change that took Nepal from monarchy to republic. But gradually, civil society leaders have been discredited. Civil society is mostly a launching pad for politics; people don’t remain there for long. Most prominent civil society leaders have become members of parliament for one party or another.

If this government fails, people will start thinking about bringing back the old monarch. Authoritarian nostalgia will take over. I am also concerned about political radicalisation taking on ethnic or religious dimensions, particularly given the fundamentalist elements active along the border with India.

As for the protests, I think the government will continue to allow people to come out in the street, but it won’t listen to our demands.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Gen Z protests: new resistance rises CIVICUS | State of Civil Society Report 2026
Nepal’s Gen Z electoral revolution CIVICUS Lens 19.Mar.2026
Nepal’s Gen Z uprising: time for youth-led change CIVICUS Lens 10.Oct.2025

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Beekeepers harvest honey from an ABL hive in the Tana Delta, Kenya. Credit: Chemtai Kirui/IPS

By Chemtai Kirui
GOLBANTI, Kenya, Apr 23 2026 (IPS)

Lydia Hagodana stands next to a bee yard (apiary) in Golbanti, Tana Delta, where she lives. The air carries a low, steady hum as bees move in and out in a constant stream. She lifts the back of one hive slightly, gauging its weight.

“This hive is mine,” she says. “I have two.”

Hagodana is one of 25 members of the Golbanti women’s group, which manages about 50 hives shared between them. Each member keeps a pair, harvesting honey a few times a year. Some of the income is kept individually, while a portion is pooled into group savings to support a small communal vegetable farm.

The apiaries sit along the southern banks of the Tana River, where it begins to split into the channels that form the lower delta. In the rainy season, the land opens into floodplains, drawing migratory birds and supporting wildlife, including hippos, crocodiles and the rare Tana River topi.

Lydia Hagodana in the area where she keeps one of her beehives in the Tana Delta, Kenya. Credit: Chemtai Kirui/IPS

Patches of gallery forest along the riverbanks are home to two critically endangered primates – the Tana River red colobus and the crested mangabey.

In recent years, beekeeping has offered an alternative source of income in a place where livelihoods have long depended on farming, fishing and livestock. For women in particular, managing hives marks a shift from more physically demanding work and from roles traditionally dominated by men.

Before the bees, these same floodplains were at the centre of proposals for large-scale biofuel plantations – plans that raised concerns about converting wetlands into industrial agriculture.

“This was linked to the European Union policy to blend biofuels with fossil fuels,” said Dr Paul Matiku, executive director of Nature Kenya. “Africa was seen as a place with ‘idle’ land that could be converted to these crops, including jatropha and sugarcane.”

At the time, the Kenyan government framed the projects as part of vision 2030 – a way to bring development and jobs to what officials described as an “empty” region.

Land clearing had begun. In some places, fields were ploughed before indigenous families had gathered their belongings. A wildlife corridor used by elephants and other species was carved into plantation blocks.

Tensions Rose

By 2012, violent clashes had erupted, turning the delta into what investors began calling a “red zone”.

“We woke up to a challenge about where the Tana Delta was going,” said Matiku, who helped lead the legal fight to stop the expansion. “You cannot convert wildlife land and food-producing land into fuel for cars. We had to unleash every bit of machinery we had to stop it.”

A coalition of conservation groups and local communities took the government to court.

In February 2013, Lady Justice Mumbi Ngugi halted the proposed large-scale developments in the delta, ruling that the state had failed to account for the rights of local people.

“The court said no one could move forward without a land-use plan developed with the people,” Matiku said.

Over the next two years, communities, county officials and conservation groups worked together to map the delta – dividing the landscape into zones for grazing, farming and conservation under what became the Tana Delta Land Use Plan (LUP).

For the first time, the delta had a formal set of rules.

But another question followed: could conservation pay?

A group of community members gather outside an African Beekeepers Limited facility in Kenya’s Tana Delta to discuss the business of beekeeping. Credit: Chemtai Kirui/IPS

From Idle Land to Natural Economy

With support from the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), researchers began calculating the economic value of the delta’s ecosystems – reframing them from “idle land” into a functioning natural economy.

The partners approached the Global Environment Facility (GEF), the world’s largest multilateral fund for the environment. In 2018, after a technical review process, the fund approved a USD 3.3m grant for restoration in the Tana Delta under the Restoration Initiative.

The funding aimed to stabilise a landscape long marked by land disputes and failed biofuel schemes. Working with UNEP and Nature Kenya, the program supported consultations, legal drafting, and the work needed to turn the land-use plan into law.

Between 2019 and 2024, the county enacted 29 policies and legislative instruments aimed at regulating land use, conservation and climate action.

“We have moved from loosely coordinated conservation projects to a law-driven governance framework that integrates land use, climate change and community engagement,” said Mathew Babwoya Buya, Tana River county’s environment executive.

Tana River county has set aside at least 2% of its development budget for climate resilience and ecosystem restoration.

For the 2024/25 fiscal year, the county’s total budget is about KSh 8.87 billion (USD 68.76 million). Of that, roughly KSh 3 billion (USD 23 million) is development spending, implying annual allocations of about KSh 60 million (USD 460,000) for restoration programmes.

The commitment helped secure new funding from the GEF, which approved a grant of about USD 3.35 million for the Tana Delta under its Restoration Initiative.

Project documents show the program mobilised roughly USD 36.8 million in co-financing, about eleven dollars for every dollar of GEF funding, a commonly cited measure of leverage in conservation finance.

“The Tana Delta project shows what is possible when country ownership is strong and priorities are clearly aligned. This level of leverage reflects deep national commitment, strong engagement from a wide range of stakeholders, and clear links to value chains and local business opportunities. The project’s integrated, landscape-based approach allows it to address multiple challenges at once, making it an attractive platform for partners to invest alongside GEF,” said Ulrich Apel, a senior environmental specialist at the GEF.

The composition of that financing shows that the bulk originates from public agencies and development partners, including multilateral programmes and philanthropic funding. Only about USD 341,000 – less than 1 per cent of the total – is attributable to direct private-sector investment.

Apel explained the figures do not necessarily capture the full extent of commercial activity.

“It is important to understand how co-finance is defined and recorded,” Apel said. “Only capital explicitly committed to a project through formal letters is captured. There can be private sector flows into these value chains that do not show up in the co-financing numbers.”

UNEP officials say the structure is intended to use public funding to reduce land-use risk and attract investment over time.

“The GEF grant was designed to play a catalytic role,” said Nancy Soi, a UNEP official involved in the project.

By funding land-use planning, cooperative structures, and governance systems, she said, the program has helped “derisk” the delta for commercial activity in sectors such as honey, chilli, and aquaculture.

In parallel, other partners are beginning to test that approach in specific value chains.

In aquaculture, the Mastercard Foundation, working with TechnoServe, is supporting a program aimed at about 650 young entrepreneurs in Tana River County.

How that model translates into sustained commercial investment is still being tested on the ground.

In Golbanti, where Hagodana’s hives sit along the riverbanks, one of the emerging value chains is honey production. The work is being developed through a partnership with African Beekeepers Limited (ABL).

Under the model, the company supplies modern hives and technical expertise, manages production, and buys the honey at a fixed price – removing one of the biggest risks in rural markets: price volatility.

Nature Kenya says it has deliberately avoided locking farmers into long-term contracts at this stage, allowing time to assess whether production volumes and pricing can prove viable.

“We managed to pay 76 farmers about KSh700,000 (USD 5,400) from honey harvested in the delta,” said Ernest Simeoni, director of ABL, referring to the project’s first production cycle.

Numbered beehives in a conservation area of Kenya’s Tana Delta. Credit: Chemtai Kirui/IPS

Not Just Beekeeping, It’s the Business of Beekeeping

Simeoni said the approach differs from many donor-led initiatives, which typically focus on training farmers to manage hives independently.

“There are hundreds of modern hives across Kenya, but they don’t produce honey,” he said. “The missing link is expertise.”

Instead, ABL keeps production under the company’s control, deploying its teams to monitor colonies, harvest honey, and oversee processing.

“We’re not training farmers how to do beekeeping,” he said. “What we’re doing is business – showing how to make money from honey.”

Community groups provide land and security for the hives, while the company manages harvesting and processing. Simeoni said that structure helps maintain consistent production volumes.

Even so, he cautioned that the model remains fragile. Access to affordable finance is limited, and much of the sector still depends on donor-backed projects to absorb early risk.

