A view of the rubble in Jabalia, northern Gaza, after heavy Israeli bombardment. Credit: UNICEF/Rawan Eleyan

By Oritro Karim
UNITED NATIONS, Apr 17 2026 (IPS)

Roughly six months after the ceasefire in the Occupied Palestinian Territory went into effect, the humanitarian situation in Gaza remains precariously fragile, despite a relative decline in hostilities. The crisis, marked by ongoing Israeli airstrikes and shelling, continued blockades on humanitarian aid, and widespread displacement, has pushed the majority of Palestinians in Gaza to the brink. Amid the vast scale of needs, basic services are increasingly strained, and humanitarian experts warn that the situation could deteriorate further in the coming months unless sustained aid and funding are secured.

A new report from the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinians in the Near East (UNRWA) on the current conditions in Gaza confirmed a continuation of airstrikes, shelling, and gunfire across multiple areas, including Beit Lahia, Jabalia, Deir al Balah, Khan Younis, Rafah, and Bureij. The Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) estimates that since the eruption of hostilities on October 7, 2023, approximately 72,315 Gazans have been killed and another 172,137 injured.

“The scale and pattern of these actions, occurring alongside mass displacement of Palestinians from their homes and land in Gaza shows once again the ongoing broader policy of ethnic cleansing across the occupied Palestinian territory,” said a group of United Nations (UN) experts on April 13. “This cycle of displacement, terror, and targeted attacks serves an ultimate purpose: to make life unbearable for Palestinians and permanently force them from their land…Targeting areas known to shelter displaced civilians is a grave breach of international humanitarian law and is a grim reminder of the urgent need for international action and accountability.”

According to Palestine’s Ministry of Health, at least 32 Gazans have been killed by Israeli forces in early April alone. Airstrikes, gunfire, and shelling are daily occurrences, with women, children, disabled persons, humanitarian workers, and journalists being routinely targeted. On April 9, a young girl was killed by Israeli gunfire in a crowded classroom-turned-makeshift encampment.

“For the past 10 days, Palestinians are still being killed and injured in what is left of their homes, shelters, and tents of displaced families, on the streets, in vehicles, at a medical facility and in a classroom,” said United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk. “Movement itself has become a life-threatening activity. Incidents of Palestinians killed by Israeli forces while walking, driving, or standing outside are recorded nearly every day.”

The Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) also confirmed that there have been increasing cases of Israeli forces killing Palestinians based on their proximity to the “yellow line”, a line of demarcation that divides the Palestinian-controlled areas of Gaza and the Israeli-controlled areas. “Targeting civilians not taking direct part in hostilities is a war crime, regardless of their proximity to deployment lines,” said Türk

On April 6, Israeli forces shot at vehicles from the World Health Organization (WHO), killing a driver. Two days later, Israeli drone strikes killed Al Jazeera journalist Mohamed Washah in Gaza City, marking the 294th Palestinian journalist to be killed by Israeli forces since October 7, 2023. Additionally, Israel has continued to ban international journalists from accessing Gaza, further compounding the regional decline of journalistic freedom.

“The number of journalists and humanitarian personnel killed in Gaza is unprecedented, and further compounds civilian harm as it makes reporting on the situation and responding to its humanitarian implications life-threatening,” added Türk.

Internal displacement is particularly rampant, with OCHA estimating that routine evacuation orders and bombardment have affected roughly 92 percent of all housing across the enclave, with the vast majority of affected communities having been displaced multiple times. Civilians residing in overcrowded, makeshift encampments are disproportionately affected by insecurity, freezing temperatures, building collapse, and a severe shortage of humanitarian aid and basic services.

Humanitarian movement remains severely constrained, with all UNRWA staff banned from accessing the entire Occupied Palestinian Territory since March 2025. The agency, which has long acted as a critical lifeline for Palestinians, has pre-positioned food parcels, flour, and shelter supplies at Gaza’s borders, which could help hundreds of thousands of Gazans.

Thousands of Palestinians across the enclave are in urgent need of medical care as Gaza’s health system nears the brink of collapse, facing severe shortages of supplies amid an influx of injured and ill patients. Medications are critically short in supply, and UNRWA has reported a sharp uptick in cases of ectoparasitic infections such as scabies and fleas, as well as chickenpox and other skin diseases, which have been linked to disrupted water and hygiene (WASH) services, overcrowding, and pests.

Despite these challenges, humanitarian experts have expressed optimism that the situation in Gaza could improve as access constraints begin to fade. Following nearly 40 days of closure, the critical Zikim crossing reopened in early April, allowing nutritional and health supplies to reach northern Gaza directly. UNRWA is currently supporting over 67,000 displaced individuals across 83 collective emergency shelters, with over 11,000 personnel providing lifesaving care.

UNRWA, in collaboration with WHO, the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), and Palestine’s Ministry of Health, reached almost 2,100 children under three years of age with vaccinations between April 5 and 9. WHO and its partners have also been facilitating dozens of medical evacuations through the Rafah border crossing and providing access to medical care, food, water, and psychosocial services to returning Gazans.

The UN experts stressed that a definitive end to hostilities, an expansion of protection services, and the unimpeded delivery of humanitarian aid are crucial in coordinating an effective return to stability in Gaza. Additionally, the experts called on Israeli authorities to ensure a safe and dignified return to Gaza for displaced individuals, as well as the lifting of restrictions for UNRWA operations.

“We reiterate our call on States to bring Israel’s unlawful occupation to an end and ensure the immediate protection of civilians sheltering in displacement sites across the Gaza Strip, including by scaling up vital humanitarian assistance,” the experts said. “States must comply with their legal obligations. They must bring Israel’s unlawful occupation to an end, refrain from recognising it and withhold assistance to it, and take effective measures to ensure investigations and accountability for grave violations of international law in the occupied Palestinian Territory.”

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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Credit: Mamunur Rashid/NurPhoto via AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Apr 6 2026 (IPS)

Bangladesh’s first credible election in nearly two decades delivered a landslide win for the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) and its leader Tarique Rahman, son of a former prime minister, just back from 17 years of self-imposed exile.

The election was made possible by a Generation Z-led uprising that security forces sought to repress by killing at least 1,400 people. The protest that began when young people rose up against a job quota system that functioned as a tool of patronage grew into a movement that brought down a government. Many protesters wanted something beyond the ousting of an authoritarian government, calling for old politics to be swept aside and young people to have a genuine say in government. What’s resulted falls short of that, and Bangladesh’s new government should be aware that unless it delivers genuine change, protests could rise again.

The uprising

The 2024 protests that toppled Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina began when Bangladesh’s High Court reinstated a 30 per cent quota for descendants of 1971 independence war veterans, leaving less than half of public sector jobs open to recruitment based on merit. In a country with acute youth unemployment, frustrated young people rejected this system as a vehicle for Awami League patronage. Coordinated by the Students Against Discrimination network, the movement spread nationwide through road and railway blockades.

The government’s response turned a policy dispute into a political crisis. Members of the Awami League’s student wing attacked protesters. Authorities imposed a nationwide curfew with a shoot-on-sight order, shut down the internet and directed security forces to fire lethal weapons into crowds. But the repression backfired. People used their phones to document every incident, and footage circulated widely after internet access was partly restored, directly undermining the government’s narrative that cast protesters as violent agitators. The killing of student coordinator Abu Sayed, filmed as he stood unarmed with arms outstretched before police opened fire, became the uprising’s defining image.

On 5 August 2024, facing a mass march on her residence, Hasina fled to India on an army helicopter. As CIVICUS’s 2026 State of Civil Society Report sets out, Bangladesh’s Gen Z-led uprising went on to inspire subsequent protests in Indonesia, Nepal and beyond.

Reforms in the balance

Three days after Hasina fled, Nobel Peace Prize-winning economist Muhammad Yunus was sworn in as Chief Adviser of an interim government. This was a victory for the student movement, which had made clear it would not accept a military-backed administration. His government established reform commissions covering the constitution, corruption, judiciary, police and public administration, and negotiated the July National Charter with political parties: 84 proposals designed to reduce the concentration of power in the prime minister’s office and make it structurally harder for any future government to capture the state the way Hasina had. Most parties signed it in October 2025.

But the path to the election was neither clean nor consensual. The International Crimes Tribunal, a domestic judicial body reinstated by the interim government, convicted Hasina in absentia for crimes against humanity and sentenced her to death. In May 2025, the interim government banned the Awami League under anti-terrorism legislation. International observers warned that excluding the country’s largest party risked disenfranchising millions and undermining the election’s democratic credibility.

The election timing was also bitterly contested: the BNP, eager to capitalise on its frontrunner status, pushed for an early date, while the newly formed National Citizen Party (NCP), founded by Gen Z protesters, wanted more time to organise and for institutional reforms to be locked in first. The BNP prevailed.

A dynasty returns

The BNP and its allies won 209 of 299 contested seats, securing a decisive two-thirds parliamentary majority. The right-wing Islamist party Jamaat-e-Islami — whose 2013 ban the interim government lifted — emerged as the main opposition with close to 80 seats, its best-ever result. The NCP won just six of the 30 seats it contested.

The NCP’s poor showing had partly structural causes — formed in February 2025, it had barely a year to build an organisation with limited funds and no networks beyond urban centres — and was partly self-inflicted. A decision to ally with Jamaat-e-Islami as part of an 11-party coalition alienated many young voters who had hoped for genuinely new politics. Prominent NCP figures resigned in protest and stood as independents. NCP leader Nahid Islam, just 27 years old, did win a seat, and the party has pledged to rebuild in opposition.

The election itself was a genuine improvement on Bangladesh’s recent history. Turnout reached 60 per cent, up from 42 per cent in the fraud-ridden 2024 poll. Over 60 per cent of voters endorsed the July Charter in a referendum that was held alongside the election, giving the reform agenda a democratic mandate the new government will find difficult to ignore. Yet the vote would have been more legitimate had all parties been permitted to compete freely, and the campaign was not fully free of violence either: rights groups documented that at least 16 political activists were killed in the run-up to polling day.

Now the BNP inherits a state apparatus politicised over decades of one-party dominance and holds a two-thirds parliamentary majority with no meaningful check on its authority. Whether it will govern differently from those it replaced, or simply settle into the same logic of power, remains to be seen. The young people whose uprising made this election possible are watching. They have already brought down one government. The new one would do well to remember this.

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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CIVICUS discusses the presidential election in the Republic of the Congo with Ivan Kibangou Ngoy, executive director of Global Participe, a civil society action-research organisation focused on democratic governance based in Pointe-Noire.

Ivan Kibangou Ngoy

How can the 94.8 per cent result be explained?

The outcome of this election was predictable from the outset, and for one fundamental reason: the legal framework gives free rein to electoral fraud. The electoral law lacks the necessary safeguards to prevent manipulation. The ruling party has systematically rigged the electoral process, excluding its opponents and independent civil society from any meaningful participation.

Accreditation for observers was refused to independent civil society organisations (CSOs), evidence of a total lack of transparency. Without independent observers, there’s no external oversight of the conduct of the vote or the counting of votes.

The result was not the outcome of electoral competition; it was the logical result of a system designed to guarantee precisely this outcome. When the legal framework allows for fraud, the opposition cannot campaign, observers are excluded and the government controls all administrative mechanisms, including the electoral administration, the result becomes inevitable. This is not an anomaly but the product of a system designed to produce it and to give it the appearance of democratic legitimacy. So the result was already decided even before polling stations opened.

How was competition restricted?

Opposition parties and independent CSOs were not allowed to organise public meetings or campaign openly among voters. They were denied access to public media, preventing them communicating with people.

The country still operates under a prior authorisation regime: the government must approve all public political activity. This system creates a fundamental imbalance: the ruling party can organise its rallies freely, while the opposition is blocked at every turn. There is an urgent need to move to a simple notification system, in which CSOs and parties would inform the authorities of their activities without needing their consent. Without this change, the opposition has no legal mechanism to participate fairly in an election.

The imprisonment and exile of major opposition figures send a clear message: challenging Sassou Nguesso’s regime is criminalised. Two of the country’s best-known opposition figures have been in prison for nearly a decade. When opponents cannot stand for election, campaign or move about freely, the result is predetermined both by fraud and the physical elimination of alternatives. The election is merely an administrative charade designed to legitimise the retention of power. It’s not a genuine choice but a demonstration of state power over a population reduced to silence.

Why is the internet cut off during elections?

Since the advent of social media, every election has been accompanied by an internet blackout, a deliberate measure the authorities take to control the information circulating during the vote. Internet shutdowns directly reinforce the system of electoral fraud by preventing the spread of information on fraud, irregularities or violations of voters’ rights. Without the internet, people cannot share photos or videos from polling stations, observers cannot report anomalies in real time and citizen movements cannot coordinate monitoring efforts.

The internet blackout effectively transforms the country into an information-controlled zone where only government messages can circulate. This reveals that the regime understands the power of social media as a tool for accountability and mobilisation. It’s an implicit acknowledgement that, without control over information, the regime could not maintain its official narrative. This systematic practice ultimately reveals the fragility of the regime’s legitimacy.

How has civil society mobilised despite restrictions?

Despite systematic restrictions, civil society organised itself by holding press conferences and workshops in private spaces, where the authorities could not intervene directly. These meetings enabled civil society to coordinate strategies and strengthen cohesion between organisations, even with a limited number of participants. Press conferences enabled direct engagement with the media despite restrictions on access to public media. Civil society also used social media to document rights violations, mobilise people and maintain a public conversation on electoral issues.

However, these strategies reveal the limits of resistance in a heavily controlled environment. Meetings in private spaces reach only a limited audience and social media can be shut down at any moment, as happened on election day. We must continue mapping independent CSOs to identify and connect all those working outside the regime’s control. We must also train CSO leaders in techniques for raising awareness and mobilising people.

People must understand the nature of the regime governing Congo-Brazzaville. The current regime is embodied by the Congolese Labour Party, a former Soviet-style party-state ousted from power at the ballot box in 1992, in the only truly free and transparent election the country has ever held. The party returned to power by force of arms after overthrowing the democratically elected government. Understanding this history is crucial: it proves that democratic change is possible. When people understand the mechanisms of power seizure and refuse to accept them, the regime loses its legitimacy even if it retains formal control of the state.

What’s the future for democracy in Congo after 42 years of rule?

Four decades under the same regime amount to the systematic denial of democratic change, of citizens’ fundamental right to choose a different government through the ballot box. Sassou Nguesso’s fifth term consolidates an institutional framework designed to ensure no one else ever comes to power through democratic means.

This framework operates through the systematic contradiction between constitutional promises and practice. The constitution proclaims a multi-party system, but a law recognises only those parties that pledge allegiance to the ruling power. The constitution creates the post of leader of the opposition, but this leader is the head of a party affiliated with the ruling power. The constitution establishes an advisory council of associations, but this institution is attached to the office of the head of state to muzzle civil society. The country is run like a barracks.

We must expose and discredit this regime internationally, by publicly denouncing its supporters, notably the French government and oil multinationals. Independent civil society must step up awareness-raising campaigns, both in person and online. The international community must exert sustained pressure, including diplomatic pressure, sanctions and support for organisations in exile. Without this combination of internal action and international pressure, democratic change will remain impossible. But it is possible. It happened in 1992, and it can happen again.

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: Sanjit Pariyar/NurPhoto via AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Mar 25 2026 (IPS)

Less than six months after Nepal’s Generation Z rose up in protest, the country has a new prime minister. A 35-year-old former rapper who soundtracked the protests swept to power in a landslide in the 5 March election.

Balendra Shah defeated former prime minister KP Sharma Oli, whose third stint as prime minister was cut short by the protests, beating him in his own turf. After years of fragile coalition governments, in which Sharma Oli and two other men of advancing age repeatedly swapped the role of prime minister, Nepal has chosen to change direction.

Gen Z-led protests

The September 2025 protests were triggered by the government’s banning of 26 social media platforms in an evident response to the ‘nepokids’ trend, in which people used social media to satirise the ostentatiously wealthy lifestyles of politicians’ family members, while most young people experienced daily economic struggles amid high inflation and youth unemployment. In a country where the median age is just 25, the ban was the final straw, activating long-simmering anger about corruption, poor public services and a political system that refused to listen to young people.

When young people took to the streets, the state unleashed violence. The deadliest day was 8 September, when some protesters broke into the parliamentary complex and police fired live military-grade ammunition, shooting many victims in the head. Nineteen people died that day, and overall at least 76 people died in the protests.

Rather than silence the protests, the state’s lethal crackdown swelled them, making clear this was about more than the social media ban; it was a struggle for Nepal’s future. Even more people took to the streets. On 9 September, Sharma Oli resigned. Some protesters turned to violence, while the army took over security and imposed a nationwide curfew. But events soon took a decisive turn. Chief Justice Sushila Karki was sworn in as interim prime minister on 12 September, kickstarting a process that led to the election. The interim government agreed to establish a Gen Z Council, a formal body designed to bridge the gap between the government and young people and enable them to hold it accountable and monitor implementation of reforms.

As the latest State of Civil Society Report sets out, Nepal’s movement inspired many of the year’s other Gen Z-led mobilisations. Nepali activists used the gaming platform Discord, including for a radical exercise in democracy that saw 10,000 people take part in online discussions that put forward Karki as interim prime minister. Morocco’s protesters also used Discord to coordinate their actions, while the Gen Z movement in Madagascar, where the army ultimately forced the government to quit, connected with Nepal’s Discord communities to learn from their organising. Movements in several countries adopted Nepal’s protest symbol, the skull-and-straw-hat flag from the One Piece manga, identifying themselves as part of the same global movement.

Around the world, Gen Z-led protests have commonly faced violent state repression but have forced real concessions: Bulgaria’s government quit, while politicians dropped unpopular policies in Indonesia and Timor-Leste. In Bangladesh, where a Gen Z-led protest movement ousted an authoritarian government in 2024, the country recently held its first credible election in almost two decades.

Time for change

The new energy unleashed by Nepal’s Gen Z-led protests was reflected in the registration of over 800,000 new voters, more parties standing than ever before, a profusion of younger candidates and an election campaign focused on corruption and good governance.

The result was a shock. Coalition governments are the norm in Nepal, but the centrist Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) won an outright majority, taking 182 of 275 House of Representatives seats after a campaign that made intensive use of social media. The three established parties all sustained heavy losses.

Shah used his music to attack corruption and inequality, resonating with the Gen Z movement during the protests, when one of his songs was viewed over 10 million times on YouTube. But he isn’t a completely new political figure, having become mayor of the capital, Kathmandu, in a surprise result when he ran as an independent in 2022. His track record there suggests grounds for concern. He’s rarely made himself available for media questioning, preferring to communicate directly via social media, where he’s known for making controversial outbursts. He also received criticism for deploying police against street vendors and launching ‘demolition drives’ to clear illegally built structures with minimal notice, leading to clashes between police and locals.

Shah now has a mandate to deliver change, and expectations are high. But he faces the challenge of reforming a typically resistant bureaucracy while delivering on his economic promises amid difficult global conditions worsened by the Israeli-US war on Iran, which threatens the remittances sent by the many Nepali workers based in Gulf countries, which constitute one quarter of the country’s GDP. He’ll need to navigate the difficult foreign policy balance between Nepal’s two powerful and often antagonistic neighbours, China and India. The new government must also ensure accountability for human rights violations during the 2025 protests, starting with releasing the report of a commission set up to investigate protest deaths, which hasn’t yet been made public.

The obvious danger, given these challenges and an outsized mandate, is that the government will adopt a heavy-handed approach, pushing through change while failing to listen. This is precisely when civil society is needed, to step in to hold the new government to account and ensure it respects human rights, including the right to keep expressing dissent.

Nepal’s Gen Z movement must guard against co-option by the new administration. The new government must acknowledge the vital role of Nepal’s outspoken young generation by moving quickly to form and resource the Gen Z Council and fully respecting its autonomy. The movement that helped bring Shah to power must stay engaged.

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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CIVICUS discusses China’s tech-enabled repression with Fergus Ryan, a Senior Analyst at the Australian Strategic Policy Institute (ASPI), where he specialises in how the Chinese Communist Party shapes global information environments through censorship, propaganda and platform governance. His research includes a major study on China’s AI ecosystem and its human rights impacts, as well as investigations into China’s use of foreign influencers.

Fergus Ryan

What AI systems is China developing?

Based on our research, China is rapidly developing a multi-layered AI ecosystem designed to expand state control.

Tech giants are building multimodal large language models (LLMs) such as Alibaba’s Qwen and Baidu’s Ernie Bot, which censor and reshape descriptions of politically sensitive images. Hardware companies including Dahua, Hikvision and SenseTime supply the camera networks that feed into these systems.

The state is building what amounts to an AI-driven criminal justice pipeline. This includes City Brain operations centres such as Shanghai’s Pudong district, which process massive surveillance data, as well as the 206 System, developed by iFlyTek, which analyses evidence and recommends criminal sentences. Inside prisons, AI monitors inmates’ facial expressions and tracks their emotions.

AI-enabled satellite surveillance, such as the Xinjiang Jiaotong-01, enables autonomous real-time tracking over politically sensitive regions. Additionally, AI-enabled fishing platforms such as Sea Eagle expand economic extraction in the exclusive economic zones of countries including Mauritania and Vanuatu, displacing artisanal fishing communities.

How does China use AI for censorship and policing?

China relies on a hybrid model of censorship that fuses the speed of AI with human political judgement. The government requires companies to self-censor, creating a commercial market for AI moderation tools. Tech giants such as Baidu and Tencent have industrialised this process: systems automatically scan images, text and videos to detect content deemed to be risky in real time, while human reviewers handle nuanced or coded speech.

In policing, City Brains ingest data from millions of cameras, drones and Internet of Things sensors and use AI to identify suspects, track vehicles and predict unrest before it happens. In Xinjiang, the Integrated Joint Operations Platform aggregates data from cameras, phone scanners and informants to generate risk scores for individuals, enabling pre-emptive detention based on behavioural patterns rather than specific crimes.

On platforms such as Douyin, the state does not just delete content; it algorithmically suppresses dissent while amplifying ‘positive energy’. AI links surveillance data directly to narrative control and police action.

What are the human rights impacts?

These AI systems erode the rights to freedom of expression, privacy and a fair trial.

Historically, online censorship meant deleting a post. Today, generative AI engages in ‘informational gaslighting’. When ASPI researchers showed an Alibaba LLM a photograph of a protest against human rights violations in Xinjiang, the AI described it as ‘individuals in a public setting holding signs with incorrect statements’ based on ‘prejudice and lies’. The technology subtly engineers reality, preventing users accessing objective historical truths.

AI also undermines the right to a fair trial. In courts that lack judicial independence, AI systems that recommend sentences or predict recidivism act as a black box that defence lawyers cannot scrutinise.

