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CIVICUS discusses the challenges posed by Paraguay’s ‘anti-NGO law’ with Hugo González, executive director of the Paraguayan Network of LGBTQ+ Artists (REPAR+), a civil society organisation (CSO) that promotes the rights of LGBTQI+ people, which has joined the constitutional challenge against this law.

Hugo González

What are the problems with Law 7363?

The law was enacted in November 2024, and its regulations came into force in October 2025. It applies to CSOs that receive or manage private or public funds from national or international sources and use those funds to influence public policy or state activities. The regulatory decree defines influence broadly, including reports, press releases and other forms of public expression.

The law establishes a public register administered by the Ministry of Economy and Finance and requires balance sheets, minutes, supporting documents and annual reports on programmes, beneficiaries, professionals, staff and affiliated entities. It also prohibits reference to donor confidentiality to circumvent these controls and provides for sanctions ranging from a formal warning to suspension and deregistration.

Civil society doesn’t oppose transparency. We were already complying with civil, labour, tax and anti-money laundering obligations, so this law was unnecessary. We call it the ‘big stick law’ because it duplicates controls, uses broad definitions and turns public advocacy into a risk factor that triggers extraordinary scrutiny for punitive purposes.

In what political context was the law passed?

The bill was passed thanks to the majority held by the ruling Colorado Party. The process moved forward against a backdrop of stigmatisation of CSOs, human rights activists and journalists, and coincided with the work of a congressional committee that framed CSO funding within a narrative centred on money laundering.

The law also reflected the convergence between parts of the ruling coalition and conservative religious networks. Among its main proponents were legislators such as Gustavo Leite and Lizarella Valiente, who have also participated in activities and initiatives linked to evangelical organisations. While this doesn’t prove that these organisations drafted or funded the law, it does highlight an asymmetry in access and scrutiny between groups that influence public policy.

The law treats different groups that influence the same policies very differently. It imposes extensive controls on CSOs but expressly exempts churches and religious groups.

What impact is the new law having?

The impact began even before the first sanctions were imposed. Ever since the Ministry of Economy and Finance launched the registration portal, CSOs have had to devote time, money and staff to complying with the new accounting, administrative and legal requirements. For small organisations or those run by volunteers, this means that a large proportion of their resources is no longer being channelled into activities, assistance, research or support services.

Uncertainty is also a factor. Although sanctions are not yet being applied on a large scale, the law is having a deterrent effect. Donors, organisations and supporters fear the consequences of getting involved or advocating for causes.

The obligation to provide detailed information on beneficiaries and supporters poses privacy risks, particularly in small communities and among vulnerable groups. The safety of these people depends on who has access to the information, for what purpose and with what effective safeguards.

What obstacles do LGBTQI+ organisations face, and how does the new law exacerbate them?

In Paraguay, gender and diversity organisations operate in a context of structural discrimination, characterised by hate speech, exclusion from education and the labour market, barriers to accessing healthcare and difficulties in reporting violence. Added to this is the lack of a comprehensive anti-discrimination law, legal recognition for same-sex couples and accessible administrative procedures for the recognition of gender identity. All this leaves LGBTQI+ people in a particularly vulnerable situation.

Law 7363 exacerbates these difficulties, as it imposes broad and unclear requirements on CSOs that defend these rights. REPAR+’s artistic activities can be regarded as advocacy, culture and support all at once. The vagueness of the law, combined with discretionary powers and the threat of suspension, makes it impossible to predict how these activities will be classified, and could stifle critical voices before any sanction is imposed.

How has civil society mobilised to challenge the law at the Supreme Court?

The response has combined dialogue, international appeals, litigation and technical analysis. Since December, CSOs working on community development, culture, the environment and human rights, as well as rural communities, have filed constitutional challenges against the law and its implementing decree. REPAR+ has joined the effort because we believe freedoms of association and expression are essential for organisations that support LGBTQI+ people, denounce discrimination and engage in public policy.

We hope that the Constitutional Chamber of the Supreme Court will examine these challenges independently and urgently, in the light of the Constitution, the American Convention on Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. A favourable ruling would directly protect the organisations bringing the challenges and establish an important precedent. We don’t seek to be exempt from accountability. We seek to prevent a regulatory process from becoming a form of political surveillance, exposing vulnerable people or serving as punishment for dissent.

What action is needed in and outside Paraguay to reverse these restrictions?

Within Paraguay, the court must rule urgently and prevent irreparable harm while it considers the merits of the case. However, a lasting solution requires Congress and the executive to repeal or comprehensively modify the law, through a pluralistic consultation process. Any regulation should be precise, avoid duplicate registrations and protect beneficiaries, donors, victims and workers. Intrusive requests should be subject to independent scrutiny and sanctions should be limited to what is strictly necessary and proportionate. These criteria should apply equally to anyone who manages public funds or influences policy, including religious organisations.

The international community could continue to monitor the situation at the United Nations, particularly through the Human Rights Council Universal Periodic Review process, and at the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights. It can also take action through embassies and cooperation agencies. Donors should offer flexible support to cover accounting, legal, security and technological costs, rather than withdrawing out of fear of the new regime.

Paraguay also needs a comprehensive anti-discrimination law, effective recognition of gender identity and protection for human rights defenders and journalists.

We are not asking for external guardianship or privileges. We are calling for democratic solidarity to preserve a space where people can organise, question and propose ideas. Transparency should strengthen democracy, not expose vulnerable people or turn criticism of those in power into a cause for suspicion.

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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Downpours flood the streets of Dhaka. Credit: Farid Ahmed/ IPS

By Mohammad Zaman
DHAKA, Bangladesh, Aug 13 2026 (IPS)

Dhaka’s recent and recurrent flooding is often treated as a natural disaster, but rain is only the trigger. The deeper causes are political, planning and ecological failure: wetland loss, canal encroachment, unplanned growth, weak enforcement, fragmented institutions and short-term engineering fixes. Dhaka is not drowning because it rains; it is drowning because it has been built as if water had nowhere to go.

Historically, Dhaka was part of a watery landscape of rivers, canals, ponds, floodplains and low-lying retention areas. These were not vacant lands; they were essential drainage infrastructure that stored rainwater, slowed runoff and carried excess water toward surrounding rivers. As the city expanded, this blue-green network was filled, narrowed or severed, leaving drains unable to cope even with moderate rainfall.

Mohammad Zaman

Drains and canals have also deteriorated. Many are clogged with waste, narrowed by illegal structures or disconnected from smaller drains. Box culverts, often promoted as modernisation, have in some places buried waterways rather than restoring them as living drainage corridors. Drainage fails not only because pipes are small, but because the wider hydrological system has been cut apart.

Climate change adds pressure through shorter, heavier and less predictable rainfall, but it should not excuse bad planning. World Bank work on urban flooding in Greater Dhaka has warned that the city already has an adaptation deficit. The real problem is that Dhaka has reduced its own capacity to absorb shocks, treating flooding as a pipe-sizing seasonal issue rather than a citywide water-management challenge.

The consequences appear first in transport paralysis. When major roads in Mirpur, Dhanmondi, Green Road, Motijheel, Shantinagar, Old Dhaka and other areas go underwater, commuters lose hours, public transport stalls and businesses suffer. The cost includes damaged vehicles and inventories, delayed logistics, lost productivity and the daily stress of moving through a city that cannot function after rain.

Flooding also deepens inequality. Low-income residents in informal and low-lying settlements face contaminated water entering their homes, loss of daily income, damaged belongings and higher disease risk. Floodwater mixed with sewage, waste and pollutants increases infections and waterborne illness. The poor pay twice: through greater exposure and weaker access to healthcare, savings and political voice.

The scale of impact shows this is not a seasonal inconvenience. A 2023 GIS and remote-sensing study found that almost 35 percent of Dhaka falls within high or very high waterlogging-vulnerability zones, with slum households disproportionately concentrated there. Recent rainfall confirms the risk: Dhaka recorded 130 millimetres of rain in six hours on 12 July 2024, while another episode brought 196 millimetres in 24 hours in 2025, submerging major roads despite large drainage investments.

Infrastructure spending has not produced resilience. The two Dhaka city corporations reportedly invested more than Tk 262 crore over four years up to 2024 to build 334.19 kilometres of drains, box culverts and related infrastructure, yet large areas still flooded. Planning data show that Dhaka lost 3,440 acres out of 9,556 acres of designated flood-flow zones, retention areas and waterbodies since the 1995 Detailed Area Plan, while central-city waterbodies reportedly fell from 20.57 percent in 1995 to 2.9 percent in 2023. The city is paying to drain water while allowing the systems that make drainage possible to disappear.

This failure is reinforced by institutional fragmentation. Responsibility is divided among Dhaka WASA, the two city corporations, RAJUK, the Bangladesh Water Development Board and others. Each controls part of the problem, but no single body manages the full catchment: drains, canals, retention areas, pumps, river outfalls and land-use control. The result is scattered action followed by renewed flooding.

Weak enforcement makes plans meaningless. Master plans and Detailed Area Plans have identified flood-flow zones, retention ponds and wetlands, yet these areas continue to disappear under housing, roads and commercial development. Encroachment survives because it is profitable, politically protected or administratively tolerated.

Accountability is also weak. Spending is reported, but outcomes are rarely evaluated. Dhaka does not need another narrow drainage project; it needs the political courage to enforce existing plans, recover waterways and protect the remaining wetlands.

The city must treat canals, wetlands, ponds and flood-flow zones as critical public infrastructure. Remaining wetlands should be protected, encroached canals demarcated and recovered, and major waterways restored as open drainage corridors connected to surrounding rivers. Dhaka also needs an integrated flood-management platform with clear authority over land-use approvals, canal recovery, drainage investment, pump operation, solid-waste control and emergency response.

Future planning must also centre vulnerable communities. Informal settlements, low-income neighbourhoods, street vendors, schoolchildren and daily-wage workers face the harshest effects but are rarely treated as planning partners. Community reporting of blocked drains, health warnings, emergency transport plans and compensation for repeated losses should be part of resilience policy. A flood-safe Dhaka requires ecological restoration, institutional discipline and social justice.

Dhaka’s flooding is a warning about planning against nature. The city has tried to engineer its way out of a crisis created by land conversion, institutional weakness and ecological neglect. Until it restores and governs its blue-green network as essential infrastructure, each monsoon will bring the same result: a megacity halted by rain it once knew how to live with. The choice is no longer between development and drainage; it is between protecting people and flooding them in the name of progress.

Dr. Mohammad Zaman is an international development consultant whose work across Asia and Africa focuses on social safeguards, displacement, resettlement and inclusive development. He lives in Vancouver, Canada, and can be reached at: mqzaman.bc@gmail.com

IPS UN Bureau

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UN Indonesia Solar power is widely used on the islands of Java, Madura, and Bali. Credit: UN News

By Delia Paul
MELBOURNE, Australia, Aug 10 2026 (IPS)

In much of the Asia-Pacific region, energy is a success story. Electricity access has greatly increased and the use of clean cooking fuels is now widespread. The region has kept pace with the rest of the world in adopting renewable energy. Many countries have made energy efficiency gains; the Republic of Korea is one of those in the lead worldwide. Progress has continued even in the face of recent energy crises sparked by the war in Ukraine and conflict over the Strait of Hormuz.

Yet, this year’s High Level Political Forum on sustainable development (IHLPF) in New York— a yearly event to review progress on the global Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) —sounded some warning bells.

With SDG 7 on energy, the international community agreed to ensure universal access to affordable, reliable and modern energy services. Clean cooking fuels are part of that transition. SDG 7 also set targets to increase substantially the share of renewable energy in the global energy mix, and double the rate of improvement in energy efficiency. On all these measures, Asia-Pacific countries have done well. This year’s HLPF, however, raised some important questions.

Firstly, success is a matter of definition. In 2010, Central and South Asian countries accounted for 36 per cent of the world’s electricity-access deficit; by 2024, that proportion had shrunk to just 3 per cent, a turnaround that the UN’s latest report of progress on SDG 7 attributes to rapid grid expansion, regional power market integration, and rising incomes. That achievement is nuanced, however, when we consider the livelihood dimension, where many countries still face challenges especially in rural areas.

Vijay Modi, a professor at Columbia University and director of its Laboratory for Sustainable Energy Solutions, addressing HLPF delegates on the first day of the talks, noted that access is not the same as affordability. Affordable energy is needed, for example, to run the water pumps for farm irrigation, and to light shops that may want to extend their opening hours — aspects of electricity access that are missed, if focusing only on household-level energy services.

Secondly, generalised statistics can mask the true scale of the challenge that still remains. The share of people using clean fuels and technologies for cooking has nearly doubled across most of Asia since 2010. Central, South, East and Southeast Asian countries have done especially well: India alone is responsible for about 40 percent of the worldwide reduction in the clean-cooking access deficit, China for roughly 30 percent, and Indonesia for about 10 percent.

In terms of percentage points, this all looks great. In terms of absolute numbers, though, India still has the largest numbers of people without access to electricity services and clean cooking fuels; China ranks third in the world; Indonesia ranks 16th. These are countries with large populations, where a percentage point gained in access represents many more people than a percentage point gained in a smaller country. While their progress should be applauded, the challenge is far from over.

Third is the question of financing. From 2023 to 2024, international financial flows for clean energy fell in Central, South, East and Southeast Asia. That is a troubling trend, given that much remains to be done. The role of public utilities remains crucial.

In the 1990s and 2000s, Cambodia’s state utility, Electricité du Cambodge, transformed the fragmented, war-torn nation’s power grid into a unified network, partnering with independent power producers, using foreign investment to build transmission lines and power stations, and prioritising electricity connections and financing for low-income households. Such success is not a given.

Damilola Ogunbiyi, Special Representative of the Secretary-General for Sustainable Energy for All and Co-Chair of UN-Energy, reminded the HLPF that in Africa, some utilities have not achieved viability and are facing bankruptcy. “It’s about finance, at the end of the day,” she said, while highlighting that renewable energy is the least-cost pathway to meeting energy needs worldwide.

The current geopolitical situation only strengthens the case for increasing uptake of renewables and decreasing reliance on traditional fossil fuels, said Francesco La Camera, Director-General of the International Renewable Energy Agency (IRENA). This process, he noted, could be accelerated through mini-grids, peak time management (strategies to reduce and shift electricity consumption away from peak demand times), and removal of trade barriers to renewable energy technologies. Some of this is already happening in Asia, but with just four years to go until the 2030 deadline for achieving the SDGs, UN monitoring shows that progress is insufficient.

Globally, four structural trends are holding back progress. They are explained in the 2026 UN report, “Tracking SDG 7: The Energy Progress Report.” Progress on reducing energy intensity has mainly been achieved in industry, and is now slowing. Energy efficiency standards don’t necessarily match the technology available in the marketplace. Demand for air conditioning has increased, pushing up electricity demand. Growth in electricity demand now outstrips the supply of renewable energy that is actually available. Tackling just one of these barriers — let’s say energy intensity, for example — would require tripling the rate of progress in the next four years.

For now, the UN has launched a new work programme to accelerate action leading up to the 2030 deadline for the SDGs. On the current rate of progress, the world will probably not meet all the SDG 7 targets. But, given the energy gains already made in this region, Asia-Pacific countries may do better than others.

Dr Delia Paul is an associate of the International Institute for Sustainable Development, and is affiliated with Monash University’s Global Peace and Security research hub in Australia.

IPS UN Bureau

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CIVICUS discusses India’s Cockroach Janta Party movement with Harshit Singh, a young activist, poet and storyteller who took part in protests in Delhi.

Harshit Singh

What’s the Cockroach Janta Party, and how did it start?

On 15 May, the Chief Justice of India said that young people who couldn’t find a job and turned to media, social media and activism to attack the system were like cockroaches. He corrected himself the following day, saying he had meant only those entering the legal profession with fake degrees, but it was too late. Everybody felt hurt and frustrated.

Abhijeet Dipke, a young Indian, posted a tweet asking what would happen if all the cockroaches came together. Within 24 hours he had set up an Instagram page, a website and a manifesto that said that if you were lazy, unemployed and had time on your hands, you qualified as a cockroach. The name, Cockroach Janta Party, was a parody of the ruling party. The response was enormous. Artists and creators began promoting the platform, and within weeks over 20 million people were following it.

It grew that fast because the frustration was already there. Two weeks before Surya Kant spoke, the question paper for the national medical entrance exam leaked in advance, and the exam was cancelled for over two million students who had spent years preparing. At least 21 students died by suicide; every morning we woke up to news of another death. And this was not an isolated case. Every other day we hear about another exam paper leaking somewhere.

The Cockroach Janta Party gave young people somewhere to channel their frustration with the education system and unemployment. It gave us hope and a chance to demand a better education system, one that isn’t privatised and doesn’t cost so much that only privileged people get a good education.

But education is just the baseline. Beyond it, this is a movement that brings together everyone who has been neglected and not listened to for years, so they can express their frustration and ask for change. What started as satire became a national movement that nobody, not even the person who started it, expected.

Would you call this a Gen Z movement?

It was organised by Gen Z, and most of us in it are, but it’s not only that. I have seen every generation at the protest. People of different castes, gender identities and religions have come together under one umbrella to ask for their rights. At the end of the day, we are all Indians, and every issue this country is going through is our issue.

There is no criterion for joining and no enrolment process. If you think something is wrong, or that your basic rights are not being respected, that is the moment you support the movement, however you can. Come to the protest, talk about it online or in print, and be a voice where you are.

What struck me most is how many people came who didn’t support Abhijeet or disagreed with something a spokesperson had said. Some didn’t even like that we call ourselves cockroaches. They came anyway, because the movement is bigger than any person in it and because after a long time we have a platform where we can speak out loud, with other people standing next to us. That’s why it grew so fast.

What role has social media played?

Social media has played a central role. The movement started online and the vast majority of what it has achieved rests on that. Nobody expected it to come onto the ground and organise protests at this scale.

The reason it mattered this much is that the media here is compromised. If you say anything against the government, mainstream television and print media will not carry it. There was a protest in the heart of the capital for weeks and you wouldn’t find a single headline about it in the newspapers or magazines.

But when you are on the ground with your phone, taking photos and videos, you become your own media. And everyone was using their platforms. It didn’t matter whether someone had 10 followers or 5,000, each person was reaching the audience they had. In the end, mainstream media just reaches a limited number of people, but social media reaches everyone.

The turning point was when artists and creators started speaking. I hesitated at first. My livelihood is social media and ticket revenue, so I doubted what would happen to my future if I spoke against the government. I feared my accounts would be taken down. But I couldn’t deny what was happening, so I spoke out, and many other artists did too.

How has the government responded?

The government has responded very negatively. People who question the government, protest against it or ask for their rights get labelled as anti-national or terrorists. There’s no second thought about it. When I was a child, those were heavy words. Watching this government make them ordinary and using them against us was frightening.

For seven weeks we were at Jantar Mantar, the designated protest site in central Delhi. The Prime Minister’s Office, the President’s house and every ministry are within a five-kilometre radius. Still, not official came to meet us. What they did instead was try to dilute the protest by dividing us with anything they could find. They mocked queer people and spread hatred between Hindus and Muslims, but the unity held and we stood together.

On 20 July, we marched from Jantar Mantar to parliament. Delhi hadn’t seen a peaceful protest this massive in about 15 years. Thousands of people, including children, teenagers and grandparents, were on the streets asking for their basic rights. We were carrying flowers, banners and posters, and chanting slogans.

But the security forces met us with repression and violence. They used pellet guns, teargas and batons against anyone, even if they were just standing nearby. There’s a girl who’s still in intensive care on a ventilator.

The way the police handled the protests was illegal and unconstitutional. At that moment a lot of people in India realised something was badly wrong, and support for our movement grew massively across the country. Cities, districts and small towns started protests in solidarity. That is when the government understood it had to listen.

What has the movement achieved?

Our non-negotiable demand was the resignation of Dharmendra Pradhan and action against everyone involved in the scam. Pradhan stepped down, and we are glad he did, but it shouldn’t have taken this long or this much violence. He even framed it as a way to stop the protests and prevent terrorist activity, not as an admission that anything had gone wrong. Accountability is still missing.

Our other two demands are still unmet. We asked for compensation of 10 million rupees (approx. US$115,000) for every family that lost a child to suicide. Those families haven’t received anything, not even an apology.

We also asked that nobody who took part in the protests face legal action. Instead, the police have spent the past days tracing protesters and opening cases against them. There’s a lot of rage about it, and Abhijeet and others have said we may have to protest again.

What support does the movement need now?

What we most need is for people to stop being afraid. Protesting here is almost a taboo, because people expect repercussions and stay away, which makes organising anything at all difficult.

That fear is not irrational. This government controls the security forces, the Central Bureau of Investigation and the Enforcement Directorate, and it can do whatever it wants with them, as we saw on the streets. The courts will not stop it either, because the judiciary is compromised in the same way the media is.

But if something is wrong, it is fine to ask the government why. They are here to serve us. All we are asking for is to be able to protest peacefully in what is supposed to be the world’s largest democracy.

We need young people in this country to keep showing up and artists to stop being silent, because if the mainstream media will not speak out, art must become the mode of resistance. Support from abroad matters too. When people elsewhere talk about our movement, it creates pressure on the government. And we must hold on to what we know – our rights and our intentions – because diluting the agenda is what the government will try next.