“If donor funding disappears tomorrow, most of these projects stop,” he said.

Looking beyond small-scale value chains, the county is also trying to attract larger investments through a proposed development plan known as the “Green Heart”.

A 60-hectare site in Minjila has been earmarked for an industrial hub intended to support agroprocessing, logistics and green manufacturing, according to Mwanajuma Hiribae, the Tana River county secretary.

“We are working to establish an investment unit to coordinate engagement with private firms,” she said. Funds have also been allocated to develop a masterplan for the site.

But the project remains at an early stage. The land has yet to be formally transferred to the county’s investment authority, and proposals from potential investors are still under review.

Officials say any future development will need to align with the delta’s land-use plan and environmental safeguards.

For now, however, the flow of private capital to the delta remains limited.

Experiences elsewhere in Kenya suggest the model, while technically replicable, depends heavily on political will, security conditions and sustained public financing – factors that vary widely between regions.

In western Kenya, a similar land-use planning approach has been introduced in Yala Swamp, with mixed results. While Busia county has formally adopted the framework, neighbouring Siaya has yet to approve it, with local officials citing competing political and commercial interests around large-scale agriculture.

“The science is replicable,” said Matiku. “But political interests can slow or block implementation.”

In Golbanti, the idea of a restoration economy is beginning to take shape in small ways.

Beekeepers at the African Beekeepers Limited facility in Kenya’s Tana Delta. Credit: Chemtai Kirui/IPS

Welcome Income

Income from honey, though modest and still irregular, is starting to filter into daily life.

For Hagodana, it helps pay school fees for her six children, supports a small farm, and contributes to a shared fund used to grow vegetables. Some of the money is spent, some saved, and some reinvested.

She has been keeping bees for two years. Before that, she says, life was harder. Now there is at least something to rely on.

She does not plan to stop. Whether or not outside support continues, she says she will keep the hives and hopes eventually to learn how to process honey into other products.

Back in the apiary, the bees move in and out of the hives in a steady rhythm.

Note: The Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly will be held from May 30 to June 6, 2026 in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.

This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

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The period after Armenia’s 2018 “Velvet Revolution” maintains a fragile status which presents both substantial democratic and feminist achievements and rising internal and external international pressures.

Gulnara Shahinian, Founder & Director, Democracy Today

The Women, Peace, and Security agenda in Armenia shows progress through its needs of bigger changes. According to Shahinian, the current National Action Plan of the country demonstrates its participatory approach because civil society members helped create it. Shahinian considers this moment to be the most important time, she said “this is the first time that NGOs have taken part in implementation work. The government accepted the action plan as it was without changes. People who create this method of ownership work together to establish their rights beyond permanent presence to full active involvement. NGOs have shifted from their previous role as side organizations to become key partners in developing public policy,” Shahinian said.

The national action plan, according to Shahinian, established its first dedicated section to address diaspora participation. “They are part of our independent statehood. The knowledge and experience of these people will help to build our future developments. The expanded participation model enables Armenia to handle its domestic and international issues more effectively.”

Women who previously faced restrictions now participate in law enforcement and diplomacy and governance roles. Shahinian explains this as a fundamental transformation, “we passed through not only quantitative changes, but qualitative changes, the quality of roles for women has been changed.” The most pronounced transformation in security concepts shows itself through the changing security definitions which Armenia has adopted. The 2020 conflict with Azerbaijan compelled the country to confront its national identity crisis which particularly affected displaced women who lost their loved ones. Shahinian explains that women began to understand the connection between human security and democracy development for their cities. This brought about new ways for society to approach decision making processes. “Security now extends beyond its previous definition which focused on military aspects to include human rights and protection and fundamental service delivery rights,” Shahinian states.

The increasing number of women who work in defense demonstrates the new trend that exists in society. Shahinian says that women join the military because they choose to do so instead of needing to fulfill any requirements: “Women go to the army because they speak about equality, and equality means responsibility.” She explains that their organization works to create a more compassionate military system which protects people through non-violent methods instead of using weapons.

Armenia’s democratic and feminist development path remains unpredictable, and both its internal factors and external forces will shape its progress. The ongoing Iranian war has created multiple dangers which include trade disruptions inflation and the possibility of people fleeing the country. Armenia stays mostly out of the conflict yet its location exposes the country to potential spillover effects.

The crisis coincides with the timing of Armenia’s scheduled political events. Armenia has made democratic advancements yet the country now experiences increasing difficulties within its own borders. Citizens face restrictions on their rights to protest as authorities use more legal methods against their opponents. Reports of journalist mistreatment and increased police activity during demonstrations.

Certain factors provide grounds for optimistic but careful expectations. A younger generation, Shahinian notes, is deeply committed to democratic values: “They are speaking the language of human rights, they know what freedom means. Women remain at the forefront of these efforts to maintain progress. Women actively participate in community organizing and national policymaking to redefine security and governance practices.”

Armenia’s experience shows a wider lesson because it demonstrates how democracy develops through different paths which cannot be predicted. The process of democracy requires public participation because different forces fight against it while dedicated individuals work to protect and reinvent democratic systems. The country faces a decisive political period which will determine its future based on its ability to build permanent strength through systems that include all people and through ongoing dedication to security based on human needs.

“The only way for Armenia to survive is democracy,” Shahinian emphasizes. “And that’s what we will be fighting for.”

Sania Farooqui is an independent journalist and host of The Peace Brief, a platform dedicated to amplifying the voices of women in peacebuilding and human rights.

IPS UN Bureau

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Credit: Zohra Bensemra/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Nwabueze Chibuzor and Mighulo Masaka
ABUJA, Nigeria / NAIROBI, Kenya, Apr 22 2026 (IPS)

In many countries across Africa, people have recently lined up to vote. But in country after country, there has been no real choice on offer. As CIVICUS’s 2026 State of Civil Society Report documents, what has frequently been on display is a procedural ceremony of democracy, orderly enough to satisfy observers, but hollow enough to leave those who hold the reins of power untroubled. Laws and structures that were supposed to promote democratic decisions have been manipulated into compliance checks, ticking all procedural requirements while lacking democratic substance. In too many cases, the ballot box has become a public relations exercise.

Tanzania offered a stark illustration. Once seen as one of the continent’s rising democratic hopes, it held one of the most deeply flawed recent elections. Ahead of the October 2025 vote, President Samia Suluhu Hassan disqualified and detained most opposition figures and imposed a nationwide internet blackout. When people protested, they were severely repressed. Security forces fired live ammunition, killing over 700 protesters, and arrested thousands. Around 240 people, including children, have since been charged with criminal conspiracy and treason.

Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni, in power since 1986, followed the same script: the 2026 presidential election as marked by widespread rigging, suppression of the opposition, internet outages and a lethal crackdown on protests. These shows of force were also an admission of weakness: governments with genuine popular support do not need them to stay in office.

In Kenya, election outcomes have increasingly shifted from the ballot box to the courtroom and the streets. While legal challenges and judicial oversight can be signs of a healthy democracy, there’s been growing normalisation of post-election uncertainty about whether results will be respected, with the state framing any challenge to outcomes as a threat to national security and stability, and responding to post-election protests with violence.

Further north, Tunisia exemplifies the slow-motion dismantling of a once-promising democracy. Its 2024 presidential election saw the incumbent face only token opposition. President Kais Saied has systematically removed democratic checks and balances, jailed opponents and vilified critics as agents of foreign powers. The country that once kept the democratic promise alive in North Africa has become a cautionary example of how quickly gains can be reversed.

In West Africa, military rule is being normalised. Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger are now led by military juntas, while in Guinea a carefully stage-managed December 2025 election enabled the military leader to retain power with a varnish of legitimacy. Elections in Côte d’Ivoire in 2025 and Togo in 2024 fell far short of competitive standards.

Senegal offered a rare exception: when President Macky Sall attempted to postpone the 2024 presidential election just days before voting, widespread protests and sustained international pressure forced the polls to proceed. Opposition candidate Bassirou Diomaye Faye, released from jail only days before the vote, won a shock victory — proof that electoral integrity remains worth fighting for.

In Central Africa, military rulers have simply changed into civilian clothes. General Oligui Nguema, who ended the 56-year Bongo family dynasty in a 2023 coup, retained power in an April 2025 election marked by the absence of a credible opposition and the abuse of state resources, making the outcome a foregone conclusion. Chad’s Mahamat Déby followed the same path, transitioning from military council head to elected president through a vote held under severe civic space restrictions and minimal competition.