Pervasive surveillance changes behaviour even when not actively used, so its chilling effect may be as significant as direct deployment. Knowing their conversations may be monitored, people self-censor online and in private messaging. Emotion recognition in prisons takes this further: people can theoretically be flagged for their internal states of mind. It’s not just actions that are punished, but also thoughts.

Which groups are most affected?

While AI-enabled surveillance affects all people, ethnic minorities such as Koreans, Mongolians, Tibetans and Uyghurs are disproportionately targeted.

Mainstream LLMs are trained primarily in Mandarin, leaving little commercial incentive to develop AI for minority languages. The Chinese state, however, views those languages as a security vulnerability. State-funded institutions, including the National Key Laboratory at Minzu University, are building LLMs in minority languages, not for cultural preservation, but to power public-opinion control and prevention platforms. These scan text, audio and video in Tibetan and Uyghur to detect cultural advocacy, dissent or religious activity.

Feminist activists, human rights lawyers — particularly since the 709 crackdown in 2015 — labour activists and religious minorities including Falun Gong practitioners face disproportionate targeting. Chinese models consistently adopt state-aligned narratives about such groups, labelling Falun Gong a cult and avoiding human rights framing. Since 2020, Hong Kongers have also been subject to National Security Law surveillance using many of the same tools deployed on the mainland, a reminder that this infrastructure can be rapidly extended.

How can activists in China protect themselves?

Protecting oneself inside China is increasingly difficult. AI leaves very few blind spots. But the system is not perfectly omniscient.

Activists have historically relied on coded speech, euphemisms and satire, the classic example being the use of ‘Winnie the Pooh’ to refer to President Xi Jinping. Because AI struggles with cultural nuance and evolving memes, new linguistic workarounds can temporarily bypass automated filters. But this is a relentless game of Whac-a-Mole: Chinese tech companies employ thousands of human content reviewers whose only job is to catch new memes and feed them back into the AI.

The most practical steps are to use VPNs to access blocked platforms, secure communications apps such as Signal and separate devices for sensitive work. None of these are foolproof. VPN use is technically illegal and increasingly detected and Signal can only be accessed via VPN. It helps to keep a minimal digital footprint and communicate face-to-face on sensitive matters. For activists in Xinjiang, however, surveillance is so pervasive that individual precautions offer little protection. Strong international networks and rigorous documentation practices are essential.

Is China exporting these technologies?

China is the world’s largest exporter of AI-powered surveillance technology, marketing these systems globally, particularly to the global south.

The Chinese state is purposefully expanding its minority-language public-opinion monitoring software throughout Belt and Road Initiative countries, effectively extending its censorship apparatus to monitor Tibetan and Uyghur diaspora communities abroad. Chinese companies including Dahua, Hikvision, Huawei and ZTE have deployed surveillance and ‘safe city’ systems across over 100 countries, with Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates among the most significant recipients. Critically, these companies operate under China’s 2017 National Intelligence Law, which requires cooperation with state intelligence, meaning data flowing through these systems could be accessible to Beijing as well as to purchasing governments.

China is also exporting its governance model through the open-source release of its LLMs, embedding Chinese censorship norms into foundational infrastructure used by developers worldwide.

What should the international community do?

The international community must recognise that countering this requires regulatory pushback.

First, democratic states should set minimum transparency standards for public procurement. This means refusing to purchase AI models that conceal political or historical censorship and mandating that providers publish a ‘moderation log’ with refusal reason codes so users know when content is restricted for political reasons.

Second, states should enact ‘safe-harbour laws’ to protect civil society organisations, journalists and researchers who audit AI models for hidden censorship. Currently, doing so can breach corporate terms of service.

Third, strict export controls should block the transfer of repression-enabling technologies to authoritarian regimes, while companies providing public-opinion management services should be excluded from democratic markets. Existing targeted sanctions on companies such as Dahua and Hikvision for their role in Xinjiang should be enforced more rigorously.

Finally, the international community must recognise that Chinese surveillance extends beyond China’s borders. Spyware targeting Tibetan and Uyghur activists in exile is well-documented, as is pressure on family members remaining in China. Rigorous documentation by international civil society remains essential for building the evidentiary record for future accountability.

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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CIVICUS discusses the criminalisation of dissent in the Philippines with Kyle A Domequil, spokesperson of the Free Tacloban 5 Network, a campaign supporting journalist Frenchie Mae Cumpio, human rights defender Marielle Domequil and their co-accused and advocating for their release.

Kyle A Domequil

What were the circumstances of the arrests?

In the early hours of 7 February 2020, police and military forces raided the offices of several organisations in Tacloban City. Five people were arrested: Cumpio, a community journalist and Domequil, a Rural Missionaries of the Philippines lay worker, along with Alexander Philip Abinguna, a member of Karapatan’s National Council, People Surge Network spokesperson Marissa Cabaljao and Mira Legion of Bagong Alyansang Makabayan-Eastern Visayas. They’re collectively known as the Tacloban 5.

The raids followed Karapatan publicly raising concerns about extensive surveillance of its office and other organisations in the city. Days before her arrest, Cumpio reported to the Centre for Media Freedom and Responsibility that masked men had been tailing the staff of Eastern Vista, the local news website where she served as executive director. Cumpio was already being followed and Legion received a very suspicious call from a man saying who just kept saying ‘stop it’. Cumpio was able to publish on Eastern Vista about what was happening to them just a few days before the arrest.

The Tacloban 5 have denounced that evidence was planted during the raid. Ammunition, explosives, firearms and a Communist Party flag were allegedly found where they slept, under pillows and mattresses and even near Cabaljao’s one-year-old child’s crib. They were unable to witness the seizure because they were turned away during the search. Authorities also seized ₱557,360 (approx. US$9,600) in cash.

Cabaljao and Legion faced bailable charges of illegal possession of firearms and were eventually granted bail. On top of that, Abinguna, Cumpio and Domequil faced non-bailable charges of illegal possession of explosives. Since their arrest, they remained detained while facing successive charges widely viewed as politically motivated. Now Cumpio and Domequil have been convicted, while Abinguna remains in pretrial detention six years after being detained.

What evidence did the court rely on to convict Cumpio and Domequil?

The conviction rested almost entirely on testimonies from four ‘rebel returnees’, people who claim to have left armed groups and who receive financial support from the military. They testified that on 29 March 2019, they saw Cumpio and Domequil at a camp of the New People’s Army (NPA), the armed wing of the Communist Party, handing cash, ammunition and clothing to an NPA commander.

There was no corroborating proof or documentary or photographic evidence, just those testimonies from military assets whose credibility should have been questioned. The defence presented evidence that Cumpio and Domequil were elsewhere that day and they also presented documents of their activities, but the court dismissed this.

The court acquitted Cumpio and Domequil of the illegal possession of explosives and firearms charges, ruling the evidence was based on unreliable witnesses and inconsistent narratives and there was indeed an opportunity for planting evidence. Yet on the same lies and perjured testimonies, the same court found them guilty of terrorism financing and sentenced them to 12 to 18 years in prison.

This verdict is particularly troubling given that in October 2025 the Court of Appeals had overturned a civil forfeiture case against them, finding there was little reason to believe they were connected to the NPA. The Court of Appeals even warned against the hasty labelling of human rights workers as terrorists.

How do anti-terror laws and red-tagging enable cases such as this?

They function as tools of political persecution. Red-tagging labels people as linked to insurgent or terrorist groups without credible evidence. Once red-tagged, they face arrest, harassment, surveillance and threats. It creates a climate where suspicion replaces due process.

The anti-terrorism law contains vague, overly broad provisions. Authorities can associate community organising humanitarian work and journalism with armed groups, even without intent to commit violence. Cumpio was reporting on red-tagging and illegal searches before her arrest. Her radio programme was also red-tagged.

Public vilification combined with expansive security legislation produces a repeatable pattern: stigmatise, raid, charge and detain for years. Cumpio and Domequil’s case reflects this architecture of repression.

Who celebrated their conviction, and what does that reveal?

The National Task Force to End Local Communist Armed Conflict (NTF-ELCAC) celebrated the verdict as a ‘decisive legal victory against terrorism’. NTF-ELCAC is a government body that systematically targets activists, human rights defenders and journalists through red-tagging. It has repeatedly accused Karapatan of being a communist front. It labels legitimate civil society organisations as terrorist supporters, creating the pretext for raids, arrests and prosecutions.

When a court convicts a community journalist based on compromised testimony and the government’s counter-insurgency apparatus celebrates, it reveals the conviction’s true purpose: silencing dissent and punishing those who document abuses.

What’s happened to the other members of the Tacloban 5?

Cabaljao and Legion were released on bail, but not without suffering frozen assets, multiple cases, extended detention and relentless red-tagging. Abinguna remains in pretrial detention and his trial continues at Tacloban City Regional Trial Court, where the prosecution has so far presented fewer than half its listed witnesses, effectively delaying proceedings and prolonging his detention.

While detained, Abinguna was hit with additional trumped-up charges: double murder and attempted murder, based solely on testimony from a ‘rebel returnee’ who tried to link him to an alleged NPA ambush in October 2019. Cumpio faced the same charges until a court granted her motion to quash them in November 2025. Abinguna’s motion was denied.

Beyond this case, what does Karapatan’s documentation reveal about the broader pattern?

Karapatan documents arbitrary imprisonment, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings and militarisation across the Philippines. We conduct fact-finding missions, file cases through courts and international human rights bodies, provide psychosocial support to victims and help organise victims’ families.

Under the current government, the Anti-Terrorism Act of 2020 and the Terrorism Financing Prevention and Suppression Act of 2012 have been aggressively enforced not to protect the public, but to persecute critics and suppress dissent.

The Tacloban 5 case exposes how counter-terrorism laws, fabricated charges, judicial harassment and years of unjust detention silence activists, humanitarian workers, human rights defenders and journalists. It’s not an isolated incident; it’s a deliberate strategy.

According to our latest data, there are around 700 political prisoners in the Philippines. Many face the same pattern: red-tagging, questionable raids, planted evidence, reliance on testimony from military assets and prolonged detention.

What happens next?

The case is under appeal. All available legal remedies are being pursued. The conviction needs rigorous review, particularly of due process violations and evidentiary standards in terrorism-related cases. Courts must ensure national security claims don’t override fundamental rights.

But we need more than case-by-case appeals. Structural reforms are essential. Red-tagging must be explicitly prohibited with those responsible held accountable. The anti-terrorism law must be repealed or fundamentally amended to prevent misuse against human rights defenders and journalists. Safeguards must be strengthened to prevent unlawful raids, evidence-planting and security force abuses. NTF-ELCAC must be held accountable for its role in criminalising dissent.

Ultimately, prevention of similar cases requires the dismantling of mechanisms that treat dissent as crime. Without accountability and structural reform, the criminalisation of activism will continue.

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: Georgios Kostomitsopoulos/NurPhoto via Getty Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Feb 24 2026 (IPS)

The Islamic Republic of Iran has put down another uprising, with a ferocity that makes previous crackdowns seem restrained. The theocratic regime has survived, but it has done so by substituting violence for the economic security it cannot provide and the political legitimacy it no longer has. Its show of force is also an admission of weakness.

The protests that began on 28 December were triggered by a specific event — the collapse of the rial to a record low — but rooted in years of accumulated grievances. The second half of 2025 alone saw at least 471 labour protests across 69 Iranian cities. Inflation stood at 49.4 per cent. The 12-day war with Israel in June sent the Tehran Stock Exchange down around 40 per cent and cost many people their jobs. The United Nations Security Council reimposed sanctions in September. The government cut fuel subsidies in November and slashed exchange-rate subsidies in December. Over 40 per cent of Iranian households now live below the poverty line and around half the population consume fewer than the recommended 2,100 calories per day.

It was this collapse that brought typically conservative bazaar merchants onto the streets. Within two weeks, the protests had spread to all of Iran’s 31 provinces, drawing in the urban middle class, working-class communities and people from rural provinces who had historically been among the regime’s most reliable supporters. What began as an economic stoppage rapidly became political defiance. For the millions who joined the striking merchants, the plummeting currency and rising cost of food were not market failures; they were proof of the regime’s corruption and ineptitude. Generation Z played a central role, demanding not reform but profound change. Lethal repression provided further confirmation the system was beyond reform.

The state’s response evolved. Initially it offered token economic concessions alongside its usual crowd control violence such as batons and teargas. When it became clear that a widespread movement with political demands had taken hold, it shifted to total attrition. On 8 January, authorities imposed a near-total internet shutdown and authorised security forces to use military-grade weapons against crowds. The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) – a parallel military structure, major political force and economic empire with a direct stake in the regime’s survival – spearheaded the crackdown, with its affiliated Basij paramilitary networks playing a central role in street-level violence.

The casualty figures were deliberately obscured by the internet blackout, but all evidence points in the same direction. Hengaw Organisation for Human Rights reported that at least 3,000 civilians — including 44 children — were killed in the first 17 days. Iran Human Rights, citing Ministry of Health sources, documented a minimum of 3,379 deaths across 15 provinces. The US-based Human Rights Activists News Agency reported around 7,000 verified fatalities by mid-February, with 12,000 further cases under review. Time magazine cited hospital records suggesting the toll may have reached 30,000. Even the lowest of these figures vastly eclipses the 537 deaths recorded during the 2022-2023 Woman, Life, Freedom protests. Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s concession that ‘several thousand’ had been killed confirmed the order of magnitude.

By 16 January the streets had been cleared, but a quieter repressive campaign continued, with nighttime raids, enforced disappearances and mass detentions in unofficial holding sites outside the legal system, targeting not only protesters but also doctors who treated the wounded, lawyers who provided legal assistance, bystanders who helped and people who posted supportive statements online. Authorities have detained over 50,000 people. Revolutionary Courts have fast-tracked mass indictments through summary trials, often conducted online and lasting mere minutes, with defendants denied independent legal counsel and confessions extracted under torture. Eighteen-year-old Saleh Mohammadi, whose retracted confession was obtained after interrogators broke bones in his hand, has been sentenced to be publicly hanged at the site of his alleged crime. Dozens more face imminent execution.

The regime has, for now, held: its security forces have not fractured, there have been no significant elite defections, and the IRGC has maintained its capacity for suppression. But it rules over a country with a wrecked economy, a battered nuclear programme, weakened regional proxies and a population that has run out of reasons to comply. Each protest cycle has required a higher threshold of state violence to suppress, a sign the regime has no other tool left.

What prevents weakness from becoming collapse is the absence of any alternative. The international response briefly suggested external pressure might tell – but did not. Donald Trump told Iranian protesters that ‘help is on its way’. The European Union listed the IRGC as a terrorist organisation. The UK imposed fresh sanctions. The Iranian diaspora held at least 168 protests across 30 countries. But the international noise simply enabled the regime to spread the narrative that the uprising was foreign-directed.

The exiled opposition is fragmented along ethnic, ideological and generational lines, seemingly more consumed by internal rivalries than the task of converting widespread discontent into sustained political pressure. Inside Iran, the most credible opposition voices — Nobel laureate Narges Mohammadi, reformist politician Mostafa Tajzadeh and veteran leader Mir Hossein Mousavi — are imprisoned or cut off from public life.

A weakened regime facing a leaderless opposition can endure, but what it cannot do is reverse its decay. Violence may clear the streets, but it cannot rebuild the economy, restore trust or give Iran’s young people a reason to stay. The regime has bought time, at an ever-rising price, but the crisis it’s suppressed isn’t going away.

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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CIVICUS discusses the recent protests in Iran with Sohrab Razaghi, executive director of Volunteer Activists, a Netherlands-based diaspora organisation empowering Iranian civil society.

Sohrab Razaghi

What sparked the protests, and in what ways were they different from previous ones?

Rising prices and the collapse of the national currency initially sparked the protests, but these quickly expanded beyond economic grievances. At least in part, this is because the economy is no longer seen as a purely technical issue but as a measure of the state’s ability to govern. A central question among social groups now is whether the government can manage crises and provide sustainable solutions.

Anger has built up, reflecting broken promises and lost futures. Over the past three decades, four major protest waves – in 2009, 2017, 2019 and 2022 – were met with repression, denial or superficial reforms. This pattern has produced a strong sense of humiliation and political voicelessness.

But perhaps the most decisive factor in the latest wave of protests has been the role of Generation Z, a generation that did not experience the 1979 revolution or the war with Iraq and does not have the ideological attachments of earlier generations. The dividing line is not just age but also expectations, lifestyles and values. While previous generations used to hope for gradual reform within the system, now many young people see no viable future within the current framework. For them, the most rational responses to what they perceive as a structural dead end are disengagement, migration or radical protest.

Recent protests, particularly those of 8 and 9 January, also reflected shifts in protest dynamics, with higher levels of violence visible in both rhetoric and practice. This escalation likely reflects accumulated frustration and political deadlock, but doesn’t necessarily indicate that the state has weakened. Security forces so far appear cohesive and operationally effective, and there are no clear signs of fragmentation inside the coercive apparatus.

But the rise in violence is troubling for democratic forces and civil society. When violent tactics become prominent, organised civic initiatives are marginalised and security-driven narratives prevail, weakening sustained civic action.

Additionally, Israeli and US statements expressing support for protesters and threatening military action had contradictory and largely negative effects.

While such rhetoric initially generated hope among some protesters, the lack of follow-up produced disillusionment and scepticism. Most importantly, statements by foreign governments, including Israel and the USA, strengthened the regime’s narrative. They enabled the authorities to frame protests as the products of foreign interference and protesters as instruments of external powers, including claims of involvement by Mossad agents. This narrative was very useful to justify securitisation and repression.

How have civil society and the media documented human rights violations amid internet shutdowns?

During near-total internet blackouts, local and community-based groups played crucial roles. They recorded the time and location of incidents, collected testimonies from multiple sources and preserved legal, medical and visual documentation while observing basic digital security principles.

When limited internet access became available, information was shared securely with international partners and diaspora networks. These networks helped archive data, liaise with human rights organisations and media and reduce pressure on activists operating inside Iran. International human rights organisations then cross-checked and verified reports before incorporating them into official documentation. Because communication shutdowns, security risks and restricted access to evidence prevented full documentation, they typically presented casualty figures and details of repression conservatively. At the same time, fake news and baseless casualty figures are also prevalent in diaspora and international media reports. It is essential to interrogate such reporting to preserve the credibility of fact-checked, evidence-based reports.

Under severe restrictions, independent and evidence-based documentation has been essential to preserve truth, counter denial and lay the groundwork for future accountability.

What’s limiting sustained pressure for change?

Recent protests have not expanded into broader forms of social organisation. Participation by labour unions, local networks and professional associations has been limited, restricting the potential for sustained institutionalised pressure. Without stronger organisational structures, documentation of abuses won’t necessarily translate into coordinated civic action. Social media-based coordination and mobilisation are effective for the start and first phase of protests, but on-the-ground leadership, networks and organising capacity are instrumental for sustaining protests and increasing pressure for change.

At the discursive level, significant attention has focused on appeals for foreign pressure rather than on building internal coalitions among social groups. In some cases, rhetoric has centred on state collapse rather than democratic transition, a framework that risks instability and further social fragmentation. The use of profanity and violent language – both inside Iran and among the diaspora community – has also alienated families and moderate groups, narrowing rather than broadening support.

Ultimately, for protests to evolve into movements capable of exerting sustained pressure for change, what’s needed is inclusive organisation, coalition-building and a unifying narrative.

What should the international community do to strengthen Iranian civil society?

Sustainable change will depend on domestic organisational capacity, leadership and representation, not external force. So international leaders should avoid war rhetoric and avoid engaging in any form of military intervention. Historical experience suggests that even limited foreign military intervention is unlikely to weaken domestic repression. Instead, it may well increase regime cohesion, at least in the short term, intensify nationalist sentiment and raise the costs faced by civil society activists, who can be easily portrayed as collaborators and traitors.

When supporting Iranian civil society, international allies should prioritise independent, nonviolent civil society organisations rather than opposition groups advocating violence. Narratives of ‘collapse at any cost’ marginalise civic initiatives and undermine the prospects of democratisation.

Long-term investment in capacity strengthening is essential. This includes supporting civic organising skills, digital security, democratic advocacy, nonviolent action and secure communication tools. Over recent decades, resources and repertoires for change within civil society have been weakened. Sustained engagement is required to rebuild these capacities, with up-to-date resources, techniques and tools.

Monitoring, documentation and evidence-based reporting grounded in credible local sources are among the most effective forms of support. Accurate reporting strengthens prospects for accountability and limits the space for propaganda.

Ultimately, sustainable democratic change in Iran will depend on civil society acting independently, rooted in domestic capacities and supported by context-aware, non-interventionist international engagement.

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: Abubaker Lubowa/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jan 26 2026 (IPS)

When Ugandans went to the polls on 15 January, the outcome was never in doubt. As voting began, mobile internet services ground to a halt, ensuring minimal scrutiny as President Yoweri Museveni secured his seventh consecutive term. Far from offering democratic choice, the vote reinforced one of Africa’s longest-running presidencies, providing a veneer of democratic legitimacy while stifling competition.

Four decades in power

Museveni’s four-decade grip on power began with the Bush War, a guerrilla conflict that brought him to office in 1986. Single-party rule lasted for almost two decades, deemed necessary for national reconstruction. The 1995 constitution granted parliament and the judiciary autonomy and introduced a two-term presidential limit and age cap of 75, but maintained the ban on political parties.

With one-party rule increasingly called into question, Museveni restored multi-party politics in 2005. However, he simultaneously orchestrated a constitutional amendment to remove term limits. In 2017 he abolished the age restriction, allowing him to run for a sixth term in 2021.

Recent elections have been marked by state violence. Museveni’s 2021 campaign against opposition challenger Bobi Wine was defined by government brutality, with over a hundred people killed in protests following Wine’s arrest in November 2020. Another opposition leader, Kizza Besigye, has been arrested or detained more than a thousand times over the years.

Museveni promoted his son, Muhoozi Kainerugaba, to Chief of Defence Forces in 2024. Kainerugaba has openly boasted on social media about torturing political opponents, reflecting a regime that no longer bothers to conceal its brutality. His rise signals a potential hereditary handover.

Civic space shutdown

In the face of a credible opposition challenge, this year’s election required more than constitutional tinkering: it demanded the systematic restriction of civic space. The Trump administration’s dissolution of USAID in early 2025 helped Museveni here, because it was catastrophic for Ugandan civil society. Almost all US-funded Good Governance and Civil Society programmes were cancelled, hollowing out the civic education networks that once reached first-time and rural voters. State propaganda filled the vacuum.