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.

India has recently been added to the CIVICUS Monitor Watchlist, which identifies countries where a severe deterioration in the quality of civic space is taking place.

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India added to human rights watchlist as repression intensifies in Modi’s third term CIVICUS Monitor 29.Jul.2026
Gen Z protests: new resistance rises CIVICUS | 2026 State of Civil Society Report
India: ‘When civil society is constrained, it cannot challenge power or amplify excluded voices’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Devanshi Vaid and Smarinita Shetty 11.Dec.2025

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“They say driving is only for men. But women have proved that they, too, can drive.” Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Aug 7 2026 (IPS)

The Taliban’s rise to power robbed Mehrmaa of her husband, her job and her chance to live freely.

It was a cold, snowy night in March 2022 when Mehrmaa’s neighbors brought her husband’s lifeless body home. He had disappeared more than seven months earlier. Mehrmaa had barely managed to cope with the new restrictions imposed on women by the Taliban, and now she felt as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

“At the end of our road home, there were seven coffins containing bodies that had been delivered to their families. Seven months ago they had been taken alive and now they have been returned dead,” Mehrmaa says.

“I will continue to fight against forced marriage for the sake of my children and in memory of my late husband, until my last breath,” Mehrmaa says

Mehrmaa describes how, in July 2021, the Taliban took over the provinces and its forces entered her hometown on motorbikes. The Taliban raised their flag in the centre of the city as a sign of victory. Government helicopters bombed the city, leaving many people homeless and without shelter. Mehrmaa’s province was the first to fall under Taliban oppression. Many fled in panic.

“The state kidnapped many young men to defend the city, including my husband.”

After the Taliban takeover, women were threatened with imprisonment if they walked the streets alone.

“Women were flogged in public for small and frivolous reasons. Widowed women and underage girls were forced into marriages without their consent.”

Women faced daily hardships, regardless of whether they had male relatives to protect them.

“Now that the Taliban are in power in Afghanistan, what can we do? We only live for our children. Women want to work so they can earn money for their families.”

Under the Taliban, women were forbidden from working. Mehrmaa wanted to continue working to support her children. That drove her onto the streets.

“Now I live a nomadic life with my children. We have no permanent home and we don’t stay in one place for long.”

Work became a means of survival

Mehrmaa is a trained teacher and midwife. She treats women’s fertility problems with herbs and gives massages for knee, back and joint pain. Under her late husband’s guidance, Mehrmaa learned to drive. She ran the first driving school for women in her province and taught hundreds of women how to drive.

Then the Taliban banned women from driving. Under the direction of the Ministry of the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, or morality police, local Taliban authorities reprimanded Mehrmaa and issued her a warning.

“They say driving is only for men. But women have proved that they, too, can drive. Even those who don’t have a husband in their family have learnt to drive.”

After her husband died, Mehrmaa had to continue working to feed her children. To survive, she returned to the city and began working as a teacher.

Despite changing careers, Mehrmaa was once again banned from working. Girls were banned from attending school from high school onwards, and educational institutions were closed to them. Mehrmaa took up work as a domestic helper and also provided personal physical education lessons to girls and women who had been excluded from school.

She is also a skilled physiotherapist. She founded the first women-only sports and massage centre so that she could help women manage their weight and improve their overall health. Mehrmaa’s health advice has given hope to women who had lost faith in their recovery.

Through her work, Mehrmaa met an 18-year-old girl who had fallen into a well two years earlier, damaging her legs, arms and ribs in the accident. Mehrmaa treated the girl’s muscles by massaging them with olive and black cumin oil. In less than two months, the girl was able to move.

The girl’s father praised Mehrmaa’s skills at the local mosque. Men heard about her healing abilities and rushed to propose marriage to her.

The Taliban regime considers it shameful for an unmarried woman to work alone. When the morality police learnt that Mehrmaa had rejected all offers of marriage, they banned her from working.

Mehrmaa rejected a life of dependence on others.

“For the sake of my children, I want to earn my own honest living and not live under the humiliation of anyone,” she says.

Sometimes injustice is a greater pain than poverty.

“I will continue to fight against forced marriage for the sake of my children and in memory of my late husband, until my last breath,” Mehrmaa says.

Once again, Mehrmaa moved with her children, this time to the northeast of the country. She brought with her hope for justice and a better future.

The women of her new village encouraged Mehrmaa to stay and help provide healthcare at local clinics. They told her about the countless pregnant women who die before they can reach a hospital.

The women in the village speak of Mehrmaa with admiration, describing her as incredibly kind and capable.

“It’s as if there’s light in every finger of hers,” they say, using an Afghan proverb to describe someone who is highly skilled and brings much good to those around them.

Despite constant losses, threats, and marriage proposals, Mehrmaa keeps going. She fights for her children, for women in need, and for a better future. Mehrmaa envisions an Afghanistan where women can work freely, study, and take care of their families.

Excerpt:

Young people facing Hiroshima’s Atomic Bomb Dome as storm clouds give way to morning light—a metaphor for humanity’s choice between living under the nuclear shadow and building a world without nuclear weapons. Credit: INPS Japan

By Katsuhiro Asagiri
HIROSHIMA, Japan, Aug 7 2026 (IPS)

This year’s Hiroshima Peace Declaration did not begin with words of remembrance alone. It opened instead with what the declaration called “military invasions using nuclear weapons as tools of intimidation,” “imperious actions by major powers in violation of international law,” and the failure of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, or NPT, Review Conference — for the third consecutive time — to adopt a final document.

The order was deliberate. The catastrophe of 81 years ago is not a memory sealed off in the past. It is directly connected to a present in which nuclear weapons are once again invoked as a means of projecting state power and coercing adversaries.

Hiroshima’s mayor, Kazumi Matsui, described a world in which distrust breeds retaliation, and retaliation is used to justify further violence. Such cycles, he warned, could ultimately result in “another Hiroshima or Nagasaki.”

At the same ceremony, Izumi Nakamitsu, the U.N. under-secretary-general and high representative for disarmament affairs, delivered a message from Secretary-General António Guterres that distilled the warning into a single question: What has humanity learned from Hiroshima? Will it choose a peaceful future, or continue to live under the shadow of nuclear annihilation?

This was not a rhetorical flourish reserved for a commemorative ceremony. What followed was an account of a world in which decades of nuclear arms reductions are being reversed, the norm against nuclear testing is under strain, military spending is surging and nuclear threats are increasingly used as instruments of intimidation.

One message spoke through the memories of survivors; the other through the crisis confronting the international system. But both arrived at the same place. Will the world continue to call an order sustained by fear “security”? Or will it restore dialogue, diplomacy, international law and trust — all of them slow and difficult — to the center of security policy?

The remains of the Prefectural Industry Promotion Building, after the dropping of the atomic bomb, in Hiroshima, Japan. This site was later preserved as a monument. Credit: UN Photo/DB

At the heart of the Peace Declaration was not nuclear strategy, but human experience.

It recalled a woman who could never forget her sister, whose skin had peeled away and whose face had been horribly disfigured by the bombing. It spoke of another woman who was exposed to the bomb at the age of 3, suffered repeated illnesses and lived in fear of what disease might strike next.

And there was a man who survived the bombing at 9. Watching civilians die in Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, he told young people that building a world without conflict must begin with overcoming the impulse toward conflict within themselves and making an effort to understand the perspectives of others.

Credit: UN photo

Such testimony is a reminder that the damage caused by nuclear weapons does not end with the blast. Radiation-related illness, the loss of family, discrimination and anxiety about the future can shape a life for decades. When strategists calculate the value of possessing nuclear weapons, it is this long span of human time that most easily disappears from view.

Mr. Guterres’s message noted that as the number of hibakusha, the atomic bomb survivors, declines, the importance of their words only grows. Their testimony is more than a record of tragedy. It is evidence that brings the abstract concept of nuclear deterrence back to the reality of human bodies and human lives.

Mr. Matsui called on citizens and young people to build connections across national borders with those who hold different values. Mr. Guterres urged governments to choose dialogue over division and cooperation over confrontation. The proposals may appear to operate on different scales, but they share a premise: Distrust among nations deepens when societies lose the capacity to understand those they see as different.

The Nuclear “Bargain” Nations Can No Longer Agree On

To understand the present crisis, it is necessary to examine the bargain on which the NPT rests.

Non-nuclear-weapon states agree not to acquire nuclear arms. Nuclear-weapon states undertake to pursue nuclear disarmament in good faith. And all parties retain the right to the peaceful use of nuclear energy under international safeguards. The treaty bound these three commitments together as a single grand bargain.

The framework was never complete. India, Pakistan and Israel remain outside the treaty, while North Korea has declared its withdrawal. Nor have the nuclear-weapon states recognized by the treaty fully honored their longstanding commitment to disarm.

NPT under pressure. Credit: INPS Japan

One dispute over the final document concerned language stating that Iran must not seek nuclear weapons. The United States and others pressed for stronger wording on Iran’s uranium enrichment and its cooperation with the International Atomic Energy Agency, or IAEA. Iran objected to being singled out and argued that attacks by the United States and Israel on its nuclear facilities had themselves damaged international law and the nonproliferation regime.

But Iran was not the sole cause of the breakdown. It was where a deeper fracture came to the surface.

In the war in Ukraine, the safety of nuclear-related sites, including the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant, has repeatedly been placed at risk. In the Middle East, a zone free of nuclear weapons and other weapons of mass destruction, first promised in 1995, has still not been established. And under AUKUS, the security partnership among Australia, Britain and the United States, the planned transfer of nuclear-powered submarine technology to a non-nuclear-weapon state has raised questions about safeguards and the precedent it may set.

Meanwhile, China is expanding its nuclear forces, arms control between the United States and Russia is receding, and all nine nuclear-armed states are modernizing their arsenals. If nuclear powers and their allies place ever greater importance on deterrence while demanding restraint only from non-nuclear states, suspicion will inevitably grow that the treaty is less a mechanism for preventing proliferation than a system for preserving the privileges of those that already possess the bomb.

The NPT Review Conference has now failed to agree on a final document three times in succession — in 2015, 2022 and 2026. The last consensus was reached in 2010.

The treaty will not disappear tomorrow, and there is no alternative framework with anything close to its near-universal membership. But institutions do not always collapse overnight. Each time promises are deferred, criticism of violations is applied selectively and a conference ends without agreement, a little more faith is lost in the proposition that states are safer when they abide by the system.

As Ms. Nakamitsu observed after the Review Conference, nonproliferation and disarmament are two sides of the same coin. Nuclear-weapon states cannot indefinitely demand that others forgo nuclear arms while failing to meet their own obligations under Article VI of the NPT. The problem is not the wording of the treaty. It is whether governments still believe in the bargain it represents.

An AI-generated conceptual illustration shows opposing rows of strategic missile launchers beyond a broken restraint, symbolizing the collapse of binding arms-control limits and a renewed nuclear arms race in which each side’s pursuit of security increases the danger for all. Credit: Katsuhiro Asagiri

The signs of eroding trust extend far beyond the conference room.

The New Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty, or New START, which imposed verifiable limits on the strategic nuclear forces of the United States and Russia, expired on Feb. 5, 2026. For the first time in more than half a century, the strategic arsenals of the two countries that possess most of the world’s nuclear weapons are no longer subject to legally binding limits.

The norm against nuclear testing is also under pressure. In 2025, the U.S. president spoke of resuming “testing,” without making clear whether he meant nuclear explosive tests or missile trials. Against that backdrop, the United States became the only country to vote against a draft resolution in the U.N. General Assembly’s First Committee calling for the entry into force of the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty, or CTBT. Even if no explosive test takes place, ambiguity from a major power about its support for a longstanding norm can give other countries a pretext to weaken it in turn.

Military spending is climbing as well. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, or SIPRI, global military expenditure reached a record $2.887 trillion in 2025, marking an 11th consecutive annual increase in real terms. Spending rose by 14 percent in Europe and by 8.1 percent in Asia and Oceania.

Every government has an explanation: Russia’s invasion, China’s rise, uncertainty about alliance commitments, preparations for regional conflict. Considered separately, each can be understood as a response to a security concern. But one country’s defense appears to another as a threat. One side arms in response to the other, prompting the other to build up again. This is the security dilemma: Actions taken in the name of safety can make the system as a whole more dangerous.

Supporters of nuclear deterrence point to the fact that nuclear weapons have not been used in war since Hiroshima and Nagasaki as evidence that deterrence works. Yet there have also been numerous episodes in which false alarms, equipment failures, misread intelligence or errors of judgment brought the world dangerously close to nuclear war.

At a discussion held alongside the 2026 NPT Review Conference, the lesson was expressed in a stark phrase: “Luck is not a security strategy.” Nuclear deterrence requires every future leader, every intelligence assessment and every communications system to function correctly in every crisis. As artificial intelligence is incorporated into warning and command-and-control systems, faster decision-making could also leave less time to recognize and correct a mistake.

Whether nuclear deterrence played a role in the past and whether it can remain safe indefinitely are not the same question.

What the Ban Treaty Can Do — and What It Cannot

The 2nd meeting of state parties to TPNW toook place at the United Nations Headquarters in New York between 27 November and 1 December in 2023. Credit: Katsuhiro Asagiri, President of INPS Japan.

Tonga’s accession in July 2026 brought to 100 the number of countries that have signed, ratified or acceded to the treaty. Of these, 75 are states parties.

The TPNW comprehensively prohibits the development, testing, production, possession, use and threat of use of nuclear weapons. It also requires states parties to assist people harmed by nuclear weapons use and testing and to remediate contaminated environments.

That is where it differs from the NPT. While the NPT primarily manages the relationship between nuclear-weapon and non-nuclear-weapon states, the TPNW treats nuclear weapons themselves as a humanitarian issue and a matter of international law. It asks not who should be permitted to possess nuclear arms, but whether possessing them can be considered acceptable at all.

The Review Conference is expected to focus on a political declaration rejecting nuclear use and threats of use without exception; progress in carrying out the 2022 Vienna Action Plan; the work of the Scientific Advisory Group; mechanisms for victim assistance and environmental remediation; the designation of an international authority to verify the elimination of nuclear weapons; and the further universalization of the treaty.

Particular attention will fall on a proposed international trust fund for victim assistance and environmental remediation. The effects of nuclear weapons use and testing are still felt in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, at the Semipalatinsk test site in Kazakhstan, in the Marshall Islands and across other Pacific islands. If the fund takes shape, disarmament will no longer be only a negotiation over future numbers of nuclear warheads. It will also become a question of nuclear justice: Who bears responsibility for harm already done?

The TPNW has an obvious limitation. No nuclear-armed state has joined it, and the treaty alone cannot compel the elimination of nuclear warheads. Ignoring that fact would obscure the distance between establishing a prohibition and achieving actual disarmament.

But three consecutive failures at NPT Review Conferences have also shown that waiting for agreement among the nuclear powers will not produce progress on its own. The NPT can preserve the legal obligation to disarm, while the TPNW develops the norm of prohibition and practical approaches to victim assistance, environmental remediation and verification. The two treaties can be treated not as rivals, but as complementary frameworks, each addressing gaps left by the other.

Where Does Japan Stand?

The Treaty on the Prohibition of Nuclear Weapons, signed 20 September 2017 by 50 United Nations member states. Credit: UN Photo / Paulo Filgueiras

Attending as an observer would not commit Japan to immediate accession. Some NATO countries that rely on the U.S. nuclear deterrent have attended previous meetings of states parties after explicitly setting out their differences with the treaty.

Japan’s participation would expose the tension between its reliance on nuclear deterrence and its identity as the only country to have suffered atomic bombings in war. But it would also allow Japan to draw on its extensive experience in medical care for survivors, research on the effects of radiation, preservation of testimony, victim assistance, environmental remediation and disarmament education to help build practical mechanisms.

For years, the Japanese government has described its role as a “bridge” between nuclear-weapon and non-nuclear-weapon states. But building a bridge requires listening, in the same room, to what each side fears and what each considers unjust. That claim loses credibility if Japan remains anchored to only one bank.

Rethinking What We Call “Reality”

Both messages called on citizens to act because nuclear policy is not shaped by governments and experts alone.

Through education, journalism, elections, culture, investment and everyday language, societies learn to regard nuclear weapons either as a guarantee of security or as an unacceptable humanitarian threat. That shared understanding, in turn, defines the range of policies a government believes it can pursue.

A future lived under the shadow of nuclear fear may not be chosen all at once by a single leader. It can also be chosen through an accumulation of small acts of acceptance: tolerating nuclear threats when they come from one’s own side, equating military expansion with security, and confining the testimony of atomic bomb survivors and nuclear test victims to commemorative anniversaries.

A world without nuclear weapons will not be achieved at a single conference, either. It will require people to learn what happened in the atomic bombings and nuclear tests; speak with those who hold different views; reject nuclear threats whether they come from an ally or an adversary; press governments to fulfill their disarmament obligations and attend the TPNW conference; and support victims and disarmament education. Each step may be modest. Each can also help change the standards by which society judges nuclear weapons.

What Hiroshima offered the world this year was not an optimistic prediction. It was a choice.

A future in which humanity continues to balance one nuclear terror against another — or a future in which nations build a common security that no longer requires nuclear weapons.

No one needs to be an expert to answer that question, and no one needs to wait for a government’s permission. Can security that depends on the threat of incinerating cities truly be called security? Asking ourselves that question is the first political act.

This article is brought to you by INPS Japan in collaboration with Soka Gakkai International in consultative status with UN ECOSOC.

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Excerpt:

A Rohingya refugee points to the landslide that killed two of Abdu Rozork’s daughters and two of their children in their bamboo shelter in a refugee camp in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh, last month. Credit: Mohammed Zonaid/IPS

By Mohammed Zonaid
COX'S BAZAR, Bangladesh, Aug 6 2026 (IPS)

Abdu Rozork awoke suddenly to the sound of children screaming. Heavy monsoon rains had sent a landslide barrelling into the section of their bamboo shelter where the women and children were sleeping.

Neighbours rushed to help dig through the mud with their bare hands, but it was too late. Two of Rozork’s daughters and two grandchildren were killed.

Having fled war in Myanmar only two years earlier, Rozork had believed his family would finally find safety among the over one million Rohingya refugees living in densely packed camps in Cox’s Bazar, southeast Bangladesh.

“I escaped conflict in Rakhine State to save my family,” he told IPS. “But I could not save them here.”

Early waves of Muslim minority Rohingya fleeing violence and persecution in Myanmar were housed in the first large-scale camps set up in Cox’s Bazar in the early 1990s. In 2017 a devastating crackdown by the Myanmar military against the Rohingya community and militants in Rakhine State forced another mass exodus, this time of over 700,000 refugees, creating the world’s largest refugee settlement.

Since 2024 and the disintegration of Myanmar amidst civil war, these overcrowded camps have been joined by further waves of civilians fleeing a complex conflict between the junta and the Arakan Army (AA), an ethno-nationalist insurgent group that has seized control over much of Rakhine State, as well as the involvement of Rohingya militants. According to data released by UNHCR, by June those new arrivals in Cox’s Bazar numbered 153,640.

But no new land has been allocated to this recent wave of refugees for building shelters. Many families now have to share with relatives or build makeshift homes on steep hillsides vulnerable to landslides and flooding. Cutbacks in international funding have also led to cuts in classes for children and reduced food rations.

Days of heavy rain since early July triggered landslides and flooding in several of the camps, killing at least 17 people and displacing more than 3,000, according to Human Rights Watch.

Rozork said he had repeatedly asked humanitarian agencies for help with tarpaulins and to make a retaining wall. His bamboo shelter stood at the foot of a hill, and rainwater was coming in.

But organisations responsible for site management told him assistance was unavailable because his family had only recently arrived in Bangladesh. “No one warned us that the shelter was in a dangerous place,” he said. Days later the mud swept down.

His family’s tragedy is one of many among the newest Rohingya arrivals who escaped one crisis only to enter another.

Mohammed Kayes, now 13, was attending school in Buthidaung Township in northern Rakhine when fighting intensified between the Myanmar military and the AA, spreading towards his village. Schools closed, food became scarce, and medical services disappeared.

His family fled through forests and villages for seven days before reaching the Bangladesh border. During the journey, Kayes said Arakan Army members detained his family. After several days, they released them but later took his father away for what they described as questioning. He never returned.

After finally reaching Bangladesh, tragedy struck again. His mother, suffering from a stomach tumour, died after months of illness despite efforts to obtain treatment.

Kayes now helps care for his younger siblings while living with his grandmother. He receives food rations, but with the loss of his mother, they do not qualify for gas cylinders to cook.

His dream is to become a teacher. “I want to study,” he told IPS. “I want to build my future.”

Sawfowan’s dream is to work for the United Nations, but conflict also engulfed his village in Buthidaung, closing schools. “We heard gunfire almost every day,” the 17-year-old said. The men in the family had to flee over a year ago to avoid forced conscription by the AA.

His family struggled to obtain medicine for his diabetic mother, so in May they also decided to flee. According to Sawfowan, Bangladesh border authorities twice pushed the family back across the frontier, but they managed to enter on a third attempt and reunite with relatives inside the camps. Several families now share a single bamboo and tarpaulin shelter.

“I feel safer here,” he said. “But life is still very difficult.”