In October 2025, Cameroon’s Paul Biya, at 92 the world’s oldest head of state, extended his 42-year rule through a highly performative election. In both the Central African Republic and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, recent elections have been undermined by the state’s inability to control its territory amid ongoing conflicts, disenfranchising vast majorities and producing winners whose legitimacy is in permanent doubt.

Southern Africa offers a more encouraging picture. South Africa’s 2024 election ended almost three decades of unchallenged African National Congress dominance, with new political parties reshaping the landscape and forcing the formation of a coalition government. Elections in Botswana, Malawi and Namibia were competitive, with power changing hands for the first time since independence in Botswana. These results are a reminder that elections can still serve their democratic purpose.

The pattern across most of the continent is unmistakable. As civic space comes under intensifying attack, Africa’s citizens, institutions and international partners must resist the temptation to confuse orderly processes with democratic substance. Elections must offer genuine opportunities for accountability and be allowed to produce results that disrupt established power, if that is what voters want. Anything less risks normalising the appearance of democracy while hollowing out its content.

Chibuzor Nwabueze is the Programme and Network Coordinator of the Digital Democracy Initiative at CIVICUS.

Mighulo Masaka is the Project Officer, Host Liaison of the Digital Democracy Initiative, working closely with civil society in the global south for election-related activities.

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A sea turtle is released from the hatchery in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh to begin its hazardous journey to the sea. Credit: UNDP Bangladesh

By Rafiqul Islam
COX'S BAZAR, Bangladesh, Apr 20 2026 (IPS)

Every winter thousands of sea turtles come ashore at Cox’s Bazar, in the Bay of Bengal, Bangladesh, to lay eggs.

Their path to their breeding grounds is hazardous – fishing nets, propellers, light pollution, coastal developments, stray dogs and other dangers conspire against their success.

The area is rich in biodiversity, with five out of seven ancient reptiles present in Bangladesh’s waters, with three – the Olive Ridley (Lepidochelys olivacea), the Green Turtle (Chelonia mydas), and the Hawksbill (Eretmochelys imbricata) – coming ashore for nesting.

Stefan Liller, UNDP Bangladesh representative, gently releases the young turtles from the hatchery. Credit: UNDP Bangladesh

Amid such unfavourable odds for the aquatic creatures, a group of young people volunteer to protect the turtles on the beach at Cox’s Bazar during the breeding season from November to March, contributing to their successful conservation.

“In the past, we did not know how sea turtles help conserve marine ecosystems. Now we know sea turtles play an important role in conserving biodiversity,” Rezaul Karim, a resident of Shafir Beel village in Cox’s Bazar, told Inter Press Service (IPS).

Karim is one of the youths trained for sea turtle conservation under a project run by the Arannayk Foundation, a non-profit conservation organisation in Bangladesh. The foundation established a sea turtle conservation group involving 25 local youths (11 women, 14 men) under its Ecosystem Awareness and Restoration Through Harmony (EARTH) project. EARTH is supported by the Forest Department, the Department of Environment (DoE), and the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) with funding from the Global Environment Facility (GEF).

A youth group performs a play designed to sensitise the community to conservation issues. Credit: Arannayk Foundation

The group is working to raise awareness about sea turtle conservation among fishermen, youth, and the local community. They are also aiming to encourage a shift in local attitudes by engaging community members.

Group leader Delwar Hossain, a resident of Sonarpara village under Ukhyia upazila, said sea turtles play a crucial role in maintaining marine ecosystems, as different species of sea turtles help sweep or clean the ocean by managing various food sources and habitats.

He said there is a superstition among the marine fishermen that if turtles are caught in their fishing gear, it will bring bad luck and that is why they kill turtles caught in their nets.

“We held meetings with the fishermen several times and made them aware of sea turtle conservation,” Delwar said.

Turtle conservation group leader Delwar Hossain with others on Cox’s Bazar Beach, Bangladesh. Credit: Rafiqul Islam/IPS

Gabriella Richardson Temm, Lead of the Small Grants Program at the GEF, says civil society, Indigenous Peoples, local communities, and youth and women groups around the world “play critical roles in shaping global development agendas. They deliver transformational solutions to global environmental problems, bring rights holders and marginalised voices into national policy dialogues, and elevate local priorities in international environmental negotiations and financing.”

The small grants program has served as a cornerstone of civil society engagement within the GEF partnership since its inception in 1992.

“Over three decades, the program has demonstrated remarkable reach and impact, administering over US$1.5 billion through nearly 30,000 grants to Indigenous Peoples, local communities, women, and youth across 136 countries. This extensive network has successfully secured US$990 million in co-financing, demonstrating the program’s effectiveness in mobilising additional resources for environmental action at the grassroots level,” says Temm.

Grassroots community protection has been acknowledged as contributing to the success of moving one of the sea turtles – the green turtle – to the International Union for Cons

ervation of Nature’s (IUCN) ‘Least Concern’ list. Other factors include international trade bans, reduced poaching, and improved fishing gear.

However, the species predominantly nesting in the Cox’s Bazar beaches, the Olive Ridley is classified as ‘Vulnerable’ on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species, while the Hawksbill Turtle remains ‘Critically Endangered’ due to population declines.

Many sea turtles don’t survive the hazardous journey to the nesting grounds at Cox’s Bazar Beach, Bangladesh. Credit: Bangladesh Forest Department

Establishment of Turtle Hatchery

In Cox’s Bazar, with the help of the foundation, the youth group surveyed a 10 km stretch from Reju Khal to Balia Khali beach to identify sea turtle nesting sites. It also gathered insights from local communities on sea turtle breeding seasons, nesting frequency, preferred locations, and community perceptions regarding conservation.

Following the assessment, a sea turtle hatchery was established in Boro Inani, Cox’s Bazar. The hatchery is now playing a crucial conservation role, as these statistics show.

Between January and April 2024, 5,878 Olive Ridley eggs were collected from various nests at Swankhali, Ruppati, Imamer Deil, and Madarbunia sea beaches, resulting in 3,586 hatchlings hatching, with an average hatching success of 61 percent.

Also, from February to April 2025, a total of 3,199 eggs were collected, and by May 2025, 716 hatchlings had been released.

Stefan Liller, UNDP Bangladesh representative in the turtle hatchery. Credit: UNDP Bangladesh

Delwar said that stray dogs often eat the turtle eggs so the hatchery makes a significant contribution.

“We collect eggs that turtles release on the shore and bring those to the hatchery for hatching. Besides, we ask the community people to give turtle eggs to the hatchery. We, the group members, collect the turtle eggs from them too.”

Nurul Afsar, another TCG member, said many ethnic communities living in Cox’s Bazar consume turtles and their eggs – so the group plays a role in encouraging them not to consume but instead protect them.

ABM Sarowar Alam, program manager (species and habitats) at the IUCN in Bangladesh, said Cox’s Bazar Beach was once the ideal breeding ground for sea turtles, but it has dwindled due to habitat loss, poaching, and human disturbance.

He believes that several areas of the beach should be declared as “protected areas for sea turtles” to ensure safe breeding and that fishing should be restricted in the canals connecting to the sea so that turtles can move freely for nesting.

The group also addresses other hazards, such as the issue of stray dogs that kill the turtles and consume the eggs.

Firoz Al Amin, range officer of Inani Forest Range in Ukhiya, said the Forest Department has been working to control the stray dogs on the beach, aiming to protect the turtles.

A sea turtle moves toward the sea. Local conservationists are making a difference to the future of these ancient aquatic animals. Credit: UNDP Bangladesh

EARTH Project, More Than Turtle Conservation

Dr Mohammed Muzammel Hoque, national coordinator of the GEF Small Grants Program at UNDP Bangladesh, said the EARTH project’s role went beyond turtle conservation in the region.

It has elephant-response teams to mitigate conflicts between elephants and humans. The Five Crab Conservation Groups (CCG), comprising 25 youth members, and five sea Turtle Conservation Groups (TCG), also consisting of 25 youth members, remain active. The project was also working towards restoring habitats, with over 7,780 seedlings planted with support from the EARTH Project, with around 80% surviving.

However, Hoque said that the success is dependent on funding – and it’s hoped that once a Forest Trail becomes operational, it can generate revenue from tourists.