A coordinated assault on dissent followed. Between June and October, climate and environmental activists were repeatedly denied bail, spending months in prison for peacefully protesting against the East African Crude Oil Pipeline. The regime’s reach extended beyond borders: in November 2024, Besigye was abducted in Nairobi and appeared days later at a military court in Kampala, charged with capital offences despite a Supreme Court ruling declaring military trials for civilians unconstitutional. Museveni simply legalised the practice in June 2025.

Intimidation intensified as the vote neared. Authorities arrested Sarah Bireete, executive director of the Center for Constitutional Governance, without a warrant, holding her for four days in violation of constitutional limits. In his New Year’s Eve address, Museveni explicitly instructed security forces to use more teargas against opposition supporters, whom he called criminals. In the days that followed, security forces used teargas, along with pepper spray and physical violence, to disperse opposition rallies. Hundreds of Wine supporters were abducted or detained.

The government dismantled the infrastructure needed for independent monitoring. Authorities suspended five prominent human rights organisations, and two days before voting, the Uganda Communications Commission implemented a nationwide internet shutdown, ostensibly to prevent disinformation. The blackout ensured election day irregularities would go undocumented.

Election irregularities and violence

Election day was plagued by technical failures, but Wine, again the major challenger, also claimed wholesale ballot stuffing and the abduction of polling agents. The Electoral Commission head admitted receiving private warnings from senior government figures against declaring some opposition candidates as winners.

International observers attempted diplomatic language, noting the environment was ‘relatively peaceful’ compared to 2021 while expressing serious concerns about harassment, intimidation and arrests. They recognised that the internet blackout hindered their ability to document irregularities.

Post-election violence claimed at least 12 lives. The deadliest incident occurred in Butambala district, where security forces killed between seven and 10 opposition supporters. Wine was placed under house arrest while the count was held in opaque conditions. Results were announced by region rather than polling station, limiting monitors’ ability to validate them. According to the official count, Museveni won with around 71 per cent, while Wine’s tally dropped to 25 per cent from 35 per cent in 2021. Turnout stood at just 52 per cent, meaning over 10 million eligible voters stayed home.

A generational breaking point

Ugandans’ median age is 17; 78 per cent of people are under 35. Most have known only one president. Wine, a 44-year-old singer turned politician whose music had long resonated with young Ugandans’ frustrations, campaigned on promises of change. But he’s now been defeated twice in a highly uneven race.

Young people have sought other ways to make their voices heard. In 2024, they took to the streets to protest against corruption, but they were met with security force violence and mass arrests.

Avenues for change appear blocked. Opposition parliamentary representation is insufficient for meaningful reform. Civil society groups face restrictive laws and lack international support. International partners are quiet because Uganda is strategically valuable: it provides troops for regional operations, shelters two million refugees, facilitates Chinese and French oil drilling and recently agreed to accept US deportees.

Given his advanced age, Museveni is unlikely to run again in 2031. But with authority increasingly concentrated on a tight inner circle of relatives, democratic transition may be less likely than an eventual transfer of power to his son. Uganda’s young majority faces a difficult choice: accept a status quo that offers no prospects or confront a security apparatus that has spent years perfecting its use of violence.

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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CIVICUS speaks with Belarusian activist, blogger and journalist Mikola Dziadok about his experiences as a two-time political prisoner and the repression of dissent in Belarus. Mikola was jailed following mass protests in 2020.

Mikola Dziadok

Why were you arrested following protests in 2020?

I was arrested because I was not silent and I was visible. During the 2020 uprising, I ran Telegram and YouTube channels where I shared political analysis, explained what was happening and gave people advice on how to resist repression. I talked about strategies to protect ourselves, counter state violence and survive under authoritarian pressure. The regime viewed this as extremely threatening.

By that time, I had around 17 years of experience in the anarchist movement, which is a part of a broader democratic movement in Belarus. But most people who joined the protests weren’t political at all: they’d never protested before, never faced repression, never dealt with police violence. They were desperate for guidance, particularly as there was an information war between regime propaganda, pro-Kremlin narratives and independent voices..

Authorities made a clear distinction between ‘ordinary people’ who apologised and promised never to protest again, who were released, and activists, organisers and others who spoke publicly, who were treated as enemies. I was imprisoned because I belonged to the second category.

What sparked the 2020 uprising?

By 2020, Belarus had already lived through five fraudulent elections. We only had one election the international community recognised as legitimate, held in 1994. After that, President Alexander Lukashenko changed the constitution so he could rule indefinitely.

For many years, people believed there was nothing they could do to make change happen. But in 2020, several things came together. The COVID-19 pandemic left the state’s complete failure exposed. As authorities did nothing to protect people, civil society stepped in. Grassroots initiatives provided information and medical help. People suddenly saw they could do what the state couldn’t. From the regime’s perspective, this was a very dangerous realisation.

But what truly ignited mass mobilisation was violence. In the first two days after the 9 August presidential election, over 7,000 protesters were detained. Thousands were beaten, humiliated, sexually abused and tortured. When they were released and showed their injuries, the images spread through social media and Telegram, and people were shocked. This brought hundreds of thousands onto the streets, protesting against both election fraud and violence against protesters.

What’s the situation of political prisoners?

Since 2020, over 50,000 people have spent time in detention, in a country of only nine million. There have been almost 4,000 officially recognised political prisoners, and there are now around 1,200, although the real number is higher. Many prisoners ask not to be named publicly because they fear retaliation against themselves or their families.

Repression has never subsided. Civil society organisations, human rights groups and independent media have been destroyed or forced into exile. Belarussians live under constant pressure, not a temporary crackdown.

Political prisoners are treated much worse than regular prisoners. I spent 10 years as a political prisoner: five years between 2010 and 2015, and another five years after 2020. During my second sentence, I spent two and a half years in solitary confinement. This is deliberate torture designed to break people physically and psychologically.

How did your release happen?

My release was a political transaction. Lukashenko has always used political prisoners as bargaining chips. He arrests people, waits for international pressure to reach its peak and then offers releases in exchange for concessions. This time, international negotiations, unexpectedly involving the USA, triggered a limited release.

The process itself was terrifying. I was taken suddenly from prison, handcuffed, hooded and transferred to the KGB prison in the centre of Minsk. I was placed in an isolation cell and not told what would happen. It was only when I saw other well-known political prisoners being brought into the same space that I realised we were going to be freed, most likely by forced expulsion.

No formal conditions were announced, but our passports were confiscated and we were forced into exile. We were transported under armed guard and handed over at the Lithuanian border. Many deportees still fear for relatives who remain in the country, because repression often continues through family members. That’s why I asked my wife to leave Belarus as quickly as possible.

What should the international community and civil society do now?

First, they should make sure Belarus continues receiving international attention. Lukashenko is afraid of isolation, sanctions and scrutiny. Any attempt to normalise relations with Belarus without real change will only strengthen repression and put remaining prisoners at greater risk.

Second, they should financially support independent Belarusian human rights organisations and media. Many are struggling to survive, particularly after recent funding cuts. Without them doing their job, abuses will remain hidden and prisoners will be forgotten.

Most importantly, activists should not lose hope. We are making history. Dictatorships fall and fear eventually breaks. Freedom always returns – but only if we hold fast to our values and sustain the struggle.

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Credit: Luc Gnago/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jan 20 2026 (IPS)

In December, the dust settled on Guinea’s first presidential election since the military took control in a 2021 coup. General Mamady Doumbouya stayed in power after receiving 87 per cent of the vote. But the outcome was never in doubt: this was no a democratic milestone; it was the culmination of Guinea’s denied transition to civilian rule.

Doumbouya has successfully performed an act of political alchemy, turning a military autocracy into an electoral one. By systematically dismantling the opposition, silencing the press and rewriting laws to suit his ambitions, he has made sure to shield his grip on power with a thin veil of electoral legitimacy.

The architecture of autocracy

The path to this moment was paved with precision. In April 2025, Doumbouya announced a constitutional referendum, a move that may have looked like it would herald the beginning of the end of military rule. But it was something else entirely. By June, Doumbouya had further centralised control by creating a new General Directorate of Elections. This body, placed firmly under the thumb of the Ministry of Territorial Administration, reversed previous efforts to establish an independent electoral institution.

The constitution was drafted in the shadows by the National Council of the Transition, the junta-appointed legislative body. While early drafts reportedly contained safeguards against lifetime presidencies, these were stripped away before the final text reached the public. The result was a document that removed a ban on junta members running for office, extended presidential terms from five to seven years and granted the president the power to appoint a third of the newly created Senate.

When the referendum was held on 21 September, it rubber-stamped de facto rule. Official figures claimed 89 per cent support with an 86 per cent turnout, numbers that defied the reality of a widespread opposition boycott and a palpable lack of public enthusiasm.

A climate of fear

With a blanket ban on protests in effect since May 2022, those who’ve dared challenge the junta’s controlled transition have been met with security force violence. On 6 January 2025, security forces killed at least three people, including two children, during demonstrations called by the opposition coalition Forces Vives de Guinée.

The political landscape was further cleared through administrative and judicial means. In October 2024, the government dissolved over 50 political parties. By August 2025, major opposition groups such as the Rally of the People of Guinea had been suspended. Key challengers, including former Prime Minister Cellou Dalein Diallo, remain in exile, while others, among them Aliou Bah, have been sentenced to prison – in Bah’s case, for allegedly insulting Doumbouya.

The atmosphere of fear has been reinforced by a brutal crackdown on the media. Guinea plummeted 25 places in the 2025 World Press Freedom Index, the year’s largest fall. Independent outlets have had their licences revoked and journalists have been detained. Those still working have learned to practise strict self-censorship to avoid becoming the next target. This meant that as voters went to the polls, there was nobody to provide diverse perspectives, scrutinise the process, investigate irregularities or hold authorities accountable.

Coup contagion

Guinea is no outlier. Since 2020, a coup contagion has swept through Africa, with military takeovers in Burkina Faso, Chad, Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Madagascar, Mali, Niger and Sudan. In each instance, the script has been similar: military leaders seize power promising to ‘correct’ the failures of the previous regime, only to break their promises of a return to civilian rule.

Guinea is now the third country among this recent wave to move from a military dictatorship to an electoral autocracy. It follows in the footsteps of Chad, where Mahamat Idriss Déby secured victory in May 2024 after the suspicious killing of his main opponent, and Gabon, where General Brice Oligui Nguema won a 2025 election with a reported 90 per cent of the vote.

The international community does little. Doumbouya routinely ignored deadlines and sanctions from the Economic Community of West African States, which once prided itself on a ‘zero-tolerance’ policy for coups, and no consequences ensued. The African Union and the United Nations offered rhetorical concern, but their warnings were not accompanied by tangible diplomatic or economic repercussions.

The world’s willingness to maintain business as usual while Doumbouya steered through a fake transition sends a dangerous message to other aspiring autocrats, in the region and beyond.

Democracy denied

When Doumbouya seized power in 2021, he was greeted with a degree of cautious optimism. His predecessor, Alpha Condé, had controversially amended the constitution to secure a third term amid violent protests and corruption and fraud allegations. Doumbouya promised to fix things, but instead became a mirror image of the man he ousted, using the same tactics of constitutional revision and repression to secure his power.

The statistics of the December election – an 87 per cent victory on a claimed 80 per cent turnout – do not reflect a genuine mandate but rather a vacuum: with no independent media to scrutinise the process and no viable opposition allowed to run, the election was a technicality.

The prospects for real democracy in Guinea appear remote. Doumbouya has secured a seven-year mandate through an election that eliminated the essential infrastructure needed for democracy. In the absence of stronger international pressure and tangible support for Guinean civil society, Guinea faces prolonged authoritarian rule behind a democratic facade, with dismal human rights prospects.

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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A man walks past a campaign poster for the military’s proxy party USDP ahead of strictly controlled elections in Myanmar. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

By Guy Dinmore
YANGON, Myanmar and BANGKOK , Jan 6 2026 (IPS)

With thousands of civilians killed in years of civil war and over 22,000 political prisoners still behind bars, no one was surprised that early results from Myanmar’s first but tightly controlled elections since the 2021 coup show the military’s proxy party speeding to victory.

“How can you hold elections and bomb civilians at the same time?” asked Khin Ohmar, a civil rights activist outside Myanmar who is monitoring what the resistance forces and a shadow government reject as “sham” polls.

The junta had already cleared the path towards its stated goal of a “genuine, disciplined multi-party democratic system” by dissolving some 40 parties that refused to register for polls, which they regard as illegitimate, with their leaders and supporters still in prison.

These include the National League for Democracy (NLD) and its leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, who won a landslide second term  in the 2020 elections – only for the results to be annulled by Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, a coup leader and self-appointed acting president. Mass street protests were crushed in early 2021 and war spread across Myanmar.

Although these elections will deliver just a façade of the legitimacy craved by some of the generals, they did succeed in projecting a power and authority that was quickly slipping away just two years ago as long-standing ethnic armed groups and newly formed People’s Defence Forces (PDFs) inflicted a series of humiliating defeats on the junta.

“The tide has turned in favour of the military,” commented a veteran Myanmar analyst in Yangon, crediting China, which reined in the ethnic groups on its shared border, fully embraced Min Aung Hlaing and, along with Russia, delivered the arms, technology and training needed to peg back the resistance.

Campaigners for the pro-military USDP canvas residents and check voters lists in Yangon ahead of the December 28 parliamentary election that excluded major anti-junta parties. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

The regime’s air power and newly acquired drones have been deployed to ruthless effect, often hitting civilian targets in relatively remote areas where the resistance has grassroots support. Air strikes were stepped up as the elections approached. Major cities like Yangon were calm; people subdued.

Bombs dropped on Tabayin township in the Sagaing Region on December 5 killed 18 people, including many in a busy tea shop, AFP reported. On December 10, air strikes on a hospital in the ancient capital of Mrauk-U in Rakhine State were reported to have killed 10 patients and 23 others. The regime accused the insurgent Arakan Army and PDFs of using it as a base.

“I don’t think that anyone believes that those elections will be free and fair,” UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres stated while visiting the region ahead of the polls. He called on the junta to end its “deplorable” violence and find “a credible path” back to civilian rule.

In contrast, the Trump administration declared in November that the junta’s election plans were “free and fair” and removed Temporary Protected Status from Myanmar refugees in the US, saying their country was safe for them to return to.

“I’ll be jailed if I don’t vote,” said Min, a Yangon taxi driver, only half-joking on the eve of voting in Yangon, the commercial capital. “And what difference does it make? We are ruled by China and Xi Jinping, not Min Aung Hlaing,” he added.

With the polls spread over three stages, the first 102 townships voted on December 28. Others will follow on January 11 and January 25 to make a total of 265 of Myanmar’s 330 townships scheduled to vote for the bicameral national parliament and assemblies in the 14 regions and states.

Residents in downtown Yangon check their names on the electoral register and then cast their votes in a polling station on December 28. Credit: Guy Dinmore/IPS

No voting is to be held at all in the remaining 65 townships that the election commission deemed too unsafe.

Voting in the first round in Yangon, an urban and semi-rural sprawl of seven million people, proceeded calmly and slowly on a quiet Sunday – despite intense efforts, and sometimes threats, by the regime to boost the turnout.

In 2020 and 2015 – when Myanmar arguably held the region’s most open and fair elections and the military’s proxy Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), was soundly defeated – people gaily posted images of their ink-stained little fingers on social media as evidence of their vote after weeks of packed rallies and vibrant campaign rallies.

But not this time. Social media posts hurled insults, some comic and vulgar, at the regime. Those eager to support the resistance’s boycott but who were afraid of reprisals were relieved if they found their names had been omitted by mistake on electoral lists. Electronic voting machines in use for the first time made it impossible to leave a blank.

But as in past elections, a solid core of people close to the military and its web of powerful economic interests turned out to vote for the USDP.

“We are choosing our government,” declared one man exiting a polling station in central Yangon with his family, apparently USDP supporters. One proudly waved his little finger dipped in indelible ink.

How can you hold elections and bomb civilians at the same time? - Khin Ohmar, civil rights activist
Turnout for the first round was put by regime officials at 52 percent. This compares with about 70 percent in the past two elections. China’s special envoy – sent as an official observer, along with others from Russia, Belarus, Vietnam and Cambodia – praised the elections.

On January 2, the election commission unexpectedly issued partial results: the USDP, led by retired generals, had won 38 of 40 seats in the lower house where votes had been tallied to date. No one blinked.

The USDP campaign message focused on two main elements – get out and vote with all your family, and back a USDP government to restore stability and progress to Myanmar.

Its underlying message was a reminder that the last USDP administration, led by President Thein Sein introduced socio-economic and political reforms and ceasefire negotiations with ethnic groups after securing a large majority in the 2010 elections when the NLD and other opposition groups were also absent.

Aung San Suu Kyi, then under house arrest, was released just after the 2010 polls and went on to contest and win a seat in a 2012 by-election ahead of the NLD’s own sweeping victory in 2015. Aung San Suu Kyi governed in a difficult power-sharing arrangement with the military for the next five years and was thrown back into prison in the coup.

For now a large proportion of Myanmar’s population lives in areas under junta control, including all 14 of the state and regional capitals, swollen by an influx of people fleeing conflict.  The military also holds major seaports and airports and – to varying degrees – the main border crossings for China and Thailand.

But in terms of territory, over half of Myanmar is in the hands of disparate ethnic armed groups and resistance forces. Alliances are fluid and negotiable.

The shadow National Unity Government is trying to establish its own authority over liberated territory, looking to cement a consensus around the concept of a democratic and federal Myanmar free of the military’s interference – something that has eluded the country since independence from British colonial rule in 1948.

Front lines shift back and forth as the military struggles to regain control over the Bamar heartlands of central Myanmar, once considered their bastion, while stretched elsewhere after losing vast tracts of border areas since the coup. Several million people have fled the country or are internally displaced.

Once again there is some speculation that a “smooth” election and the formation of a USDP government in April will lead to a gesture signalling the military’s confidence, such as a possible ending of forced conscription and the release of some political prisoners. Project power, then collect legitimacy.

“Political prisoners are used as bait,” said Khin Ohmar, the civil rights activist in Bangkok. “The world would at least have to applaud.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Credit: Isabel Infantes/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Dec 30 2025 (IPS)

Satellite images show corpses piled high in El Fasher, North Darfur, awaiting mass burial or cremation as the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) militia tries to cover up the scale of its crimes. Up to 150,000 El Fasher residents remain missing from the city, seized by the RSF in November. The lowest estimate is that 60,000 are dead. The Arab militia has ethnically cleansed the city of its non-Arab residents. The slaughter is the latest horrific episode in the war between the RSF and the Sudan Armed Forces, sparked by a power battle between military leaders in April 2023.

Both sides have committed atrocities, including executions, extrajudicial killings and sexual violence. It’s hard to gather accurate figures, but at least 150,000 people are estimated to have been killed. Around nine million people have been internally displaced, and close to four million more have fled across the border. Some 25 million now face famine.

Civil society and humanitarian workers are responding as best they can, but they’re in the firing line. They face death, violence, abduction and detention. Emergency orders impose bureaucratic restrictions on civil society organisations and limit aid operations and freedoms of assembly, expression and movement, while troops also block aid delivery.

Reporting on the conflict is difficult and dangerous. Almost all media infrastructure has been destroyed, many newspapers have stopped publishing and both sides are targeting journalists, with many forced into exile. Extensive disinformation campaigns obscure what’s happening on the ground. Mohamed Khamis Douda, spokesperson for the Zamzam displacement camp, exemplified the dangers for those who tell the truth. He stayed on in El Fasher to provide vital updates to international media. When the RSF invaded, they sought him out and killed him.

The world looks away

Sudan is sometimes called a forgotten war, but it’s more accurate to say the world is choosing to ignore it – and this suits several powerful states. The United Arab Emirates (UAE) is the RSF’s biggest backer. It continues to deny this, even though weapons manufactured by the UAE or supplied to it by its allies have been found at sites recovered from RSF control. Without its support, the RSF would likely have lost the war by now.

In recent years, the UAE has worked to cultivate influence among several African states. It has developed a series of ports around Africa, with one planned on Sudan’s stretch of the Red Sea. It has big agricultural investments in Sudan and receives most of the gold mined there. The UAE has evidently concluded that RSF control is the best way of securing its influence and protecting its interests, regardless of the cost in human lives. In response, Sudan’s government has moved to improve links with Russia. It’s been reported it may allow Russia to develop a permanent Red Sea naval base.

The UAE faces little international pressure because western states that are strongly aligned with it, including the UK and USA, downplay its role. The UK government continues to supply the UAE with arms in the knowledge these are being transferred to the RSF, while a whistleblower has accused it of removing warnings about possible genocide in Sudan from a risk assessment analysis to protect the UAE. The European Union and UK reacted to the El Fasher atrocities by placing sanctions on four RSF leaders and the USA is said to be considering further sanctions, but these measures never reach as far as figures in the UAE government.

The UN Security Council, where the UK is the permanent member that leads on Sudan, has also been predictably ineffective. Russia has said it will veto any resolution the UK brings. Yet in June, the UK refused an offer from African states, serving on the Council on a rotating basis, to take over responsibility, something that could have created more space for negotiation.

Among other countries with regional influence, Egypt strongly favours the Sudan government, and Saudi Arabia is somewhat supportive too. They come together with the UAE and USA in a forum called the quad. Despite competing interests, in September there appeared grounds for hope when the quad brokered what was supposed to be a three-month humanitarian truce, followed by a nine-month transition to civilian rule. Both sides accepted the plan, only for the RSF to keep fighting, causing the Sudanese government to reject the proposal.

Pressure and accountability

Whether fighting halts may depend on the USA’s diplomatic whims. Trump has recently appeared to take more interest in the conflict, likely prompted by Saudi Arabia’s ruler Mohammed bin Salman, who visited the White House in November.

Trump may want to claim to have ended another conflict in his evident quest for the Nobel Peace Prize, but it’s hard to see progress unless the US government proves willing to pressure the UAE, including through tariffs, a blunt instrument Trump has used to force deals on other states. The fact the Trump administration currently applies tariffs at its lowest rate, 10 per cent, shows its continuing warmth towards the UAE.

Campaigners are trying to focus more attention on the UAE’s central role in the conflict. One highly visible focus is basketball: the NBA has an extensive and growing sponsorship agreement with the UAE, part of the regime’s efforts to sportswash its international reputation. Civil society campaigners are calling on the NBA to end its partnership, and their advocacy may help move Sudan up the US agenda.

The international community has the power to stop the killing, but first it must acknowledge the role of the UAE and its western allies in enabling it. All involved in the conflict, within and beyond Sudan, must put aside their calculations of narrow self-interest. The UAE, their allies and the other quad states should face greater pressure to broker a genuine ceasefire as a first step towards peace, and use their leverage with the warring parties to ensure they stick to it.