Community leaders say such experiences are increasingly common among the newest arrivals.

Mohammed Musa, a Rohingya youth leader, said families consistently report forced displacement, disappearances, movement restrictions and food shortages in Rakhine.

“Many arrive carrying deep trauma after losing relatives or surviving repeated displacement inside Myanmar,” he said. “But once they reach Bangladesh, they face another struggle.”

UNHCR says newly arrived refugees receive food assistance, cooking gas, core relief items and protection services under existing government approvals. However, the agency acknowledges that the absence of new land and severe funding shortages have limited humanitarian efforts to relocate families to safer areas or improve shelter conditions.

“The recent loss of lives due to the heavy monsoon rains is a tragic reminder of how vulnerable the camps remain,” Shari Nijman, UNHCR Bangladesh Communications Officer, said.

As conflict continues in Myanmar, Bangladeshi authorities say Rohingya are crossing the border every week despite tighter controls.

The Arakan Army now controls most of Rakhine State but the capital, Sittwe, and has driven Rohingya from their homes. Survivors and rights groups have documented allegations of forced recruitment and mass killings of Rohingya in the village of Hoyyar Siri by the Arakan Army in May 2024, as well as drone attacks on people gathering on the border, burning of villages, arbitrary arrests, and other abuses. The AA denies it carried out the Hoyyar Siri massacre.

Myanmar military airstrikes also continue to displace civilians across the state.

Rohingya fleeing the violence have also been pushed back at the Bangladesh border, while hundreds have died attempting dangerous sea crossings and falling victim to traffickers.

As in many conflicts worldwide, Bangladesh and the international community are faced with a complex crisis where divisions between refugees and combatants become blurred.

Despite the risks, the exodus has not stopped. “Our reports suggest that every week 50 to 60 new Rohingya are entering Bangladesh,” Refugee Relief and Repatriation Commissioner Mizanur Rahman told The Daily Star in July.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS speaks about China’s recently implemented Ethnic Unity Law with Gulchehra Hoja, a correspondent for Reporters Without Borders and a Uyghur activist and journalist known for her reporting on human rights abuses against Uyghur people in China.

Gulchehra Hoja

What does the new Ethnic Unity Law state?

This new law means there is one acceptable way to be Chinese and requires every part of society, not just the state, to work towards it. Culture, faith and language become things to be managed rather than rights to be protected.

But none of this is new. The law formalises practices that are already in place and turns repression into official state policy. For years the Chinese government has closed Uyghur-language schools, demolished mosques, imprisoned intellectuals, separated children from their families and sent more than a million Uyghurs and other Turkic peoples into detention camps. Ordinary expressions of Uyghur identity can attract suspicion.

Every government wants security and stability. The question is how those goals are pursued and who ends up defined as a threat. Under this law the answer is anyone whose identity does not fit. The Ethnic Unity Law strengthens Communist Party authority, not minority rights. It tells minorities that loyalty to the Communist Party matters more than their identity and that even the most ordinary parts of life are subject to state control.

Doesn’t China’s constitution protect minority languages and autonomy?

On paper, Article 4 guarantees all ethnic groups the right to use their own languages and preserve their cultures. But there is an enormous gap between what the law says and what happens.

I come from the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region. For Beijing, it is a strategic asset that connects China to Central Asia, holds vast natural resources and plays a central role in the country’s long-term economic and security ambitions. But for Uyghurs, it’s our home. It is where generations of our people have lived and built their lives.

The region is officially described as autonomous, but autonomy must include genuine local political participation, real cultural protection and the right to use and teach our language freely. Where those are missing, autonomy exists in name only.

Which communities does the law reach, and how is it enforced?

Uyghurs are the first victims, but we are certainly not the only ones. The law reaches Hong Kong activists, religious communities, Southern Mongolians and Tibetans. It can even be applied to Chinese citizens whose beliefs or identities just don’t fit the Communist Party’s vision. And because it applies beyond China’s territory, it reaches all of them wherever they live.

Paramilitary institutions, police, security agencies and universities work together, so every part of society is drawn into monitoring and reshaping people’s identities. Students from China’s National Security College, for example, were sent to East Turkistan to study governance centres, neighbourhood grid management, police stations and the Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, the state-owned paramilitary body that runs its own cities, courts, police and prisons across the region. This was not an academic visit. It was training in how to put a population under surveillance.

What are the risks of speaking out?

I know them personally. In authoritarian systems, telling the truth can be treated as a crime. I was branded a terrorist not because I committed violence but because I practised journalism and dared to speak out. And it was not only me who paid for it. After I reported on what was happening in East Turkistan, 25 members of my family were detained.

I am not alone in this. The Chinese government fears independent reporting, and that is why it works so hard to control information. Foreign journalists have been expelled, local journalists imprisoned and many Uyghur journalists working for international media have seen relatives disappeared, imprisoned or sent to detention camps simply for continuing to report.

The new law gives Beijing further justification to present peaceful advocacy as a threat to national unity. It also sends a message to Uyghurs living in Canada, Europe, Latin America, Turkey and the USA: we are still watching you. That is what transnational repression means.

What should the international community do?

Governments should not judge this law by its title but by its consequences. They should continue documenting human rights abuses, expose China’s efforts to intimidate critics abroad, sanction the officials responsible for these policies and strengthen protections for Uyghur journalists and refugees. We’ll keep documenting these stories even when access is restricted, but we can’t do it alone.

This is not only about Uyghurs. It is about whether a government can erase a people’s culture, history, language and religion and call it unity. That question should concern everyone.

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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SEE ALSO
Transnational repression: ‘China feels emboldened to globalise its political red lines’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Barbora Bukovská 19.May.2026
China: ‘The state is using generative AI to engineer reality through informational gaslighting’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Fergus Ryan 12.Mar.2026
The long reach of authoritarianism CIVICUS Lens 20.Mar.2024

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Workers are patrolling in a wind power plant on Tan Thanh beach, Go Cong city of Viet Nam. Countries in Asia and the Pacific are moving towards green transitions in the wake of higher oil prices. Credit: Unsplash/Thompson Le

By Michał Podolski
BANGKOK, Thailand, Aug 5 2026 (IPS)

Inaction and maintaining the status quo of fossil fuel dependence carry significant costs. The recent closure of the Strait of Hormuz, for instance, caused enormous losses to the global economy, with many Asia-Pacific countries bearing disproportionately larger adverse impacts. Had these economies had a more diversified energy mix, they would have benefited from such resilience under current circumstances.

Green transition, however, comes at a significant cost – investment in environmental sustainability. This investment brings tangible returns and benefits, such as cleaner air, better health, a vibrant natural environment or reduced negative climate impacts. What is the overall balance of these costs and benefits, opportunities seized or lost, innovation, or status quo maintenance?

This overall balance amounts to decisions for a faster or slower shift towards environmental sustainability and green transition. Each carries fiscal, investment and financing consequences with differing socioeconomic outcomes. Overall, because of these countless dimensions, decision-making for green transition is inherently complex. In principle, humanity has never undertaken a green transition before and lacks established blueprints.

ESCAP’s Economic and Social Survey of Asia and the Pacific 2026 sheds light on this challenge. The report identifies decarbonisation pathways that offer lower costs and higher benefits, highlights bottlenecks that inflate expenses, clarifies current priorities, and examines socioeconomic impacts. In short, the Survey 2026 identifies cheaper options with greater impacts.

For instance, in some Asia-Pacific countries, the choices on decarbonisation are relatively straightforward. With limited fossil fuel dependence, low risks of asset stranding and minimal vested interests in coal, oil and gas industries, these economies are advancing renewable energy expansion. They are leapfrogging decarbonisation hurdles and reaping steady benefits from carbon-free energy.

However, economies heavily reliant on fossil fuels are confronting tougher dilemmas. Faster carbon withdrawal brings higher immediate costs, offset only by longer-term benefits. Labour markets face greater pressure from anticipated reskilling and green sector development. These economies face elevated risks and must proceed cautiously. Ultimately, the green transition demands strong and prosperous economies capable of delivering goods and services to build a carbon-free world.

As for labour markets, net employment effects of green transition can be positive overall, yet uneven across countries and sectors. Fossil fuel job losses, potentially abrupt ones, are often concentrated in mineral-rich areas, with knock-on effects on related industries. Historical coal phase-outs without prompt government support reveal prolonged unemployment, youth out-migration, and community decline. Older workers are particularly at risk of exiting the labour force permanently. In contrast, green jobs emerge more gradually, often elsewhere, and require different skills. This mismatch highlights the need for proactive government planning – including funded reskilling and economic diversification – to redeploy skills from declining sectors.

Inflation provides another example of dilemmas faced by policymakers that are or want to pursue green transition. Higher inflation undermines economic activity and complicates transition-oriented policymaking. For instance, green transition policies, such as carbon pricing, can gradually increase prices, and thus inflation. This can raise interest rates, hinder capital-intensive green investments and pose financial stability challenges for central banks. Economies may tolerate modest and stable inflation, but high and volatile inflation will undermine the green transition efforts.

The Survey 2026 also highlights that government interventions like subsidies can be beneficial but can also lock-in suboptimal technologies. Too much of a good thing can be harmful. Government policies should guide objectives and priorities, for example, the need for better and cheaper energy storage, and enable people and enterprises to discover the most effective solutions. Market-friendly policy tools, such as technology-neutral emission limits, clear long-term plans and streamlined permitting, are all important policy adjustments.

“Take the right decisions, allow markets to work in a fair way” was a message on climate action by the UN Secretary-General António Guterres in 2025. The Survey 2026 builds on this, emphasising that market mechanisms can drive decarbonisation by identifying the best opportunities. The report also reinforces the call for “right decisions” to ensure a just and inclusive transition.

There are often easier and harder paths to the same goal. With due regard to diverse national circumstances, Asia-Pacific economies must progressively move to a low-carbon future, while safeguarding socioeconomic well-being of their people. There is no universal set of policies, but there is one clear direction. Although some costs may seem high today, inaction would prove far more expensive. At the end, optimal paths require pragmatic, evidence-based judgement: gradual where necessary, ambitious where feasible, and always mindful of who bears today’s costs versus tomorrow’s benefits.

Michal Podolski is Associate Economic Affairs Officer, ESCAP

IPS UN Bureau

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A container port in Bukit Merah, Singapore. Credit: Unsplash/CHUTTERSNAP

By Maximilian Malawista
UNITED NATIONS, Jul 31 2026 (IPS)

East Asia and the Pacific’s (EAP) maritime system has powered the region’s rise as the world’s largest trading and manufacturing center, but the infrastructure supporting that system has become increasingly vulnerable.

According to a new World Bank report, EAP will require nearly USD 900 billion in maritime investment through 2040, as aging vessels, growing trade volumes, and the transition towards alternative fuels place pressure on vital shipping networks propping up the region’s rapid economic growth.

Container trade across the region is projected to grow by 3.5 percent to 4 percent annually over the next decade, meaning ports have to build the additional capacity to accommodate approximately 300 million twenty-foot equivalent units (TEUs) by 2040. The World Bank estimates that modernizing ports will require USD 180 billion through 2040, while more than USD 280 billion will be needed to replace and upgrade regional and domestic fleets.

Such investment comes as maritime transport remains a major contributor to economic activity across the region. Maritime trade in the region supports up to USD 3.7 trillion in economic activity, moving over 6 billion tons of cargo, approximately half of the entire seaborne cargo trade. For every ton of cargo moved through the region’s ports, approximately USD 155 in overall economic output is generated, alongside USD 75 in direct GDP. A ton of imported steel, for example, can become an input for manufacturers producing automobiles, machinery or construction materials, generating additional economic activity well beyond the initial movement of the cargo through the port.

EAP’s role in global maritime trade is particularly significant when looking at the countries that border the Strait of Malacca, where an estimated 38 percent of global maritime trade passed through in 2023, according to the OECD. More than 100,000 vessels transit the Strait of Malacca annually, making it the busiest maritime chokepoint globally, with more than twice the traffic of the Strait of Hormuz under normal conditions.

In Singapore, merchandise trade–the combined value of goods imported and exported– reached USD 964 billion in 2024, equivalent to approximately 179 percent of the country’s USD 540 billion GDP. Singapore’s ports simultaneously handled approximately 41 million TEUs of container traffic, and processed 295 million tons of seaborne trade, making it the second busiest container port in the world. In neighboring Malaysia, merchandise trade reached approximately USD 631 billion, equivalent to nearly 150 percent of its USD 422 billion GDP, while its ports handled another 28 million TEUs, processing 447 million tons of seaborne trade, with Port Klang, Malaysia’s main port, being the 10th-busiest port in the world. Indonesia processed the greatest volume of the three nations, at 900 million tons.

China demonstrates the scale at which the region’s largest ports are already operating, and how investment in automation and digital infrastructure can increase their capacity. The Port of Shanghai became the first in the world to handle more than 50 million TEUs in 2024, while its newest automated terminals require approximately 70 percent less labor while achieving 30 percent higher productivity. Container vessels spend an average of only 1 to 1.2 days at Chinese ports, compared with the Port of Los Angeles where container vessels spend an average of two days. For reference, six of the top 10 busiest ports in the world are located in China, demonstrating its role in global maritime connectivity.

Beyond the direct costs of port operations, ships can spend up to 9 percent of their time waiting at anchorage. These delays can leave vessels with less time to complete subsequent legs of a voyage, encouraging higher sailing speeds and increasing fuel consumption and operating costs. An IMO-backed study found that optimizing container-ship speeds around expected port arrival times could reduce average fuel consumption by approximately 14 percent per voyage. Greater predictability and faster turnaround can therefore allow ports and vessels to move cargo more efficiently while reducing fuel costs and emissions—an increasingly important advantage as EAP prepares to accommodate an additional 300 million TEUs by 2040.

While premier global ports require significant investments in automation and new technology to increase efficiency and expand potential TEU throughput, smaller ports can achieve substantial results through simpler, less capital-intensive infrastructure improvements.

At the Port of Funafuti in Tuvalu, improvements as basic as paving cargo-handling areas and improving drainage reduced cargo-handling breakdowns by 80 percent and cut average vessel turnaround from seven days to between two and three days. These gains show that the approach to modernizing ports in the region is not uniform. Some ports will require more advanced technology and higher investment while others simply need to revitalize their existing systems, in accordance with the volume of cargo their ports already receive.

Modernizing ports, however, addresses only one side of the region’s maritime infrastructure challenge. The vessels docking at ports are themselves aging. Replacing and upgrading vessels operating within and between economies across EAP will require more than USD 280 billion through 2040. Of that total, approximately USD 150 billion will be needed to renew domestic fleets and another USD 97 billion to replace regional vessels, with dual-fuel capability adding USD 36.5 billion in additional costs.

The investment is not solely about expanding capacity. Significant portions of the region’s fleets are already more than 25 years old, making vessels more expensive to maintain, less fuel efficient and more susceptible to breakdowns and accidents. The World Bank estimates that replacing just 30 percent of domestic vessels by 2035 with ships meeting international standards could cut accident rates in half.

The reliability of these vessels also carries consequences beyond the shipping industry, particularly for the region’s archipelagic economies. In the Philippines, 98 percent of inter-island trade in food, fuel, and other goods depends on domestic shipping. Across Southeast Asia in general, maritime networks are critical to regional food trade, with rice shipments alone supplying more than 60 million people across EAP.

Disruptions caused by aging or unreliable vessels can therefore extend beyond higher costs for shipping companies, affecting the movement and price of essential goods in communities dependent on maritime transport.

Yet the largest individual component of the region’s maritime investment requirement lies not in ports or vessels, but in the fuels that will power them.

Developing supply chains for alternative marine fuels could require approximately USD 433 billion through 2040. Green ammonia alone could require approximately USD 310 billion, followed by USD 81 billion for green methanol and USD 42 billion for renewable liquefied natural gas (LNG).

The scale of the required investment reflects how early the transition remains. More than 99 percent of marine fuel consumed in 2025 was still conventional fuel, while fuel accounts for approximately 40 to 60 percent of vessel operating costs, according to the report.

Transitioning away from those fuels requires more than replacing engines. New fuels must be produced, transported, stored, and ultimately supplied to vessels through new bunkering infrastructure at ports, effectively requiring the development of new maritime energy supply chains alongside the existing system.

The transition also presents a coordination challenge. Shipowners have limited incentive to pay premiums for dual-fuel vessels without confidence that alternative fuels will be widely available, while ports and fuel producers face similar uncertainty about investing in bunkering and production infrastructure without sufficient demand. The World Bank argues that predictable regulation and coordinated investment will be necessary to develop vessels, fuel production and port infrastructure simultaneously.

The nearly USD 900 billion investment requirement ultimately extends across every link of the maritime system. Ports will have to accommodate hundreds of millions of additional containers through a combination of new capacity, automation and basic infrastructure improvements, while aging domestic and regional fleets will require replacement on a massive scale. At the same time, the transition toward alternative fuels will require not only new vessels, but the development of entirely new production, storage, transport and bunkering networks.

Financing this maritime venture through 2040 is not the only challenge. The investment must be coordinated across ports, vessels, and fuel supply chains so that each leg of the network can develop alongside others, matching the volume of cargo that moves through rapidly growing region.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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CIVICUS discusses disinformation campaigns targeting the LGBTQI+ community in Armenia with Hripsime Kizogyan, Executive Director of Pink Armenia, a community-based organisation that defends the human rights of LGBTQI+ people and advocates for policy change.

Hripsime Kizogyan

What was the fake Pride campaign about?

In late January, online stories started appearing that claimed that Armenia’s first LGBTQI+ Pride march would take place in the capital, Yerevan, on 7 April, supported by our organisation and personally led by Nikol Pashinyan. The date was no accident, because 7 April is a religious holiday and Mother’s Day in Armenia.

None of it was true. The stories first appeared on a brand-new website that had been created only 11 days earlier. It used an AI-generated image of Pashinyan and disappeared shortly after. But the damage was done. Georgian and Turkish media outlets and dozens of Facebook and Twitter/X accounts had already picked up the story.

The same false campaign came back in April, this time amplified by pro-Kremlin Telegram channels and Russian outlets. It came with two new claims, both equally false: that Pink Armenia helped write same-sex marriage into a supposedly leaked new draft of the Armenian constitution, and that we’re funded by the US Agency for International Development. We denied this publicly, but by then the story had travelled.

The fake Pride story was just one piece of a much bigger campaign against our organisation and, more broadly, against LGBTQI+ people. A fake account impersonating Pink Armenia on Twitter/X managed to buy a verification checkmark before being suspended. Someone also set up a lookalike domain and sent emails in the name of our former president, telling schools that an LGBTQI+ curriculum would be introduced in 2027.

We also know that foreign bloggers were approached and offered paid trips to Yerevan to publicly urge Pashinyan to ‘support Pride’ as a show of solidarity with Europe. Someone pasted images of same-sex couples on walls in Yerevan, then photographed them as ‘evidence’ of activism that wasn’t happening.

What was the campaign trying to achieve?

Whoever was behind the fake Pride campaign wanted two things: to provoke fear and hostility towards LGBTQI+ people and to damage the government and its pro-European course by association. The false claims reinforced a familiar storyline in which European integration will bring the imposition of ‘foreign values’ and LGBTQI+ rights are the leading edge of that imposition.

This rhetoric didn’t come out of nowhere. Across the region, anti-LGBTQI+ discourse is increasingly tied to anti-democratic narratives, attacks on civil society and conspiracy theories that portray human rights organisations as foreign agents and threats to national identity. The same thing happened in Moldova and elsewhere in the region, with LGBTQI+ rights used to split the electorate ahead of a vote.

Although Armenia isn’t like neighbouring countries where anti-LGBTQI+ campaigns are written into state policy, the election showed our community being used when politically convenient. That kind of rhetoric makes the public environment hostile, legitimises discrimination and creates conditions in which hate speech and violence become more socially acceptable.

What has changed, and what hasn’t, for LGBTQI+ rights in Armenia?

Some things have improved. Earlier this year, Pink Armenia was formally included in public advisory councils at the health, internal affairs, justice, and labour and social affairs ministries. This means we can now raise issues directly with them.

But the law hasn’t changed. Armenia still hasn’t recognised same-sex partnerships. There’s no anti-discrimination protection covering sexual orientation and gender identity in most areas of life. When someone is the victim of a hate crime just for being LGBTQI+, that still doesn’t count as an aggravating factor.

Social attitudes are the other barrier. LGBTQI+ people still face discrimination in education, employment, family settings and healthcare. Being open about who you are still carries a risk, so many people hide it or leave Armenia in search of safety.

How is Pink Armenia countering disinformation?

We monitor media and social media systematically, documenting disinformation and hate speech targeting LGBTQI+ people and tracking the politicians and outlets pushing it. This gives us the evidence to respond publicly, take issues to policymakers and, when needed, go to court.

When false claims about us circulate, we answer them directly. We issue public clarifications and work with independent fact-checkers such as the Fact Investigation Platform and Media.am.

On digital security, we report impersonating accounts and fraudulent lookalike domains so they get taken down, and we warn partner institutions such as schools when fake messages go out in our name.

What support does Armenian civil society need?

We need stronger international cooperation to deal with disinformation networks that operate across borders to spread anti-gender narratives. Sharing of advocacy strategies, best practices, digital security expertise and research would strengthen civil society across the region.