Abu Hena Mostafa Kamal, program coordinator of the Arannayk Foundation, said the project, by integrating livelihoods with conservation, “helped grow a sense of ownership among community members and youth, ensuring that environmental protection is not just a project outcome but a sustained, collective commitment.”

Note: The Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly will be held from May 30 to June 6, 2026 in Samarkand, Uzbekistan.

This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Credit: Rajesh Jantilal/AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Apr 20 2026 (IPS)

On 7 April, the government of Cameroon published a list of 16 of its citizens confirmed killed fighting for Russia against Ukraine. That means the number of Cameroon citizens killed in this distant war has likely surpassed a hundred, making the country the biggest victim of a Russian recruitment drive increasingly focused on Africa.

Conflict attrition

When Vladimir Putin launched Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, he probably assumed the war would be over in days. But now it has ground on past the four-year mark, and Russia’s tactics have brought horrendous loss of life on both sides. Putin treats his soldiers’ lives as disposable, throwing wave after wave of troops at Ukrainian lines in what have been called ‘meat grinder’ assaults. Amid pervasive disinformation, casualty estimates vary widely. A project to count confirmed deaths puts Russian military fatalities at over 206,000, while some estimates reach 1.3 million. Russia is reportedly losing soldiers faster than it can replace them.

Putin has turned to North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un: since 2024, North Korean forces have been fighting alongside Russian troops. Over 20,000 have been deployed, with a reported 6,000 casualties. Russia has also recruited from Central Asian countries and long-term allies such as Cuba. Ukraine too has brought in thousands of foreign fighters, including Colombian mercenaries. Now Russia is increasingly turning to Africa.

Russia’s African strategy

Putin has spent years cultivating relationships with African states, helping Russia resist international isolation and counter pressure from western states. The military relationship has been two-way: Russian mercenaries from the shadowy Wagner Group, now closely controlled by the government, have been deployed in as many as 18 African countries, including Burkina Faso, the Central African Republic and Mali. In some, they fight alongside government forces against insurgent groups; in others, including Libya, where two rival governments contest power, and Sudan, home to a brutal civil war, they’re backing one of two sides fighting for power. Wherever they operate, Russian mercenaries are accused of committing atrocities.

Russia’s arrival has come with some public support, cast as an alternative to the former colonial power France and promising more equal partnerships. When Wagner forces entered Mali in 2022, crowds lined the roads to greet them, waving Russian flags. Extensive pro-Russia disinformation campaigns typically precede Russia’s military involvement, laying the groundwork for such welcomes.

The relationship is extractive: in return for soldiers, Russia typically receives natural resources, including diamonds and gold, which help sustain a war that, despite Russia’s anti-imperialist posturing in Africa, is fundamentally imperial.

Repressive Central and West African governments, several run by military juntas or former army leaders who’ve traded their uniforms for civilian clothes, value a partner with no interest in scrutinising their human rights performance. Civil society organisations and media that try to expose human rights abuses by Russian forces come under attack.

From Africa to the frontlines

Russia is now exploiting the economic insecurity of many young African men, recruiting them to serve – and possibly die – on the Ukrainian front. Extensive recent civil society research has verified that Russia has so far recruited 1,417 African nationals, with the true figure almost certainly higher. The numbers have increased year on year, indicating a systematic plan. Egypt has supplied the most recruits, followed by Cameroon and Ghana. Of 1,417 verified recruits, 316, 22 per cent, have reportedly been killed.

Some recruits have expressed support for Russia online. Others are attracted by the promise of Russian citizenship and wages that far exceed anything they could earn at home. They may compare Russia’s apparent openness, signalled by its recent relaxation of visa requirements, with Europe’s increasing hostility towards migrants.

Others who’ve managed to escape report being conned. Fake job adverts made them believe they were signing up for civilian or support roles, including jobs as plumbers and security guards. On arrival, recruits are forced sign Russian-language contracts they can’t read, given minimal training and dispatched to the frontlines. The average service length of those killed is just six months, evidence that Russia treats them as expendable.

Intermediaries – including social media influencers who promote recruitment, travel agencies and people trafficking networks – are profiting from supplying recruits. In a bizarre political twist, Duduzile Zuma-Sambudla, a daughter of former South African president Jacob Zuma, is among those accused of recruiting Africans, including some falsely told they’d be trained as bodyguards for her father’s party. In December, South African police arrested five people on charges related to the recruitment of South Africans, including a journalist known for spreading pro-Russia propaganda.

Pressure for accountability

As evidence has accumulated, several African governments have taken action. The government of Togo warned its citizens about the dangers and, when several Togolese soldiers were captured in Ukraine, confirmed they’d been lured there by false promises of jobs and educational opportunities. Last year, the government of Botswana announced it was investigating the cases of two young men who believed they were signing up for a short-term military training programme but were forced to fight. In February, Ghana’s foreign minister confirmed that at least 55 of his country’s citizens had been killed and travelled to Ukraine to seek the release of Ghanaian prisoners of war. Police in Kenya and South African have arrested people trafficking gangs and closed down recruitment agencies. The Kenyan government recently announced Russia had agreed to stop recruiting Kenyan citizens, offering evidence that sustained bilateral pressure can produce results.

But many other African governments remain in denial, placing warm relations with Russia above the lives of their citizens. By doing so, they’re making clear that those lives are as disposable to them as they are to Russia.

Far more states must press Russia to end its abusive recruitment practices. And for international partners who claim to care about the welfare of young Africans, there’s a clear starting point: help address the economic conditions that create a ready pool of desperate recruits and drop the hostile migration policies that make Russia, of all places, look like a desirable destination.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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Mangroves, reefs and coastal ecosystems are more than natural assets — they are frontline climate solutions. Across Pacific villages, including Naidiri on Fiji’s Coral Coast, these systems are helping reduce erosion, protect livelihoods and support long-term resilience. Credit: Ludovic Branlant/SPC

By Sera Sefeti
NAIDIRI, FIJI, Apr 17 2026 (IPS)

Climate change is no longer a distant threat. Across the Pacific, it is a daily reality reshaping coastlines, livelihoods, and the delicate balance between people and the environment. But in a region long defined by resilience, solutions are not being invented from scratch. They are being remembered, strengthened, and scaled. Nature-based solutions (NbS) approaches that use ecosystems to address climate, disaster, and development challenges have always existed in Pacific communities. For generations, villages have relied on mangroves, agroforestry, and customary practices to protect their land and sustain their people. But as climate impacts intensify, the scale and speed of change demand more.

Now, a new regional effort is working to bridge the gap between tradition and modern policy.

The Pacific Community’s Promoting Pacific Islands Nature-based Solutions (PPIN) project is designed to do exactly that: connect what communities already know with the systems that govern development and investment.

Dr Rakeshi Lata, Training and Capacity Building Officer for Nature-based Solutions at SPC, explains that the project is not about replacing traditional knowledge but elevating it.

“It functions as a bridge connecting community practices with national policies to secure resources and scale up proven local methods,” said Lata.

Naidiri village on Fiji’s Coral Coast shows how nature-based Solutions are put into practice, with communities restoring mangroves and reefs to protect their coastline and sustain livelihoods. Credit: Ludovic Branlant/SPC

At its core, PPIN challenges a long-standing imbalance in development thinking where engineered, “grey” infrastructure is prioritised, and nature is treated as secondary.

“More specifically, PPIN addresses the fact that Pacific countries are highly vulnerable to climate change, disasters, and ecosystem degradation, yet development decisions still prioritise grey, engineered solutions while nature is treated as secondary or only an environmental issue,” Lata said.

This disconnect is especially stark in the Pacific, where people’s lives, cultures, and economies are deeply intertwined with the natural environment. When ecosystems fail, communities feel it immediately through food insecurity, coastal erosion, and increased disaster risks.

Yet despite the proven value of nature-based solutions, their adoption has remained limited—often fragmented, underfunded, and confined to small pilot projects.

“There is limited policy integration, technical capacity, economic evidence, and financing to make NbS ‘business as usual’ across sectors such as infrastructure, finance, agriculture, forestry, fisheries, and tourism,” Lata said.

That gap between what works locally and what is scaled nationally is where PPIN steps in.

Importantly, the project rejects the idea that traditional knowledge and modern science are in competition.

“The core philosophy of PPIN is that traditional knowledge and modern policy are not opposing forces but complementary strengths, this project aims to formalise what communities have already been practising successfully for centuries,” she said.