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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CIVICUS discusses Generation Z-led protests in Bulgaria with Zahari Iankov, senior legal expert at the Bulgarian Centre for Not-for-Profit Law, a civil society organisation that advocates for participation and human rights.

Zahari Iankov

What sparked recent protests?

Bulgaria has been in a prolonged political crisis since 2020, when mass protests first erupted against corruption and state capture. Although they didn’t immediately lead to a resignation, these protests marked the beginning of a cycle of repeated elections and unstable governments. Since 2021, Bulgaria has held several parliamentary elections, and no political settlement has lasted.

The latest protests, which erupted on 1 December, have probably been the largest since the early 1990s, during Bulgaria’s transition from communism to democracy. They were initially sparked by a controversial 2026 budget that raised taxes to fund public sector wages, but while economic concerns played a role, the protests were primarily centres on values. People reacted to the fact that democratic rules were being openly disregarded and governance was increasingly being shaped by informal powers and personal interests.

Several incidents reinforced the perception that institutions were being systematically undermined. One symbolic moment was the treatment of student representatives during parliamentary debates about education, including proposals for mandatory religious education. Members of parliament publicly shamed student council representatives, which many people saw as emblematic of a broader contempt for citizen participation and government accountability.

Other cases reinforced this perception: environmental laws were weakened without debate, key oversight bodies were left inactive for over a year and proposals that threatened freedom of expression were introduced, and only withdrawn following public backlash. Together, these incidents created a sense that institutions were being hollowed out.

The budget acted as a trigger, but public anger had been building for months. Throughout the government’s short mandate, there was a clear pattern of sidelining public participation and bypassing parliamentary procedures. Laws were rushed through committees in seconds, major reforms were proposed without consultation and controversial decisions were taken at moments designed to avoid opposition.

What made these protests different from previous ones?

One striking difference was the speed and scale of the mobilisation. What began as a protest linked to budget concerns quickly turned into huge demonstrations involving tens of thousands of people. Estimates suggest that between 100,000 and 150,000 people gathered in Sofia, the capital, during the largest protest. For such a small country, this was impressive. Also unlike previous mobilisations, these protests spread well beyond Sofia to many cities across the country, something unusual for Bulgaria’s highly centralised political system.

Another important difference was the strong presence of young people, which led to the protests being described as Gen Z protests. While young people also played a role in big protest movements in 2013 and 2020, this time the generational identity was much more visible and explicitly embraced. Young people were central as communicators as well as participants. Social media campaigns, humour and memes played a significant role in spreading information and mobilising support.

Additionally, these protests were not driven by a single political party. Although one party provided logistical support in Sofia, the extent of participation and the geographic spread made clear this was a broad social mobilisation, not a partisan campaign.

What role did organised civil society groups play in sustaining the protests?

There were a couple of civil society groups that were involved in the organisation of protests, but organised civil society’s main role was not in mobilising but in providing crucial long-term support. For years, civil society groups and investigative journalists have documented corruption, challenged harmful laws and mobilised public awareness around environmental and rule-of-law issues.

As traditional media came under increasing control, civil society helped fill the gap by exposing abuses and explaining complex issues in accessible ways. This helped counter the narrative that ‘nothing ever changes’ and empowered people to believe protest could make a difference.

At the same time, attempts by politicians to discredit or intimidate civil society organisations, including proposals resembling laws to stigmatise civil society as foreign agent, underscored how influential civil society has become.

Who are the figures at the centre of public anger, and what do they represent?

The two key figures are Boyko Borissov and Delyan Peevski, who represent two different but deeply entrenched forms of political power. A former mayor of Sofia and prime minister who has dominated Bulgarian politics for over a decade, Borissov retains a loyal voter base despite major scandals, and has repeatedly returned to power through elections. He built his image on strongman rhetoric and visible policing actions.

Peevski is a different figure. Sanctioned under the Magnitsky Act — a US law targeting people involved in corruption and human rights abuses — he has never enjoyed broad public support but wields enormous informal influence. Despite leading a political party, he operates largely behind the scenes. Over the years, he has been linked to deep penetration of the judiciary, influence over regulatory bodies and media control. His role in governance has become increasingly visible despite his party not formally being part of the ruling coalition.

Together, these two figures embody what protesters see as the fundamental problem: a ‘mafia-style’ system of governance, where access, decision-making and protection depend on proximity to powerful individuals rather than transparent institutional processes.

Does the government’s resignation address the underlying problems?

This was a political response, but it does not resolve the structural issues that triggered the protests. Bulgaria’s institutions remain weak, key oversight bodies continue operating with expired mandates and the judiciary continues to face serious credibility problems.

What happens next will depend largely on voter participation and political renewal. Turnout in recent elections has fallen below 40 per cent, undermining any legitimacy claims and making vote-buying and clientelism easier. Mass turnout would significantly reduce the influence of these practices and could be our only hope for real change.

However, lasting change will require action to restore institutional independence, reform the judiciary and ensure regulatory bodies function properly. Otherwise, any new government risks being undermined by the same informal power structures that brought people out onto the streets.

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Credit: Issei Kato/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Dec 22 2025 (IPS)

Myanmar is heading for an election, beginning on 28 December, that’s ostensibly an exercise in democracy – but it has clearly been designed with the aim of conferring more legitimacy on its military junta.

Almost five years after its February 2021 coup, the regime continues to fight pro-democracy forces and ethnic armed organisations, barely controlling a fifth of Myanmar’s territory. The junta has acknowledged that voting won’t be possible in much of the country.

The upcoming election fails every test of democratic legitimacy. The main democratic parties — the National League for Democracy and the Shan Nationalities League for Democracy — are banned. What remains is the Union Solidarity and Development Party, the military’s puppet party, plus minor groups that won no seats in the democratic election held in 2020. Independent media outlets have been crushed, journalists are arrested and intimidated daily and internet access is heavily restricted. In areas that resist military rule, civilians face escalating violence and arbitrary detention.

This election is designed not to reflect the popular will but to entrench military power. It comes as the regime continues its systematic campaign of violence against civilians: weeks before the junta announced the vote, Myanmar’s air force bombed a school in Oe Htein Kwin village, killing two teachers and 22 children, the youngest only seven years old.

The Assistance Association for Political Prisoners has confirmed 6,231 civilians have been killed by the military since the coup, though true figures could be much higher. Nearly half of all civilian deaths are estimated to have been caused by airstrikes. These are not indiscriminate military operations where civilians are collateral damage; they are deliberate attacks where civilians are the targets. The majority of locations of airstrikes have been sites with protected status under international law: camps for displaced people, churches, clinics and schools, often with no presence of armed groups nearby.

The junta has some powerful international allies. China backs it with billions in aid and advanced weapons. Russia supplies the fighter jets that drop bombs on civilians. India quietly sells arms. The three have long provided diplomatic cover and shielded the junta from international accountability. Meanwhile, the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) continues pursuing its failed Five-Point Consensus agreed with the regime in April 2021, despite its systematic violation of every commitment. Regional powers have negotiated exclusively with the junta without input from the National Unity Government — the government in exile formed by democratically elected lawmakers — effectively treating the military regime as Myanmar’s legitimate rulers.

Now recent decisions by the Trump administration threaten to tip the balance decisively in favour of legitimising military rule. Trump has lifted sanctions, cut independent media funding and eliminated the protections formerly afforded to Myanmar’s refugees in the USA. Consistent with his transactional approach, he’s choosing access to rare earth minerals over democracy.

The concern now is that ASEAN member states may follow suit, using the sham election as justification to normalise relations with the military regime. Some have already started moving in this direction, with the junta leader invited to regional meetings.

Myanmar’s pro-democracy forces continue to resist despite the shifting international context. The People’s Defence Forces and ethnic armed groups maintain coordinated operations across most of the country. Civil society continues documenting violations, providing aid to displaced people and advocating for international action. They deserve better than to watch the world legitimise their oppressors.

The junta’s control on the ground remains tenuous, but its diplomatic position is strengthening. Whether this consolidation continues depends on how the world responds to the election. The international community must be clear that treating the election as legitimate would signal to authoritarians everywhere that democratic institutions can be overthrown with impunity, war crimes carry no real consequences and regimes that bomb schools and imprison elected leaders can secure international acceptance.

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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A global crackdown on civic freedoms is intensifying – and women are on the frontlines of the attack. CIVICUS’s 2025 People Power Under Attack report analyses the extent to which freedoms of association, expression and peaceful assembly are being respected or violated. The report reveals that people in 83 countries now live in conditions where their freedoms are routinely denied, compared to 67 in 2020. In 2020, 13 per cent of the world’s population lived in countries where civic freedoms were broadly respected; now it’s more like 7 per cent. Among the most documented violations in 2025 were detention of human rights defenders, journalists and protesters, and women human rights defenders (WHRDs) were among the most affected.

Reylynne Dela Paz

WHRDs are women and girls, in all their diversity, working on any human rights issue, and those who promote women’s and girls’ rights and gender justice. They include people in civil society who might not self-identify as human rights defenders and those who work in fields such as environmental activism, humanitarian response, journalism and peacebuilding.

WHRDs are at a higher risk of being discriminated against and abused not only for what they do, but also because of who they are. By virtue of their gender identity, they challenge societal norms and patriarchal structures. The 2025 People Power Under Attack report, for example, documents numerous examples of online intimidation and threats against women journalists, both because of their journalistic work and because they’re women.

Attacks against women and girls in general and WHRDs in particular are increasingly being fuelled by rising authoritarian rule, fundamentalism and populism. Governments, politicians and non-state groups are taking more confident and strident anti-rights actions, fuelling an environment where repression and violence against WHRDs is not only possible but celebrated.

Anti-rights networks, led by populist politicians and fundamentalist religious groups, are engaging in coordinated, sustained and increasingly influential work to stigmatise campaigns for women’s rights and gender justice and those involved in them. They spread the idea that gender justice and those who strive for it threaten children’s welfare, families, religious beliefs, national security and traditional and cultural norms. They’re manipulating public narratives and weaponising disinformation to gain public support.

This has given rise to decreased support for HIV prevention projects, queer movements, sexual, reproductive health and rights initiatives, women’s and girls’ participation in decision-making spaces and any human rights effort led by women, including those on climate and environmental justice, disability, Indigenous rights and peace and security.

CIVICUS’s Stand As My Witness Campaign, which calls for the release of unjustly detained human rights defenders, shows how brutal the current context is for WHRDs. It documents stories of violent arrests, inhumane treatment and other cruel actions against women who have dedicated their lives to pursuing justice and resisting repressive governments. WHRDs Pakhshan Azizi, Sharifeh Mohammadi and Verisheh Moradi are facing death sentences in Iran. Narges Mohammadi, an Iranian human rights activist and journalist who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2023, has also been imprisoned repeatedly for her work.

Other WHRDs who have been arbitrarily arrested include Chow Hang-Tung from Hong Kong, who advocated for the protection and promotion of labour rights and the rights of persecuted human rights defenders in mainland China, Marfa Rabkova, coordinator of Viasna Center for Human Rights’ network of volunteers in Belarus, Kenia Hernandez, coordinator of Zapata Vive, a peasant movement that defends land rights in Mexico, and Hoda Abdel Moneim, a human rights lawyer from Egypt.

I know a mother who helped farmers learn about their rights but was falsely accused of illegally possessing firearms. She was dragged from her house carrying her newborn child. I recall an old woman who has spent her days helping empower Indigenous people but who was harshly arrested and denied medical treatment while in jail, a trans woman who joined a protest and was arrested for no other reason than being a trans protester, and a girl activist who was harassed online for sharing her thoughts against child marriage.

Beyond commemoration

These few painful stories represent only a fraction of reality. The problem is systemic. The world is dominated by cowardly rulers who draw confidence and power from dominant systems of patriarchy and support from anti-rights networks. The restriction of freedoms online and offline make it more difficult and dangerous to hold those in power accountable.

The intensifying repression of civic space, as documented in People Power Under Attack, demands coordinated and sustained action to defend and support the work of activists, human rights defenders and journalists. Increasing threats against WHRDs demand a proactive response to dismantle the gender discriminatory norms and patriarchal rules that underpin and enable human rights violations.

There’s a great need for intersectional protection mechanisms and gender transformative responses from national, regional and international human rights institutions. It’s time for policies that protect human rights defenders but also recognise the distinct needs and lived experiences of WHRDs in all their diversity.

Multilateral institutions should hold member states to account for the international commitments they have made. Regional and global intergovernmental institutions should invest in closely monitoring the situation of WHRDs and in protecting them, and hold perpetrators accountable for abuses. There should be increased investment and coordinated efforts to promote gender justice as part of human rights and respond to the disinformation and false narratives being spread online by governments and the private sector.

The Sustainable Development Goals, backed by all states when they were agreed in 2015, recognise gender equality as a fundamental part of achieving sustainable development, yet little effort has gone into ensuring the people who strive for this are safe and able to work. Women and girls play a vital role in the pursuit of peace and justice, but they increasingly suffer. They don’t need to be merely recognised and remembered: they need to be protected and supported in the face of growing attacks.

Reylynne Dela Paz is Advocacy Lead at CIVICUS: World Alliance for Citizen Participation.

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CIVICUS discusses restrictions on civic space in Thailand and the detention of activist and human rights lawyer Arnon Nampa with Akarachai Chaimaneekarakate, Advocacy Lead at Thai Lawyers for Human Rights (TLHR).

Akarachai Chaimaneekarakate

Thai authorities are using the country’s draconian lèse-majesté law, which bans criticism of the monarchy, to criminalise dissent and shut down debates about the role of the king and royal family. Arnon Nampa, featured in CIVICUS’s Stand As My Witness campaign, is currently imprisoned simply for giving public speeches questioning the monarchy’s role in a democratic system. His case is one example of a wider crackdown on freedom of expression. Yet despite this pressure, a new generation of activists continues to push for accountability, democracy and equality, mobilising creativity and solidarity to challenge longstanding power structures.

Why was TLHR founded, and what’s its role?

TLHR was established in 2014, just two days after a military coup overthrew Thailand’s elected government. A group of activists and human rights lawyers came together because they knew people would soon be detained, harassed or prosecuted simply for speaking out or criticising the coup, the government or the monarchy. Sadly, they were right. And although the founders expected the organisation to be temporary, assuming elections would soon restore normality, 11 years later TLHR is still working every day to defend people targeted for exercising their fundamental rights.

Arnon Nampa is one of its founders. He is a well-known activist and human rights lawyer who has spent more than a decade defending victims of rights violations, including environmental defenders and activists charged with lèse-majesté. Under Thai law, each count carries a sentence of three to 15 years, so people can end up serving decades in prison.

In August 2020, amid nationwide pro-democracy protests, Arnon delivered a Harry Potter-themed speech that invoked ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ to pose previously taboo political questions about the monarchy and constitutional reform. His speech opened a national conversation about the monarchy’s role in Thai democracy, but it also led to his imprisonment on the same lèse-majesté charges he had previously defended others against.

How widespread are lèse-majesté prosecutions?

Unfortunately, they are very common. The lèse-majesté law is used to silence dissent and punish even the mildest criticism. People have been prosecuted simply for sharing a BBC article about the Thai king, questioning constitutional amendments or raising concerns about public spending linked to the monarchy.

Since the 2020 protests, over 280 people have been charged with lèse-majesté, and the sentences have been extremely harsh. One activist was sentenced to 50 years in prison just for sharing online clips about the monarchy on Facebook, including a segment from John Oliver’s ‘Last Week Tonight’ comedy show.

People have been prosecuted for absurd reasons: one child was convicted for wearing a crop top to a protest after being accused of mocking the king. Another protester was sentenced for wearing a traditional Thai dress said to mock the queen. A further activist was convicted for conducting a peaceful public opinion poll on the king’s royal prerogatives.

How do Thai activists manage to stay hopeful despite such intense repression?

Thai activists keep finding creative ways to make their voices heard. Humour and symbolism have become powerful tools for raising sensitive issues without crossing legal red lines. Arnon’s Harry Potter speech was only one example.

What’s truly inspiring is the solidarity that has emerged among diverse groups. Children, labour activists, LGBTQI+ advocates, rural communities and students are standing together, fighting for free expression but also broader social justice causes including environmental protections, labour rights and the struggle against torture and enforced disappearances.

Society is shifting too. Not long ago, openly discussing the monarchy was unthinkable. Now those conversations are happening everywhere. People are finding new ways to resist in everyday spaces, even in cinemas where many no longer stand for the royal anthem. While the government is still trying to shut down dissent, as shown by the dissolution of the largest opposition party for proposing changes to the lèse-majesté law, it has become clear that once conversations about democracy and equality begin, they are very hard to silence.

What role are young people playing in driving and shaping the democracy movement?

Many older people still hold deep reverence for the monarchy because they grew up under its strong influence. But younger generations are asking direct, fundamental questions that strike at the heart of Thailand’s political order: shouldn’t everyone be equal, and shouldn’t rights stem from our shared humanity rather than bloodlines? For many young activists, the struggle doesn’t end on the streets. It continues at home, around the dinner table, when they discuss politics with their parents who may not support their views.

The 2020 protests showed how powerful young people can be. Middle school, high school and university students led the movement. They were fearless, tech-savvy and well organised, and their creativity, courage and solidarity reshaped activism in Thailand.

This push for change isn’t happening in isolation. Young Thais are drawing inspiration from the global wave of Gen Z-led movements in places like Hong Kong, Myanmar and Taiwan, and the online political movement the ‘Milk Tea Alliance’, where young activists are calling for equality, transparency and real democracy. This way, Thai activists are linking their local fight for democracy to a broader global movement for freedom and justice.

How can real change happen in Thailand?

Change is already underway, but there’s still a lot of work to do. The 2023 election made it clear that people want democracy, and even though the establishment blocked the winning party forming a government, the democratic spirit remains strong.

A recent campaign for a new, people-drafted constitution gathered over 200,000 handwritten signatures in just three days. Small business owners, students and vendors took part across the country, showing they want change and a say in shaping their future.

Civil society is also pushing for an amnesty bill to free people prosecuted for political reasons. It would be a key step towards reconciliation and a more inclusive democracy, because a country can’t claim unity while jailing people for thinking differently.

Arnon once said something that has stayed with me: we’ll definitely reach the finish line. But there’s no rule saying everyone in the movement must reach the finish line together. Some may leave the path, some may pass away. If anyone doesn’t make it that far, we can tell the people standing at that finish line that in this struggle there was a friend who once fought side by side with us. Arnon said, ‘In this movement, there is no hopelessness. If you reach the finish line and don’t see me, then just think of me. And if I reach the finish line and don’t see you, I’ll be thinking of you too’.

His words are a reminder that even in difficult times, this is a shared journey, and people will keep walking it together.

This interview was conducted during International Civil Society Week 2025, a five-day gathering in Bangkok that brought together activists, movements and organisations defending civic freedoms and democracy around the world. International Civil Society Week was co-hosted by CIVICUS and the Asia Democracy Network.

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SEE ALSO
Thailand: ‘The right-to-work initiative is a big relief for refugees and a step forward for human rights’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Mic Chawaratt 31.Oct.2025
Thailand: ‘The popular will expressed in elections shouldn’t be overturned by judicial intervention’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Sunai Phasuk 30.Sep.2025
Thailand: new prime minister, same old problems CIVICUS Lens 21.Aug.2024

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The panelists at the CIVICUS press briefing on the 2025 People Power Under Attack Report. Credit: Oritro Karim/IPS

By Oritro Karim
UNITED NATIONS, Dec 11 2025 (IPS)

Over the course of 2025, global civic space conditions have deteriorated sharply, with most countries experiencing some degree of obstructed civil liberties. As authoritarian governments strengthen their hold and have even escalated the use of military force to suppress public dissent, civilians report facing increasing limitations of freedoms of association, peaceful assembly, petition and religion, as well as notable crackdowns on press freedoms.

On December 9, CIVICUS Global Alliance published its 2025 People Power Under Attack report, which details the current conditions of civic space worldwide. The findings show that residents of 83 countries and territories now live with routinely denied freedoms—a stark contrast from the 67 countries recorded in 2020. Additionally, 15 countries have recorded considerable downgrades in civic freedoms, including the United States, France, and Germany, which were once seen as global models of democracy.

“We see a continued trend of attacks on people’s right to speak up, come together as a collective, and protest for their rights around the world,” said CIVICUS Secretary General Mandeep Tiwana ahead of the report’s launch. “In a context of rising authoritarianism and populism, no country seems immune from this deeply worrying trend.”

Only an estimated seven percent of the global population now live in countries with free or relatively free civic space—a staggering 50 percent decline from last year’s figures. This has raised alarm among humanitarian organizations, which stress the urgent need to safeguard civic freedoms as a foundation for accountable governance and inclusive democratic participation. CIVICUS highlighted three primary areas of concern: the detention of protestors, journalists, and human rights defenders. These trends underscore the accelerating breakdown of accountability for government corruption and human rights violations.

The report notes that governments detained protestors at more than 200 peaceful demonstrations across 82 countries, with authorities also disrupting protests in 70 countries, with 67 instances involving the use of excessive force. These operations targeted protests calling for action on issues such as government corruption, inadequate access to basic services, rising living costs, the climate crisis, and allegations of electoral fraud.

“We see protests as a crucial space where people can challenge injustice and can hold power to account but we are also watching that space shrink at a rate that should alarm us all,” said Joyce Bukuru, the Representative to the United Nations at Amnesty International.

Amnesty International has recorded the increasing frequency in which authorities suppress public dissent through three key trends. The first of which is that the legal environment for protest is “tightening very fast”. “Across the region, governments are adopting overly broad and outright punitive laws that make it harder for people to protest easily,” Bukuru said.

The organization also reported the widespread use of excessive force. Unlawful and violent policing tactics are routinely used by the government to silence dissent, with instances of arbitrary arrests, enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and the use of weapons such as rubber bullets and stun grenades.

Protestors have increasingly been subjected to increased levels of surveillance, digital repression, and tech-facilitated abuse. Bukuru noted that AI-generated abuse is routinely used against activists, with some stating that they feel like “intimidation follows them everywhere”.

In Uganda and Thailand, Amnesty International recorded the use of tech-facilitated gender-based violence, in which female activists experienced smear campaigns, sexualized doctored images, and threats. “These tactics fundamentally change the risk calculus for anyone considering to engage in activism,” said Bukuru.

In the report, CIVICUS noted that repression of journalists remains pervasive globally. Arrests and detentions of journalists have been documented across 73 countries, with attacks being recorded in 54. Additionally, CIVICUS noted the rise of violations surrounding online freedoms, with roughly 11 percent of all violations occurring online. This includes internet and social media shutdowns, online censorship, coordinated disinformation and misinformation campaigns, and online threats.