We also need long-term support, not just project funding that responds to one crisis at a time. We need funds that are sustainable and flexible enough to keep our services running while we react quickly to disinformation campaigns and security threats.

International partners can do something else too: keep raising discrimination, hate speech and attacks on civil society in their diplomatic conversations with Armenian authorities. Public attention and international scrutiny make it harder to treat these issues as optional.

Ultimately, supporting LGBTQI+ rights in Armenia isn’t only about one community. It’s about defending democratic values, protecting civic space and making sure no group is excluded from human rights because it has become a politically convenient target.

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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Armenia: ‘Foreign interference was real and documented, but its impact is hard to measure’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Samvel Martirosyan 16.Jul.2026
Armenia’s westward turn overshadowed by personal rule CIVICUS Lens 18.Jun.2026
Armenia/Azerbaijan: ‘Civil society has an essential role in preparing societies for peace’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Konul De Moor 19.Sep.2025

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Student-made posters and artwork line the streets of Jantar Mantar, capturing messages of resistance and hope. Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

By Aishwarya Bajpai
NEW DELHI, Jul 27 2026 (IPS)

On July 25, after 50 days of protest at Delhi’s Jantar Mantar, Union Education Minister Dharmendra Pradhan resigned.

The movement had begun in May as a satirical social media page called the Cockroach Janta Party, founded by Abhijeet Dipke after the Chief Justice of India, Surya Kant, used the term “cockroaches” during a Supreme Court hearing, apparently referring to young people with fake law degrees, but his remark sparked a massive public backlash.

Weeks later, the NEET-UG paper (for admission into medical colleges) leaked, and alleged irregularities in the Central Board of Secondary Education on-screen marking process transformed satire into a nationwide campaign.

On June 6, Dipke called for a sit-in protest at Jantar Mantar, demanding Pradhan’s resignation. But by the time the protest entered its seventh week, the movement had outgrown its original demand – and many argue that replacing one minister will not restore faith in an education system battered by paper leaks, administrative failures and growing privatisation.

The crowd reflected that evolution.

Protesters gather at the main stage at Jantar Mantar, where peaceful demonstrations and slogans continued throughout the sit-in. The stage later became the focal point of the movement as education reformer Sonam Wangchuk began his indefinite hunger strike. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

The seat of the protest, Jantar Mantar, had become far more than a student protest. Farmers stood beside parents, young professionals, senior citizens, queer activists and wage labourers. Volunteers distributed food, arranged train tickets for protesters travelling home and coordinated donations. People travelled from across India, while a handful of foreign nationals joined in solidarity. Despite their different backgrounds, they shared one belief — that the crisis threatened the future of public education itself.

Ashutosh Agarwal (centre), national vice-president of the Bharatiya Kisan Union, India’s Youth Wing, stands with colleagues from Meerut in solidarity with the student-led movement. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

The seriousness and urgency are also reflected in the numbers. India has recorded 152 examination paper leaks in the past decade – roughly one every month. In 2026 alone, more than 20 million candidates appeared for NEET-UG, while reports of the leak were followed by the deaths of nearly 20 aspirants by suicide. Yet clearing these examinations offers no certainty. According to the State of Working India 2026 report by Azim Premji University, nearly 40% of graduates aged 15–25 remain unemployed, while unemployment among graduates aged 25–29 stands at 20%. Although the country produced 5 million graduates each year between 2004/05 and 2023, only 2.8 million found employment.

As the protests grew, they also drew support from opposition leaders, public figures and education reformers, expanding the movement beyond student circles.

The turning point came on June 28, when education reformer Sonam Wangchuk joined the sit-in with an indefinite hunger strike. CJP announced a march to Parliament on July 20, the opening day of the Monsoon Session. Later, on 18^th July, Delhi Police removed Wangchuk from the protest site and admitted him to Safdarjung Hospital for medical observation, a move his family described as forced hospitalisation against his wishes.

What followed altered the course of the movement.

On July 20, police and the Rapid Action Force dispersed marchers using batons, tear gas, water cannons and pellet guns. Protesters alleged that some lathis were studded with nails, while the RAF’s own chief later admitted that “excessive force” had been used during the operation.

Nazia Khanam (left) and her friend travelled across Delhi to join the protest. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Instead of dispersing the protesters, however, the crackdown brought more people to Jantar Mantar.

Nineteen-year-old Anshil Khan was among those who returned.

A first-year student at Delhi Skill and Entrepreneurship University, he had spent nearly three weeks at the protest. Four days earlier, he said, police had beaten him while demonstrators were trying to march towards Parliament Street. Even as he spoke, he carried hospital reports documenting his injuries.

“I got hit three times by the Delhi police,” he said. “I have been resting for four days, and today I have come back.”

He recalled crossing two barricades before police stopped the march at the third.

“We were peacefully protesting and only raising slogans of “Inquilab Zindabad” (Long Live Revolution). Nothing violent happened from our side.”

Delhi Police had issued a public advisory before the march stating that no permission had been granted for any procession beyond the designated protest site and later maintained that officers were enforcing prohibitory orders. Officials also said that both protesters and security personnel suffered injuries during the clashes.

For Anshil, however, the police action only strengthened public support.

“The students are coming along with their parents now,” he said, referring to the days following Wangchuk’s detention and the July 20 crackdown.

Anshil Khan, a member of the Students’ Federation of India (SFI), joins fellow protesters at Jantar Mantar. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

His demands had also evolved.

“Dharmendra Pradhan’s resignation is the first step,” he said. “Education is our first priority.”

That sentiment surfaced repeatedly across conversations at Jantar Mantar. Protesters were no longer speaking only about accountability for one minister; they were debating how India’s education system itself should function.

Standing nearby with a placard reading “We are fighting for our rights,” Nazia Khanam had travelled across Delhi to join the demonstration, despite never having been directly affected by an examination scandal.

A law student from Jodhpur interning in the capital, Khanam had successfully cleared the Common Law Admission Test (CLAT). But with her younger sister now preparing for the same examination, she felt she could not remain on the sidelines.

“Being an elder sister of a student who is going to give a competitive exam, it becomes my responsibility,” she said. “Even though I’m not personally affected, I should still come here and raise my voice.”

Unlike many demonstrations driven solely by outrage, Khanam arrived with ideas for reform.

“There should be stricter checks and balances at every bureaucratic level,” she said, referring to agencies such as the National Testing Agency, examination centres and other bodies involved in conducting competitive exams.

She also questioned how education policy is made.

“There should be other stakeholders involved,” she said. “Educators who have done actual groundwork, who know the ground reality, should be part of consultations before policies are formulated like Sonam Wangchuk.”

That conversation had drawn unexpected allies.

Among those standing with the students was Ashutosh Agarwal, National Vice-President of the Bharatiya Kisan Union, India’s youth wing. Before arriving in Delhi, he said, the union had organised meetings across Meerut, Muzaffarnagar and other parts of western Uttar Pradesh to mobilise support for the students.

“We demand one nation, one education,” he said.

For Agarwal, the increasing commercialisation of essential public services was inseparable from the examination crisis.

“We demand the end of privatisation of both education and health,” he said. “Otherwise paper leaks won’t stop.”

He argued that growing corporate influence over private schools, colleges and hospitals had weakened public institutions, making quality education increasingly inaccessible.

Parents had reached a similar conclusion.

Alisha Siddique came to Jantar Mantar thinking about her three children, particularly her daughter pursuing a Bachelor of Science degree. Unlike many protesters, she did not begin with paper leaks. Instead, she pointed to the everyday rules that, in her view, unfairly punish students.

“If students reach one or two minutes late because of an accident or emergency, they are not allowed to sit for the exam,” she said. “Their entire year’s hard work goes to waste.”

For Siddique, the issue was larger than examinations.

“We want our children to become good citizens,” she said. “That starts with good education.”

The examination crisis merely provided the spark for Avinash Kumar, a human rights practitioner and activist who is the former Executive Director of Amnesty International India and the Director of Policy, Research and Campaigns at Oxfam India.

“The constant leaking cauldron of competitive exams provided that cause,” he said. “Yet everyone knows it’s now not just about that.”

According to Kumar, the protests became an outlet for frustrations that had accumulated over years — declining public services, rising costs, increasing privatisation, shrinking civic freedoms and a growing sense that institutions no longer worked for ordinary citizens.

“You need a cause which cuts across classes and masses, age and gender and religion,” he said. “Competitive exams became that cause.”

What struck Kumar most was not just the scale of the demonstrations in Delhi but also the emergence of protests in places that rarely make national headlines.

“My attention was particularly drawn towards mass-scale showings in small unknown towns like Begusarai, Narnaul and Aurangabad,” he said. “All were speaking in one language of years of frustration.”

To him, that distinguished this movement from many previous protests.

Rather than revolving around one organisation or one political leader, it drew strength from multiple voices – student leaders, education reformers, farmers, parents, opposition politicians and ordinary citizens – each contributing from their own experience.

“It is a movement with very different leaders at different points of time,” Kumar said.

Two days after resignation, the protest site is almost empty.

The questions raised over 50 days of protest — about accountability, privatisation, public education and the future promised to India’s youth — remain standing.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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“It is no longer clear what is allowed and what is not. Uncertainty keeps people in their homes. The city has fallen silent, and businesses are struggling.” Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
HERAT, Afghanistan, Jul 16 2026 (IPS)

One morning in June, Halima (name changed), went to the market in Herat, her hometown in western Afghanistan, with her mother. She was wearing a long coat and a surgical mask covering her face. She could not have imagined that just a few minutes later she would be sitting in prison.

Vehicles from the Ministry of the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, or morality police, arrived at the market right after Halima and her mother. According to Halima, female employees of the ministry began arresting women without asking any questions. Cars waiting nearby took the detainees away.

“Everything happened quickly. Some tried to escape, while others were terrified. We did not understand on what basis the Taliban selected those to be arrested.”

Halima says that some of the women arrested were wearing burqas that covered both their faces and bodies. Like Halima, some were wearing long coats and face masks. Still, the morality police seized her.

“My mother cried and begged them not to take me. She was threatened with a one-month prison term, along with corporal punishment and a fine, if she tried to prevent my arrest. No one dared to come and help, even though my mother yelled.”

Women were being arrested, kicked and beaten, humiliated and mocked. Taliban troops stood by their SUVs, watching as their female colleagues grabbed the women. They grabbed those whose clothing did not conform to the Taliban’s concept of dress code

The phones of the arrested girls and women were confiscated. There were about 30 of them, and all were taken to a so-called shelter run by the Department of Labor and Social Affairs. It houses both single women and newly arrested women. None of them were allowed to contact their families. The next morning they were transferred to a prison.

The women’s wing of the prison was dirty and poorly equipped. Fear and uncertainty filled the minds of every prisoner.

“I sat in a corner and looked at my fellow prisoners: young girls, middle-aged women, and mothers who were worried about their children. There were about 60 of us. Everyone was either wearing a burqa or wearing what I thought was appropriate clothing. Yet, each of us was imprisoned because we supposedly did not follow the dress code,” says Halima.

The next day she was released. At home, her mother hugged her and they both cried. Halima was told that her father had paid 16,000 Afghanis (about 220 euros) for his daughter’s release. In addition, the family had to sign a guarantee that none of the women in the family would go out again without proper clothing.

After returning home, nothing felt the same. Halima’s brothers were furious and claimed that she had tarnished the family’s honor by going to prison.

“As if I had committed a crime! But I still believe that I did nothing wrong,” she says.

“Fear has become a part of my life. I will never forget those two nights in prison. I kept wondering whether all my fellow prisoners had been released and whether others had been arrested after us. I wondered what would happen to the women and girls of this country,” says Halima.

“I can’t go out like I used to. I’m always afraid when I leave home. I keep thinking about what will happen if I’m arrested again.”

Halima is not alone in her experiences. The Taliban have recently begun enforcing the dress code for women in Herat more strictly.

In early June, mosques in the city announced stricter regulations, and reports of the arrests of women and girls across the city began spreading on social media. The arrests have raised concerns, sparked protests and heightened security across the province.

According to the UN, at least 30 women were arrested in Herat over the first weekend of June.

Suhaila (name changed) remembers the moment when anger and powerlessness led many in Herat to protest.

The day before the protests, Suhaila went shopping at the market. Earlier that day, the imam of the local mosque had announced a new Taliban order: women who violated the dress code would be arrested and imprisoned without the possibility of appeal.

Suhaila’s father believed that the threats from the authorities should be taken seriously and that her daughter should not go out without full-body clothing. Suhaila followed her father’s advice and dressed as instructed, but still experienced something at the market that she will never forget.

“As soon as I arrived at the market, I sensed an unusual atmosphere of confusion. Women were moving restlessly from one side of the market to the other, and many were trying to do their shopping and leave as quickly as possible.”

Then it started happening. Women were being arrested, kicked and beaten, humiliated and mocked. Taliban troops stood by their SUVs, watching as their female colleagues grabbed the women. They grabbed those whose clothing did not conform to the Taliban’s concept of dress code.

“I wanted to scream and protest, but I was at the market with my little sister. I held her tightly to me and just cried. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, they would take us, too.”

Zainab did not escape.

That evening, Suhaila joined a WhatsApp group for young people in her neighborhood, where they discussed what had happened. The group had dozens of messages about the arrests. Some shared photos and stories of what had happened, while others shared personal experiences of family members.

Soon, the group began dicussing the possibility of organizing a protest. Some warned that protesting would lead to more arrests and perhaps even deaths. Others believed that remaining silent in the face of injustice would rob people of their self-respect.

Suhaila decided to join the protests. She wanted to give a voice to the girls and women whose arrests she had witnessed. In the morning, she left for the agreed-upon meeting point without telling her father about her plans and despite her mother’s objections. The protesters began chanting slogans demanding women’s rights to education, work, and freedom.

The protest grew quickly but did not last long. Suddenly, Taliban SUVs approached the crowd from several directions and surrounded it. The protesters were beaten, and the Taliban opened fire. Desperate screams could be heard everywhere, and people looked for shelter wherever they could. Some were injured, while others tried to help them.

Among those arrested were also Suhaila’s friends.

“Zainab did not escape. The last time I saw her was when she was forced into a Taliban car. No one has heard from her since,” Suhaila says.

“We do not feel safe even in our homes. The Taliban are going from street to street looking for protesters,” Suhaila says of the atmosphere after the protests.

Fear is everywhere. Women no longer want to go to the market, and many families leave their homes only when forced to.

It is no longer clear what is allowed and what is not. Uncertainty keeps people in their homes. The city has fallen silent and businesses are struggling.

Shakoor (name changed) believes that it is not just a question of women’s clothing.

“Girls and women have a special status in this city. Arresting a woman or publicly humiliating her is considered an attack on the dignity and honor of the family. That is why the reaction has been so strong, and this time men have also demonstrated.”

The local Taliban administration believes that tightening the dress code for women protects social values.

Governor Noor Ahmad Islamjar believes the protests are the result of misunderstandings and outside influence. In a television interview, he reminded the public that demonstrations are not allowed.

The Taliban regime says the women arrested will be released after receiving a warning, their families will be notified, and they will be required to sign a pledge to follow the dress code. However, not all families know what has happened to their loved ones.

One of them is Suhaila’s friend, Zainab. Her family has not heard from her since her arrest.

Pride Parade participants march on the Elisabeth bridge in Budapest, Hungary on 27 June 2026. Credit: Attila Kisbenedek/AFP

By Inés M. Pousadela
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jul 15 2026 (IPS)

On the morning of 28 June, riot police sealed off Taksim Square with iron barriers and enforced bans on all weekend gatherings in Istanbul. Marchers pressed ahead anyway, re-emerging from side streets each time police dispersed them. By the end of the day police had detained at least 50 people, including a journalist. It was Istanbul Pride’s 24th edition, and the 12th year running that the authorities banned it outright.

Homosexuality is not illegal in Turkey, so the state cannot prosecute people for who they are. Instead, it punishes them for making themselves visible. Authorities ban marches on ‘public morality’ grounds, block access to the social media accounts of LGBTQI+ organisations and put activists on trial for ‘obscenity’.

The pattern repeats in country after country. For a movement that spent decades making progress in winning recognition of rights, this Pride season tells a story of regression. A concerted backlash is clawing back territory once claimed, and Pride has again become a protest.

Much of the current wave of regression is a direct response to the gains LGBTQI+ movements made over previous decades. Anti-discrimination laws, recognition of equal marriage rights and growing public visibility have given opponents a clear target to mobilise against, and governments under economic or political pressure have found a convenient scapegoat in the LGBTQI+ community.

Authoritarian and populist leaders, facing discontent over corruption, inflation and unemployment, redirect public anger towards a minority that can be attacked without political cost, while conservative religious institutions find in opposition to LGBTQI+ rights, and particularly trans rights, a rallying cause that restores their claim to define society’s moral order. The result is a mutually reinforcing alliance between political power and religious conservatism, dressed up as the defence of children, the family and national identity.

Existence criminalised

A growing number of states are going further, criminalising not only LGBTQI+ people’s visibility but their very existence. Four West African states have criminalised consensual same-sex relations in the past two years, framing their move as a defence of national sovereignty against western influence. Mali’s military government criminalised homosexuality in December 2024 and Burkina Faso’s junta followed in September 2025. Niger’s new penal code, adopted last month, imposes punishment of up to 20 years in prison. Within weeks, media reported at least 40 arrests, the suspension of HIV prevention services and people fleeing the country.

Electoral democracies aren’t immune. In Senegal, parliament doubled the maximum sentence for ‘unnatural acts’ to 10 years in March, and over 300 ‘suspected homosexuals’ have reportedly been arrested in the past few months. Ghana’s parliament passed a bill imposing jail sentences on anyone who identifies as LGBTQI+ and requiring people to report prohibited activities to the authorities. President John Mahama has yet to sign it into law, but the debate about the bill has already fuelled a rise in blackmail, evictions and workplace discrimination.

The model is Uganda’s 2023 Anti-Homosexuality Act, which includes the death penalty for ‘aggravated homosexuality’ and punishes the vaguely defined crime of ‘promoting’ homosexuality with up to 20 years in prison.

All these laws, marketed as a rejection of foreign interference and imported values, have been promoted with foreign money. US-based conservative groups such as the American Center for Law and Justice and Family Watch International have played a key role in funding anti-rights advocacy. Days after passing its bill, Ghana’s parliament hosted the African Inter-Parliamentary Conference on Family Values and Sovereignty, a platform with documented ties to those groups that has promoted Uganda’s law as a template for the continent.

Consensus in retreat

US anti-rights groups have their president’s ear. Since returning to office, Donald Trump has signed a series of executive orders rolling back federal protections, particularly targeting transgender people. Private companies heard the message. Major events including NYC Pride and San Francisco Pride lost sponsors in 2025, and Tampa Pride had to cancel its 2026 parade.

For years, activist groups such as New York’s Reclaim Pride Coalition accused corporations of pinkwashing, that is, turning Pride into a corporate vehicle without advancing demands for rights. Many sponsors are now gone, but for the wrong reasons. Whatever its motives, sponsorship functioned as a seal of approval from mainstream institutions. Money withdrawn out of political fear takes with it more than event budgets; it erodes a social consensus that took decades to build.

Marching for those who can’t

In this context, the year’s biggest marches have become acts of political defiance. A million people marched in São Paulo under the theme ‘The street summons, the ballot box confirms’, ahead of Brazil’s October general election. In Bangkok, an all-time record half a million people marched a year after Thailand’s marriage equality law took effect, a testament to what legal recognition can do for a community’s visibility.

On 27 June, tens of thousands joined the 31st Budapest Pride, the first held since voters removed the right-wing populist government that repeatedly banned it. Organisers are treating this as a starting point, pressing the new government with a list of 14 demands that begins with repealing a 2021 ‘anti-LGBT propaganda’ law the European Union’s top court has ruled incompatible with equality and human dignity. Hungary shows that change is possible after all.

In places like Indonesia, Iraq, Niger and Uganda, among many more, there’s no Pride march to ban, because holding one is unthinkable. Even private organising now risks prosecution. In those places, people are looking outward, hoping that a crowd marching freely somewhere else will march for them too. That’s the duty of Pride season for those still free to gather: to mobilise both for themselves and for the many being forced to hide who they are.

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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Ask why so many Indian classrooms struggle, and the answers arrive in the language of audit: Too few trained teachers, too many vacancies, weak colleges of education and low accountability. Each of these is real, and each matters. Yet none of them explains a quiet confession a veteran teacher made to me, years into her career, holding a teacher training degree all the while. “Only this program”, she said, “made me realize what my prior training had left out”. The program she was referring to is a small teaching preparation program in Gurugram, North India called I Am A Teacher, or IAAT.

Vani S. Kulkarni

We argue endlessly about whether teachers are qualified. We rarely ask whether they have been formed.

Across hundreds of hours of conversation, a pattern emerged. To become a teacher, these women and men had to become three things at once: a person, an educator, and someone who could earn a living from the work. We obsess, rightly, over the second and third. We build degrees and licenses and salary scales around them. The first we treat as if it takes care of itself. It does not.