“PPIN actively incorporates modern science to strengthen traditional approaches.”

Across Fiji, Vanuatu, and Tonga, this integration is already visible not in theory but in practice.

Mangrove restoration, for example, is being used to reduce coastal erosion and storm surges, offering a natural alternative to costly seawalls. During Cyclone Vaiana in Fiji, boats sought shelter within mangrove systems, shielded from powerful winds and waves,  an example of ecosystem protection delivering real-time resilience.

These same mangroves also trap sediment, protecting downstream communities and coral reefs without the need for concrete infrastructure.

In rural areas, traditional agroforestry systems are being strengthened, combining trees and crops to improve soil stability, enhance food security, and build drought resilience. These systems reduce the need for engineered irrigation and land stabilisation while maintaining ecological balance.

Despite these successes, scaling such solutions has historically been difficult. Fragmented governance, siloed implementation across ministries and NGOs, and limited technical capacity have slowed progress.

Coral restoration helps rebuild reef ecosystems that protect Pacific coastlines, support fisheries and sustain community livelihoods. Credit: Ludovic Branlant/SPC

PPIN is designed to dismantle these barriers.

“A central pillar of PPIN is targeted capacity-building, which includes training programmes and communities of practice by establishing peer-to-peer learning networks focusing on specific sectors to foster continued knowledge exchange and collaboration,” she said.

Beyond policy integration, the project is investing in people, particularly those closest to the land.

Training programmes, including Farmers’ Field Schools and coastal resilience initiatives, focus on practical, livelihood-based applications of NbS. Participants gain hands-on skills in climate-smart and organic farming, linking ecosystem health directly to food production and household wellbeing.

The response has been strong. Women make up more than half of participants over 80 out of 146 with youth and community practitioners also actively engaged.

As the project moves toward closure, its legacy is already taking shape not just in outcomes but also in systems that will endure.

“To ensure sustainability and long-term accessibility, materials from trainings, technical guidance, needs assessment findings and more are being consolidated and hosted within a regional NbS knowledge hub led by SPREP,” Lata said.

“This hub provides a single, trusted platform where governments, practitioners, communities, women and youth can access the PPIN resources.”

But perhaps its most lasting impact will be less tangible and more powerful.

“Beyond materials, PPIN leaves behind strengthened regional networks and communities of practice, which will continue to connect practitioners across countries and sectors.”

In a region on the frontline of climate change, the future may not lie in choosing between tradition and science but in weaving them together.

Because in the Pacific, resilience has never been built on one system alone. It is carried across generations, across knowledge systems, and now, increasingly, across policy and practice.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses the spread of AI-powered surveillance in Africa with Wairagala Wakabi, executive director of the Collaboration on International ICT Policy for East and Southern Africa (CIPESA) and co-editor of Smart City Surveillance in Africa: Mapping Chinese AI Surveillance Across 11 Countries, the latest report by the African Digital Rights Network (ADRN) and the Institute of Development Studies (IDS).

Wairagala Wakabi

How widespread is AI-powered surveillance in Africa?

Under the guise of reducing crime and fighting terrorism, at least 11 governments have invested over US$2 billion in AI-powered ‘smart city’ surveillance infrastructure: Algeria, Egypt, Kenya, Mauritius, Mozambique, Nigeria, Rwanda, Senegal, Uganda, Zambia and Zimbabwe.

Governments are installing thousands of CCTV cameras linked to central command centres, paired with tools such as automatic number-plate recognition, biometric ID systems and facial recognition to track people and vehicles. The largest known investments are in Nigeria (over US$470 million), Mauritius (US$456 million) and Kenya (US$219 million), though the real total is likely much higher, since surveillance spending is often secret and the report covers only 11 of Africa’s 55 countries.

Despite being presented as tools for crime prevention, counter-terrorism, modernisation and urban management, these are not targeted security measures. They represent a broader shift toward continuous, population-level monitoring of public spaces, rolled out over the past five to ten years almost always without clear legal limits or public debate.

Are these systems achieving their stated purpose?

No, there is no compelling evidence that they have in any of the countries studied. Instead, the data points to a pattern of use that raises serious human rights concerns.

In Uganda and Zimbabwe, AI-powered surveillance including facial recognition is being used to suppress dissent rather than ensure public safety. Activists, critics of the government, opposition leaders and protesters are identified and monitored through this system, even after protests have ended. In Mozambique, smart CCTV systems have reportedly been installed in areas of strong political opposition, suggesting targeted rather than neutral surveillance.

In Senegal and Zambia, countries with relatively low terrorism threats, governments have still invested heavily, which calls into question the stated security rationale.

Across the countries studied, the scale of surveillance far exceeds any actual or perceived security threat, and the infrastructure is consistently being used to monitor dissent and consolidate state control rather than address genuine public safety needs.

Who’s supplying this technology?

While firms from Israel, South Korea and the USA supply surveillance technologies, Chinese companies are the primary suppliers and financiers. They typically offer end-to-end ‘smart city’ packages that include cameras, software platforms, data analytics systems, training and ongoing technical support. Many projects are backed by loans from Chinese state-linked banks, which makes them financially accessible in the short term but creates long-term dependencies on external vendors for maintenance, system management and upgrades.

This model undermines transparency. Procurement processes are opaque and civil society, the public and oversight institutions including parliaments rarely have information about how these systems operate, how data is stored or who has access to it. That lack of accountability is what makes abuse not just possible, but hard to detect or challenge.

What impact is this having on civic space?

This large-scale surveillance of public spaces is not legal, necessary or proportionate to the legitimate aim of providing security. Recording, analysing and retaining facial images of people in public without their consent interferes with their right to privacy and, over time, their willingness to move, assemble and speak freely.

The most immediate consequence is a chilling effect, particularly where civic space is already restricted. Knowing they can be identified and tracked, activists and journalists are less willing to attend protests for fear of later arrest or reprisals, and end up self-censoring. Civil society organisations also report heightened anxiety about the risks for their members and partners.

What should governments and civil society do?

None of the 11 countries studied have a legal framework capable of balancing the state’s security needs with its commitments to protect fundamental human rights. That must change. Governments must adopt clear regulations on surveillance, including restrictions on facial recognition and other AI tools, require independent human rights impact assessments before introducing new systems, make procurement and deployment processes transparent and establish strong oversight mechanisms, including judicial and parliamentary scrutiny, to prevent abuse.

Civil society should continue documenting abuses, raising public awareness and advocating for accountability, while also supporting affected people and communities through digital security support and legal assistance.

Technology-exporting states and donors must enforce stricter controls and safeguards on the export and financing of these tools, support rights-based approaches to digital governance and help fund independent monitoring and advocacy across Africa.

Without urgent action, these systems will continue to expand, and the rights of people across Africa will continue to shrink.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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Technology: innovation without accountability CIVICUS | State of Civil Society Report 2026
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Facial recognition: the latest weapon against civil society CIVICUS Lens 23.May.2025

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The GEF actively supports climate resilience and sustainable livelihoods in Zanzibar, with a specific focus on the seaweed farming sector, which is crucial for over 20,000 farmers—mostly women—in the region. Here a woman identified as Jazaa is pictured working as a seaweed farmer. She carefully attaches little seaweed seedlings to the rope that she will harvest after two months. Credit: Natalija Gormalova/Climate Visuals Countdown

By Umar Manzoor Shah
SRINAGAR, India, Apr 16 2026 (IPS)

The Global Environment Facility, widely known as the GEF, plays a central role in financing environmental protection across the world. It supports developing countries in tackling climate change, biodiversity loss, land degradation, pollution, and threats to ecosystems.

Since its establishment in the early 1990s, the GEF has grown as a multilateral environmental fund, supporting projects in more than 170 countries.

Over time, the GEF has evolved into what it calls a “family of funds”, each targeting a specific global environmental challenge while operating under a shared strategic framework.

This explainer looks at how the GEF funding works, the origins of its financing model, and the role of six major funds that channel resources toward global environmental goals.

While the GEF predates the 1992 Rio ‘Earth’ Summit, its importance as a financial mechanism grew after the summit. Here UN Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali opens the Rio Earth Summit in 1992, which aimed to develop a global blueprint for balancing economic development with environmental protection. Credit: Michos Tzavaras/UN Photo

Origins of the GEF Funding Model

The GEF was created in 1991, before the Rio ‘Earth’ Summit in 1992, which aimed to develop a global blueprint for balancing economic development with environmental protection; however, its importance grew after the summit.