The detention of human rights defenders is especially common in Africa south of the Sahara, the Americas, the Asia-Pacific, and the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). Female and LGBTQI+ activists are routinely subjected to threats of violence, attacks, and increased rates of detention.

“When human rights are not part of the conversation, that sends a message to the rest of the world,” said Widad Franco, the UN Advocacy Officer at Human Rights Watch (HRW). “When you see some kind of excessive response [from governments], the lack of human rights makes it much harder to protect people on the ground.”

CIVICUS emphasized the urgent need for stronger protections of civic space within the United States, with Tiwana warning of the significant global ripple effects that the current administration’s actions could trigger. Efforts by the current administration to suppress dissent, undermine freedom of association, and slash funding for foreign assistance risk setting a dangerous precedent for other governments to follow.

“The U.S. plays an outsized role around the world. When the U.S. signals that it no longer cares about democracy or human rights, it sends a strong message to [authoritarian governments] that they can do whatever they like,” said Tiwana. “Secondly, the U.S.’s own dismantling of USAID has triggered a reduction of funding by other wealthy democracies that are now repurposing the resources they give to civil society or democracy support programs towards their own economic interests.”

Tiwana noted that the United States’ current approach increasingly mirrors China’s model of transactional diplomacy, a shift that risks deepening global economic inequalities. This approach enables the wealthy to exert a disproportionate grasp over governance, while marginalized and lower-income groups continue to struggle for access to essential services and remain considerably underrepresented.

“It is unfortunate that the U.S. is following China’s cue and disregarding its long history of ensuring that human rights are a pillar of foreign policy,” said Tiwana. “Wealthy individuals are basically gaming the system and that is what is leading us into 19th century levels of inequality. People are being denied the agency to call out high-level corruption and to call out the denial of basic services.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Credit: Sergey Bobylev/RIA Novosti/Anadolu via Getty Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Nov 27 2025 (IPS)

Three years ago, Captain Ibrahim Traoré seized power in Burkina Faso with two promises that have proved hollow: to address the country’s deepening security crisis and restore civilian rule. Now he has postponed elections until 2029, dissolved the independent electoral commission and pulled the country out of the Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) and the International Criminal Court (ICC). Burkina Faso has become a military dictatorship.

The journey began in January 2022, when protests over the civilian government’s failure to address jihadist violence opened the door for Lieutenant-Colonel Paul-Henri Sandaogo Damiba to seize power. Transitional authorities promised a return to democracy within two years, agreeing to a timeline with ECOWAS. But eight months later, Traoré led a second coup, accusing Damiba of failing to defeat insurgents.

When Traoré’s promised deadline of June 2024 approached, the military government convened a national dialogue that most political parties boycotted. The resulting charter extended Traoré’s presidency until 2029 and granted him permission to stand in the next election, transforming what was meant to be a transitional arrangement into consolidated personal power. The dismissal of Prime Minister Apollinaire Joachim Kyelem de Tambela and the dissolution of his government in December 2024 removed the pretence of civilian participation in governance.

As the military has entrenched its rule, civic freedoms have evaporated. The CIVICUS Monitor downgraded Burkina Faso’s civic space rating to ‘repressed’ in December 2024, reflecting the systematic silencing of dissent through arbitrary detention and a particularly sinister tactic: forced military conscription of critics. Four journalists abducted in June and July 2024 disappeared into the military, with authorities announcing they had been enlisted. In March 2025, three prominent journalists who spoke out against press freedom restrictions were forcibly disappeared for 10 days before reappearing in military uniforms, their professional independence erased at gunpoint.

Civil society activists have suffered similar fates. Five members of the Sens political movement were abducted after publishing a press release denouncing the killing of civilians. The organisation’s coordinator, human rights lawyer Guy Hervé Kam, has been repeatedly detained for criticising military authorities. In August 2024, seven judges and prosecutors investigating junta supporters were conscripted; six reported to a military base and have not been heard from since. This weaponisation of conscription transforms civic engagement into grounds for forced military service, effectively criminalising dissent while claiming to mobilise national defence.

Meanwhile the security situation that supposedly justified these coups has dramatically worsened. Deaths from militant Islamist violence have tripled under Traoré’s watch, with eight of the 10 deadliest attacks against the military occurring under his rule. Military forces now operate freely in as little as 30 per cent of the country. The military has committed mass atrocities: in the first half of 2024, military forces and allied militias killed at least 1,000 civilians. In one incident in February 2024, soldiers summarily executed at least 223 civilians, including 56 children, in apparent retaliation for an Islamist attack.

Conflict has displaced millions, with independent estimates placing the numbers of internally displaced people at between three and five million, far exceeding the government’s last official count of just over two million in March 2023. Some are fleeing across the border. Around 51,000 refugees arrived in Mali’s Koro Cercle district between April and September 2025, overwhelming host communities already struggling with fragile public services. Multiple concurrent epidemics, including hepatitis E, measles, polio and yellow fever, compound the humanitarian crisis in Burkina Faso.

To avoid accountability for these failures, the junta is withdrawing from international oversight. In January, following their joint exit from ECOWAS, which they characterised as being under foreign influence and failing to support their fight against terrorism, military-run Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger formed the Alliance of Sahel States. In September, the three juntas announced withdrawal from the ICC, mischaracterising the body that holds human rights abusers to account as a tool of neocolonial repression. These moves leave victims of extrajudicial killings, torture and war crimes with no realistic prospect of accountability.

The regime’s online propaganda machine has proved remarkably effective in justifying its intensifying repression. Traoré has cultivated an image as a young pan-African hero fighting western imperialism. To some young people across Africa and the diaspora, he represents the charismatic leadership needed to break with discredited politics and colonial relationships. This reputation is built on extensive disinformation that overstates progress, downplays human rights violations and portrays withdrawal from international institutions as bold resistance rather than an evasion of accountability.

The junta’s anti-imperialist rhetoric obscures a simple reality: it has replaced one troubling relationship with another. Having expelled French forces, Burkina Faso has turned to Russia for military support. Russian mercenaries now operate extensively alongside national forces, bringing no pressure to respect human rights while offering Vladimir Putin a shield from accountability for his war in Ukraine. The junta has recently granted a company linked to the Russian state a licence to mine gold.

Yet the democratic ideal survives. Civil society leaders continue to speak out, journalists continue to report and opposition figures continue to organise, despite the enormous personal risks. Their courage demands more than statements of concern.

In the face of the Trump administration’s sudden termination of USAID programmes, other international donors must step up and establish emergency funding mechanisms to support civil society organisations and independent media operating under severe restrictions in Burkina Faso or in exile. Regional institutions must impose targeted sanctions on officials responsible for human rights violations and maintain pressure for democratic restoration. Without sustained international solidarity with Burkina Faso’s democratic forces, the country risks becoming another cautionary tale of how military rule, once consolidated, proves extraordinarily difficult to reverse.

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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Family agriculture and land defenders in Colombia. Credit: Both Nomads/Forus

By Bibbi Abruzzini and Lucia Torres (Forus) and Jake Wieczorek (Hivos)
BELÉM, Brazil, Nov 10 2025 (IPS)

As the world prepares for the next COP30 summit, a quieter battle is raging in courtrooms. Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation (SLAPPs) are the fossil-fuel industry’s new favourite weapon, turning justice systems into instruments of intimidation.

“Speak out, and you’ll pay for it”

On a humid morning in August 2025, two small environmental groups in Panama — Centro de Incidencia Ambiental and Adopta Bosque Panamá — found out through social media that they were being sued for “slander” and “crimes against the national economy.” Their offence? Criticising a port project on the country’s Pacific coast.

A few days later, across the border in Costa Rica, two environmental content creators woke up to find their bank accounts frozen and salaries withheld. Their “crime” was posting videos about a tourism project they said was damaging Playa Panamá’s fragile coastline.

In both cases, the message was straightforward: speak out, and you’ll pay for it.

These are part of a growing global trend that is particularly ominous as climate activists, Indigenous defenders, and journalists push their demands upon the upcoming COP30 negotiations. The battle to protect the planet increasingly comes with an additional cost: defending yourself in court.

SLAPPs: Lawsuits Designed to Scare, Not Win

The acronym sounds almost trivial — SLAPP — but its impact is anything but. SLAPP stands for Strategic Lawsuits Against Public Participation, a term coined decades ago to describe legal actions intended not to win on merit but to intimidate, exhaust, and silence those who speak out on matters of public interest.

According to Transparency International, “SLAPPs are also known as frivolous lawsuits or gag lawsuits, as they silence journalists, activists, whistleblowers, NGOs and anyone who brings facts to light in the public interest.”

These are not just lawsuits; they are in fact strategy. They don’t need to win, they just need to drain your time, your money, and your hope.

The claimants are usually powerful, ranging from corporations, politicians, or investors.

In the Costa Rican case, the company linked to the Playa Panama tourism project did not even allege material harm. Yet the court imposed “precautionary embargoes,” blocking credit cards, freezing wages, even restricting property rights, punishing through the process.

In Panama, the developers of the Puerto Barú port project filed a criminal complaint against environmental NGOs who had challenged the project’s environmental impact assessment before the Supreme Court. Those challenges are still pending. Rather than waiting for the judiciary’s ruling, the company launched a separate legal attack, accusing those NGOs of harming the national economy.

Observers call it “judicial intimidation.” The case triggered several alerts across the EU SEE Early Warning Mechanism, warning of a “chilling effect on civic participation.”

‘Unfortunately, in Panama, judicial harassment of journalists and activists by politicians and businesspeople is already common practice because criminal law allows it. Reform is needed in relation to so-called crimes against honour and the grounds for seizure of assets. International organisations such as the Inter-American Press Association have warned about this,’ says Olga de Obaldía, executive director of Transparency International – Panama Chapter, a national member of the EU SEE network.

In Costa Rica, the embargoes imposed on content creators Juan Bautista Alfaro and Javier Adelfang sparked outrage. Within days, 72 organisations and more than 3,000 individuals — from academics to Indigenous leaders — signed an open letter condemning the action as “an assault on public interest advocacy.”

The backlash worked: members of the Frente Amplio Party introduced a bill to restrict the use of preventive embargoes in cases involving public interest speech.

But for those already targeted, the damage – emotional, financial and reputational – has already been done.

We do not just see SLAPPs deployed in Latin America. Examples of SLAPPs as a means of lawfare by the rich and powerful have been around for a long time across the globe.

In Thailand, Thammakaset sued several members of the NGO Fortify Rights and other activists for denouncing abusive working conditions. Still today content posted by communities or NGOs, or even comments under local government posts, are often picked up and turned into criminal defamation cases.

Despite the existence of anti-SLAPP provisions in the Criminal Procedure Code, experiences indicate that they are largely ineffective. The constant threat of facing litigation based on online content disrupts CSO work and chills free speech.

Climate Activism Under Pressure

As the world heads toward another global climate summit in Brazil – where journalist Amanda Miranda faces a SLAPP by government officials for uncovering corruption – we face a paradox: while governments make promises about protecting the environment, environmental defenders are being prosecuted for holding them accountable.

Brazil’s baseline snapshot on an enabling environment also highlights a related trend: environmental defenders are frequently framed as “anti-development,” a narrative used to delegitimise their work and undermine public support. SLAPPs reinforce this strategy. Beyond draining time and resources, these lawsuits inflict reputational harm, serving as tools in broader campaigns to discredit and silence critics.

According to research from the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre, the highest number of SLAPPs – almost half of them – took place in Latin America, followed by Asia and the Pacific (25%), Europe & Central Asia (18%), Africa (8.5%), and North America (9%). Nearly three-quarters of cases were brought in countries in the Global South and 63% of cases involved criminal charges. Furthermore, most individuals and groups facing SLAPPs raised concerns about projects in four sectors: mining, agriculture and livestock, logging and lumber, and finally palm oil.

In an International Center for Non-Profit law – ICNL – study on over 80 cases of SLAPPs across the Global South, out of them “91% were brought by private companies or company officials(…) 41% brought by mining companies and (…) 34% brought by companies associated with agriculture.”

According to data from the CASE Coalition, SLAPP cases have risen sharply in recent years: from 570 cases in 2022 to over 820 in 2023 in Europe alone. Around half of those targeted climate, land, and labor rights defenders. Fossil fuel and extractive industries remain the most frequent initiators.

It is important to remember that those numbers under-represent the extent of SLAPP use, they are based on reported legal cases and can’t include the many cases in which the mere threat of a lawsuit was enough to silence before filing a complaint

The Business & Human Rights Resource Centre has documented that companies linked to mining, tourism, and large infrastructure projects are increasingly using SLAPPs to paralyse critics ahead of international events like COP, when scrutiny intensifies.

The danger of SLAPPs lies in their quietness. They happen behind closed doors, in legal language, far from the marches and hashtags. The trials often do not even end up in lawsuits. Yet their effect is profound. Every frozen bank account, every unpaid legal fee, every public apology extracted under duress weakens the collective courage needed to hold power to account.

Across regions, SLAPPs follow the same playbook: identify outspoken defenders, sue them on vague charges like “defamation” or “economic harm”, drag the process out for years, win by exhausting, not convincing.

Of course, the specific tactics vary by legal context. In some countries, certain charges carry strategic advantages. For example, in the Philippines, authorities frequently rely on serious, non-bailable allegations — including charges like illegal possession of firearms — to keep activists detained for extended periods.

The Philippines remains the most dangerous country in Asia for land and environmental defenders with frequent attacks linked to mining, agribusiness, and water projects.

Political repression persists and civil society groups continue to face “red-tagging” and SLAPPs, further enabled by the passage of the Anti-Terrorism Act, the Anti-Money Laundering Act of 2001, and the Terrorism Financing Prevention and Suppression Act of 2012.

Authorities have also used fabricated firearms and explosives charges to target activists, journalists, and community leaders, often accompanied by asset freezes, surveillance, and prolonged detention. In these settings, SLAPPs can “weaponise” the criminal justice system itself to remove critics from public life entirely.

SLAPPs have become the invisible front of the climate struggle, a slow-motion suppression campaign that rarely makes headlines.

Tactics to Fight Back

In early 2024, the European Union adopted its first-ever Anti-SLAPP Directive, a milestone achievement after years of campaigning by journalists and civil society. It sets out minimum standards to prevent abusive lawsuits and protect public participation.

But implementation remains uncertain. The Vice-President of the European Commission, Vera Jourova, called the Directive “Daphne’s law,” in memory of the Maltese journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia, who was killed in 2017 while she was the victim of numerous legal proceedings against her, and whose tragic story helped raise awareness of the issue.

Beyond the European context, similar efforts to counter SLAPPs have emerged elsewhere, for example in Colombia with the Guerra v. Ruiz-Navarro case. This case illustrates the importance of investigating sexual violence and abuse of power, recognising it as a matter of public interest that warrants protection. This ruling sets a strong precedent against the misuse of courts to silence the press by influential figures and underscores that defending victims and informing the public are acts of defending human rights.

In Indonesia, another country where SLAPPs are being deployed, civil society groups continue to advocate for stronger legal protections, including legislation to protect from SLAPPs. A small step forward came in September 2024, when the Ministry of Environment and Forestry issued Regulation No. 10/2024, on legal protection for environmental defenders.

“While the Ministry of Environment and Forestry Regulation No. 10/2024 represents an initial step toward safeguarding environmental defenders, civil society organisations expect its effective implementation, coupled with broader anti-SLAPP legislation, to ensure comprehensive protection against retaliatory lawsuits and foster a secure environment for public participation in environmental governance,” says Intan Kusumaning Tiyas of INFID, national civil society platform in Indonesia.

Civil society groups are calling for action on immediate priorities.

These include stronger legal safeguards by enacting robust national anti-SLAPP laws that allow for early case dismissal, ensure defendants can recover legal costs, and penalise those who file abusive lawsuits.

Setting up solidarity and support through regional and global networks can quickly mobilise legal assistance, mental health support, and emergency funding for those targeted.

Finally, actions around visibility and accountability are needed to bring SLAPPs into the public eye and raise awareness. SLAPPs need to be framed not as ordinary legal conflicts, but as violations of human rights that weaken an enabling environment for civil society, democratic participation and obstruct climate justice.

At COP30, negotiators will debate carbon credits and transition funds. But the real test of climate commitment may lie in whether states protect the people defending rivers, forests, and coastlines from powerful interests.

Civil society hopes to push a bold message into COP30 discussions: defending the environment requires defending those who defend it and supporting an enabling environment for civil society.

This article was written with the support of the Forus team, particularly Lena Muhs, and members of the EU SEE network.

IPS UN Bureau

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A portrait of President Samia Hassan hangs on a pole as thick smoke from burning tires fills the air during protests over her disputed candidacy in Dar es Salaam. Credit: Zuberi Mussa/IPS

By Kizito Makoye
DAR ES SALAAM, Tanzania, Nov 5 2025 (IPS)

At dawn in Manzese, a dusty township on the outskirts of Dar es Salaam, silence hangs where the sounds of commerce once roared. The township, usually crowded with street cooks, vegetable vendors, mechanics, and motorcycle taxis snaking through the morning rush, stood eerily empty. Shutters are pulled down, wooden stalls abandoned, and the air is heavy with the smell of burnt rubber. For five days, the township’s bustling economic life has been paralyzed—leaving residents unable to buy food or access basic services.

“I still can’t believe what I saw,” says Abel Nteena, a 36-year-old tricycle rider, his voice trembling as he recalls the horror that unfolded on October 31. “Masked men in black with red armbands came out of nowhere. They started shooting at us as we queued for fuel. They spoke Swahili, but their accent was strange—and their skin was unusually dark. They shouted at everyone to run and opened fire.”

Nteena says three of his colleagues were hit by bullets and are now fighting for their lives in a local hospital. “One was shot in the chest, another in the leg. I don’t even know if they will make it,” he says.

A City Under Siege

The attack was one of several that rocked Dar es Salaam following the disputed presidential elections, which many observers described as deeply flawed. The unrest has claimed hundreds of lives nationwide, with the government imposing a 12-hour curfew to quell the violence. But in doing so, it has paralyzed the country’s economic heart.

For the millions who rely on informal trade to survive, the curfew has been a nightmare. Shops and markets close by mid-afternoon, public transport halts, and banks and mobile money agents are often shuttered long before sunset.

“I was just buying milk when I heard gunshots,” recalls Neema Nkulu, a 31-year-old mother of three from the Bunju neighborhood. “People screamed and fell to the ground. I saw a man bleeding near the shop. I dropped everything and ran.” She says. “A sniper’s bullet hit the shop’s glass right where I had been standing. I thank God I’m alive.”

With financial services disrupted, Neema and many others cannot access money stored in mobile wallets. “I have cash in my phone, but the agents are closed, and I can’t withdraw it,” she says. “My children have gone without proper food for two days.”

Daily Struggles Amid Curfew

In Dar es Salaam, where nearly six million people depend on daily earnings, the curfew has created cascading hardships. Food prices have soared as trucks bringing supplies from upcountry regions remain stranded due to insecurity and fuel shortages. The cost of maize flour, a staple food, has doubled in a week. Fuel scarcity has sent public transport fares skyrocketing—with commuters paying twice the normal price to reach work.

“I used to sell fried fish every evening,” says Rashid Pilo, 39, who runs a roadside stall in Bunju. “My customers are mostly office workers who buy food on their way home. But now, because of the curfew, everyone rushes home early. I have lost almost everything. One night’s curfew means no income and no food for my family.”

At Mwananyamala and Mabwepande hospitals, morgues are reportedly overwhelmed by bodies of those killed in the violence. Health workers, speaking anonymously for fear of reprisals, say they have run out of space and body bags. The government has released no official casualty figures, but human rights groups estimate that hundreds have died since election day.

“The bodies keep coming,” says one morgue attendant, visibly shaken. “Some have bullet wounds; others were beaten. Families are scared to claim them.”

Fear and Silence

Across the city, the presence of heavily armed soldiers on the streets has instilled deep fear among residents. Armored vehicles patrol major intersections, and random house searches have become routine. Most city dwellers have chosen to remain indoors, venturing out only when necessary.

“I went to three ATMs, but none were working,” says Richard Masawe, a 46-year-old computer specialist at InfoTech  company. “The internet was down, and even mobile banking was offline. I couldn’t buy anything or send money to my family. It felt like we were cut off from the world.”

The government says the internet shutdown was a “temporary security measure,” but rights groups argue it was an attempt to silence dissent and block the flow of information about the violence.

Transport in Dar es Salaam has also been crippled. Long queues of vehicles snake around petrol stations, while most buses remain grounded.

“We have fuel for only half a day,” says Walid  Masato a Yas station manager. “Deliveries have stopped coming. The roads are unsafe.”

An Economy on the Brink

According to economist Jerome Mchau, the post-election crisis has exposed Tanzania’s economic fragility. “The informal sector, which employs more than 80 percent of Tanzanians, is the hardest hit,” he explains. “When people can’t move, can’t trade, and can’t access cash, the entire economic system grinds to a halt.”

Mchau estimates that the economy could lose up to USD 150 million per week if the unrest continues. “Inflationary pressure is already visible,” he adds. “Food and fuel prices are climbing fast, and consumer confidence is collapsing.”

The curfew has also paralyzed logistics networks. Trucks carrying essential goods from the central regions of Dodoma, Morogoro, and Mbeya have been unable to reach the coast, creating artificial shortages in urban centers. “We are seeing panic buying,” Mchau notes. “People are stockpiling rice, pasta, and flour because they don’t know what tomorrow will bring.”

Shattered Trust, Deep Divisions

Beyond the economic toll, the violence has eroded trust between citizens and the government. Many Tanzanians feel betrayed by a system they once considered a model of stability.

“Tanzania was long regarded as a beacon of peace and democracy in Africa,” says Michael Bante, a political commentator based in Dar es Salaam. “But what we’re seeing now is unprecedented—people losing faith in state institutions, opposition voices being silenced, and communities turning against each other.”

Bante says the government faces a monumental challenge in restoring public confidence. “President Samia’s administration must act decisively to unite the nation,” he says. “This means not only investigating human rights abuses but also engaging in genuine dialogue with opposition leaders and civil society.”

The opposition has accused the ruling party of manipulating the vote and using excessive force to suppress protests. The government, in turn, blames “foreign-funded elements” for inciting violence. The truth, analysts say, likely lies somewhere in between—in the deep mistrust that has been festering for years.

A Nation in Mourning

In many parts of Dar es Salaam, grief and uncertainty define daily life. At the Manzese Market, women gather quietly in small groups, whispering about missing relatives. The charred remains of kiosks and motorcycles litter the streets. A faint smell of smoke still hangs in the air.

“Life will never be the same,” says Nkulu, the young mother who narrowly escaped sniper fire. “We used to feel safe here. Now, every sound of a motorbike makes me jump. I can’t even send my children to school.”