Formation as a person sounds soft until you watch what it does in a classroom. One teacher described a child who was being difficult, the kind of child she once would have disciplined and labeled. After her training, she found herself feeling something closer to empathy, sitting with the situation instead of punishing it. A week later, she said, the child was thriving. Another spoke of finally learning to listen to her students, and to her own children, after years of mistaking instruction for relationship. Many said a version of the same thing: that a conventional degree had certified them, but had not made them ready to teach on the first day. This program, they felt, had.

There is a gendered story here too, and it is important. Almost ninety percent of the teachers in the program were women, many returning to work for a second innings, after the corporate world or after years at home. For them, the experience was about identity, confidence and economic independence as much as it was about pedagogy. When we talk about teacher quality in the abstract, we forget that the teaching workforce in this country is overwhelmingly of women, and a certificate, rarely captures that what brings them into a classroom, and keeps them there.

But here is the finding that should trouble policymakers most, and I offer it precisely because it complicates the hopeful story. Over a decade, the meaning of this program changed for the people inside it. Its earliest cohorts spoke of a calling. They used words like temple, transformation, a remaking of the self. Later cohorts, without quite abandoning that language, increasingly described the program more materialistically, in the currency of placements and salaries. The expressive was slowly giving way to the instrumental.

I do not read this as the failure of one program. I read it as the gravitational pull of a system that values teaching only as a credential and a job, and that drags even its idealists toward the transactional. If this is what happens inside a program built expressly to resist that pull, it tells us something about the field as a whole.

As the National Education Policy rebuilds teacher education around new integrated degrees, it has a rare chance to ask a better question than how many teachers we can certify. The harder question is whether we are forming them. And formation cannot be examined into existence. It needs mentoring, time, reflection, and the experience of belonging to a community of fellow teachers. These are exactly the things a metrics-driven system finds hardest to fund, because they do not show up on a dashboard, and because their results appear years later, in a child who was seen rather than sorted.

I want to be honest about the limits of what I studied. One program in one city is not a national blueprint. There were skeptics among the teachers I met, some who found the approach overdone, and circumstances my research could not reach. A small case is not proof. But a small case such as IAAT that for a decade has quietly and against the current, tried to keep the expressive dimension central by focusing on formation of teacher as a person can still hold up a mirror, and what this one reflects is a blind spot we can no longer afford.

India does not have a shortage of people willing to teach. It has a shortage of attention to who they become on the way. A license certifies that a person has met a requirement. It does not certify that a person has been made ready to stand in front of thirty children and actually see them. Until we learn to value that making, and until we are willing to pay for it, we will keep mistaking the certificate for the teacher. Recognising and resourcing teacher-training programs such as IAAT would cost little and benefit teacher quality a great deal.

Vani S. Kulkarni is a sociologist affiliated with the University of Pennsylvania, and has held research and teaching appointments at Harvard and Yale universities. Her research navigates the intricate crossroads of Global Health, Education, Race and Caste, Gender, Sociology of Trust, Development, and Democracy.

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An Islamabad High Court ruling awarding a divorced woman an equal share of assets acquired has sparked debate in Pakistan. Credit: Handout

By Zofeen Ebrahim
KARACHI, Pakistan, Jul 14 2026 (IPS)

A landmark Islamabad High Court ruling that recognised marriage as an economic partnership and awarded a divorced woman an equal share of assets acquired during marriage has triggered a legal and religious backlash, with Pakistan’s law ministry challenging the judgment before the Federal Shariat Court, a constitutional court empowered to determine whether laws and judicial rulings conform to the Qur’an and Sunnah.

Pakistani women, in general, spend years raising children, managing households and helping build family wealth but have little legal claim to assets accumulated during marriage.

“The continued resistance to recognising women’s non-financial contributions to building family wealth has no basis in religion or law,” said Maliha Zia of the Legal Aid Society, referring to the law ministry’s appeal before the Federal Shariat Court against a recent judgment by Islamabad High Court judge Mohsin Akhtar Kayani, who held that assets acquired during marriage should be divided equally, recognising homemaking and childcare as contributions equal to earning an income. She said it was disheartening to see a government ministry refusing to grant women economic rights and freedoms when it should be supporting women’s equality as guaranteed by the Constitution of Pakistan.

What began as a routine dowry dispute in 2021 – after Amara Waqas sought a share of her dowry and jointly acquired assets, along with maintenance for her two children – has grown into a debate over who gets what once the marriage ends, not just for Waqas but for countless Pakistani women facing a similar predicament.

Unsatisfied with the family court’s award of 30% share, she appealed to the appellate court, which dismissed her claim. Undeterred, she approached the Islamabad High Court, which ruled in her favour and transformed her case into a landmark judgment on women’s economic rights after divorce.

Dr Rakhshinda Perveen, founder of the Fight Against Dowry Advocacy Network, said the judgment marked a first step in recognising marriage as an economic partnership, valuing unpaid domestic work, dowry, and wedding gifts as measurable assets. A survivor of gender-based violence, including dowry-related abuse, Dr Perveen has campaigned to criminalise dowry demands and related violence, ban public display of dowry, and legally separate dowry from bridal gifts for over three decades.

“A woman who built a home, raised children and contributed income should never leave a marriage with nothing,” agreed Zia.

Fauzia Viqar, Federal Ombudsperson for Protection Against Harassment of Women at the Workplace, said: “The issue isn’t the ruling but resistance. Men in Pakistan refuse to grant women the property rights Islam already provides.” According to Viqar, there are over 20 Muslim countries (including Morocco, Iran, Malaysia, and the UAE) that provide maintenance and marital property rights in their family laws.

She also said the judiciary has started taking note of that. “Some proposals have been submitted to parliament since 2008,” she said but no action was taken.

Zia agreed, saying the judgment was years in the making. “LAS, with Musawah, has been working towards this for years” and training lawyers in strategic litigation. “Policy papers mean little without advocates willing to take cases to court,” she said, adding that a draft law on matrimonial property rights is now headed to parliament.

More recently, in 2023, the Lahore High Court directed amendments to the Muslim Family Laws Ordinance 1961 to recognise women’s matrimonial property rights. A year later, in 2024, Senator Barrister Syed Ali Zafar tabled a set of amendments to the family law seeking a share in assets accumulated during marriage for divorced women as “compensation for her contribution during her marriage”.

But the 2024 amendments were opposed by the Council of Islamic Ideology (which advises the legislature on the conformity of laws with the Qur’an and Sunnah).

It also opposed Justice Kayani’s recent judgment. “We don’t think it is in keeping with the teachings of the Qur’an and Sunnah, said Ghulam Majid, a senior research officer at the CII. “We thought the matter had been settled two years ago when the bill was blocked, but it keeps resurfacing,” added Majid, dismissing the proposal as part of a “Western agenda” with no place in Pakistan’s legal system.

Viewing marriage as an economic partnership, Justice Kayani’s judgement had cited laws in countries including the US, the UK, Türkiye and Malaysia, where jointly owned marital property is equitably divided regardless of title after divorce.

Majid remained unconvinced.

“These countries can have their own interpretation, but what is wrong is wrong, and we cannot endorse it.”

The debate is not simply between women’s rights advocates and religious scholars.

Islamic jurists are divided over whether the Qur’an and Sunnah support the recognition of a wife’s contribution to assets acquired during marriage. Unlike inheritance, which the Qur’an addresses explicitly, matrimonial property is left open to interpretation.

Humaira Masihuddin, who teaches Islamic jurisprudence to law students, argues that the Qur’anic principle of mata’a al-talaq (which provides for post-divorce support, together with its broader emphasis on justice) offers a basis for compensating divorced women.

Masihuddin, who also provides judicial training to family court judges on various women-specific laws, argues the issue should be revisited through ijtihad (independent legal reasoning). “We already have a forum – the CII. It should include jurists, judges and lawyers to deliberate on these interpretations and arrive at a fair solution for both spouses,” she said. The 20-member council currently comprises 19 men, one woman and no legal experts.

Justice Kayani also proposed amending the nikahnama (marriage contract) – the Muslim marriage contract – to allow spouses to agree in advance on an equal division of assets during marriage, after divorce or upon the husband’s death. Masihuddin, terming the nikahnama a “prenuptial agreement”, said these provisions are fully consistent with Islam. The judge also recommended legislation guaranteeing wives an equitable share of assets acquired during marriage.

Meanwhile, Waqas’ case remains pending despite the Islamabad High Court’s order for a fresh hearing within two months. Her husband has challenged the ruling in the Supreme Court. “A man’s ego, often reinforced by his family, can cause immense harm to a woman seeking justice after years of marriage,” said her lawyer, Rana Raza.

Whether Justice Kayani’s ruling survives the Federal Shariat Court remains to be seen.

But whatever the outcome, it has already forced Pakistan to confront a question its family laws have long avoided: should years spent building a home and raising a family count as an economic contribution when a marriage ends?

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Philippines was the most advanced Southeast Asian country with the highest per capita GDP until about the early 1960s. Its per capita GDP in purchasing power parity terms were about the same as South Korea’s and above that of Thailand in the early 1970s.The Nobel Laureate economist, Gunnar Myrdal, did not have much hope for “disease infested” Indonesia when in 1968 he published his famous Asian Drama: An Enquiry Into the Poverty of Nations. But Indonesia surged ahead since the late 1960s with growth acceleration exceeding that of Philippines; thus, eventually overtaking Philippines in GDP per capita in the mid-1980s. What factors separated Indonesia from Philippines?

Elite Stake

It has been the elite stake in the country that played the critical role. The Indonesian elite put their trust in the country, whereas the Filipino elite began to think that their future was in the United States (US). Incidentally, this coincided with President Ferdinand Marcos’ turning into a despot by imposing martial law in 1972 and embracing a policy of “constitutional authoritarianism”.

Anis Chowdhury

It does not mean that IFFs do not occur in Indonesia. In recent years, IFFs have become a major concern for Indonesia; however, there the main actors are multinational corporations, especially in the mining sector. The mining sector in Indonesia accounted for 10.5% of total of IFFs out of Indonesia.

The difference is in the scale and actors.

Good governance myth

Poor governance, especially corruption, is seen as a critical barrier to development. However, the Philippines and Indonesia tale casts doubt on the “good governance” thesis.

Indonesia ranks 109th out of 180 countries in the Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI), while Philippines ranks 120th. Although Philippines is placed at a lower place than Indonesia, corruption is endemic in both countries and the scale is not much different.

However, the difference is where the ill-gotten money is being invested. Without condoning corruption, the tale of these two countries implies that if the ill-gotten money is invested domestically instead of siphoned-off, the country will experience a better development outcome. One can call this “patriotic” corruption as a means of primitive capital accumulation. Where the corrupt money is siphoned-off, corruption is “predatory” analogous to colonial plundering.

Bangladesh is a glaring example of predatory corruption. A 2011 UNDP report ranked Bangladesh no 1 among least developed countries in IFFs. Between 1990 and 2008 the cumulative illicit outflow of funds from Bangladesh was estimated at US$34.8 billion. An estimated US$234 billion was plundered from Bangladesh during Sheikh Hasina’s 15-year autocratic reign.

Authoritarianism debunked

The East Asian development success created a perception, codified in the “Lee hypothesis”, that authoritarian regimes deliver better development outcomes than democracies. Sheikh Hasina, like many other despots, used this argument to consolidate her autocratic rule by brutal suppression of human and democratic rights.

As highlighted earlier, in the case of Indonesia, the elite displayed trust in the country, while in the case of Philippines and Bangladesh, the elite plundered to siphon-off with the aid of repressive kleptocratic regimes.

At the end, however, all three autocratic regimes collapsed; but rebuilding the trust and elite stake in the country remains a challenge in plundered countries like Philippines and Bangladesh.

Anna Karenina principle

Leo Tolstoy in his 1877 novel, Anna Karenina, laid down the Anna Karenina principle: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way”. The Anna Karenina principle implies that a deficiency in any one of several critical factors dooms a complex endeavour to failure even if all other essential factors are present. In technical jargons, they constitute the “sufficient” condition for the “necessary condition” to work.

Both Indonesia and Philippines share many common factors – they are both archipelago consisting of thousands of small islands dispersed over vast areas of the South China Sea like a garland. They are ethnically diverse; while Indonesia is a Muslim majority country, Catholics dominate in Philippines. Both faiths are regarded as un-worldly, focusing more on the hereafter compared with the Protestant ethics, which is more conducive for capitalism to flourish. Both countries also experienced ethnic separatist armed conflicts.

Both Indonesia and Philippines had pro-US regimes, and the two countries witnessed repressive autocratic rules lasting for decades. Both pro-US regimes also received large US aid and access to the US market as well as foreign direct investment.

Yet their development experiences have differed.

The missing factor is elite stake, the glue to hold all other essential conducive factors together.

Anis Chowdhury, Emeritus Professor, Western Sydney University (Australia). He held senior UN positions in Bangkok and New York and served as Special Assistant to the Chief Advisor for Finance (with the status and rank of State Minister) in the Professor Yunus-led Interim Government. Anis has written extensively on East and Southeast Asian economies, including The Newly Industrialising Economies of East Asia (Routledge) and The Political Economy of East Asia (Oxford University Press). E-mail: anis.z.chowdhury@gmail.com; a.chowdhury@westernsydney.edu.au

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Ranjana Kumari, activist.

By Kumkum Chadha
NEW DELHI, Jul 13 2026 (IPS)

To say that the men scored over women yet again would be an understatement. To say that the women lost and men have won would be an oversimplification and to say that political manoeuvring, intrigue and deceit outdid half of India’s population would be stating the obvious.

So, what is the story? Or the plot with its twists and turns? Or the game that women lost even before they started playing?

Rewind to three decades when the women of India woke up to what today is branded as political empowerment.

In this context the one name that stands out is that of Parliamentarian Geeta Mukherjee, who chaired the Joint Parliamentary Committee to examine a Bill seeking reservation of seats for women in Parliament and state legislatures: 33 percent to be precise.

It was in 1996 that a legislation for this was tabled in the Lower House of the Indian Parliament

We are into 2026, and the women of India are still fighting for legitimacy in political power, relentlessly demanding what is their due.

The Women’s Reservation Bill has been tabled in Parliament several times – five times, to be precise.

Its history and the twists and turns that come with it are telling. Add to the mix the interesting questions that its tumultuous journey has thrown up. But more importantly, what has this unfulfilled dream done to the dignity of women of the world’s largest democracy? Simply put, it has left them hanging, staring in the dark with a ‘will it? will it not?’  question. As things have panned out, the future holds little hope.

Rewind to the Constituent Assembly that adopted the Constitution of India in 1949. Of its 389 members, only 15 were women. There were questions even then, but they were different.

If a woman member feared that reservation would mean restriction and, hence, exclusion of women from general seats, another member asked quite pointedly: “Were women not led by the heart, and was politics not a matter of the mind? Even as the heart versus the head debate dogged minds, the issue remained unresolved.

Some fifty years later, in 1996 to be exact, it was Sushma Swaraj, then a Parliament Member and later India’s foreign minister, who resurrected the issue. She told Parliament that only 6.5 of the 543 members in the Lower House of Parliament were women. Without saying it in so many words, she indicated that the situation was dismal and the future bleak.

Swaraj’s words were prophetic. The future was indeed bleak because three decades on, the women continue to fight for what should rightfully be theirs.

When the Bill was introduced in Parliament in 1996 and later in 1998 and 1999, the men kind of ganged up to ensure that a smooth passage was thwarted. On all three occasions, the Bill lapsed upon the dissolution of the Lower House in Parliament.

However, in 2008 another route was adopted and this time around it was introduced in the Upper House of Parliament.

This obviated the possibility of a lapse given that the Indian Parliament is structured in such a way that the Lower House has a fixed five-year term while the Upper House is a permanent chamber which is not subject to dissolution. Unlike the Lower House of Parliament, Bills tabled in the Upper House do not lapse.

That notwithstanding, the smooth passage of the Bill in the Lower House still remains a question mark, and that too a big one, staring at women in the face.

All through this rigmarole what stood out and continues to is the contempt and disregard men have for women in this part of the world.  And these are no ordinary men but those who have been elected to work for the welfare of the people, men and women alike. Therefore, when they speak of women in disparaging terms, one stops to ask: have we actually progressed or do we continue to be a regressive and male-dominated society – one where men outside and fathers, brothers and husbands at home continue to call the shots?

Even as the answer is obvious, one’s soul may cringe at the manner in which lawmakers inside Parliament have targeted women during the several debates on reserving 33 percent of seats in Parliament and state legislatures.

Sample this: During a 1997 parliamentary debate, two leaders, both from the backward castes, opposed reservation even as they demanded what was termed a “quota within quota” for women. Decode this and it means that within the 33 percent reservation ensure a certain representation for the other backward castes, Dalits and Muslim women.

In the Indian context, the untouchables are called Dalits, while the Other Backward Castes, or OBCs as they are popularly known, represent the marginalised. The Muslims comprise the minorities in India.

But back to the debate in Parliament when these two leaders spearheaded the anti-reservation campaign under the garb of protection for women from the marginalised and backward castes.

They use “choicest phrases”, if one can use the term, to denigrate women segregating the elite and educated from the rural and the unversed.

 Calling them par-kati mahilayen, roughly translated as ‘short-haired and elite’, a former Union Minister, Sharad Yadav, from the state of Bihar, threatened to consume poison if a Bill was passed without proper caste representation. His take: women who are privileged, urban and elite do not understand the struggle of their counterparts living in far-flung rural areas.

To quote him: “Like Socrates, who died consuming poison fighting for principles, I am also willing to die fighting for principles.” Given the male mind-set, such a statement may well be interpreted as if it is women’s reservation, and it will be “over my dead body”.

A former Chief Minister, Mulayam Singh Yadav, from the state of Uttar Pradesh, had another fear. Way back in 2010 he had told his constituents: “The kind of women who will enter Parliament… The wives and daughters of officers and businessmen, who invite whistles from boys…” He also said that rural women would be left out because they are “not that attractive”.

Another leader, a former Union Minister and Chief Minister, Lalu Prasad Yadav from the state of Bihar, said that India being a “male-dominated society”, to use his exact words, women vote according to the political diktat of the family. In other words, they are incapable of thinking and choosing independently and are a rubber stamp of their husbands: “My own wife votes according to my diktat,” the former Chief Minister had then said.

In later years, Yadav anointed his wife to succeed him when he was jailed in a fodder scam.

For the record, Lalu Prasad Yadav, who has served as Chief Minister of India’s populous state of Bihar and also as Union Minister, was convicted in a fodder scam and charged with syphoning off huge amounts from the animal husbandry department. This followed his resignation. Not the one to cede political space to anyone outside the family, Yadav named his wife, Rabri Devi, as his successor. That Devi was uneducated and could not even sign her name did not matter considering she was her husband’s proxy.

The first woman to head the state of Bihar, Devi ruled the state not once but three times over.

That notwithstanding, it is true that in India men dictate where and how their wives, mothers and sisters, or rather all the women in the family, should vote. This is one of the reasons why En bloc voting is a rule rather than an exception among women in rural areas.

However, by 2023 the power of the women’s vote dawned on political parties, particularly under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who has launched several welfare schemes for women while heading the Government in India.

Unwilling to lose the momentum of emerging as a votary for women’s rights, the Modi Government brought in the Reservation Bill, which was passed in the Lower House of the Indian Parliament, both grudgingly and willingly.

With this, history took a half-turn: a half-turn because even while the Bill mandated a 33 per cent reservation, it was tied to a distant future, namely the upcoming census and subsequent redrawing of electoral constituencies or delimitation as it is better known and understood.

Ostensibly, it was a step forward, but in reality, it was an idea stuck in time. Linking reservation to the Census and delimitation that would follow was talking of a distant future because there is neither clarity on when the Census will take place nor a clear date, rather year, when the delimitation will take effect. Hence, the passing of the Bill remains a cosmetic measure and one on paper.

The truth of the matter is that men are reluctant to cede political space to women. Yet for any political party to oppose a  reform like political empowerment for women is clearly counter-productive. No party can be seen as being a roadblock to women’s progress and risk being perceived as anti-women.

Therefore, while each party professes support for the issue and the cause, the real story is that they do not want to see reservation being a reality. The answer is simple: if 33 percent reservation for women becomes a law, then it is the men who will have to give up their seats to make way for women. In a patriarchal society like India, this seems like a pipe dream.

Having said that, it is ironic that every political party has committed to providing reservation in their political manifestos but no party has budged an inch to work towards this welfare measure. If anything, they have consistently worked against the Bill becoming a reality.

Fast forward to 2026 when the Government brought in the Women Reservation Bill in Parliament yet again through a special session of Parliament. But, this time around, the motive was suspect. The move was sudden and came at a time when the state elections were underway. Therefore, there was more politics than good intent that was attributed to what the Government wanted to showcase as women’s welfare.

What made it worse was that the Government tagged another bill with the women’s reservation bill: delimitation.

For the uninitiated, delimitation is the process of redrawing the boundaries of electoral constituencies. By this principle, seats for Parliament and states would be reallocated on the basis of the latest census, which is yet incomplete.

The Government’s bid to club delimitation with the reservation bill was decried. Opposition parties slammed the Government for making women a scapegoat and “using women” for a political end.

To quote an Opposition MP, Mahua Moitra, the Government’s move was “delimitation wrapped in a saree”. What she meant was that the Government is firing from the shoulders of women to push through legislation which otherwise would be opposed tooth and nail.