The Rio Summit produced three major environmental conventions. These were the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), the Convention on Biological Diversity, and, later in 1994, the Convention to Combat Desertification. The GEF became the financial mechanism for these agreements, meaning it mobilises and distributes funds to help countries implement them.

Over the past 35 years, the GEF has expanded its mandate. Today it supports multiple conventions and environmental initiatives through a structured set of trust funds. This architecture allows the facility to coordinate funding across different environmental priorities while maintaining specialised programs for each global commitment.

The Global Environment Facility (GEF) is now focusing on solving environmental problems together instead of separately. It looks at climate change, biodiversity loss, and pollution as connected issues and works with governments, international groups, civil society, and businesses to address them.

The GEF Trust Fund was initially created to support multiple environmental agreements simultaneously. Over time, countries preferred more specific funding for their particular needs.

Because of these changes, the GEF now has different funds, each designed for different purposes and methods of giving money.

Some funds – like the Trust Fund, the Least Developed Countries Fund (LDCF), and part of the Special Climate Change Fund (SCCF) – use a system that helps countries know in advance how much funding they can expect.

The GEF Trust Fund

The Global Environment Facility Trust Fund is the main source of funds for the GEF. It provides grants to support environmental projects in developing countries.

The Trust Fund finances activities across several environmental areas.

These include

• Biodiversity conservation,
• Climate change mitigation,
• Land degradation control,
• International waters management, and
• Chemicals and waste reduction.

Countries receive funding through a system known as the System for Transparent Allocation of Resources, or STAR, which distributes funds based on their environmental needs and eligibility.

Projects funded by the Trust Fund often focus on creating global environmental benefits. These may include:

• Protecting endangered species,
• Restoring ecosystems,
• Reducing greenhouse gas emissions, and
• Improving pollution management systems.

The Trust Fund operates through periodic “replenishment” cycles. Donor countries pledge new contributions every four years, which allows the GEF to finance programs during the next funding period. For example, the GEF-9 cycle will cover the period from July 2026 to June 2030 and focus on scaling up environmental investments while mobilising private capital and strengthening country ownership of environmental policies.

The Global Environment Facility (GEF) has created Integrated Programs. These are special programs designed to address multiple environmental goals at the same time in a more coordinated and efficient way.

For example, the Food Systems Integrated Program does not fund separate projects for climate change, biodiversity, and land degradation. Instead, it combines them into one unified project, which helps achieve stronger and longer-lasting results while making better use of funding.

The GEF helps fund biodiversity across the globe, helping to create conditions to prevent the further endangerment of species like the Sumatran Orangutan (Pongo abelii). Credit: Thomas Gabernig/Unsplash

Global Biodiversity Framework Fund

The Global Biodiversity Framework Fund is a relatively new component of the GEF family of funds. It was created to help countries implement the Kunming Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework, which was adopted in 2022 under the Convention on Biological Diversity.

The biodiversity framework sets ambitious targets for protecting nature by 2030. Its most prominent targets include the “30 by 30” target, which calls for protecting at least 30 percent of the world’s land and ocean areas by the end of the decade.  The Framework also sets a 30 percent target for the restoration of ecosystems and a target of mobilising 30 billion dollars in international financial flows to developing countries for biodiversity action.

The Global Biodiversity Framework Fund supports actions that help countries meet these targets.

Actions that are supported include the following:

• Expanding protected areas,
• Restoring degraded ecosystems,
• Protecting endangered species, and
• Strengthening biodiversity monitoring.

Another important focus is the integration of biodiversity into economic planning. Many projects supported by this fund work with governments and businesses to match financial flows with biodiversity goals. This means reducing financial support for activities that damage the environment and encouraging more sustainable farming, forestry, and fishing practices.

By providing targeted financing for biodiversity commitments, the fund helps translate global agreements into practical actions at the national and local levels.

It is also important to highlight that the fund sets a target of providing at least 20% of its resources to support actions by Indigenous Peoples and local communities. This form of direct financing is unique for a multilateral environmental fund.  To date, this target has been exceeded and mechanisms such as the Green Climate Fund and the Tropical Forest Forever Facility are considering replicating this approach.

GEF-9 biodiversity investments will bring together four interconnected pathways:

• Scaling up financial flows to close the nature financing gap,
• Embedding environmental priorities in national development strategies,
• Mobilising private capital through blended finance, and
• Empowering Indigenous Peoples, local communities, and civil society as active conservation partners.

“A renewed emphasis on the Forest Biomes Integrated Program will continue directing investment into the landscapes most critical for achieving 30×30 – ensuring that GEF financing remains focused where the stakes are highest,” said Chizuru Aoki, the head of the GEF Conventions and Funds Division.

Medicinal and aromatic plant species, such as the baobab, are often exploited; however, the Nagoya Protocol on Access and Benefit Sharing aims to ensure fair use of the planet’s genetic resources and secure benefits for Indigenous knowledge holders. Credit Noah Grossenbacher/Unsplash

Nagoya Protocol Implementation Fund

The Nagoya Protocol Implementation Fund supports countries in implementing the Nagoya Protocol on Access and Benefit Sharing. This international agreement, part of the Convention on Biological Diversity, aims to make sure that the genetic resources of the planet are used fairly and equitably, with benefits shared with those who provide them.

Genetic resources include plants, animals, and microorganisms that are used in research and commercial products such as medicines, cosmetics, and agricultural technologies. Historically, many developing countries have expressed concerns that companies and researchers benefit from these resources without sharing profits or knowledge.

The Nagoya Protocol fixes these issues by requiring users to do the following:

• Get permission from the country providing the resources, and
• Agree on how benefits (like money or knowledge) will be shared.

The fund supports countries by helping them:

• Create laws and rules for using genetic resources,
• Improve monitoring systems, and
• Build skills among researchers and policymakers.

Projects funded also support Indigenous peoples and local communities, who often hold traditional knowledge associated with biological resources. Protecting this knowledge and ensuring fair compensation is a key objective of the Nagoya framework.

Least Developed Countries Fund

The Least Developed Countries Fund focuses on supporting climate adaptation in the world’s most vulnerable nations. These countries often face severe environmental risks but lack the finances and systems to respond efficiently.

The fund supports the preparation and implementation of National Adaptation Programs of Action and National Adaptation Plans. These are country-specific strategies that identify the most urgent climate risks facing each country and outline measures to reduce vulnerability.

Typical projects include the following:

• Strengthening climate-resilient agriculture,
• Improving water management systems,
• Protecting coastal zones, and
• Building early warning systems for extreme weather events.

Because many least developed countries face multiple environmental issues at once, the fund often supports integrated projects that address climate change alongside biodiversity conservation and land management.

This funding system makes sure that the poorest and most vulnerable countries get the help they need to deal with climate change, even though they did very little to cause it.

Villagers in Nyamisati, Rufiji District, wade through muddy tidal flats to plant mangrove seedlings—part of a grassroots effort to curb saline intrusion that has begun to poison nearby rice paddies as saltwater seeps underground. The initiative reflects growing local responses to environmental degradation driven by human activity along Tanzania’s coast. The GEF supports projects like these that help mitigate the impacts of climate change. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS

Special Climate Change Fund

The Special Climate Change Fund supports climate action in developing countries and works alongside the Least Developed Countries Fund.

While the Least Developed Countries Fund focuses on the poorest nations, this fund helps other developing countries that are also affected by climate change.

It supports projects that:

• Help countries prepare for climate impacts,
• Include climate planning in development and infrastructure,
• Improve water management and agriculture.
• Reduce disaster risks, and
• Promote environmentally friendly technologies.

The SCCF also, in some cases, supports mitigation efforts, particularly when they involve innovative technologies that reduce greenhouse gas emissions. By financing both adaptation and mitigation initiatives, the fund contributes to global efforts to stabilise the climate system.

Capacity Building Initiative for Transparency Trust Fund

The Capacity Building Initiative for Transparency Trust Fund supports countries in implementing transparency requirements under the Paris Agreement.

Under this agreement, countries must regularly report their greenhouse gas emissions and track their progress on climate goals. However, many developing countries do not have the tools or skills to do this properly.

This fund helps by supporting:

• Training for government officials,
• Creation of national emissions data systems, and
• Better monitoring and reporting methods.

Strong reporting systems are important because they:

• Help track climate progress,
• Build trust between countries, and
• Ensure countries meet their commitments.