Schools across the city remain closed indefinitely. Hospitals report rising cases of trauma and anxiety. Religious leaders have called for calm and reconciliation.

Searching for Stability

President Samia Suluhu Hassan, who has publicly condemned the violence, faces her toughest political test yet. In a televised address, she called for unity and promised to investigate the attacks. Yet, critics argue that the government’s heavy-handed security response risks inflaming tensions further.

“Tanzania is at a crossroads,” says Bante. “The leadership must choose between repression and reform. The world is watching.”

International partners, including the African Union and the United Nations, have called for restraint and dialogue. However, diplomatic sources say mediation efforts have stalled as both sides harden their positions.

For ordinary Tanzanians like Rashid, the fish vendor, politics has become a matter of survival. “I don’t care who wins or loses,” he says, frying a handful of tilapia over a small charcoal stove. “I just want peace so that I can work and feed my family.”

A Fragile Hope

As dusk settles over Dar es Salaam, the city remains cloaked in tension. The once-bustling bus stands and food stalls are deserted, the only movement coming from military patrols sweeping through dimly lit streets.

Yet, amid the fear and uncertainty, some still cling to hope. “We’ve seen hard times before,” says Masawe, the computer specialist. “If we can rebuild trust, maybe we can rebuild our country too.”

For now, that hope feels distant. Tanzania’s post-election crisis has left deep scars in a nation once hailed for its calm. Whether President Samia’s government can heal those wounds remains to be seen.
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Secretary General of CIVICUS, Mandeep Tiwana, at International Civil Society Week 2025. Credit: Civicus

By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 1 2025 (IPS)

It is a bleak global moment—with civil society actors battling assassinations, imprisonment, fabricated charges, and funding cuts to pro-democracy movements in a world gripped by inequality, climate chaos, and rising authoritarianism. Yet, the mood at Bangkok’s Thammasat University was anything but defeated.

Once the site of the 1976 massacre, where pro-democracy students were brutally crushed, the campus—a “hallowed ground” for civil society actors—echoed with renewed voices calling for defending democracy in what Secretary General of CIVICUS, Mandeep Tiwana, described as a “topsy-turvy world” with rising authoritarianism—a poignant reminder that even in places scarred by repression, the struggle for civic space endures.

“Let it resonate,” said Ichal Supriadi, Secretary General, Asian Democracy Network. “Democracy must be defended together,” adding that it was the “shared strength” that confronts authoritarianism.

Despite the hopeful spirit at Thammasat University, where the International Civil Society Week (ICSW) is underway, the conversations often turned to sobering realities. Dr. Gothom Arya of the Asian Cultural Forum on Development and the Peace and Culture Foundation reminded participants that civic freedoms are being curtailed across much of the world.

Citing alarming figures, he spoke bluntly of the global imbalance in priorities—noting how military expenditure continues to soar even as civic space shrinks. He pointedly referred to the United States’ Ministry of Defense as the “Ministry of War,” comparing its USD 968 billion military budget with China’s USD 3 billion and noting that spending on the war in Ukraine had increased tenfold in just three years—a stark illustration of global priorities. “This is where we are with respect to peace and war,” he said gloomily.

Ichal Supriadi, Secretary General, Asian Democracy Network. Credit: Civicus

At another session, similar reflections set the tone for a broader critique of global power dynamics. Walden Bello, a former senator and peace activist from the Philippines, argued that the United States—especially under the Trump administration—had abandoned even the pretense of a free-market system, replacing it with what he called “overt monopolistic hegemony.” American imperialism, he said, “graduated away from camouflage attempts and is now unapologetic in demanding that the world bend to its wishes.”

Dr. Gothom Arya of the Asian Cultural Forum on Development and the Peace and Culture Foundation. Credit: Civicus

Dr. Pervez Hoodbhoy, a Pakistani physicist and author, echoed the sentiment, expressing outrage at his own country’s leadership. He condemned Pakistan’s decision to nominate a “psychopath, habitual liar, and aggressive warmonger” for the Nobel Peace Prize, saying that the leadership had “no right to barter away minerals and rare earth materials to an American dictator” without public consent.

Hoodbhoy urged the international community to intervene and restart peace talks between Pakistan and India—two nuclear-armed neighbors perpetually teetering on the edge of renewed conflict.

But at no point during the day did the focus shift away from the ongoing humanitarian crises. Arya reminded the audience of the tragic loss of civilian lives in Gaza, the devastating fighting in Sudan that had led to widespread malnutrition, and the global inequality worsened by climate inaction. “Because some big countries refused to follow the Paris Agreement ten years ago,” he warned, “the rest of the world will suffer the consequences.”

That grim reality was brought into even sharper relief by Dr. Mustafa Barghouthi, a Palestinian physician and politician, who delivered a harrowing account of Gaza’s devastation. He said that through the use of  American-supplied weapons, Israel had killed an estimated 12 percent of Gaza’s population, destroyed every hospital and university, and left nearly 10,000 bodies buried beneath the rubble.

“Even as these crises unfolded across the world, the conference demonstrated that civil society continues to persevere, as nearly 1,000 people from more than 75 organizations overcame travel bans and visa hurdles to gather at Thammasat University, sharing strategies, solidarity, and hope through over 120 sessions.

Among them was a delegation whose presence carried the weight of an entire nation’s silenced hopes—Hamrah, believed to be the only Afghan civil society group at ICSW.

“Our participation is important at a time when much of the world has turned its gaze away from Afghanistan,” Timor Sharan, co-founder and programme director of the HAMRAH Initiative, told IPS.

“It is vital to remind the global community that Afghan civil society has not disappeared; it’s fighting and holding the line.”

Through networks like HAMRAH, he said, activists, educators, and defenders have continued secret and online schools, documented abuses, and amplified those silenced under the Taliban rule. “Our presence here is both a statement of resilience and a call for solidarity.”

“Visibility matters,” pointed out Riska Carolina, an Indonesian woman and LGBTIQ+ rights advocate working with ASEAN SOGIE Caucus (ASC). “What’s even more powerful is being visible together.”

“It was special because it brought together movements—Dalit, Indigenous, feminist, disability, and queer—that rarely share the same space, creating room for intersectional democracy to take shape,” said Carolina, whose work focuses on regional advocacy for LGBTQIA+ rights within Southeast Asia’s political and human rights frameworks, especially the ASEAN system, which she said has historically been “slow to recognize issues of sexuality and gender diversity.”

“We work to make sure that SOGIESC (Sexual Orientation, Gender Identity and Expression, and Sex Characteristics) inclusion is not just seen as a niche issue, but as a core part of democracy, governance, and human rights. That means engaging governments, civil society, and regional bodies to ensure queer people’s participation, safety, and dignity is part of how we measure democratic progress.”

She said the ICSW provided ASC with a chance to make “visible” the connection between civic space, democracy, and queer liberation and to remind people that democracy is not only about elections but also about “who is able to live freely and who remains silenced by law or stigma.”

Away from the main sessions, civil society leaders gathered for a candid huddle—part reflection, part reckoning—to examine their role in an era when their space to act was shrinking.

“The dialogue surfaced some tough but necessary questions,” he said. They asked themselves: ‘Have we grasped the full scale of the challenges we face?’ ‘Are our responses strong enough?’ ‘Are we expecting anti-rights forces to respect our rules and values?’ ‘Are we reacting instead of setting the agenda? And are we allies—or accomplices—of those risking everything for justice?’

But if there was one thing crystal clear to everyone present, it was that civil society must stand united, not fragmented, to defend democracy.

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Mandeep Tiwana, Secretary General, CIVICUS Global Alliance. Credit: CIVICUS

By Busani Bafana
BULAWAYO & BANGKOK, Oct 31 2025 (IPS)

From the streets of Bangkok to power corridors in Washington, the civil society space for dissent is fast shrinking. Authoritarian regimes are silencing opposition but indirectly fueling corruption and widening inequality, according to a leading global civil society alliance.

The warning is from Mandeep Tiwana, Secretary General of CIVICUS Global Alliance, who points to a troubling trend: civil society is increasingly considered a threat to those in power.

That is a sobering assessment from CIVICUS, which reports that a wave of repression by authoritarian regimes is directly fueling corruption and exploding inequality.

“The quality of democracy on hand around the world is very poor at the moment,” Tiwana tells IPS in an exclusive interview. “That is why civil society organizations are seen as a threat by authoritative leaders and the negative impact of attacking civil society means there is a rise in corruption, there is less inclusion, there is less transparency in public life and more inequality in society.”

His comments come ahead of the 16th International Civil Society Week (ICSW) from 1–5 November 2025 convened by CIVICUS and the Asia Democracy Network. The ICSW will bring together more than 1,300 delegates comprising activists, civil society groups, academics, and human rights advocates to empower citizen action and build powerful alliances. ICSW pays tribute to activists, movements, and civil society achieving significant progress, defending civic freedoms, and showing remarkable resilience despite the many challenges.

The ICSW takes place against a bleak backdrop. According to the CIVICUS Monitor, a research partnership between CIVICUS and over 20 organizations tracking civic freedoms, civil society is under attack in 116 of 198 countries and territories. The fundamental freedoms of expression, association, and peaceful assembly face significant deterrents worldwide.

Protests at COP27 in Egypt. Mandeep Tiwana, Secretary General of CIVICUS Global Alliance, is hopeful that COP30, in Belém, Brazil, will be more inclusive. Credit: Busani Bafana/IPS

“It is becoming increasingly dangerous to be a civil society activist and to be the leader of a civil society organization,” Tiwana tells IPS. “Many organizations have been defunded because governments don’t like what they do to ensure transparency or because they speak out against some very powerful people. It is a challenging environment for civil society.”

Research by CIVICUS categorizes civic freedom in five dimensions: open, narrowed, obstructed, repressed, and closed. Alarmingly, over 70 percent of the world’s population now lives in countries rated in the two worst categories: ‘repressed’ and ‘closed.’

“This marks a regression in democratic values, rights, and accountability,” Tiwana noted, adding that even in the remaining 30% of nations, restrictions on civic freedoms remain.

Repression Tools in Tow

The ICSW, being held under the theme ‘Celebrating citizen action: reimagining democracy, rights, and inclusion for today’s world,’ convenes against this backdrop.

Multifaceted tools are used by governments to stifle dissent. Governments are introducing laws to block civil society organizations from receiving international funding while simultaneously restricting domestic resources. Besides, laws have also been enacted in some countries to restrict the independence of civil society organizations that scrutinize governments and promote transparency.

For civil society activists, the consequences are sobering.

“If you speak truth to power, uncover high-level corruption and try to seek transformative change in society, whether it’s on gender equality or inclusion of minorities you  can be subjected to severe forms of persecution,” Tiwana explained. “This includes stigmatization, intimidation,  imprisonment for long periods, physical attacks, and death.”

Multilateralism Tumbles, Unilateralism Rises

Tiwana said there is an increasing breakdown in multilateralism and respect for international laws from which civil society draws its rights.

This erosion of civic space is reflected in the breakdown of the international system. Tiwana identified a surge in unilateralism and a disregard for the international laws that have historically safeguarded the rights of civil society.

“If you look at what’s happening around the world, whether with regard to conflicts in Palestine, in the Congo, in Sudan, in Myanmar, in Ukraine, in Cameroon, and elsewhere, governments are not respecting international norms,” he observed, remarking that authoritarian regimes were abusing the sovereignty of other countries, ignoring the Geneva conventions, and legalizing attacks on civilians, torturing and persecuting civilians.

This collapse of multilateralism has enabled a form of transactional diplomacy, where narrowly defined national interests trump human rights. Powerful states now collude to manipulate public policy, enhancing their wealth and power. When civil society attempts to expose these corrupt relationships, it becomes a target.

“They are colluding to game public policy to suit their interests and to enhance their wealth.  The offshoot of this is that civil society is attacked when it tries to expose these corrupt relationships,” said Tiwana, expressing concern  about the rise in state capture by oligarchs who now own vast swathes of the media and technology landscapes.

Citing countries like China and Rwanda, which, while they have different ways of functioning, Tiwana said both are powerful authoritarian states engaging in transactional diplomacy and are opposed to the civil society’s power to hold them to account.

The election of Donald Trump as US President in 2025 has shattered the foundation of the US as a democracy, Tiwana noted. The country no longer supports democratic values internationally and is at home with  attacks on the media and defunding of civil society.

The action by the US has negative impacts, as some leaders around the world are taking their cue from Trump in muzzling civil society and media freedoms, he said, pointing to how the US has created common cause with authoritarian governments in El Salvador, Israel,  Argentina, and Hungary.

The fight Goes On

Despite facing repression and threats, civil society continues to resist authoritarian regimes. From massive street protests against corruption in Nepal, and Guatemala  to pro-democracy movements that have removed  governments in Bangladesh  and Madagascar,

“People need to have courage to stand up for what they believe and to speak out when their neighbors are persecuted,” Tiwana told IPS. “People still need to continue to speak the truth and come out in the streets in peaceful protest against the injustice that is happening. They should not lose hope.”

On the curtailing of civil society participation in climate change negotiations, Tiwana said the upcoming COP30 in Brazil offered hope. The host government believes in democratic values and including civil society at the table.

“Past COPs have been held in petro states—Azerbaijan, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt—which are all authoritarian states where civil society has been attacked, crushed, and persecuted,” he said. “We are hopeful that there will be greater inclusion of voices and the commitments that will be made to reduce emissions will be ambitious but the question is really going to be after the COP and if those commitments will be from governments that really don’t care about civil society demands or about the well-being of their people.”

Young people, Tiwana said, have shown the way. Movements like Fridays for Future  and the Black Lives Matter have demonstrated the power of solidarity and unified action.

But, given the massive protests, has this resistance led to change of a similar scale?

“Unfortunately, we are seeing a rise in military dictatorships around the world,” Tiwana admitted, attributing this to a fraying appetite by the international community to uphold human rights and democratic values.

“Conflict, environmental degradation, extreme wealth accumulation, and high-level corruption are interlinked because it’s people who want to possess more than they need.”

Tiwana illustrated what he means by global priorities.

“We have USD 2.7 trillion in military spending year-on-year nowadays, whereas 700 million people go to bed hungry every night.”

“As civil society, we are trying to expose these corrupt relationships that exist. So the fight for equality, the struggle to create better, more peaceful, more just societies—something CIVICUS supports very much—are some of the conversations that we will be looking to have at the International Civil Society Week.”

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By CIVICUS
Oct 24 2025 (IPS)

CIVICUS speaks about the disappearance of Turkmen activists Abdulla Orusov and Alisher Sahatov with human rights defender Diana Dadasheva from the civil movement DAYANÇ/Turkmenistan and with Gülala Hasanova, wife of Alisher Sahatov.

On 24 July, Turkmen activists Abdulla Orusov and Alisher Sahatov were abducted in Edirne, Turkey, after being labelled a ‘threat to public order.’ Despite applying for international protection, they were unlawfully deported to Turkmenistan. Orusov and Sahatov, prominent voices in the diaspora through their YouTube channel Erkin Garaýyş, are now being detained, starved and denied a fair trial, while authorities are deliberately delaying proceedings to exclude them from an upcoming amnesty. Their cases highlight the growing risks faced abroad by Turkmen activists, who are being targeted beyond their country’s borders. The international community must push to secure their immediate release and end such abuses.

What happened to Abdulla Orusov and Alisher Sahatov?

Abdulla Orusov and Alisher Sahatov are Turkmen civil activists and bloggers who reported on human rights violations, corruption, migrant issues and social hardships faced by people in Turkmenistan. They were among the few who dared to speak when most were forced into silence.

Last April, Turkish police came to their home under the pretext of checking their documents. Acting on Turkmenistan’s request, they detained both men on false terrorism charges, claiming they posed a threat to Turkey’s national security. They were taken to a deportation centre in Sinop and later transferred to Edirne.

The Turkish Supreme Court ruled that returning them to Turkmenistan would put their lives in danger and ordered an end to the deportation process. But on 24 July, immediately after their release, they disappeared. Reliable sources told us they had been secretly flown to Turkmenistan on a cargo plane, under the supervision of Officer Amangeldiyev Amangeldy, who was later awarded a medal for the operation.

To this day, we don’t know where they are or in what condition. Their abduction is a serious crime and a blatant violation of international law.

Are there other examples of such human rights violations?

Over recent years, many Turkmen activists who were brave enough to speak up have disappeared in Turkey and Russia, including Malikberdy Allamyradov, Azat Isakov, Rovshen Klychev, Farhad Meymankuliev and Merdan Mukhammedov. Activist Umida Bekjanova is currently detained in a Turkish deportation centre and we fear she may face the same fate.

Turkmen authorities are carrying out a systematic campaign to eliminate independent civic voices. In today’s Turkmenistan, anyone who refuses to stay silent risks being branded a terrorist or enemy of the state. These labels have become tools of repression, used to justify abductions, fabricate criminal charges and force people to return to Turkmenistan.

What risks do Abdulla, Alisher and other activists face after being forcibly returned?

Their lives are in danger. We receive reports of torture, starvation, humiliation and psychological abuse. They are held in isolation, denied legal defence and a fair trial.

In Turkmenistan, there are no independent courts, lawyers or free media. People disappear into secret prisons for years, cut off from their families and the world. We don’t know where they are or if they are still alive. For their relatives and loved ones, this means endless waiting and despair, a slow, silent form of torture.

How has this affected your families?

Having my husband abducted has destroyed our lives. I am raising four children who ask every day when their father will return. We live in pain and fear, under constant surveillance and threats.

Being a Turkmen activist means facing harsh living conditions. Some, like Diana, live without documents or means of subsistence or social protection, caring for small children under the constant fear of being abducted.

Still, we refuse to stay silent; if we did, others would disappear too. Together with the DAYANÇ/Turkmenistan Human Rights Platform, we have declared a hunger strike until Abdullah and Alisher return home safely. We have also launched a campaign ‘If I Disappear – Don’t Stay Silent’ where we publicly name those who will be responsible if we too disappear. This is how we protect ourselves and our loved ones, because today it’s Abdulla and Alisher but tomorrow it could be any of us.

What do you expect from the international community?

The international community must act urgently to secure the release of Abdulla, Alisher and other disappeared activists. They must also demand Turkmenistan put an end to the criminal practice of labelling people as terrorists for simply speaking the truth.

But statements aren’t enough. We need real action. We call for an independent investigation into illegal deportations and abductions, and for those responsible for abductions, torture and repression, in Turkmenistan and Turkey, to be held accountable for their actions. We also demand the creation of a ‘Green Corridor’ for at-risk activists and families and the issuance of emergency documentation and financial support for migrants left without legal status and vulnerable to exploitation, trafficking and recruitment by criminal networks or extremist groups.

The world has no right to remain silent or look away. The international community must stand with Turkmen activists deprived of their basic rights to identity, movement and freedom of expression. Their silence only empowers the perpetrators and fuels impunity. Every moment of inaction breaks another life. The international community must act now.

GET IN TOUCH
Twitter/Diana Dadasheva
Twitter/Gülala Hasanova

SEE ALSO
Forced loyalty, fear, and censorship: Turkmenistan’s relentless assault on civic freedoms CIVICUS Monitor 26.Jun.2025
Turkmenistan: tyranny mutates into dynasty CIVICUS Lens 18.Mar.2022
Turkmenistan: ‘There is nothing resembling real civil society – and no conditions for it to emerge’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Farid Tukhbatullin 10.Mar.2022

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Credit: Irakli Gedenidze/Reuters via Gallo Images

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Oct 21 2025 (IPS)

When thousands of Georgians filled the streets of Tbilisi in 2023 to protest against their government’s proposed ‘foreign agents’ law, they understood what their leaders were trying to do: this wasn’t about transparency or accountability; it was about silencing dissent. Though the government was forced to withdraw the legislation, it returned with renewed determination in 2024, passing a renamed version despite even bigger protests. The law has effectively frozen Georgia’s hopes of joining the European Union.

Georgia’s repressive law is just one example of a disturbing global trend documented in CIVICUS’s new report, Cutting civil society’s lifeline: the global spread of foreign agents laws. From Central America to Central Asia, from Africa to the Balkans, governments are adopting legislation that brands civil society organisations and independent media as paid agents of foreign interests. Foreign agents laws are proliferating at an alarming rate, posing a growing threat to civil society. Since 2020, El Salvador, Georgia, Kyrgyzstan, Nicaragua and Zimbabwe have all enacted such laws, while many more states have proposed similar measures.

Russia established the blueprint for this architecture of repression in 2012, when Vladimir Putin’s government introduced legislation requiring any civil society organisation that received foreign funding and engaged in broadly defined ‘political activity’ to register as a foreign agent. This offered an impossible choice: accept a stigmatising designation that effectively brands organisations as foreign spies, or cease operations. Russia repeatedly expanded its crackdown, and by 2016, at least 30 groups had chosen to shut down rather than accept the designation. The European Court of Human Rights has unequivocally condemned Russia’s law as violating fundamental civic freedoms, yet this hasn’t prevented other states eagerly adopting the same model.

The pretence that these laws promote transparency is fundamentally disingenuous. Civil society organisations that receive international support are already subject to rigorous accountability requirements imposed by their donors. In contrast, governments often receive substantial foreign funding yet face no equivalent disclosure obligations. This double standard reveals the true purpose of these laws: not transparency, but control. In practice, almost any public interest activity can be deemed political under foreign agents laws, including human rights advocacy, election monitoring and efforts to strengthen democracy. States deliberately leave definitions vague and broad to allow discretionary enforcement and targeting of organisations they don’t like.

The impacts can be devastating. Nicaragua provides a particularly extreme example of the use of foreign agents laws to dismantle civil society. President Daniel Ortega has used such legislation as part of a comprehensive repressive arsenal that has shuttered over 5,600 organisations, roughly 80 per cent of all groups that once operated in the country. State security forces have raided suspended organisations, seized their offices and confiscated their assets, while thousands of academics, activists and journalists have been driven into exile. With only state-controlled organisations remaining operational, Nicaragua has become a full-blown authoritarian regime where independent voices have been eliminated and civic space has slammed shut.

In Kyrgyzstan, a foreign agents law passed in March 2024 has had an immediate chilling effect. Organisations have scaled back their activities, some have re-registered as commercial entities and others have proactively ceased operations to avoid fines for non-compliance. The Open Society Foundations closed its long-established grant-making office in the country. Meanwhile, in El Salvador, President Nayib Bukele’s government imposed a punitive 30 per cent tax on all foreign grants alongside stigmatising labels and registration requirements, forcing major civil society organisations to shut down their offices.