It is pertinent to mention that the opposition-ruled states are against delimitation, as it erodes the political power of those states that have fewer numbers in terms of population. With the voting numbers stacked against the Government, the Delimitation Bill would have hit a roadblock  in Parliament. Hence, the Government linked the two Bills. The logic: delimitation would ride piggyback on the Women’s Reservation Bill. The women’s vote being very important in elections, no party would like to be seen as opposing women’s reservation.

However, the Government’s calculations went haywire and the Opposition unitedly voted against the Bill. The result: What seemed achievable fell through.

As an opposition member of Parliament, Sushmita Dev explained, “We are not against women’s reservation. But what is a betrayal is the Government riding on the shoulders of women to push delimitation. Why link delimitation with women’s reservation? Why bring in politics? Why push an agenda? Why not given women the dignity they deserve?” is what she asks.

Politics apart, women who have been fighting for women’s empowerment for decades see this slugfest between the Government and the Opposition as “a lost opportunity”. To quote activist Ranjana Kumari, Founder of the Centre for Social Research: “The defeat of the Women Bill in Parliament compels deeper reflection on the state of India’s democracy. There is a gap between intent and action. The political parties must take responsibility and move beyond tokenism. Globally, gender quotas have demonstrated that change is possible when backed by political commitment and clear design. India stands at a similar crossroads.”

Kumari has been in the forefront of the women’s reservation movement in India.

It is at this juncture that one needs to stop and ask: For how long will the women of India keep knocking doors? For how long will political parties and politicians continue making them scapegoats to achieve their political goals? Why is their due being denied to them time and again? Why do they continue to be victims at the hands of men who are politically powerful?

Why does politics get the better of women? Why is their future being linked to complicated legislative processes? Why are they being subjected to political juggernauts?

Too many questions but one straight and simple answer: The men of India, as in many other parts of the world, want women to continue being subservient and remain second class in a world where half the sky is theirs.

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A Rohingya family is relocated by boat from a flooded refugee camp in Cox's Bazar on July 6 while men fish nearby. Credit: Mohammed Zonaid

By Mohammed Zonaid
COX’S BAZAR, Bangladesh, Jul 10 2026 (IPS)

Landslides and flooding triggered by heavy monsoon rains swept through the world’s most densely populated concentration of refugee camps this week, killing at least 14 Rohingya refugees, most of them women and girls.

Three girls and their teacher were killed in an Islamic learning center hit by a landslide on July 8. At least 10 more refugees were killed in separate landslides in six camps.

Thousands of families in the camps in Cox’s Bazar, southeast Bangladesh, have been relocated to safer places, mostly at learning centers. Hundreds of ‘homes’ – tarpaulin and bamboo shelters – have been destroyed and flooded.

Tragically such disasters are commonplace, especially in the cyclone and monsoon season. The deaths have also prompted the predictable response by aid agencies to call for more funding.

But beyond the immediate effort of rescuing survivors, what is now really needed is an urgent focus on how the money available is actually spent – as revealed in the alarming findings of an audit by the UN Office of Internal Oversight Services (OIOS).

OIOS Report 2025/084 raises serious concerns over UNHCR’s Rohingya response in Bangladesh in project planning, procurement, monitoring and effective use of humanitarian resources.

Mohammed Ahsom, 22, points to the site of a landslide where he rescued a child and helped to recover bodies in a Cox’s Bazar camp for Rohingya refugees on July 6. Credit: Mohammed Zonaid

As reported recently by the Bangladeshi newspaper New Age, millions of dollars were spent on infrastructure that remained unused; projects overlapped; procurement processes lacked sufficient oversight, and several programs failed to achieve intended objectives.

All this at a time when humanitarian aid is shrinking even while thousands more stateless Moslem Rohingya displaced by ongoing conflict in neighbouring Myanmar continue to arrive, joining a mass exodus of some 700,000 Rohingya who fled a brutal crackdown by the Myanmar military in Rakhine State in 2017.

Among the findings of the audit, a specialized hospital in Ukhiya costing US$1.5 million was built but remained unused. A 20-bed inpatient facility in Bhasan Char, with $140,000 of solar equipment and a $74,301 X-ray machine was also unused. In addition $18,000 was spent on honour boards, $23,000 on staff uniforms, and $27,000 on producing a documentary. The audit highlighted these expenditures as unnecessary while humanitarian needs remained urgent.

Perhaps most shocking, UNHCR spent $182,028 on cutlery (spoons, forks, knives etc) that refugees largely do not use because we traditionally eat with our hands. I have lived in one of the Cox’s Bazar refugee camps since 2017 and never found such things distributed to us.

In contrast, food assistance for most Rohingya refugees has been reduced from $12 to $7 per person per month— the cost of a couple of cups of coffee in many countries where those humanitarian staff are based and making decisions on cuts in food rations.

Informal learning centers that once provided at least a bit of education have in many cases become empty playgrounds. Hospitals built with millions of dollars often provide only basic, low-cost medicines such as paracetamol and omeprazole. A personal example — last year I had to buy Antozal nasal medication for my daughter from a local pharmacy after we waited hours in line to see two highly paid doctors. Later when we went with the prescription, we were told the drugs were not available because of funding cuts.

The audit also found that UN partners spent $4.2 million on shelter materials that UNHCR had already procured. Solar and energy projects costing $194,000, and medicines and medical equipment amounting to $800,000, were also duplicated because of faulty procurement.

The audit noted that eight years into the Rohingya crisis, 67 percent of funding had been spent on immediate humanitarian relief, while only 17 percent was allocated to empowerment and long-term solutions.

As yet UNHCR has not responded to questions by the media over the audit – not for the first time. UNHCR has often been criticized for responding only during major emergencies, such as large fires in the camps that attract international attention and are seen as moments to justify appeals for more funding spent on sustaining UN staff, their salaries and organizational costs.

Major international human rights organizations and international news outlets also show little interest.

Since the Myanmar military and allied Buddhist militia launched the killings and mass displacement of the mostly stateless Rohingya minority in August 2017, the international community has provided more than $5 billion in aid funding. The latest appeal by the Joint Response Plan (JPR) for 2026 is for $710 million.

Yet if you visit the refugee camps today you will find that there is still no formal education system, medical services remain inadequate, and durable shelters have not been built.

Refugees exist in shelters in hilly areas mostly denuded of trees and prone to catastrophic floods and landslides. Around 200,000 newly arrived refugees since 2024 have not been provided with shelter and live in extremely vulnerable conditions.

So my question is simple: Where did the billions of dollars go?

This is not just about the Rohingya in Cox’s Bazar. The JRP for the Rohingya Humanitarian Crisis is led by the government of Bangladesh, the UNHCR and IOM and includes scores of UN agencies and international and national NGOs.

Each year the JRP is supposed to allocate some 20 to 30 percent of its funding to benefit Bangladeshi host communities.

However, many local residents living even within the camp perimeter have never received a bag of rice or an LPG cylinder. Their children have not benefited from livelihood or skills training programs. Many are not even aware that funding has been allocated for host communities.

The time has come to establish independent Quality Assurance and Financial Audit Committees for Rohingya camp operations. These committees should include representatives from relevant UN bodies, the government of Bangladesh, donor countries, independent human rights organizations, and the Rohingya diaspora. Their role would be to ensure that every project is genuinely needed by Rohingya refugees and Bangladeshi host communities, and that they are properly implemented.

Humanitarian assistance should go to the people it is meant to serve—not become a system that primarily sustains thousands of jobs and does not provide for proper independent oversight.

Aid organizations should not be able to evade responsibility, as in these recent disasters, by blaming deaths on lack of funding.

Transparency, accountability, independent oversight and measurable impact must become the foundation of the Rohingya humanitarian response for as long as we Rohingya are not able to return to Myanmar with our rights, safety and dignity.

Mohammed Zonaid is an award-winning Rohingya journalist and photographer, in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh.

mohammedzonaid7@gmail.com

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Artificial intelligence is reshaping trade processes across Asia and the Pacific. However, despite growing interest, most economies have yet to deploy the technology at scale, according to a new study by the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (ESCAP) and the Asian Development Bank (ADB). Credit: ESCAP

By ESCAP
BANGKOK, Thailand, Jul 10 2026 (IPS)

Artificial intelligence is reshaping trade processes across Asia and the Pacific. However, despite growing interest, most economies have yet to deploy the technology at scale, according to a new study by the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (ESCAP) and the Asian Development Bank (ADB).

The Asia-Pacific Trade Facilitation Report 2026: Harnessing Artificial Intelligence in Trade Facilitation finds that AI implementation in trade facilitation stands below 15% among economies surveyed, with levels ranging from 1% to 40% across subregions.

AI is increasingly being used in customs and logistics systems across the region, including automated verification of shipping documents, machine learning tools to identify high-risk cargo and image analysis technologies used in border inspections. These applications can help reduce delays, improve compliance and strengthen supply chain resilience as economies face growing trade pressures and more complex regulations.

“The rapid development of AI and machine learning now signals yet another transformation, offering new opportunities to enhance efficiency, compliance, supply chain resilience and digital connectivity,” said Armida Salsiah Alisjahbana, United Nations Under-Secretary-General and Executive Secretary of ESCAP.

She added that this transformation is particularly significant as the current global trade landscape faces growing challenges, including geopolitical tensions, increasing regulatory and compliance requirements related to climate risks and sustainability, as well as a persistent digital divide across economies.

Shortages in AI-related skills remain the biggest barrier to wider adoption, followed by high infrastructure costs, fragmented data systems and regulatory uncertainty. While many economies have expanded digital trade systems, gaps remain in data integration, interoperability and operational readiness.

“It is critical to support developing economies in strengthening digital infrastructure, cross-border connectivity, interoperable systems and digital skills to harness the benefits of AI-enabled trade facilitation,” said Fatima Yasmin, Vice-President for Sectors and Themes, Asian Development Bank.

East Asia leads the region in AI readiness across operational deployment, governance frameworks and data quality, while Pacific economies continue to face the largest implementation challenges.

Launched at the Asia-Pacific Trade Facilitation Forum, the report calls for stronger investment in AI-related skills, integrated digital infrastructure and governance frameworks to support secure and efficient digital trade. It also highlights the importance of regional cooperation and cross-border interoperability as trade systems become increasingly data-driven.

For more information: https://www.unescap.org/kp/2026/asia-pacific-trade-facilitation-report-2026-harnessing-artificial-intelligence-trade

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The new rules and increased surveillance of barbershops changed the way the profession could be practiced. Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Jul 7 2026 (IPS)

Kabul barber Ahmed (name changed) used to keep a collection of pictures of different hairstyles on his phone. He would show them to his customers before cutting their hair so they could choose the style they liked. Some young men would bring their own pictures, and Ahmed would cut their hair according to their wishes. The business was particularly busy a few days before Eid.

Not anymore.

“Before the festival, I was in the shop day and night and hardly ever went home. The shop was never empty. Now things are completely different. I don’t open until ten or eleven in the morning and go home at four or five in the afternoon. I just go to work to pass the time and get through the day,” Ahmed says.

In Afghanistan, and especially in its capital, Kabul, men’s hair salons and barbershops have traditionally been about more than just getting hair and beards trimmed. They have provided opportunities for men and young people to gather, drink tea and chat. In recent years, modern hairstyles and beard trends had become popular, with barbers drawing inspiration from social media and global fashion trends.

When the Taliban took power in Afghanistan in August 2021, many everyday activities were restricted. The changes also had a significant impact on the operations of men’s hair salons.

The restrictions reduced the range of services and created a climate of uncertainty among barbers. The effects of these changes quickly became visible in the everyday lives of both barbers and customers

In September of that year, the Taliban announced in some cities, especially Kabul, that cutting men’s beards was prohibited. Providing such services to men would now be against Sharia law.

The new rules and increased surveillance of barbershops changed the way the profession could be practiced. The restrictions reduced the range of services and created a climate of uncertainty among barbers. The effects of these changes quickly became visible in the everyday lives of both barbers and customers.

Ahmed is not only the owner of a barbershop, but also the father of four children. He shares his home with his family, his mother and two sisters, and the barbershop is their only source of income.

To speak to Ahmed discreetly, I go to his shop in downtown Kabul with my husband and our five-year-old son, under the guise of getting his hair cut.

When I enter Ahmed’s shop, it doesn’t look much like the salon it once was. The large posters showcasing hair and beard styles have been removed. They are no longer allowed to be displayed. The entire space has been stripped down, and it now looks more like a small, old-fashined barbershop than a modern hair studio.

When Ahmed has finished cutting my son’s hair, he gently places the scissors on the table and glances into the mirror. He pauses for a moment before sighing and saying:

“Sisters, I was eighteen when I started this job, full of passion for this craft. I’ve been in this profession for twenty years now. Just five years ago, before all these changes, I would ride my bike to work at 6:30 in the morning so I could open the shop by 7 a.m. I would work all day until 10 p.m., serving countless customers, children, adults and the elderly, from all walks of life.”

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Taliban restrictions on barbers in Afghanistan have reshaped daily life in Kabul, as beard bans and strict rules threaten livelihoods and creativity. Credit: Learning Together.

Ahmed’s barbershop sits on a busy alley in Kabul. In the past, the shop was more than just a place to get a haircut. It was where men would gather, wait their turn and drink tea while chatting about everything from football to politics. Ahmed smiles as he recalls:

“This wasn’t just a job, this was life. There were plenty of clients. Every day I learned new styles from YouTube, from clients and the pictures they brought in. There was competition in the industry and that kept me motivated.”

But that all changed in late 2021 and early 2022, when the so-called Ministry of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, known informally as the chastity police, began actively visiting barbershops. Barbers were told they could no longer trim or shave their customers’ beards. They should also avoid Western hairstyles and were warned that violations would result in serious consequences.

“At first, we just heard that we were not allowed to shave beards. Then, gradually, they started visiting our shops. Some days, two or three chastity police officers would sit here for hours, watching what I was doing and how I was cutting men’s hair and beards. While I worked, they would give me instructions on what I should and shouldn’t do,” Ahmed says.

During those first few months, Ahmed says, unofficial rumors circulated. Many barbers thought this was just a temporary measure. But it soon became clear that the rules had to be taken seriously. Over time, restrictions increased and regulatory forces began to visit stores more regularly.

“To be honest, we didn’t even dare try new styles anymore, even when customers asked for them. We were scared. Many of my barber friends were fined, and some had to close their shops for a while.”

Over the past five years, many barbers have faced various punishments: fines, arrests, and partial or complete closures of their shops. Some have changed careers, others have moved abroad. At the same time, a few, like Ahmed, continue despite the challenges, though his clientele has changed, and his income has been cut in half.

Ahmed says that conversations are shorter now, customer visits are less frequent, and the warm, lively energy that once filled the shop has evaporated. In this climate, barbering is no longer the motivating, dynamic profession that it once was for many.

“Young people used to care a lot about their appearance. Now they either don’t come at all or only want very simple haircuts. In fact, they’re scared. Recently, I was cutting a teenage boy’s hair when a chastity police officer showed up. He noticed I was styling my client’s hair and made a big scene. He forced me to cut my hair very short and threatened to close my shop. After a long discussion, they finally agreed to just fine me and leave.”

The experiences of Afghan barbers show that human creativity cannot be completely suppressed. People like Ahmed, despite the challenges and fears, have not given up. They continue to create small spaces where there is room for art, connection and hope. Perseverance is a sign of a community’s ability to recover, grow and rebuild.

The future may be difficult, but the spirit of resistance and human hope keep alive the possibility of change and a return to days when life and creativity thrived.

Excerpt:

A child's painting of a fawn at the Conference Centre of Samarkand, where the Eighth GEF Assembly was held last month. The Bukhara deer, a species once pushed to the edge of survival by habitat loss and poaching, are now protected and introduced to the Zarafshan National Nature Park. Credit: ISD/ENB | Danny Skilton

By Kizito Makoye
SAMARKAND, Uzbekistan, Jul 7 2026 (IPS)

For most of the Eighth Global Environmental Facility (GEF) Assembly last month, the atmosphere inside Samarkand’s sprawling Congress Centre echoed a growing confidence of global environmental policymakers.

Delegates darted between plenary halls and side events discussing biodiversity targets, climate adaptation and ecosystem restoration. PowerPoint charts displayed shrinking forests. Investment bankers touted new financing tools. Smartly dressed bartenders served coffee in perfect air-conditioned comfort.

Yet despite this spectre of environmental diplomacy, a hard question lingered: How to mobilise private money when public coffers can no longer provide?

To many, the answer was blended finance.

The question became even more tangible on a humid Saturday morning when a group of delegates boarded low-emission coaches to Zarafshan National Nature Park on the outskirts of the ancient Silk Road city.

The excursion, many delegates later affirmed, offered a glimpse of a successful conservation model.

Walking through one of Central Asia’s surviving tugai forests – a riverside ecosystem that once stretched across much of the region – delegates witnessed the recovery of the Bukhara deer, a species once pushed to the edge of survival by habitat loss and poaching.

Wide-eyed delegates watched as rangers briskly hurled bundles of fresh forage, while several deer emerged from the reeds with the ease of animals that had learned to trust their caretakers.

A ranger works in an enclosure at the Zarafshan National Natural Park, one of Uzbekistan’s newest protected areas established to conserve the fragile riparian forests of the Zarafshan River and recover threatened wildlife, including the iconic Bukhara deer. The park illustrates the type of landscape where blended finance could help bridge funding gaps for ecosystem restoration, sustainable tourism and community livelihoods, provided investments deliver measurable conservation outcomes. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS

For conservationists, the scene was a tangible sign of ecological recovery in a parched Uzbek steppe. For financiers, it carried a different meaning—evidence that restoration requires sustained investment long after donor attention has shifted elsewhere.

That tension – between ecological reality and financial logic – ran through nearly every conversation in Samarkand, where the GEF’s Eighth Assembly signalled a deeper shift toward blended finance as a core conservation funding model.

The GEF’s new replenishment cycle, dubbed GEF-9, will secure at least $3.9 billion in donor commitments through 2030. But the more consequential shift lies in its architecture, with a target of using roughly a quarter of the resources to crowd in private capital alongside public and concessional finance.

GEF officials explain that the institution’s approach differs from other blended finance initiatives by targeting only investments where markets have clearly failed.

“It is worth stating clearly at the outset that GEF’s own approach to blended finance has been deliberately targeted and highly catalytic,” Avril Benchimol, Senior Blended Finance Specialist at the GEF, told IPS. “By design, GEF’s concessional resources have been directed at transactions where market failure is demonstrable – frontier areas such as circular economy, nature-based solutions, conservation finance, and sustainable agriculture in challenging markets where private capital does not flow without a catalytic push.”

Samuel Wangwe, senior researcher at the Economic and Social Research Foundation, said this shift towards more blended finance initiatives reflects a broader transformation in development thinking.

“Blended finance is essentially an attempt to stretch scarce public resources further by bringing in private capital. That logic is understandable in today’s fiscal environment, but it does not remove the underlying development constraints that many countries face,” he said.

The logic is rooted in a fiscal reality widely acknowledged across development finance institutions: public budgets are insufficient to meet global environmental needs, with annual financing gaps for biodiversity and climate resilience running into hundreds of billions of dollars.

Blended finance is intended to bridge that gap by using public capital to absorb early-stage risk, improving the risk-return profile of projects that would not be viable for commercial investors.

A park ranger guides delegates through one of Uzbekistan’s protected landscapes, explaining ongoing conservation and restoration efforts. The visit highlighted how long-term biodiversity protection depends not only on strong environmental policies but also on innovative financing mechanisms capable of attracting private capital while safeguarding public conservation objectives. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS

But Wangwe warned that the effectiveness of this model depends heavily on institutional strength.

“You cannot financialise ecosystems without strong governance systems. Where land rights are unclear or enforcement is weak, the risk does not disappear—it is simply priced differently, often at a higher cost to the country.”

The timing reflects broader strain in global public finance. Many donor governments face rising debt burdens, domestic political pressures and competing priorities from defence to healthcare. Development assistance budgets, once expected to expand alongside climate commitments, are instead substantially shrinking.

In that constrained environment, multilateral institutions are under pressure to demonstrate leverage – how much private capital can be mobilised per unit of public spending. As a result, blended finance has shifted from a niche development tool to a central pillar of environmental action, offering policymakers a politically palatable narrative: scarce public funds are not being reduced, but multiplied.

Wangwe, however, cautioned against over-reliance on this narrative.

“There is a tendency now to focus on how much money can be leveraged, rather than how effectively institutions can absorb and manage that investment. But without institutional depth, leverage becomes a hollow metric.”

GEF argues that its own experience suggests carefully structured concessional finance can mobilise substantially larger private investment than broader market averages.

“The concern about additionality is legitimate at the system level, and GEF takes it seriously as part of the broader conversation,” Benchimol said.

“GEF’s own mobilisation ratios have consistently outperformed the [market] average, in part because of the deliberate application of a minimum concessionality principle—using only as much concessional support as is necessary to make a transaction viable, and no more.”

Yet the promise of scale masks a more selective reality. Institutional investors – pension funds, insurers and asset managers – do not allocate capital based on environmental urgency. They respond to predictable revenue streams and manageable risk.