The fund helps developing countries improve their climate reporting so they can fully take part in global climate efforts.

How the “family of funds” works together

One of the defining features of the GEF funding model is that each part speaks to the others.

Think of it like a team of funds working together, rather than separate, isolated programs.

These funds are coordinated so they can:

• Support the same project from different angles,
• Avoid duplication (no overlapping funding for the same purpose), and
• Align with global environmental agreements.

For example:

• A biodiversity project might use:
  • The main GEF Trust Fund
  • Plus the Global Biodiversity Framework Fund
• A climate adaptation project could combine:
  • Least Developed Countries Fund
  • Special Climate Change Fund

This ‘family’ structure improves:

• Coordination, so different funds work in sync,
• Efficiency, so funds work with less waste and duplication, and
• Flexibility, so projects can tap into multiple funding sources.

Environmental problems are interconnected. A single project (like forest conservation) can:

• Reduce carbon emissions,
• Protect biodiversity,
• Improve water systems, and
• Avoid land degradation.

Because of the integrated funding system, the GEF can support all these goals at once, rather than funding them separately.

The “family of funds” is a coordinated funding system that allows the GEF to:

• Combine resources;
• Support complex, multi-sector projects; and
• Maximise environmental impact

The Future of GEF Financing

As global environmental crises grow, so does the demand for money and resources to meet climate and biodiversity needs. International assessments suggest that hundreds of billions of dollars are needed each year.

The GEF aims to play a “catalytic” role in closing this gap – in short, the GEF acts as a “catalyst” or tool for using limited public funds to unlock much larger investments.

Its funding model mobilises additional resources from

• Governments,
• Development banks, and
• Private investors.

“In practical terms, the mechanisms being supported in GEF-9 include debt-for-nature and debt-for-climate swaps, green bonds, pooled investment vehicles, and outcome-based financing structures. Each of these can serve a different purpose depending on the context – but the common thread is that they allow the GEF to use its resources strategically to unlock much larger pools of capital from the private sector, multiplying the environmental impact that public funding alone could achieve,” Aoki said.

Note: This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.

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Credit: Kristian Tuxen Ladegaard Berg/NurPhoto via AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Apr 15 2026 (IPS)

When Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen addressed her supporters on election night on 24 March, she chose her words carefully. Losing four percentage points after almost seven years in power, she suggested, wasn’t so bad given there’s been a pandemic, a war in Europe and a confrontation with Donald Trump over Greenland. The reality was the Social Democrats had recorded their worst general election result since 1903. Meanwhile, the far-right Danish People’s Party (DPP) tripled its seat count, despite years of the Social Democrats leading a systematic crackdown on immigration to try to prevent it gaining support.

A historic result

While the Social Democrats came first on 21.9 per cent of the vote, they dropped from 50 to 38 seats. Their centre-right coalition partner, Venstre, had its worst result in its 150-year history. These are the two parties that have led every government since mainstream politics began copying far-right narratives on immigration. The bargain has benefitted neither.

Vote-switching data from exit polls told the story. The Social Democrats retained only around two thirds of their 2022 support. Their largest group of defectors — 13 per cent of their previous voters — switched to the Green Left, which now holds 20 seats as parliament’s second-largest party. Right-leaning voters switched to the DPP rather than rewarding the Social Democrats for delivering the immigration restrictions the DPP has long demanded. Time and again, evidence suggests that voters who are highly motivated about an issue tend to prefer parties that have always prioritised it over parties that have adopted it more recently out of electoral calculation.

The overall picture leaves neither bloc with a majority. The left-wing grouping holds 84 seats and the right holds 77, both short of the 90 needed to govern. Frederiksen has submitted her resignation as prime minister but, as leader of the largest party, has been charged with forming a new government. This is a task made harder by the conditions attached by Moderates leader Lars Løkke Rasmussen, who’s unwilling to join a government that does not include both left and right.

Twenty-five years of accommodation

The Social Democrats’ turn on immigration began in the aftermath of their 2001 election defeat. The party believed it was losing working-class voters to the far right over immigration and concluded it needed to compete on that ground. It framed anti-immigration policies as a defence of the welfare state, trying to emphasise solidarity rather than xenophobia, and over the next decade moved steadily rightward on this issue.

The nine seats the DPP got in 2001 became invaluable to centre-right Venstre leader Anders Fogh Rasmussen, who formed a minority government with its support. His government subsequently launched a wave of amendments to the Aliens Act, which was changed 93 times between 2002 and 2016 with the explicit goal of making Denmark less appealing to asylum seekers.

Throughout the 2000s and early 2010s, the DPP grew steadily, winning 20.6 per cent of votes in 2015 to become the biggest force on the right. Between 2015 and 2018, immigration law was amended over 70 times.

When Frederiksen became Social Democrat leader in 2015, she sought to outbid the DPP. By the 2019 election, the Social Democrats’ anti-immigration platform closely mirrored the DPP’s. And in the short term, it worked for them. They won the 2019 election while the DPP lost almost 12 percentage points. In losing, though, the DPP had won: its previously fringe positions on migration, belonging and identity had been absorbed into mainstream politics.

A rights-violating regime

On entering government in 2019, Frederiksen entrenched what the Social Democrats called a ‘paradigm shift’, moving from integration to deterrence, detention and return, with the stated goal of admitting ‘zero asylum seekers’. Denmark became the first European state to declare parts of Syria safe, enabling it to deport Syrian refugees to an active conflict zone. In 2021, parliament authorised the outsourcing of asylum processing to countries outside Europe. By 2024, Denmark was granting under 900 people asylum a year, the lowest figure in four decades, pandemic years excluded.

The human rights consequences have been documented by international civil society organisations and bodies such as the United Nations Committee Against Torture. Amnesty International has raised concerns about the forced return of asylum seekers to danger in violation of the 1951 Refugee Convention. The European Court of Human Rights ruled that Denmark’s three-year waiting period for family reunification for refugees with temporary protection status violates the right to family life. Policies targeting government-classified ‘ghetto’ areas — overwhelmingly low-income neighbourhoods with high concentrations of people from migrant backgrounds — have been challenged at the European Court of Justice on grounds of racial discrimination.

The harm has been intentional. A framework designed to make Denmark as unwelcoming as possible has placed tens of thousands of people in prolonged legal uncertainty, with documented effects on family stability and mental health. Under Denmark’s presidency of the Council of the European Union, Frederiksen pressed for similar policies across Europe and, alongside far-right Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, lobbied for a revised European Convention on Human Rights to enable easier deportation. Centre-left governments in Sweden and the UK have looked to Denmark as a model.

Normalisation, not neutralisation

The political calculation was that taking ownership of immigration would reduce its salience as an issue and deny the far right the fuel to grow. Instead, the move intensified demand, leaving opponents of migration taking ever more extreme positions while erasing the distinction between mainstream and far-right politics.

Denmark’s experience is a lesson other European centre-left parties appear determined not to learn. Twenty-five years of accommodation have produced a society in which far-right assumptions have become normalised, at enormous and ongoing cost to those whose rights are being stripped away. This is not a template; it is a warning.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Head of Research and Analysis, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report. She is also a Professor of Comparative Politics at Universidad ORT Uruguay.

For interviews or more information, please contact research@civicus.org

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From the left, Rev. Tolbert Thomas Jallah Jn with Mariann Bassey Olsson during the launch of the campaign in Cartagena, Colombia. Credit: AFSA.

By Isaiah Esipisu
NAIROBI, Apr 14 2026 (IPS)

Over 800 households in Ikolomani Constituency in Kakamega County, Western Kenya, fear eviction to pave the way for a British firm, Shanta Gold Limited, to begin extracting gold valued at Sh683 billion ($5.29 billion) on an estimated 337 acres of residential and agricultural land.

Efforts by residents to protest against the looming displacement during an attempt for a public participation session on the Environmental and Social Impact Assessment (ESIA) by the government on 4 December 2025 were met with police brutality, leading to four deaths due to bullet wounds, arbitrary arrests and scores of injuries.

According to the Kenya Human Rights Commission (KHRC), the incident is part of a disturbing and escalating pattern in Kenya’s extractive sector, where communities seeking accountability are met with brutal force, political threats, and procedural manipulation.

“Mining zones are increasingly becoming death traps rather than engines of community development,” reads part of a statement issued by the commission following the incident.