Foreign agents laws impose systematic barriers through complex registration processes, demanding reporting requirements and frequent audits that force many smaller organisations to close. The threat of harsh penalties – including heavy fines, licence revocations and imprisonment for non-compliance – creates a climate of fear that frequently leads to self-censorship and organisational dissolution. By restricting foreign funding while offering no measures to expand domestic funding sources, governments make civil society organisations dependent on state approval, curtailing their autonomy. And by forcing them to wear the stigmatising ‘foreign agent’ label, governments ensure they lose public trust, making it harder to mount a defence when further crackdowns follow.

Yet there are grounds for hope. Civil society has shown remarkable resilience in resisting foreign agents laws, and street mobilisation and legal challenges have sometimes stalled or rolled back these measures. Ukraine’s rapid reversal of its 2014 foreign agents law following mass protests showed that immediate pushback can come when the political moment is right. Ethiopia changed its restrictive 2009 law in 2019, while Hungary was forced to drop its 2017 law following a 2020 European Court of Justice ruling. In May 2025, Bosnia and Herzegovina’s Constitutional Court suspended a foreign agents law, recognising it violated freedom of association.

International legal pressure has been vital. The European Court of Human Rights’ categorical condemnation of Russia’s legislation established crucial precedents. These decisions provided a foundation for challenging similar laws elsewhere. However, authoritarian governments may adapt their strategies and implement new versions of restrictive legislation, as seen in Hungary’s 2023 introduction of a new ‘sovereignty protection’ law.

The acceleration of this trend since 2020 reflects broader patterns of democratic regression around the world. Authoritarian political leaders are capitalising on legitimate concerns about foreign interference to create legal tools that serve their repressive agendas. The danger extends beyond current adopters. Bulgaria’s parliament has rejected foreign agents bills five times, yet a far-right party keeps reintroducing them. Turkey’s autocratic government shelved its proposed law following public backlash in 2024, only to reintroduce an amended version months later.

Coordinated resistance is essential before foreign agents laws become normalised. There’s an urgent need for international courts to expedite consideration of cases and develop emergency procedures for situations where civil society faces immediate threats. Democratic governments must avoid adopting stigmatising legislation, impose targeted sanctions on foreign officials responsible for enacting foreign agents laws and provide safe haven for activists forced to flee. Funders must establish emergency mechanisms with rapid-disbursement grants, while civil society must strengthen international solidarity networks to share resistance strategies and expose the true intent of these laws.

The alternative to coordinated action is to watch idly as independent voices are systematically silenced. Civil society’s right to exist and operate freely must be defended.

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.

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

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Headlines reflecting the release of Belarusian political prisoners. Graphic: IPS

By Ed Holt
BRATISLAVA, Oct 7 2025 (IPS)

As Belarusian president Alexander Lukashenko continues to pardon political prisoners in an apparently increasingly successful attempt to improve diplomatic relations with the US, rights groups have warned the international community must not let itself be ‘tricked’ into thinking repressions in the country are easing.

Lukashenko, who has ruled Belarus for more than 30 years, last month (SEP) ordered the release of more than 75 prisoners, the majority of them political prisoners, after negotiations with US officials.

But critics have said while the release of any prisoners is welcome, it should not be taken as a sign that the persecution of the regime’s opponents is about to stop, and they point out that people are being jailed for their politics in Belarus at a faster rate than any are being released.

“While it is good that prisoners have been released, they should never have been in prison in the first place. There is a risk now that the attention of the international community will be diverted from the continuing repressions in the country. People are still in prison, and still being imprisoned, for exercising their human rights. While Lukashenko is releasing people, he is at the same time arresting more – it’s like a revolving door,” Maria Guryeva, Senior Campaigner at Amnesty International, told IPS.

The warnings follow the release on September 11 of 52 prisoners—the majority of whom were political prisoners—and the freeing on September 16 of a further 25 prisoners from Belarusian jails.

This came after direct negotiations with US officials and in return for an easing of sanctions on Belarus’s national airline, Belavia.

The releases were also followed by confirmation from US officials involved in the negotiations that US President Donald Trump had told Lukashenko that Washington wants to reopen its embassy in Minsk. Trump also spoke to Lukashenko on the phone earlier in the summer and has reportedly even suggested that a meeting between the two could take place in the near future.

Political experts say that much closer ties between Washington and Minsk, not to mention an easing of sanctions, would be a major PR coup for Lukashenko. It could also be attractive to President Donald Trump, as it would underscore his own touted credentials as a master conciliator and a defender of human rights who can free political prisoners.

Rights activists, though, fear that seeing such political gains from his actions will only embolden Lukashenko to use prisoners as “bargaining chips” to extract further political concessions in the future.

“It seems like this is a new tactic [by the Belarusian regime] to use political prisoners as bargaining chips, [and] it seems to be working in that Belarus is getting political favors for releasing prisoners. As long as the regime sees it can use them as bargaining chips, this policy will continue,” Anastasiia Kroupe, Assistant Researcher, Europe and Central Asia, at Human Rights Watch, told IPS.

Activists argue that ultimately, any concessions by the US, or other western nations, to the regime will do nothing to improve the dire situation with human rights violations in Belarus, especially given that there remain so many political prisoners in Belarusian jails—the rights group Viasna said that as of September 18 there were 1,184 political prisoners in Belarus—that Lukashenko could release when it is expedient.

They also point out that in some cases the individual releases in September were barely even pardons as such, given that many who were freed were just months or even weeks away from the end of their sentences anyway. The prisoners were, once ‘free,’ also forcibly deported from the country—one, opposition politician Mikalai Statkevich, refused to leave Belarus after being freed and was soon after re-arrested—to neighboring Lithuania.

“The fact that these prisoners were forcibly exiled is a further form of reprisal against them… for some it is a continuation of their punishment,” said Kroupe.

Belarusian rights activists told IPS that the mood among those who had been released was mixed.

While some were glad to be free, others were angry.

“A number of those released are extremely frustrated. Some had literally just a month left to serve and were planning to continue living in Belarus. They had almost fully served their, albeit unjustly imposed, sentences, but instead of freedom, they were punished once again,” Enira Bronitskaya, an activist with the Belarusian rights group Human Constanta, whose activities include helping exiled Belarusians, told IPS.

“They were thrown out of their country; many had their passports taken away (torn up), effectively stripped of their citizenship (deprived of documents, expelled from the country, with no intention from the state of their citizenship to provide any support). These actions are unlawful. People have been deprived of everything they had in Belarus, from property to the possibility of visiting the graves of their relatives who died while they were in prison,” she added.

Others among the Belarusian community in exile told IPS there were concerns the releases could actually be used as a distraction from an even more intense crackdown on dissent.

“In our community, some are hopeful that the releases are a sign of successful negotiations, but the majority, me included, does not find the news particularly positive. Of course it is a great relief for the people released and their relatives, but we are expecting an intensification of repressions,” Maryna Morozova*, who left Belarus for Poland soon after Lukashenko launched a massive crackdown on dissent following disputed elections in 2020, told IPS.

Just days after the 52 prisoners were released, a Belarusian court sentenced prominent independent journalist Ihar Ilyash to four years in prison on charges of extremism over articles and commentaries critical of Lukashenko.

The Belarusian Association of Journalists said the verdict was a sign that the authorities had no intention of softening their clampdown on independent media, pointing out that at least 27 journalists are currently behind bars in the country.

Exiled Belarusian opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya told international media after the September releases that “the regime’s repressions are continuing despite Trump’s pleas.”

Viasna pointed out that just on the same day the 52 prisoners were released, it had recognized eight new political prisoners.

Activists who spoke to IPS said it seemed likely that, given the apparent success of the prisoner releases in easing, to some extent, Belarus’s international isolation and sanctions, more prisoners could be freed in the near future.

“Of course we expect more releases. Lukashenko’s been doing it for many years—he did it in 2010 and 2015 when political prisoners were released. Lukashenko has a lot of experience in this ‘market,’” Nataliia Satsunkevich, an interim board member at Viasna, told IPS. “Generally, we can see that his policy [of using prisoner releases to get political concessions] works. There are goals he is trying to achieve [by using it],” she added.

Meanwhile, campaigners are urging governments to put human rights, and not politics, at the center of any future negotiations on prisoner releases.

“Every effort should be taken to free political prisoners but there needs to be a clear signal that human rights abuses are not being forgotten about and that no one is being tricked into thinking the repressions are over,” said Kroupe.

“Lukashenko is treating political prisoners like political currency, like hostages. Governments should stop this trade-off and force Lukashenko to comply with human rights law and put pressure on him to unconditionally release all political prisoners,” added Guryeva.

*NAME HAS BEEN CHANGED FOR SECURITY REASONS

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses recent protests that led to a change of government in Nepal with Dikpal Khatri Chhetri, co-founder of Youth in Federal Discourse (YFD). YFD is a youth-led organisation that advocates for democracy, civic engagement and young people’s empowerment.

Dikpal Khatri Chhetri

What triggered the protests?

When the government asked social media companies to register and they failed to comply, it blocked 26 platforms, including Discord, Facebook, Instagram, Reddit, Signal, WhatsApp, X/Twitter and YouTube. A similar situation happened in 2023, when TikTok was banned and later reinstated once the company registered.

The government said the goal was to create a legal point of contact for content moderation and ensure platforms complied with national regulations. For them, the ban was just a matter of enforcing rules. But people saw it differently, and for Gen Z this was an attempt to silence them. Young people don’t just use social media for entertainment; it’s also where they discuss politics, expose corruption and organise themselves. By banning these platforms, the government was cutting them off from one of the few spaces where they felt they could hold leaders accountable.

However, the ban was the final factor after years of frustration with corruption, lack of accountability and a political elite that seems out of touch with ordinary people. Young people see politicians’ children living in luxury while they struggle to get by. On TikTok, this anger became visible in the ‘NepoKids’ trend that exposed the privileges of political families and tied them directly to corruption.

That’s why the response was so strong and immediate. What began as anger over a restriction on freedom of expression grew into a nationwide call for transparency, accountability and an end to the culture of corruption. Protests became a way for young people who refuse to accept the status quo to show their voices can’t be silenced.

How did the government react to the protests?

Instead of dialogue, the government chose repression. Police used rubber bullets, teargas and water cannon to try to disperse crowds. In many places they also fired live ammunition. By the end of the first day, 19 people had been killed.

The use of live ammunition against unarmed protesters is a serious violation of human rights. Authorities claimed protesters had entered restricted zones around key government buildings, including Parliament House, and argued this justified their response. But evidence tells a different story: footage and post-mortem reports show many of the victims were shot in the head, indicating an intent to inflict severe harm rather than simply disperse crowds. Police also failed to fully use non-lethal methods before turning to live bullets.

Rather than containing the protests, this violence further fuelled public anger. Protests, now focused on corruption and the killings, continued even after the government lifted the social media ban. Many realised the government was both corrupt and willing to kill its own people to stay in power. In response, authorities imposed strict curfews in big cities.

The political fallout was immediate. Home Minister Ramesh Lekhak resigned the next day, taking responsibility for the bloodshed. Within a day, Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli also stepped down. An interim government led by former Chief Justice Sushila Karki took over, parliament was dissolved and a new election is scheduled to take place in the next six months.

What changes do protesters demand and what comes next?

We are demanding systemic change. Corruption has spread through every level of government and we are tired of politicians who have ruled for decades without improving our lives. While they grow richer, everyday people face unemployment, rising living costs and no real opportunities. We refuse to accept this any longer.

We want a government that works transparently and efficiently, free from bribery, favouritism and political interference. Leaders must understand that sovereignty belongs to the people and their duty is to serve citizens, not themselves.

We need more than just some small reforms. Nepal needs serious discussions about holding to the essence of its constitution, finding ways to amend it when dissatisfaction occurs instead of uprooting it entirely. Its implementation has to be strengthened to truly include diverse voices, reflect our history and be able to respond to future challenges. We are calling for new, younger and more competent leaders who can break the cycle of past failures.

The upcoming election will be a crucial test. Gen Z must turn out in numbers, articulate clear demands to the wider public and ensure the changes we strive for in the streets are carried into parliament.

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Nepal: Anti-corruption protests force political change despite violent crackdown CIVICUS Monitor 23.Sep.2025
Nepal: ‘The Social Network Bill is part of a broader strategy to tighten control over digital communication’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Dikshya Khadgi 28.Feb.2025
Nepal: ‘The TikTok ban signals efforts to control the digital space in the name of national sovereignty’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Anisha 11.Dec.2023

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Credit: Pavel Bednyakov/Pool via Reuters

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Oct 3 2025 (IPS)

When Mali’s former Prime Minister Moussa Mara stood trial in Bamako’s cybercrime court on 29 September, charged with undermining state authority for expressing solidarity with political prisoners on social media, his prosecution represented far more than one person’s fate. It epitomised how thoroughly the military junta has dismantled Mali’s democratic foundations, five years after seizing power with promises of swift reform.

Just a week before Mara’s trial, Mali joined fellow military-run states Burkina Faso and Niger in announcing immediate withdrawal from the International Criminal Court (ICC). Although the withdrawal won’t take effect for a year and the ICC retains jurisdiction over past crimes, the message was unmistakable: Mali’s military rulers intend to operate beyond international legal constraints.

This follows a pattern of escalating repression, including arrests of senior generals and civilians over alleged conspiracy in August, coming months after sweeping decrees outlawed political parties and dissolved all organised opposition. Rather than preparing for the democratic handover initially promised for 2022 and repeatedly postponed, the junta is methodically shutting down what remains of Mali’s civic space.

A transition derailed

When General Assimi Goïta first seized power in August 2020 following mass protests over corruption and insecurity, he pledged to oversee a quick return to civilian rule. But less than a year later, he staged a second coup to sideline transitional civilian leaders. In 2023, the junta organised a constitutional referendum, claiming it would pave the way to democracy. The new constitution, supposedly approved by 97 per cent of voters, provided for significantly strengthened presidential powers while conveniently granting amnesty to coup participants. Deadlines for elections kept slipping, and they’re now effectively off the table until at least 2030.

A national consultation held in April, boycotted by virtually all major political parties, recommended appointing Goïta as president for a renewable five-year term until 2030, obviously contradicting any pledges to restore multi-party democracy.

An all-out assault on political parties ensued. Presidential decrees in May suspended all parties, revoked the 2005 Charter of Political Parties that provided the legal framework for political competition and dissolved close to 300 parties, forbidding all meetings or activities under threat of prosecution. Courts predictably rejected appeals, having become beholden to the executive under the 2023 constitutional changes that gave Goïta absolute control over Supreme Court appointments. The regime announced a new law on political parties to sharply restrict their number and impose stricter formation requirements, making clear it wants a tightly managed political landscape stripped of genuine pluralism.

Crushing civic freedoms

The assault on civic space extends beyond political parties. The junta has suspended civil society groups receiving foreign funding, imposed stringent regulatory controls and introduced draft legislation aimed at taxing civil society organisations. Independent media face systematic silencing through licence suspensions and revocations, astronomic increases in licence fees and weaponised cybercrime laws targeting journalists with vague charges such as undermining state credibility and spreading false information. Religious figures, opposition leaders and civil society activists have faced arrests, enforced disappearances and show trials.

The crackdown sparked the first major public resistance to military rule since 2020, with thousands protesting in Bamako in early May against the party ban and extension of Goïta’s mandate, only to be dispersed with teargas. Planned follow-up protests were cancelled after organisers received warnings of violent retaliation. The regime has made clear it won’t tolerate peaceful dissent.

What lies ahead

Five years after seizing power, Mali keeps taking the opposite path to democracy. The initial coup enjoyed some popular support, fuelled by anger at corruption and the civilian government’s failure to address jihadist insurgencies. But no improvements have come. Jihadist groups are still killing thousands every year, while the Malian army and its new Russian mercenary allies, following the departure of French and allied forces, routinely commit atrocities against civilians. Meanwhile the freedoms that would allow people to voice grievances and demand accountability have been systematically stripped away.

Mali’s trajectory matters beyond its borders. It was the first in a series of Central and West African countries to fall under military rule in recent years and is now spearheading a regional pushback against global democracy and human rights standards. The international community has responded with condemnations from UN human rights experts and documentation from civil society groups, but these statements carry little weight. Economic Community of West African States sanctions lost their leverage when Burkina Faso, Mali and Niger withdrew to form the rival Alliance of Sahel States, creating a bloc of authoritarian military regimes that coordinate to suppress dissent across borders, backed by stronger ties to Russia.

What began as a supposed corrective to civilian misrule has hardened into outright authoritarianism dressed in the language of national security and public order. The junta has eliminated any domestic institution that might constrain its power and is now casting aside even international accountability mechanisms.

In this bleak context, Malian civil society activists, journalists and opposition figures continue speaking out at tremendous personal risk. Their courage demands more than statements of condemnation. It calls for tangible support in the form of emergency funding, secure communication channels, legal assistance, temporary refuge and sustained diplomatic pressure. The international community’s commitment to human rights and democratic values, in Mali and across Central and West Africa, must translate into meaningful solidarity with those risking everything to defend them.

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.

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

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By Ben Malor
NEW YORK, Sep 30 2025 (IPS)

DANGER – WARNING – ALARM: Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Maria Ressa is warning that lies are being weaponized deliberately to manipulate people around the world. Big, profit-oriented, and technology-enabled companies are now disregarding or trampling over the sanctity and veracity of facts and information to speed up disinformation, (using AI) in ways that quickly erase truth and leave people manipulated.

Even democratic elections are getting manipulated to the extent that some 72 per cent of the world is now living under illiberal or authoritarian regimes that have been “democratically” elected. Journalism, fact-checking, and public trust are under attack from this deliberate subversion of information integrity.

Enjoy this interview I conducted with Ms Ressa, (produced, directed and edited by my UN News and Media colleagues, Paulina Kubiak and Alban Mendes De Leon).

Ben Malor is the Chief Editor, UN Dailies, at UN News.

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CIVICUS discusses North Korea’s closed civic space with Hanna Song, Executive Director of the Database Center for North Korean Human Rights (NKDB). Based in Seoul, South Korea, NKDB documents systematic human rights violations in North Korea through testimonies from escapees, and has built the world’s largest private database of such abuses.

Hanna Song

What North Korean human rights violations has NKDB documented?

When NKDB first began documenting violations in 2003, testimonies focused overwhelmingly on survival during the ‘Arduous March’ of the 1990s, a period of severe famine that killed hundreds of thousands of North Koreans. People described the collapse of the food distribution system, with families torn apart and entire communities struggling with famine. At the time, violations were framed through the lens of survival – the right to food and life – revealing the state’s neglect of basic needs.

Over time, as more escapees shared their experiences, it became clear these violations weren’t limited to famine periods but were part of a systematic pattern of abuse. The landmark 2014 United Nations (UN) Commission of Inquiry report solidified this understanding. It documented widespread violations, from political prison camps to enforced disappearances, persecution on political and religious grounds and torture, and concluded that crimes against humanity were – and continue to be – perpetrated by the North Korean state.

There has been little improvement in the years since. The government has tightened information restrictions, further isolating people from the outside world. The COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated this isolation, closing borders, worsening economic hardship and reducing the already small number of defections, making testimony collection harder. Most recently, the regime’s decision to dispatch young soldiers to Russia has raised additional alarm, as it has exposed minors and young adults to forced labour and potential involvement in armed conflict.

Despite evolving circumstances, the underlying reality remains unchanged: North Korea continues to operate a system of control that denies people the most basic rights and freedoms.

How does NKDB monitor human rights violations?

North Korea permits no independent human rights monitoring or reporting within its borders. Even the UN has never been granted investigative access despite repeated requests. This complete isolation means monitoring organisations must rely on escapee accounts, making testimonies from defectors and refugees indispensable windows into a society the regime keeps hidden.

NKDB conducts secure and confidential interviews with escapees after they have resettled in South Korea. There are around 34,000 people. We document experiences ranging from arbitrary detention and torture to forced labour and religious persecution. Although the sharp decline in recent defections has reduced new testimonies, the information we collect remains critical. When combined with satellite imagery, open-source intelligence and other remote monitoring tools, these first-hand accounts allow us to identify patterns of repression and preserve survivor voices for history and accountability.

Through this work, we’ve built the largest private database on North Korean human rights abuses, containing over 88,000 documented cases based on interviews with more than 20,000 people. This database forms the foundation for UN reports, government policy and international advocacy, and lays the groundwork for future transitional justice processes.

But we don’t stop at documentation. We have in-house counsellors and social welfare workers who provide psychosocial support to escapees after they share their testimonies. For many, recounting traumatic experiences is retraumatising. We don’t abandon them after the interview process, but provide them ongoing counselling and practical support to help them process their experiences, heal and rebuild their lives. In this way we have preserved critical evidence while preserving the dignity and wellbeing of those who entrust us with their stories.

How has civil society documentation influenced policy and international awareness?

Civil society documentation has profoundly influenced international attention and responses to North Korea’s human rights situation. For instance, NKDB’s research on overseas workers has highlighted the critical intersection between security and human rights. While the focus is often on sanctions or weapons proliferation, our work ensures North Korean people’s rights aren’t forgotten, even amid emerging Russia-North Korea ties.

By documenting how North Korean workers are exploited abroad – through wage confiscation, movement restrictions and state surveillance – we provide evidence for human rights-based policy approaches. In a context as closed as North Korea, civil society testimonies and evidence form the foundation for major human rights reports by governments, UN special rapporteurs and international bodies. Without this documentation, there would simply be no reliable record of the scale, scope or persistence of human rights abuses in North Korea. Our work preserves truth, amplifies the voices of survivors and keeps the international community accountable to its responsibility to act.

What has been the impact of recent US funding cuts?

US withdrawal has caused a huge crisis. For two decades, the USA played a unique role in sustaining the global movement for truth, justice and accountability for the people of North Korea. It was the only government that provided consistent and large-scale support for documenting human rights abuses in North Korea. In the absence of alternative funding, this support enabled much of the North Korean human rights movement to exist. Now that movement is facing its greatest crisis since it began in the 1990s.

For escapees who depend on civil society organisations (CSOs) for therapy, counselling and reintegration support, this freeze has meant a loss of essential services. It has also weakened the ability of survivor empowerment groups and information dissemination organisations to train defectors as advocates, challenge the regime’s information blockade and bring credible evidence to the international community. In our case, the suspension of funding threatens the infrastructure we have built since 2003.

The impact is also symbolic: it sends North Korean escapees and victims who have risked everything to tell their stories the chilling message that their voices don’t matter.

Impacts go far beyond civil society. Human rights documentation challenges the secrecy, denial and impunity on which authoritarian regimes thrive. It provides credible evidence that informs international pressure, prevents the regime rewriting history and generates the intelligence needed to understand the regime’s inner dynamics in the absence of conventional diplomacy. All that infrastructure –databases, testimonies, training programmes and survivor networks — is at risk of being dismantled.