That distinction matters. Renewable energy projects increasingly fit that profile, offering long-term contracts and stable cash flows. Many conservation activities do not.

Ecosystem restoration, biodiversity protection and watershed management often generate public goods that are difficult to monetise. A restored forest may reduce carbon emissions and stabilise rainfall patterns, but it does not always produce direct financial returns.

As a result, blended finance works best where environmental projects can be partially ‘financialised’ – through carbon credits, ecotourism revenues or infrastructure-linked returns. Pure conservation projects remain harder to structure in bankable form.

Nowhere is this mismatch more visible than in Africa. The continent holds some of the world’s most critical biodiversity assets, from the Congo Basin to East Africa’s savannahs, yet continues to attract a relatively small share of global private environmental finance.

Contrary to common assumptions, the binding constraint is not global liquidity. Trillions of dollars sit in institutional portfolios seeking yield.

As Wangwe put it, “Africa is not short of opportunities. It is short of bankable structures that meet investor expectations. That gap is not technical alone—it is institutional and political.”

The result is a structural imbalance: countries with stronger institutions attract disproportionate flows of blended finance, while those facing the most severe environmental degradation remain dependent on grants and concessional funding.

GEF acknowledges that imbalance remains a genuine weakness of blended finance globally.

“The GEF fully shares the concern that blended finance instruments have not always reached the countries and communities with the greatest need,” Benchimol said.

“The concentration of blended finance flows in middle-income and relatively more bankable markets is a documented challenge, and addressing it is a priority as GEF shapes its future programming.”

This dynamic brings governance to the centre of the debate. Blended finance does not eliminate institutional risk; it re-prices it.

Guarantees, first-loss capital and concessional tranches can improve project economics, but they cannot substitute for credible legal systems or stable regulatory frameworks.

In practice, blended finance tends to cluster in environments where governance already functions relatively well. Where institutions are weaker, transaction costs rise and investor appetite declines.

That creates an uncomfortable implication: the places most in need of environmental investment are often the least able to attract it.

Wangwe added that this dynamic risks deepening inequality in conservation finance.

“If local communities are only seen as beneficiaries rather than stakeholders in financial structures, then blended finance risks repeating the same extractive patterns we have seen in other sectors, just under a greener label.”

GEF says future financing models must become far more country-led.

“Equity in blended finance requires genuine country ownership and voice—ensuring that recipient governments are partners in the design of financial structures rather than passive recipients of externally defined solutions,” Benchimol said.

Beyond technical design lies a more political question: who ultimately controls environmental assets as they become financialised?

Blended finance structures distribute risk and returns among governments, investors and local communities. But those distributions are not neutral.

Critics warn that conservation could increasingly resemble an investment class, where financial returns flow outward while ecological and social costs remain local.

“There is a risk that conservation becomes an asset class without community ownership,” Wangwe said. “That would replicate extractive dynamics under a green label.”

Despite its market-orientated framing, blended finance does not reduce the role of public institutions. It reconfigures it.

Governments and development agencies continue to provide first-loss capital, guarantees, project preparation funding and regulatory support. Without these interventions, most blended-finance transactions would not be viable.

Public finance, in other words, is not replaced – it is embedded deeper in deal structures, even as its presence becomes less visible in headline figures.

Wangwe stressed that this reality is often overlooked.

“The idea that private capital will replace public finance is misleading. In reality, public money is doing more of the heavy lifting than the rhetoric suggests – it is just now embedded deeper in the transaction structure.”

That raises a critical risk: if public spending is cut on the assumption that private capital will fill the gap, the entire model could weaken.

Closing the assembly, GEF interim CEO Claude Gascon noted that the model relies on cooperation and shared purpose.

He stressed the GEF was built on the understanding that no one can meet global environmental challenges alone and that it brings together countries, conventions, IPLCs, civil society, the private sector, and other stakeholders to deliver global environmental benefits.

“We need banks, institutional investors, corporations, and innovators to engage at a fundamentally different level. We need them not only to finance transition but also to shape it responsibly. We need business models that reward stewardship, not short-term extraction; disclosure and accountability systems that value long-term resilience; and governance frameworks that make environmental performance central to business success. The private sector has extraordinary reach, influence, and ingenuity. But with that influence comes responsibility.”

Back in Zarafshan National Nature Park, the Bukhara deer eventually retreated into the reeds as the delegation prepared to leave. The moment was brief, almost incidental, yet it underscored a central contradiction in global environmental finance.

Capital can accelerate conservation outcomes. It can reduce risk, improve coordination and expand funding. But it cannot substitute for the institutional and ecological conditions that determine whether recovery endures.

As delegates returned to Samarkand, optimism about blended finance remained intact. So did its central uncertainty.

For Africa, Wangwe argued, the challenge is not simply attracting investment but building the systems that can sustain it.

“The real test is not the volume of private investment mobilised, but whether ecosystems are restored, livelihoods are protected, and institutions are strengthened enough to sustain those gains beyond donor cycles.”

Despite the uncertainties, GEF says it intends to deepen – not scale back – its use of blended finance.

“GEF-9 is targeting 25% of GEF Trust Fund resources for blended finance, signalling a deliberate scaling of this approach – grounded in the conviction that blended finance, when properly structured and targeted, is not a subsidy for investments that markets would have made anyway, but a catalytic lever for investments that would not have happened at all,” Benchimol said.

The success of GEF-9 will therefore not be measured by how much private capital is mobilised but by where it flows – and whether it translates into lasting ecological recovery.

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

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Farmers planting paddy in Helambu, Sindhupalchowk. Their farming is dependent on precipitation and snow-fed rivers in the region. Credit: Bhagirathi Pandit

By Tanka Dhakal
KATHMANDU, Jul 3 2026 (IPS)

Monsoon season in South Asia, including Nepal, is a period of frequent rainfall, extreme heat, and a busy time of the year for farmers. Most farmers in Nepal depend on monsoon rain to plant paddey, the main source of food.

Puspa Subedi, a farmer from Pokhara‑31, Talbesi, Kaski, in Gandaki Province, is ready for the rice‑planting season.

“In our area, we primarily grow raithane (a local breed of rice), which is more resistant to drought than hybrid species, so we are less concerned about the forecasted dry monsoon,” he said. “Drought does impact our production, but the effect on farmers who are planting hybrid seeds would be more dire.”

Subedi, the coordinator of Sundaridanda Community Seed Bank in Kaski, where they conserve 53 local species of rice seeds, mentioned that monsoon drought is a major concern for most farmers in Nepal.

According to the regional seasonal weather forecast, the Hindu Kush Himalaya (HKH) region, also known as the ”Third Pole’, is heading toward a dry monsoon, which will impact agricultural activities in the region, including Nepal. The recently published HKH Monsoon Outlook 2026 projects lower‑than‑normal rainfall and above‑normal temperatures in countries across the region, including Nepal, India, Bhutan, and Pakistan. Scientists warn that intense rainfall in short bursts, rising temperatures, and increasing water stress could make this monsoon particularly dangerous.

“The outlook points to a drier monsoon overall, but that does not mean lower risk,” said Manish Shrestha, a hydrologist at the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development (ICIMOD). “Short, intense rainfall events can still trigger serious hazards.”

The map shows the seasonal mean anomaly for the 2026 monsoon in the HKH region. Source: HKH Monsoon Outlook 2026.

This week the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) said that El Niño conditions are developing and are set to influence global temperature and rainfall patterns, increasing the risk of extreme weather over the coming months. This weather phenomenon generally brings a dry monsoon to Nepal. Unusually warm ocean waters in the tropical Pacific were fuelling the development of El Niño, which was set to influence global temperature and rainfall patterns and increase the risk of extreme weather over the coming months.

“The science is clear: El Niño is arriving on our doorstep in the coming months with 90% certainty.  The world must treat it as the urgent climate warning it is. El Niño conditions will pour fuel on the fire of a warming world.  Impacts will hit even harder, travel even farther, and cross borders with devastating speed.  The only effective response is climate action equal to the crisis – ending the addiction to fossil fuels, accelerating the shift to renewables, protecting the most vulnerable, and delivering early warning systems for all,” said UN Secretary-General António Guterres.

Impacts on agricultural 

The regional forecast expects the combination of erratic rainfall and rising temperatures to increase both drought and flood risks during the season. Long dry spells may be followed by sudden heavy downpours, creating conditions for flash floods and landslides, particularly in mountain areas. Monsoon drought directly impacts farmers, while rainfall‑induced floods may also affect frontline communities, including farmers.

The outlook warns that higher temperatures and lower water availability can lead to heat stress in crops and livestock, “reduce yields, and shorten growing seasons, particularly in the already marginal mountain farming system.” High temperatures can also cause the loss of soil moisture by intensifying evaporation.

In Nepal, and in most places in the HKH region, farmers depend on rain‑fed and snow‑fed water sources for agriculture. Last winter, snow persistence across the region was observed to be below the long‑term average – and with rising temperatures, “river flows, groundwater levels, and spring water availability may decline substantially during or after the monsoon season”, the regional weather outlook notes.

Lower snow persistence further weakens the region’s natural water buffer, making river systems and groundwater recharge more sensitive to rainfall variability. “Lower snow persistence means the region is entering the monsoon with a reduced seasonal water buffer,” said Sarthak Shrestha, co‑author of the outlook.

Farmers are already experiencing water stress, which is affecting their farming calendar. Farmers in Helambu‑7, Sindhupalchowk, are struggling to get water from a local community‑based informal irrigation system that is river‑fed. Tilak Bahadur Pandit, a local farmer, says he and his neighbours are already late in planting paddy due to water scarcity.

Source: Lenssen, N. J. L., L. Goddard, and S. Mason, 2020: Seasonal Forecast Skill of ENSO Teleconnection Maps. Credit: WMO

Dry monsoon doesn’t mean no disaster

As below‑normal precipitation is forecast, it is not expected to reduce disaster risks. Scientists warn that short bursts of intense rainfall, rising temperatures, and growing water stress could make the season increasingly dangerous.

“Even in a weaker monsoon, short periods of intense rainfall remain a major concern,” said Shrestha, a hydrologist at ICIMOD. “Communities and authorities need to closely follow short‑term forecasts and advisories.”

Experts say that drought and flood risks are interconnected and can no longer be managed in isolation. The latest State of the Climate in Asia report by the World Meteorological Organization (WMO) also notes that across Asia and the Pacific, rising heat is increasing multi‑hazard risks, intersecting with food systems and public health while placing new pressures on livelihoods.

Arun Bhakta Shrestha, Senior Adviser at ICIMOD, says, “Early warning systems, short‑term forecasts, and locally driven preparedness need to work together to address increasingly complex hazards.”

The WMO on Wednesday (June 2)

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Collective care should not be reduced to practices that merely keep us strong enough to survive hostile conditions. Collective care should also make us question, resist, and transform the very systems of power that generate harm. Credit: Humanis

By Nisrina Nadhifah Rahman
Jul 2 2026 (IPS)

“To respect strength, never power” is one of my favorite quotes from the acclaimed writer and activist, Arundhati Roy. For years, this quote has stayed with me. It encourages a way of life grounded in compassion rather than dominance.

It was particularly on my mind as I returned from the June 2026 Digital Rights Asia-Pacific Assembly (DRAPAC26) in Manila, an annual forum organized by EngageMedia. Co-hosted by local partners, the Foundation for Media Alternatives (FMA) and DAKILA, it brought together more than 800 digital rights practitioners, researchers, funders, journalists, technologists, and activists from across the Asia-Pacific region.

But my participation in DRAPAC started long before I arrived in Manila. Throughout the first half of 2026, through the Connect, Defend, Act! program, I had been engaging with civil society actors at workshops held across different regions.

Moving in harmony with one another

During a session on collective care at one of them, we asked if abstract principles like human rights, solidarity, resilience, and collective care could be translated into concrete care practices. If so, what would that look like?

One group responded with a local expression: “Na Pada Ajong Ta.” It means to move in harmony with one another, walking side by side and sharing a common rhythm.

I was instantly struck by the phrase.

AI outputs are shaped not only by data, but also by the social, political, and economic structures that determine whose knowledge is collected, whose views and experiences are prioritized, and whose realities are ignored

We are constantly being told to “unite” by both figures of authority and agents of change. But what they want is us to move in the same direction, at the same pace, and with the same voice. Yet perhaps what we need is something closer to “Na Pada Ajong Ta,” walking side by side without marching in lockstep.

Resilience is important, but so is interrogating power

The DRAPAC Assembly took me back to these questions about power, accountability, humanity, and collective care, especially in the discussions on how we frame activists and human rights defenders.

An important discussion revolved around the growing glorification of the “resilience” of activists and human rights defenders. Stories of sacrifice, adaptation, and perseverance are often presented as inspiring accounts of brave individuals fighting for justice in increasingly challenging environments.

Yet I found myself wondering: What happens when resilience becomes an unquestioned virtue? What if our admiration for people’s endurance blinds us to the systems that oppress them? Or traps us in a worldview that celebrates those strong enough to endure, while those who struggle or fall behind are quietly left to fend for themselves?

So, interrogating power in conversations about resilience also means challenging a narrow understanding of collective care. It should not be reduced to practices that merely keep us strong enough to survive hostile conditions. Collective care should also make us question, resist, and transform the very systems of power that generate harm.

AI (just like any other technology) is never neutral

Throughout DRAPAC, countless sessions explored different dimensions of Artificial Intelligence (AI). For me, the most interesting ones treated AI as a political development.

One recurring insight was that AI outputs are shaped by far more than users’ prompts. They are also influenced by invisible system prompts, training datasets, institutional priorities, commercial interests, and political decisions embedded within the technology itself.

In other words, AI reflects the values, assumptions, and most importantly, the power relations built into it.

One of the most well-known principles in computer programming is the phrase “Garbage In, Garbage Out” (GIGO). At its simplest, the principle suggests that the quality of an output depends on the quality of the input.

But after the discussions at DRAPAC, I have come to see GIGO as more than a technical principle. It is also a political one. “Garbage In, Garbage Out” is ultimately a question of power. AI outputs are shaped not only by data, but also by the social, political, and economic structures that determine whose knowledge is collected, whose views and experiences are prioritized, and whose realities are ignored.

The power of the attention economy

Writer and scholar Alfie Bown’s 2022 book, Dream Lovers: The Gamification of Relationships, explores how human desires are increasingly shaped to suit certain economic and political agendas, creating a profound dependency on algorithm-driven technology.

At DRAPAC’s “Algorithm Anonymous” session, we also explored how digital platforms are actually systems of control designed to both capture attention and influence habits, desires, and emotional attachments.

We started off by acknowledging that our choices, behaviors, and things we pay attention to online are often shaped by algorithms. And we examined the deceptive design tricks used by websites and apps that get users to do things they hadn’t planned to, like buying something, sharing more data, or signing up for services.

Then we reflected on how social media, fitness applications, and health platforms create validation loops that encourage continuous engagement, often treating privacy and user agency as an afterthought.

The many forms power takes

As I left DRAPAC, I couldn’t help but think that Arundhati Roy’s reminder to “respect strength, never power,” is perhaps not enough. Because strength, much like power, also has layers that need to be scrutinized and questioned. And while doing so, we also need to re-examine our own roles and individual social and political identities.

We must be clear on where we stand in relation to the systems and structures around us. That doesn’t mean to stop questioning power, but to remain curious about the many forms it takes, including those we may have internalized without realizing it.

India’s new education policy asks a great deal of its teachers. The National Education Policy of 2020 and its NISHTHA (National Initiative for School Heads’ and Teachers’ Holistic Advancement) training scheme, want teachers to be more than deliverers of syllabus. They are to be empowered professionals, agents of change who shape the future of children and, the policy says, of the nation itself. It is a generous and welcome ambition.

Vani S. Kulkarni

For two decades, the dominant approach to teacher quality in India, as in much of the world, has run in the opposite direction. It judges teachers by individual performance and accountability, by what they deliver and how their classrooms score. Under that logic, a teacher’s agency quietly shrinks until it means doing well what someone else has already decided. The teacher becomes an executor of other people’s choices. This is the very habit NISHTHA hopes to break, and it will not break easily, because a system built to measure compliance tends to produce it.

The real question, then, is not whether we wish teachers to have agency because we do. It is where agency actually comes from.

I spent a year, between 2023 and 2025, looking for an answer in an unlikely place: a small, non-governmental teacher-preparation programme in Gurugram, north India called I Am A Teacher (IAAT), which has spent a decade training teachers in a humanistic tradition that cuts against the accountability grain. What I found there was a claim that sounds almost too soft to matter, until you watch what it does. Agency, in this programme’s account, does not begin with autonomy handed down from above. It begins with self-knowledge. A teacher who has examined her own assumptions, her own fears and habits of judgment, is a teacher who can finally exercise judgment of her own.

That self-knowledge expressed itself, in the teachers I met, in three widening circles.

The first was the classroom. Teachers spoke of designing their own curricula and lesson plans, and of sharing in decisions about assessment, as the very substance of their professional dignity. To be handed instructions to execute, one teacher said, is to have your voice taken away. And teacher autonomy, several insisted, is not for the teacher’s sake alone. When a teacher can read her own classroom and meet children where they are, the children begin to experience an agency of their own, becoming creative and imaginative rather than merely obedient.

The second circle was the inner life of the student. These teachers refused to see their work as the transmission of knowledge and content alone. A child’s social and emotional wellbeing, one told me, matters as much as the subject on the board. They understood it as part of their agency to steady a struggling child, inside the classroom and beyond it, on the conviction that learning and wellbeing cannot be pulled apart.

The third and widest circle was the world the school is embedded in. The most striking thing about these teachers was that their sense of agency did not stop at the classroom door. They spoke about how political and economic forces shape what gets taught and what gets funded, and about the inequality that public education is meant to counter and too often deepens. Education can never be equal, one teacher said plainly, naming the way wealth sorts children into schools and teachers into salaries. Some met that knowledge not with resignation but with initiative, volunteering in underserved areas or starting small independent learning centres of their own. That is agency in its fullest sense, a teacher who sees the system she is part of and acts to make it fairer.

A training module alone can produce none of this, and that is exactly the point. The NEP is right that teachers should be agents of change. But agency is not a permission a policy grants. It is a capacity, and capacities have to be formed, through self-reflection, mentoring, time, and the experience of being trusted to decide. These are precisely the things an accountability-driven system finds hardest to fund, because they do not show up on a dashboard, and their results appear years later, in a classroom run by someone who knows her own mind.

A teacher who has been told only what to do can comply. A teacher who has come to know herself can decide. India’s classrooms, and the children in them, need far more of the second kind. No policy can issue that teacher by order. But a country that understood where her/his agency begins could choose, at last, to help make her/his.

If NISHTHA is to be more than a circular, its success will be measured on the ground, in whether teachers actually come to exercise the agency the policy promises them. And one concrete step is within reach now. The country need not invent this formation from nothing. Small programmes such as IAAT, quietly and against the current, already practise it and have done so for years. Recognising them, learning from them, and resourcing them would cost little and teach a great deal.

Vani S. Kulkarni is a sociologist affiliated with the University of Pennsylvania, and has held research and teaching appointments at Harvard and Yale universities. Her research navigates the intricate crossroads of Global Health, Education, Race and Caste, Gender, Sociology of Trust, Development, and Democracy.

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(L-R) Horacio (Luis) Carvalho, CEO of Climate Change Ventures, and Faraz Khan, MBE, at London Climate Action Week. Carvalho's firm advises on carbon mitigation and green investment projects. They signed an MOU to develop markets with Brazilian CPR Verde (green rural product certificate), a Brazilian financial credit instrument used to fund environmental preservation, forestry conservation, and carbon sequestration. The markets they are eyeing will be Saudi Arabia, Africa and Pakistan. Credit: Faraz Khan

By Zofeen Ebrahim
LONDON & KARACHI, Pakistan, Jun 26 2026 (IPS)

The 30 COP gatherings may not have done what three months of US-Israeli war against Iran did: expose the world’s vulnerability to fossil fuels.

As the world faced its biggest energy shock in a decade, the case for investing in clean energy suddenly became far more compelling.

As an intense heatwave grips Europe, with London’s Met Office issuing a “risk to life” warning and the closure of shops, offices and schools alongside disruptions to transport during the London Climate Action Week (LCAW), calls for this shift are gaining even greater momentum.

New Sense of Urgency

“The sentiment is palpable among policymakers, investors and business leaders,” conceded Faraz Khan, MBE.

A Pakistani entrepreneur and co-founder and partner of Pakistan-based Sustainadility, a technology, data and advisory firm, with over 25 years of experience in multi-stakeholder investments and in drafting environmental, sustainability and governance frameworks, is among those gathered to discuss the future of climate finance and the energy transition.

Speaking to IPS by phone on the sidelines of LCAW which closes on June 28, Khan stressed the urgency of transitioning from fossil fuels to renewable energy, saying the shift would not be possible without investors and businesses.

Khan described the mood at LCAW, as “optimistic” tempered by caution. He also welcomed the attention Pakistan was getting. “Our country was lauded for its efforts in brokering the peace deal,” referring to the Islamabad Memorandum between the United States and the Islamic Republic of Iran.

From Rule-Making to Seeking Investment

Comparing the two events, he said the annual Bonn climate talks, held from June 8 to 18, focused on diplomatic negotiations and climate rule-making, while LCAW, also an annual event held since 2019, centres on mobilising private investment in sustainability and ESG and scaling these initiatives commercially.