This trend mirrors what is happening in many other countries across Africa, where communities living in mineral-rich areas face forceful displacements, abuse of basic human rights, and environmental degradation linked to industrial mineral extraction, often perpetrated by foreign firms with full support of the political class.

According to Appolinaire Zagabe, a Congolese human rights activist and the Director for the DRC Climate Change Network (Reseau Sur le Changement Climatique RDC) in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), often, people he terms ‘greedy government officials’ sign contracts with extractive firms to legalise their activities, then use police machinery to forcefully and brutally evict communities without informed consent and proper compensation.

It is based on such injustices that civil society organisations, social movements, faith-based actors, Indigenous Peoples, pastoralist and peasant organisations from Africa under the umbrella of the Alliance for Food Sovereignty in Africa (AFSA) launched a campaign calling for land policies that protect African smallholder farmers and communities against punitive extractive practices and land grabbing, which are currently a threat to human rights, livelihoods and sustainable food systems.

“Land is more than a resource; it is our heritage, our identity, and our future,” said Rev. Tolbert Thomas Jallah Jr, the Executive Director at the Faith and Justice Network, during the launch of the campaign on the sidelines of the International Conference on Agrarian Reform and Rural Development (ICARRD+20) in Cartagena, Colombia.

“Across Africa, our soils feed our families, sustain our economies, and connect generations, yet today, land degradation, industrial extractive practices by foreign enterprises, climate change, and land grabbing threaten the very foundation of our food systems,” he added.

In a joint declaration at the conference, the organisations observed that rural communities across the world continue to face dispossession, land concentration, and ecological destruction.

“Despite global commitments to end hunger and poverty, land and food systems are increasingly controlled by corporate and financial interests, while communities that produce food remain marginalised and insecure,” reads part of the declaration statement.

It was further observed that carbon offset projects, extractive industries, agribusiness expansions, and speculative land markets are accelerating dispossession, soil degradation, and social inequality, often excluding communities from territories they have governed collectively for generations.

The campaign, dubbed “Protect Our Land, Restore Our Soil”, is now calling on governments to strengthen land rights and protect smallholder farmers; communities to embrace sustainable farming practices that rebuild soil fertility; and youthful farmers to view agriculture not as a last resort but as a powerful pathway to innovation and resilience.

“When soil is degraded, food becomes scarce, and when land is taken or misused, communities lose dignity and security,” said Rev. Tolbert, who is also the sitting Chairperson at the AFSA’s Board of Directors.

Just like the looming evictions of residents of Ikolomani in Kenya, Amnesty International has also observed that people of the DRC also pay a high price to supply the world with copper and cobalt: forced evictions, illegal destruction of their homes, and physical violence – sometimes leading to deaths.

The DRC supplies 70 to 74 percent of the copper and cobalt used in lithium-ion batteries. These batteries power our smartphones, laptops, electric cars, and bicycles, and they play a major role in the energy transition away from fossil fuels. This transition is urgent and necessary.

However, according to Amnesty International, mineral-rich regions of the DRC are sacrificed to mining development, leading to a shocking series of abuses in the region. Thousands of people have lost their homes, schools, hospitals, and communities due to the expansion of copper and cobalt mines in the country, especially in Kolwezi, which sits above rich copper and cobalt deposits.

The AFSA-led campaign calls on governments and corporate organisations to guarantee meaningful participation of affected communities and free prior and informed consent of Indigenous Peoples in land, agriculture and climate decision-making to avoid conflicts and abuse of basic human rights.

“The future lies not in further commodifying land and food systems, but in restoring community control over territories, securing pastoralist mobility and commons, and supporting agroecological transitions rooted in justice and ecological integrity,” observed Mariann Bassey Olsson, a Lawyer, and Director at Action (Friends of the Earth Nigeria).

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CIVICUS discusses recent regressive changes to Argentina’s labour laws with Facundo Merlán Rey, an activist with the Coordination Against Police and Institutional Repression (CORREPI), an organisation that defends workers’ rights and resists state repression.

Facundo Merlán Rey

What does the new law change and why did the government decide to push it through?

Capitalising on its victory in last year’s legislative election, which gave it a majority in both parliamentary chambers, the government pushed through a labour law that introduced changes on several fronts simultaneously.

It increases the daily maximum of working hours from eight to 12, with a weekly cap of 48. Hours worked beyond this limit no longer need to be paid separately, but can be accumulated and exchanged for days off at a later date.

It also introduces the concept of ‘dynamic wage’, allowing part of an employee’s pay to be determined based on merit or individual productivity. The employer can decide this unilaterally with no need for a collective agreement. This would allow two people to be paid differently for doing the same work.

The law creates the Labour Assistance Fund, an account to which the employer contributes three per cent of a worker’s salary, of which between one and 2.5 percentage points come from the worker’s pay. If dismissed, the worker receives the amount accumulated in that fund. This is deeply humiliating. It makes the worker contribute to the financing of their dismissal. Given that these contributions previously went into the pension system, the effect will also be to weaken pensions.

The law restricts the right to strike by expanding the list of occupations deemed essential, which means they are required to maintain at least 75 per cent of their operations during a strike. Previously, this category included air traffic control, electricity, gas, healthcare and water. Now it also includes customs, education at all levels except university, immigration, ports and telecommunications. In practice, this means that in these fields a strike will have a much more limited impact.

Finally, the law repeals the special regimes that regulated working conditions in some trades and professions. Over the next six months, hairdressers, private drivers, radio and telegraph operators and travelling salespeople will lose these protections. The Journalists’ Statute will be abolished from 2027 onwards.

At CORREPI, we believe all these measures are unconstitutional, as they directly contravene article 14 of the constitution, which guarantees the right to work and the right to decent living conditions. The changes put employers in a position of almost absolute dominance in an employment relationship, leaving workers with no real scope to defend their rights.

How have trade unions and social organisations reacted?

The most militant groups highlighted the problems with the new law clearly, but the response from the organised labour movement has been insufficient.

Union leaders responded with a belated and low-profile campaign plan. They have long been criticised for preferring discreet agreements to open confrontation, and this time was no different. They negotiated behind the scenes and secured concessions to protect themselves. The law maintains employers’ contributions to trade union health schemes and the union dues paid by workers for two years. The rights of workers as a whole were sidelined.

What impact are the changes having?

Although the law is already in force, its full implementation faces obstacles, partly because it has internal consistency issues that hinder its practical application. When the government attempts to apply it in employment areas that still retain rights, it will likely face legal challenges, which will increase social unrest.

Even so, some of its effects are already being felt. Unemployment is rising slowly but steadily. Factory closures, driven by the opening up of imports and the greater ease of dismissal, are pushing more workers into informal employment and multiple jobs. The result is a fall in consumption and a level of strain with outcomes that are difficult to predict.

The consequences extend beyond the economic sphere. Increasingly demanding working conditions, combined with high inflation and rising household debt, are taking a toll on workers’ mental health. Regrettably, there is already a worrying rise in the suicide rate.

There’s also a consequence that is harder to measure: this reform erodes the collective identity of workers. When work is informal, individuals tend to solve their problems on their own, making it much harder to organise to demand better conditions. In working-class neighbourhoods, drug trafficking is becoming established as an alternative source of employment, generating situations of violence that largely go unnoticed. Unfortunately, everything points to an ever-deepening social breakdown.

What lessons does this experience hold for the rest of the region?

Regional experience shows it is very difficult to reverse this kind of change. In Brazil, President Lula da Silva came to power in 2022 promising to repeal the labour law passed in 2017 under Michel Temer’s government, similarly opposed by social organisations and trade unions. However, he failed to do so, and the framework Temer left remains in force. Once passed, these laws tend to remain in place regardless of who governs next.

That’s why what’s happening in Argentina should not be viewed as an isolated phenomenon. The reform appears to be part of a broader direction that regional politics is taking under the influence of the USA, one of the main drivers of these changes and a supporter of the governments implementing them.

The weakening of labour rights and collective organising is not a side effect; it is the objective being pursued. Dismantling workers’ ability to organise collectively facilitates the advance of extractive and financial interests and guarantees access to cheap labour. In that sense, Argentina offers a warning to the rest of the region.

CIVICUS interviews a wide range of civil society activists, experts and leaders to gather diverse perspectives on civil society action and current issues for publication on its CIVICUS Lens platform. The views expressed in interviews are the interviewees’ and do not necessarily reflect those of CIVICUS. Publication does not imply endorsement of interviewees or the organisations they represent.

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