How are you adapting and finding alternative resources?

Faced with declining funding and challenging conditions, NKDB and other CSOs have adopted multiple adaptation strategies. Collaboration is central: by working together with other CSOs, academic institutions and advocacy groups, we pool expertise, share methodologies and sustain initiatives despite disruptions.

We’ve also actively engaged with the public to build grassroots support. Our public exhibition in Seoul makes North Korean escapee stories tangible for residents and international tourists. By translating statistics into human-centred experiences, the exhibition reminds visitors of the issue’s urgency while encouraging broader community engagement and cultivating supporters who can advocate and contribute in the long term.

What urgent actions should the international community take?

Given these critical realities, the international community must prioritise restoration and expansion of funding for advocacy, documentation and research. Adequate support ensures CSOs maintain capacity, pursue high-impact initiatives and respond to emerging crises like young soldiers’ deployment to Russia.

Beyond funding, capacity development support is crucial, including training in digital security and evidence verification. The international community must facilitate access to decision-making forums where civil society findings directly inform policymaking through UN bodies and diplomatic engagements.

Critically, human rights and security are deeply intertwined. Documentation provides real-time intelligence on North Korea’s internal dynamics, essential for informed diplomacy. The international community should ensure human rights remain central in broader diplomatic efforts.

Finally, cross-border collaboration among CSOs, governments and academic institutions must be strengthened. This amplifies credible evidence while sustaining networks capable of long-term monitoring. It ensures the human rights ecosystem survives political uncertainty and funding disruptions. To prevent years of progress unravelling, the international community must act decisively, strategically and urgently.

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North Korea: ‘Since Kim Jong-un came to power, the surveillance and security system has increased dramatically’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Bada Nam 18.Oct.2023
North Korea: ‘It is time for the international community to adopt a ‘human rights up front’ approach’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Greg Scarlatoiu 06.Oct.2023
North Korea: ‘Many women escape to experience the freedoms they are denied’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Kyeong Min Shin 07.Nov.2022

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Charlie Weimers with EU flag and the Sweden Democrat’s party symbol, a bluebell.

By Jan Lundius
STOCKHOLM, Sweden, Sep 19 2025 (IPS)

On September 11, Charlie Weimers, a Swedish Member of the European Parliament and active within the European Conservatives and Reformists Group, rose up during a Parliamentary session and asked for a minute of silence to honour the memory of Charlie Kirk, who the day before had been shot and killed during a political meeting at the Utah Valley University in the U.S.

“Madam President, dear colleagues, the murder of political activist Charlie Kirk, a husband, loving father and patriot has shocked the world. We must strongly condemn political violence and rhetoric that incites violence. Will you stand with me in reflection and prayer in his honour, and I yield the rest of my time for a moment of silence.”

Charlie Weimers began his political career as a member of the Swedish Chrisitan Democrat Party, but later switched to the Sweden Democrats, a nationalist, right-wing populist party, which in spite of efforts to tune it down finds its roots in Neo-Nazi fringe organizations. It is now Sweden’s second largest political party with more than 20 percent of the electorate behind it.

There is nothing wrong in condemning murder political violence and defend freedom of speech, but this cannot hinder us from scrutinizing who is canonized as a victim of radical aggression. Charlie Kirk was 33 years old when he was murdered, leaving a wife and two small children behind. He had admitted that when he in 2012 started Turning Point USA, which eventually would become a rich and powerful organization, he had “no money, no connections and no idea of what I was doing.” At that time, Kirk had dropped out of college and been rejected by The U.S. West Point Military Academy. Nevertheless, he had rhetorical gifts for countering progressive ideas, being sensitive about cultural tensions, and endowed with an aptitude for making provocative declarations that resonated with frustrated college audiences, who followed and agreed with his web postings. Kirk’s frequent college rallies eventually attracted tens of thousands of young voters, as well as the attention and financial support of conservative leaders. President Trump was not wrong when he declared that:

The Great, and even Legendary, Charlie Kirk, is dead. No one understood or had the Heart of the Youth in the United States of America better than Charlie.

After his death Kirk has been praised for showing up at campuses where he talked with anyone who would approach him. Conservative journalists have declared him to be one of the era’s most effective practitioners of persuasion. Kirk’s message was readily embraced by youngsters who accepted his view that Democrats had spent hundreds of billions of dollars on illegal immigrants and foreign nations, while the young “lost generation” of the U.S. had to pinch their pennies, but would not be able to own a home, never marry, and even be forced to work until they died, abused and childless. However, he also gave them hope, telling these unfortunate youngsters that they did not have to stay poor and accept being worse off than their parents. They just had to avoid supporting corrupt political leaders, who were lying to them only to take advantage of their votes. Kirk assured his young audience that it is an undeniable fact that cultural identity is disappearing, while sexual anarchy, crime and decadence reign unabated, private property is a thing of the past, and a ruling “liberal” class controls everything. The White House press secretary, Karoline Leavitt, was probably right when she said that Kirk had inspired millions of young people “to get involved in politics and fight for our nation’s conservative values.”

Kirk allied his Turning Point USA not to any poor radical fringe groups, but to conservative, wealthy donors and influencers. He preached a “Christian Message” well adapted to several members of such groups, declaring that Turning Point USA was dedicated to “recruiting pastors and other church leaders to be active in local and national political issues.”

Kirk fervently defended the 2nd Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, i.e. “The right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed “, declaring that it was worth “a cost of, unfortunately, some gun deaths every single year so that we can keep a Second Amendment which protect our other God-given rights”.

However, Kirk was not happy about the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed “discrimination based on race, colour, religion, sex, or national origin in employment, education, and public accommodations.” He stated that the Civil Rights Act was a “huge mistake” and declared that if the majority of Americans were asked if they respected the Civil Rights Act the answer would have been a “no”. Adding the caveat that “I could be wrong, but I think I’m right.”

Undoubtedly, there was a racist ingredient in Kirk’s ideology. He did for example state that the concept of white privilege was a myth and a “racist lie”. In October 2021, he launched an Exposing Critical Racism Tour to numerous campuses and other institutions, to “combat racist theories”, by which he meant the propagation of an understanding of the relationships between social conceptions of race and ethnicity, social and political laws and mass media, all of which Kirk considered to be propaganda and an unfounded brainchild of liberal Democrats. He blamed the DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) programmes for threatening U.S. competitiveness and security, even claiming that upon sitting in a plane and realising that the pilot was “Black”, he could not help thinking “’Hey, I hope he’s qualified”.

Like most populist, “patriotic”, European right-wing political parties, not the least the Sweden Democrats, though they nowadays try to hide it more carefully than before, Kirk endorsed the so-called “great replacement theory”. This way of thinking assumes that powerful, nefarious actors, for some obscure reason, are trying to replace an upright indigenous, generally white-skinned population with immigrants of “doubtful” origin. Kirk did not even hesitate to state that Democrats supposedly wanted to make the U.S. “less white”.

Kirk also argued that humans have no significant effect on global climate change and joined antivax activists by, among other statements, calling the mandatory requirements for students to get the COVID-19 vaccine “medical apartheid”. Kirk was outspoken when it came to claim that Trump’s loss in the president elections of 2022 was due to fraud, supported the “stop the steal” movement and denied that the violent attacks on the Capitol were an insurrection.

Opposing political violence and supporting free speech does not mean that you have to sanctify a victim like Charlie Kirik, who after all was a racist and an incendiary agitator against underprivileged groups, as well as he degraded scientists who warned against climate change and vaccine denial. It is not defensible that such a voice, no matter how despicable it might be, is silenced by violence and murder. However, we cannot refrain from pointing out the great harm the kind of agitation Kirk devoted himself to can cause. As an educator, I have often been forced to experience how children suffer from racism and bigotry preached and condoned by influencers like Charlie Kirk. Accordingly, to sanctify such persons and tolerate their prejudiced ideology is hurtful and dangerous.

Furthermore, let us not be fooled by deceitful propaganda trying to convince us that Charlie Kirk’s so called “debates” were neither aggressive, nor mendacious. They were brutally provocative; opponents were shouted down, or belittled. The rhetoric was hateful, contempt was poured out over women, Black people, immigrants and Muslims, queer and trans people. Liberals were branded as enemies, science demeaned. And, yes – Charlie Kirk turned to young people, who felt frustrated, marginalized and despised, telling them that he wanted to give them hope and a will to fight injustice. But at what price? Based on what truth? Incitement to violence and contempt for humanity might be safeguarded in the name of free speech, but it should never be accepted and defended. It must be attacked through an unconstrained press based on facts, a well-founded science, and an unfaltering respect for human rights.

IPS UN Bureau

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Banner headlines and flawed interpretations of Nepal's protests have characterized media coverage. Graphic: IPS

By Diwash Gahatraj and Chandrani Sinha
KATHMANDU & NEW DELHI, Sep 18 2025 (IPS)

Claims that Ravi Laxmi Chitrakar, wife of former Nepali Prime Minister Jhala Nath Khanal, was burned alive in her home—fake. The reports of an angry mob destroying and vandalizing the Pashupatinath Temple—fake. Allegations that protesters were demanding a Hindu nation in Nepal—fake. As Kathmandu and other Nepali cities erupted in unrest last week, the fire of fake news spread just as fiercely across Nepal and into neighboring India and the rest of the world.

These sensational claims, widely circulated during Nepal’s recent unrest, proved to be misinformation. Driven by various actors and amplified by sections of Indian and international media, the stories dominated headlines, prime-time debates, and viral reels on Instagram, TikTok, and other platforms—framing the movement as a “Gen Z protest” over a social media ban.

In reality, Nepal’s youth were rallying against something far deeper: decades of entrenched corruption and a demand for genuine accountability from those in power.

On a sunny September morning, Nepal’s Generation Z poured into the streets of Kathmandu in what would become the country’s most significant youth uprising in decades. What began as peaceful demonstrations demanding jobs, government accountability, and digital freedoms soon swelled into a nationwide revolt that ultimately toppled Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli. The protests turned deadly on September 8, 2025, when police opened fire on demonstrators, killing at least 19 people on the first day alone, with hundreds more injured. The unrest spread rapidly from Kathmandu to major cities, including Pokhara, Biratnagar, Butwal, Bhairahawa, and Bharatpur, as young Nepalis rallied against corruption and a sweeping social media ban.

The crisis reached its peak when protesters stormed and set fire to the parliament building, forcing Oli’s resignation and prompting the military to take control of the streets. The political upheaval culminated in the appointment of Nepal’s first female prime minister, former Chief Justice Sushila Karki, as interim leader.

As the dust settles on one of South Asia’s most dramatic youth-led revolutions, the full extent of the casualties and destruction across Nepal continues to emerge, with the latest reports indicating at least 72 deaths and at least 2,113 injured nationwide.

Flames engulf the Nepal Supreme Court building in Kathmandu. Credit: Barsha Shah/IPS

Chaos of Misinformation

Amid the swirl of rumors and misinformation during the protests, one story that shocked the people was that of Ravi Laxmi Chitrakar, wife of former Prime Minister Jhala Nath Khanal. News started circulating that she was burnt to death inside her house. The false report spread fast, picked up by big YouTubers like Dhruv Rathee and even reported by the Indian daily Times of India, amplifying the claim to millions. “In reality, she had suffered serious burn injuries during an attack and was taken to Kirtipur Burn Hospital in critical condition—but she is alive,” said Rohit Dahal, a Gen Z member and close observer of the movement.

Later, Indian fact-checking outlet Alt News published a story debunking the misinformation.

Initially, many media outlets reshaped the protest’s narrative, reducing it to a youth backlash against the social media ban. Kathmandu-based freelance journalist, researcher and fact-checker Deepak Adhikari says the movement started with young people sharing videos contrasting the lavish lifestyles of politicians’ children, also called ‘Nepo Kids,’ with the daily struggles of ordinary citizens but soon became a major flashpoint for misinformation.

“The most common falsehoods were claims of attacks on politicians and their properties and rumors that leaders were fleeing the country. While some of this misleading content originated on Nepali social media, Indian television channels and users amplified it, turning it into a much bigger problem,” says Adhikari, who heads Nepal Check, a fact-checking platform dedicated to exposing misinformation and protecting public discourse.

Adhikari adds that unfounded claims about sacred sites also went viral. On September 9, a Facebook page called Corporate Bazaar posted a video claiming protesters had reached Pashupatinath Temple and attempted vandalism. The clip showed people climbing the temple gate—but a fact-check later revealed it was originally uploaded nearly two months earlier by a TikTok user during the Vatsaleshwori Jatra festival. YouTubers also amplified such rumors, Adhikari shares. For instance, a U.S.-based Nepali creator, Tanka Dahal, claimed police had detained 32 children inside Nepal’s parliament, fueling even more dramatic—and false—claims that the children had been killed there.

Indian Inputs

As Nepal’s youth fought for their future, Indian broadcasters and social media influencers reframed the movement. Dainik Jagaran, a popular news outlet, ran a front-page story claiming the Gen Z protests were demanding a Hindu Rashtra. This became a clear example of how misinformation can hijack a movement. While Nepal has seen pro-monarchy demonstrations in the past, calling for the reversal of the country’s secular status, the current protests did not include such demands. Instead, the Gen Z movement focused on highlighting the country’s stark wealth gap, rampant nepotism, and a migration crisis that forces nearly one in 10 Nepalis to work abroad. Politicians’ children flaunt luxury while most citizens struggle to make ends meet.

Asked how Indian media and social media users amplified false narratives about Nepal’s protests, BOOM Live deputy editor Karen Rebelo explained that large-scale anti-government movements often attract misinformation, especially when they draw attention beyond national borders.

“Misinformation thrives on uncertainty. In the vacuum created by incomplete reporting, people either invent stories or recycle old information to go viral,” she said.

Rebelo noted that social media determines who controls the narrative—authorities, protesters, or other actors. In Nepal’s case, many Indian outlets misreported the protests as solely a reaction to the social media ban. In reality, Gen Z demonstrators were protesting systemic corruption, nepotism, and inequality, with the ban only highlighting deeper frustrations.

Rebelo also pointed out how some right-wing outlets framed the protests as efforts to restore the monarchy or establish a Hindu nation—narratives that misrepresented the genuine concerns of Nepali youth. “These stories were amplified online and distorted what was actually happening on the ground,” she said.

Similarly, one of the crucial groups part of the Gen Z protest is Hami Nepal, a non-profit dedicated to supporting communities and individuals in need. According to the Nepal Times, “The group played a central role in guiding the demonstrations, using its Instagram and Discord platforms to circulate protest information and share guidelines.

Interestingly, the group’s leader, Sudan Gurung, became another victim of misinformation. As Nepal’s Gen Z protests gained momentum, misinformation quickly complicated the story. Upendra Mani Pradhan, a journalist and political analyst based in Darjeeling and editor-at-large at The Darjeeling Chronicle, pointed to this case.

“A major gaffe that almost painted the Gen Z revolution as ‘India-sponsored was the case of Sudan Gurung,” Pradhan said. He explained that Indian news channels—News18 and Zee News—published photos of Sudhan Gurung from Darjeeling, claiming he was a key architect of the Gen Z movement and leader of the Hami Nepal group. “The problem was both outlets, perhaps in their rush to report, failed to do their due diligence. They typed ‘Sudhan Gurung activist’ and not ‘Sudan Gurung, Nepal’ and used the first image they found online,” Pradhan said.

Coincidentally, Sudhan Gurung from Darjeeling is also an anti-corruption activist. He was assaulted a month earlier, allegedly by  political goons in the Darjeeling hills of India, for exposing the Teachers’ Recruitment scam in the Gorkhaland Territorial Administration.

Newspaper The Telegraph, published from Kolkata, wrote about this confusion and the backlash faced by the Nepali Sudan, with many questioning his credibility.

Tensions over media coverage of the protests spilled into a visible backlash against Indian journalists. On September 11, an Indian reporter was reportedly manhandled by protesters chanting anti-India slogans.

“It is very unfortunate that the journalist had to face this,” says Rebelo. “But this backlash did not come out of nowhere. Reckless reporting and misinformation by some Indian media outlets created the anger. We could have covered the story with much more care and responsibility.”

Rebelo highlighted a deeper issue, saying the incident reflects how little many in India understand their neighboring countries. “This lack of nuance makes misinformation even more damaging,” she added, noting that sensational reporting often worsens the situation.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Excerpt:

 
CIVICUS discusses the deaths of Indigenous activists in custody in Tajikistan with Khursand Khurramov, an independent journalist and political analyst.

Khursand Khurramov

What’s the background to the state’s persecution of Pamiri people?

The Pamiris are an Indigenous minority who have lived on their land for thousands of years. Throughout history, they have been part of various empires – from the Achaemenids and Alexander the Great to the Arab Caliphate and the Timurids – but have always retained de facto autonomy. At the end of the 19th century, the Pamir region was divided between the British and Russian empires, and the Pamiri people found themselves separated by the borders of modern states – Afghanistan, China, Pakistan and Tajikistan – while retaining their cultural and linguistic characteristics and, importantly, their historical attachment to their land.

In Tajikistan, the Pamiris live in an area called Gorno-Badakhshan (GBAO). The Soviet period was favourable for them in terms of demographic, economic and technological progress. The region had good transport links with Kyrgyzstan, while the road to the central regions of Tajikistan was only accessible seasonally.

Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, civil war broke out in Tajikistan in 1992. The Pamiris supported the United Tajik Opposition and became victims of mass repression. Many were murdered, with the number of victims unknown to this day. Following the war, the authorities continued to persecute former opponents, including the Pamiris, and several military operations have been carried out in the region, resulting in dozens of deaths and hundreds of arrests.

This means the Pamiri identity formed amid difficult conditions, largely in response to state pressure. Tajik authorities apparently fear recognition of Pamiri identity will lead to separatism, although there have never been any calls or demands for separatism within the Pamiri community.

It’s clear the authoritarian regime perceives Pamiri people’s desire for democratisation and freedom as a bad example for the rest of Tajikistan’s population, and it uses collective punishment to suppress any challenge to its authority.

What led to the recent wave of deaths in custody?

In November 2021, Tajikistan’s security officers carried out an operation in GBAO, in which a local resident was killed. This sparked mass protests, which in Tajikistan are prohibited by law and therefore extremely rare. Activists tried to hold those responsible to account by cooperating with law enforcement agencies. But instead of investigating, the authorities launched a large-scale crackdown on protesters, instrumentalising the law to justify violence by security forces.

In 2022, when protests flared up again, the authorities classified them as terrorist acts, allowing security forces to use firearms against protesters. As a result, around 40 people were killed. They also conducted mass arrests of activists. Some 300 people were imprisoned with sentences of over 15 years, and 11 received life sentences. Considering the entire Pamiri population is only about 220,000, these numbers represent a catastrophic scale of persecution. Prison conditions are extremely harsh, with relatives of prisoners repeatedly reporting overcrowding, lack of access to medical care and systematic psychological pressure. In 2025 alone, five men from GBAO aged between 35 and 66 have died in Tajikistan’s prisons.

How has the crackdown on civic freedoms affected GBAO?

Restrictions on civil liberties affect the whole of Tajikistan, but GBAO is subject to particularly harsh repression. In 30 years of independence, not a single independent media outlet has existed in GBAO. International media outlets such as the BBC and Radio Liberty have been unable to obtain accreditation to cover events in the region. As a result, most of what happens in GBAO remains unknown to the public, and state propaganda interprets events in a light favourable to the authorities, demonising Pamiri people in the eyes of the rest of the population.

At the national level, these restrictions take the form of a ban on political activities, a complicated procedure for registering associations and informal bans on the creation of parties and movements within the country and abroad. Any political or civic activity outside Tajikistan seems to be viewed by the authorities as a potential threat. Until 2022, Pamiris had a fairly powerful informal youth diaspora structure in Russia, but this has been effectively destroyed with its key figures arrested and returned to Tajikistan. The main reason for this was a rally they organised in November 2021 outside the Tajik embassy in Moscow.

Now even likes of social media posts by opposition groups are classified as extremism. According to the Tajikistan Prosecutor General’s Office, 1,500 people have been convicted for this, including nine journalists and bloggers. Many of them were not involved in politics at all. Their posts were exclusively about social rather than political issues.

How are Russia and other states in the region involved?

Russia and other post-Soviet states play a role in this process as political allies of the Tajik government. For Russia, the regime is an important partner in the areas of security and labour migration, so it tries to prevent the strengthening of forces that could threaten the status quo. As a result, it supports Tajikistan’s official position, including in international organisations, and often returns wanted political activists and opposition figures to Tajikistan.

Some post-Soviet states share a similar political logic, because they fear recognising ethnic or regional diversity within their borders. By supporting Tajikistan in suppressing Pamiri identity, they are consistent with their domestic policies of denying minority rights. Russia and the other member states of the Collective Security Treaty Organisation – Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan – cooperate on security matters, exchanging data and coordinating operations against opposition activists, including Pamiris. This is a mutually beneficial practice that strengthens authoritarian solidarity and reduces the risks of alternative centres of political influence emerging in the region.

What role can civil society and the international community play in holding the government accountable?

In Tajikistan, civil society in the classical sense has practically ceased to exist. Even those organisations that continue to operate are forced to coordinate their activities with the government. Although on paper these organisations may address civic space or human rights issues, their activities are largely formal: they function more as a facade than a mechanism for protecting rights within an authoritarian system. Over the past decade, any human rights work has been effectively equated with political activity, which carries serious risks.

Outside Tajikistan, diaspora civil society is also underdeveloped, with no strong institutions yet in place. However, the main thing activists and the diaspora can do is to draw international attention to the problem, talking about it as often as possible in different forums and in different languages. Only then can we expect the international community to put pressure on the Tajik authorities.

Despite these efforts, the situation for Pamiri people in Tajikistan has remained virtually unchanged. Authorities continue to deny the existence of their distinct identity. In prisons, people continue to die from torture, disease and inhumane conditions, but these facts are silenced and their deaths are presented as natural deaths.

The international community must move beyond statements to tangible action by strengthening monitoring and reporting through the European Parliament, the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe and the United Nations. They must impose personal sanctions on officials responsible for repression and torture, and condition aid, loans and grants on Tajikistan’s compliance with human rights obligations. Support for the diaspora and independent media is also essential to provide alternative information channels and prevent the regime isolating GBAO.

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SEE ALSO
Tajikistan: end systematic repression of Pamiri people CIVICUS 04.Aug.2025
Tajikistan: ‘Authorities silence dissent by accusing activists of extremism, terrorism and spreading false information’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Leila Seiitbek 20.May.2025
Tajikistan’s crackdown on dissent: erosion of rights and civic space CIVICUS Monitor 17.Feb.2025

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