“LCAW is more business- and private sector-orientated,” said Khan, who is also the founder and director of  SeedVentures, a Pakistan-based social impact organisation and impact investor.

Still, he said: “There are two sides to the coin. On the one hand, the US-Iran peace deal and the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz have shown the world that oil remains crucial for the world to exist; but, on the other, many countries recognise that dependence on fossil fuels is not in their national interest and even poses a national security risk.”

Geopolitical conflicts have exposed the vulnerabilities associated with oil production, trade and transportation, which is why investment in alternative energy is expected to accelerate.

At a COP31 presidential meeting with the private sector at LCAW, which Khan attended, the conversation revolved around the circular economy, electrification and climate finance with some of the biggest names in the global climate community, including BlackRock, the World Bank, UNIDO, the IFC and several trade organisations.

“It was a gathering of the who’s who of the climate world,” Khan said with a laugh. “Even we made the cut.”

What was missing, however, Khan said, were women in decision-making roles. He was, however, impressed by those in the Turkish COP team, praising their intellectual rigour and commanding presence in the room, which he found to be “truly impressive”.

Beyond the composition of the meetings, Khan said the discussions themselves reflected a growing determination to move beyond rhetoric.

There was a strong sense in the room that a new precedent was about to be set by shifting the focus from negotiations to implementation, investment and action.

“Governments can create an enabling environment and UN frameworks can provide the rules, but ultimately it is investors, bankable projects and big businesses that will drive change,” he said.

While the Bonn climate talks focused on regulatory frameworks, LCAW’s focus is on climate finance and transactions, he noted. “And at Antalya, where the COP31 will be held this November, it will be about putting money where our mouths are—deploying capital into bankable projects and creating collaborative investment vehicles to scale climate action,” said Khan.

Private Sector Takes Centre Stage

He also observed that China was frequently cited as a global leader in clean energy investment.

“Across the various meetings, I sensed a strong and growing appetite for investment in renewable energy, and I believe this momentum will only accelerate,” he said.

Large businesses and institutions, he added, would be critical to delivering a just transition because their extensive operations and community links give them the reach needed to drive meaningful change.

The emphasis on electrification and reducing dependence on fossil fuels was echoed by Türkiye’s COP31 leadership.

Earlier this month, speaking to The Guardian on the sidelines of the climate talks in Bonn, Murat Kurum, Türkiye’s environment minister, said the 35% target would be “one of the defining priorities” of the COP31 presidency.

“By electrifying daily life, from transport to buildings and industry, we can protect families and businesses from volatile energy markets,” he told the media outlet.

Khan believed Pakistan has an opportunity to position itself at the forefront of this transition.

While Pakistan is frequently showcased as a victim of climate disasters, despite contributing less than 1% of global greenhouse gas emissions, Khan said the global focus on solar should also shine a light on the country’s “silent solar revolution”, which has transformed its investment landscape.

“Pakistan has become a global example of how solar adoption can evolve rapidly, opening up substantial investment opportunities in solar manufacturing and battery production,” he said, adding that modernising the grid and scaling up utility-scale energy storage have become increasingly urgent.

Investing in Nature

Beyond renewable energy, Khan saw significant opportunities in nature-based investments.

Khan said Pakistan’s rich biodiversity—from mangroves and forests to wetlands, rangelands and mountain ecosystems—offers enormous investment potential, with private capital capable of both restoring and protecting these natural assets.

Agriculture accounts for a large share of Pakistan’s economy and is a major driver of biodiversity loss. He said private businesses could invest in regenerative agriculture, agroforestry and sustainable rice and cotton production, either to meet sustainability goals or as part of emerging biodiversity credit markets.

“Just as there are carbon credits, there are biodiversity credits, and these are directly linked to food security and agriculture,” Khan said. Given agriculture’s central role in Pakistan’s economy, he argued that the country holds enormous potential for biodiversity credits. “I think this is going to be truly phenomenal because it presents enormous investment opportunities,” he said.

But realising this potential will depend on Pakistan’s ability to attract sustained private investment.

Investment Challenges

Sadly, there are few takers.

Khan said Pakistan’s high sovereign risk remains the biggest obstacle to attracting international climate investment at scale, although recent policy reforms, including the Pakistan Green Taxonomy, green banking guidelines and ESG standards, have improved investor confidence.

He also pointed to a shortage of bankable projects, with many failing to attract global investors despite their strong fundamentals. Still, he said, the investment potential remains enormous.

Yet time may be of the essence.

If the recent turmoil in the Middle East exposed the world’s vulnerability to fossil fuels, Khan believes it also underscored the urgency of accelerating the clean energy transition. For Pakistan, he said, the opportunity is immense—but only if the country can create the conditions needed to attract the investment required to realise it.

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Farmer-turned-fishermen from the local indigenous community are fishing in the Dumboor lake in north-eastern India. At the Eighth Global Environment Facility Assembly, a project was approved involving three communities across India, including Dumboor Lake. Credit: Stella Paul/IPS

By Stella Paul
DUMBOORNAGAR, India and SAMARKAND, Uzbekistan, Jun 24 2026 (IPS)

At dawn, when the waters of Dumboor Lake lie still under a pale grey sky, Santo Chakma, 63, nudges his narrow wooden boat into a reservoir that swallowed his childhood.

The lake is a growing attraction for tourists who come here in search of beauty and tranquillity, with dozens of islands scattered across a vast expanse of water. But for Chakma, the lake reflects a past erased.

“Once, these were rice fields. My father and my grandfather cultivated rice,” he says quietly. “But now we catch fish because there is no land.”

Spread across 41 square kilometres in Tripura’s Gomati basin, Dumboor Lake is now known for its 48 small islands and a growing tourism economy. But beneath its surface lies the submerged Raima–Saima valley – once a fertile agricultural landscape that sustained indigenous communities for generations.

That landscape disappeared in 1974, when the Gumti Hydroelectric Dam transformed the Gomati River into a reservoir, displacing thousands of people, mostly from indigenous tribes such as the Chakma, Reang, and Tripuri.

From Farmers to Fishers

In villages like West Gandecherra – a lakeside village – elderly people carry the memories of their old days in their hearts.

“The Gumti (Gomati) River was our lifeline,” recalls Phulorani Tripura, an elderly resident. “We used to sail bamboo rafts.”

Across the region, communities tie bamboo in large bundles and throw them upstream. The river carries the bundles down and people travel on them using these bundles as their rafts. For days, they live on these bamboo rafts, sleeping on them and selling produce from their farms, such as homemade butter and peppers, until they reach a market where the bamboo is sold.

“Water was not our livelihood – it wasn’t our way of living,” Chakma reminisces.

That world collapsed after the dam was built as farmland, homes, and markets were submerged. Families were relocated to uplands, where agriculture proved unreliable. Many eventually returned to the lake – not as traders or farmers, but as fishers.

Today, nearly 5,000 families depend on the lake’s fisheries, navigating livelihoods born out of displacement rather than choice.

An Increasingly Fragile Livelihood

Every morning, lines of small boats move out across Dumboor. By afternoon, they return with their catch, which is often smaller than in previous years. Fish diversity has declined due to overfishing, reduced stocking, and ecological stress.

“Earlier, fish were plentiful. We caught big fish like rahu (Labeo rohita), katla (South Asian carp) and gojal (channa marulius). If we sold one fish weighing 4-5 kg, it would be enough money for a whole week. Now we catch more small fish, which sell for less and also don’t stay fresh for long, which brings even less. So, now we work harder for less,” says Sushil Chakma, a fisherman, untangling his net.

Economic pressures add another layer of strain. Fishing licences cost up to ₹10,000, while government-fixed prices can be lower than 1 dime (US) per kilogram, leaving fishers dependent on middlemen.

“The government charges us, but the benefits don’t reach us,” Chakma says.

There are also constant safety risks due to erratic weather, fluctuating water levels, and fragile bamboo fishing platforms – known locally as ‘mancha’ – which have led to repeated fatalities.

“We call these platforms ‘mancha’, and we often hear that one has broken and fishermen have drowned,” says Bryn Tiprasa, a youth originally from East Gandecherra village near the lake, now living in Agartala, about 120 kilometres away.

“In fact, only last month, a fisherman died like that. Two years ago, four fishermen died in a single incident. Will this project consider addressing these kinds of problems? We don’t know yet.”

Tourism Grows, but Locals Miss Inclusion

Dumboor has increasingly been promoted as a tourism destination, with sites like Coconut Island attracting visitors for boating and festivals.

The Government of India has invested significantly in developing tourism infrastructure around the lake. But locals say these efforts prioritise visitors over indigenous communities whose livelihoods depend on the lake.

“The big businesses are not ours,” says a local boat operator. “We build boats ourselves, take loans, and earn only during the season.”

Some residents also report losing access to land and resources because private aquaculture or tourism ventures lease parts of the reservoir.

For communities already displaced once, these developments revive a familiar fear: marginalisation in the name of development.

Environmental pressures are also compounding these challenges. Invasive species such as Mikania micrantha (locally referred to as ‘Pichash’) due to erratic rainfall and changing water levels have disrupted fish breeding cycles and degraded ecosystems around the lake.

Despite supporting thousands of livelihoods, Dumboor Lake still lacks a comprehensive management plan.

“We depend on the lake, but no one manages it properly,” says a cooperative member. “How long can this continue?”

A New GEF-Backed Project Enters the Picture

Amid these overlapping pressures, a new biodiversity initiative supported by the Global Environment Facility (GEF) is drawing cautious attention.

The project – Conservation of Biodiversity, its Sustainable Use, and Fair and Equitable Sharing of Benefits in India (CONSERVE) – was approved at the 6th Global Biodiversity Framework Fund Council meeting, held under the framework of the Eighth GEF Assembly.

Backed by USD 13.8 million and implemented by the United Nations Development Programme and the World Bank, the project aims to strengthen community-led conservation while ensuring fair sharing of benefits.

At its core is a shift toward recognising Indigenous communities as key custodians of ecosystems – a long-standing demand in regions like Dumboor.

However, details of how the project will work on the ground and what it will specifically deliver for Dumboor’s fishers are not yet clear.

This uncertainty shapes local reactions: hopeful, but cautious.

Potential – and Unanswered – Questions

The initiative is expected to involve at least 25,000 people across project areas in governance and decision-making, including women.

For communities in Dumboor, this could mean,

• recognition of traditional knowledge
• participation in resource management
• access to financial support and new livelihood models
• improved ecosystem sustainability.

It also reflects the GEF’s growing emphasis on blended finance approaches – combining public and multilateral funds with other sources – to support environmental outcomes alongside community development.

Some, however, say the project needs greater transparency.

“How will local women be integrated into this project? What will be the means and level of women’s access to finance and opportunities to play a leadership role? These are some of the questions,” says a member of the CBD Woman’s Caucus who participated in the GEF global council.

According to the GEF, several gender-specific targets are included in the project design, ensuring that women will make up 50% of the estimated 25,000 beneficiaries and at least 40% of the beneficiaries of an Access and Benefit-Sharing financial mechanism that will be implemented as part of the project.

For residents, the real test lies in implementation.

“Most of this money might just go into big pockets and not to the locals,” says Tiprasa. “A lot of projects are launched in the region, but few bring actual benefit.”

He adds that many interventions fail because they do not account for local realities.

“The projects do not always consider the local challenges, so not all solutions help improve their conditions.”

Despite scepticism, some residents see promise in the project’s stated focus on community participation.

“We have always lived with this lake,” says Santo Reang, a local resident. “But no one asked us how to manage it.”

“This time, if they involve us properly, things can change,” adds Niranjan Debbarma, a fisher cooperative member. “We understand this lake better than anyone.”

The GEF noted that the GBFF recently developed one of the most stringent and progressive guidelines to ensure that Tribal Peoples and local communities are in the driver’s seat when designing and implementing every project and will act as bona fide partners in identifying priorities and implementing the project.

A Fragile Turning Point

For decades, Dumboor’s indigenous communities have adjusted to realities imposed from the outside – shifting from land to water and from stable agriculture to precarious fishing.

Now, with a new GEF-backed project on the horizon, change is possible – one that could finally recognise both the lake’s ecological importance and the people who depend on it.

But in Dumboor, hope is never uncomplicated.

For those who have lost land once before, the question is not just whether change will come but whether it will finally include them.

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

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A two-year-old girl suffering from malnutrition is fed by her mother at their shelter in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. Credit: UNICEF/Ilvy Njiokiktjien

By Oritro Karim
UNITED NATIONS, Jun 22 2026 (IPS)

Nearly nine years after the violent persecution of the Rohingya minority population in Myanmar and the following mass exodus of refugees, over 1.2 million Rohingya currently reside in neighbouring Bangladesh, where they face immense challenges. With the United Nations (UN) recording significant shortfalls in global humanitarian funding, alongside Bangladesh’s diminishing ability to support these populations, experts warn of a deepening humanitarian crisis.

Described by the UN as “the most persecuted minority in the world,” Rohingya refugees experience a state of statelessness, where they are not legally recognized as citizens by any country and lack legal rights. The vast majority of Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh reside in the densely populated camps of Cox’s Bazar, where they face widespread insecurity and systemic gaps in access to basic services, such as healthcare, education, food, and clean water.

Since early 2024, the UN has recorded an influx of over 150,000 Rohingya refugees into Bangladesh, placing immense pressure on the already overcrowded camps. Domestic resources in Bangladesh are also severely strained as the nation struggles to support these displaced populations while simultaneously sustaining its own citizens.

“Bangladesh has shown extraordinary generosity in hosting this highly vulnerable population, and we are deeply grateful to our donors who have continued to stay the course. Their sustained support remains a lifeline for refugees,” said Rania Dagash-Kamara, Assistant Executive Director for Partnerships and Innovation at the UN World Food Programme (WFP).

“But humanitarian assistance is not the end goal. Rohingya refugees want to return home to Myanmar when they can do so safely, voluntarily, and with dignity. We must continue to help create these conditions; we cannot let this crisis be forgotten,” she added.

According to the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), from 2017 to the end of 2025, the international community has contributed approximately USD 5.42 billion to humanitarian responses to the Rohingya crisis, allowing Bangladesh to sustain its refugee camps and expand access to education, health, and protection services. In May this year, UNHCR, in collaboration with the Government of Bangladesh, launched an appeal for USD 710.5 million to address the most urgent needs of Rohingya refugees and host communities.

Despite the vast and increasing scale of needs, this appeal marks a 26 percent decline compared to 2025, reflecting the UN’s strategy of prioritizing response efforts for the most vulnerable populations and acute needs. Humanitarian funds have largely been exhausted—a direct result of rampant insecurity, further displacement from conflict within Myanmar, and major budget cuts from historically large donors like the U.S.

These shortfalls have significantly compromised humanitarian responses, leaving thousands out of reach of essential services. This is particularly dire for the Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh, as the vast majority are largely dependent on shrinking humanitarian aid for survival. According to UNHCR, in 2025 roughly 35 percent of households relied entirely on humanitarian food assistance, 42 percent earned income through temporary and unstable means, and 23 percent earned income through cash-for-work-based humanitarian programs.

With Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh lacking any form of sustainable income, UN experts project that they could lose “precious gains” in the coming months and years if a safe, voluntary, and dignified return to Myanmar is not established. Limited economic opportunities and reduced humanitarian aid have devastated Rohingya households, leaving many to embark on dangerous voyages in search of better conditions in the region.

2025 marked the deadliest year on record for these voyages, with UNHCR recording nearly 900 Rohingya refugees missing or dead in the Andaman Sea and Bay of Bengal. Over 6,500 Rohingya refugees attempted these voyages that year, with roughly one in seven reported missing or dead–the highest mortality rate for any refugee or migrant sea journeys in the world. The first half of 2026 marked a continuation of this trend, with over 2,800 Rohingya undertaking these dangerous voyages, with over half of them being women and children.

Additionally, persistent cuts to humanitarian funding have significantly strained food rations across the camps in Bangladesh, leaving hundreds of thousands facing acute food insecurity. In April, WFP introduced a tiered, needs-based food assistance approach for Rohingya refugees in Bangladesh, distributing as much as UD 12 per person per month for extremely food-insecure households in Cox’s Bazar, with less insecure households receiving anywhere from $7 to $10.

WFP stated that even at the lowest transfer value, the minimum allotment is sufficient to meet basic food needs. Additionally, the agency cited that this approach was not driven by declining funding but rather by the need for prioritization and equity.

“This alignment reflects our continued commitment to the entire Rohingya community. We will still provide food assistance for everyone in the camps but will target the highest levels of support for those who need it most,” said Simone Parchment, WFP Country Director.

Local representatives and the Rohingya community in Bangladesh have expressed dissatisfaction with this tiered approach, expressing concern that lowered rations at this pivotal time could have deadly consequences for the population and spur further insecurity. Mohammad Mizanur Rahman, Bangladesh’s Refugee Relief and Repatriation Commissioner, told reporters in April that “law and order will be deteriorated”, as the Rohingya attempt to flee the camps in search of food and work opportunities.

Additionally, UNHCR states that reduced humanitarian funding will disproportionately affect women and girls, disabled persons, and older refugees in the Cox’s Bazar camps. An overwhelming lack of critical protection services has led to a rise in rates of gender-based violence, armed group violence, exploitation, and kidnappings.

Furthermore, due to the collapse of healthcare responses for refugees in Cox’s Bazar, alongside persistent overcrowding and a lack of access to clean water, these populations are at a heightened risk of contracting infectious diseases. According to the International Rescue Committee (IRC), as of April 28, there has been a major measles outbreak, which has devastated Rohingya refugee camps and spread across 58 of Bangladesh’s 64 districts.

The IRC has reported over 34,600 suspected cases, including 200 confirmed deaths. Strained health systems and shrinking aid have left thousands of refugee children in the camps without access to routine vaccinations and urgent medical interventions.

“This outbreak is a direct consequence of years of strain on the health system in Bangladesh and caused by lack of resources to meet the needs of local communities and a growing refugee population,” said Hasina Rahman, IRC Bangladesh Director and Asia Deputy Director.

“It is critical that the international community scales up funding for the humanitarian response in Bangladesh to enable the sustained investment in primary healthcare, immunization infrastructure and community health workers.”

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People hold electronic candles during a vigil at Liberty Square in Taipei on the anniversary of China’s 1989 crackdown on democracy protesters in Beijing's Tiananmen Square, 4 June 2026. Credit: Cheng-Chia Huang/AFP

By Andrew Firmin
LONDON, Jun 19 2026 (IPS)

When performance artist Sammu Chen tried to tie a red thread to a streetpost, plainclothes police stopped him before he could finish. Chen has twice been detained for his symbolic acts of commemoration of the 4 June 1989 Tiananmen Square Massacre, when Chinese authorities killed hundreds, perhaps thousands, to crush democracy protests.

The day used to one of commemoration in Hong Kong. Tens of thousands used to attend the mass vigil. But authorities banned it during the COVID-19 pandemic and haven’t permitted it since.

Chen’s attempted act of commemoration took place near the former site of the banned vigil. Close by, police moved on another artist marking the anniversary by holding a question mark-shaped balloon. In recent years, other symbolic acts, such as silently holding candles or flowers, have led to arrests. The organisation that used to hold the vigil closed itself down in 2021 following police investigations and prosecution of its leaders.

China’s campaign to stamp out demands for democracy in Hong Kong doesn’t stop at its borders, as events in the UK recently made plain.

UK spy network

Last month, two men with dual British and Chinese nationality were found guilty of spying on Hong Kong democracy activists in the UK. The case showed how far the Chinese state is prepared to go to silence Hong Kong’s diaspora.

Chi Leung Wai, who worked for the UK’s Border Force, and Chung Biu Yuen, who worked for the Hong Kong Economic Trade Office in London, were found to have carried out shadow policing operations to gather information on exiles. The spies also targeted UK politicians critical of China.

One of their targets was Nathan Law. Law was a student leader and politician active in Hong Kong’s democracy movement, which mobilised in mass protests in 2014 and again in 2019. Having spent time in jail in 2017 for his role in protests, he headed into exile in 2020 when the authorities introduced a draconian National Security Law.

In 2023, Law was one of eight activists the Hong Kong police targeted with arrest warrants, with a bounty of around US$130,000 offered as a reward. Hong Kong police took Law’s parents and brother in for questioning, and in 2024, authorities revoked his passport and those of other exiled activists.

Escalating transnational repression

Such is the level of repression China exerts in Hong Kong that activism can only be sustained among the diaspora. But while many states are exerting transnational repression against diasporas and exiles, the spy case shows that China remains the world leader in this field.

Hong Kong police issued a further round of arrest warrants and bounties against six more exiled activists in December 2024 and announced bounties on another 19 in July 2025. Hong Kong authorities have also started targeting exiles with spurious tax demands and may be gearing up to weaponise international anti-money laundering cooperation agreements against them.

Exiles’ families in Hong Kong aren’t spared. In February, Kwok Yin-sang, father of exiled activist Anna Kwok, was handed an eight-month sentence for violating national security laws after he tried to cash in her education savings insurance policy.

Around 100,000 people have fled Hong Kong to the UK, which controlled the territory before handing it over to China in 1997. That makes them a particular target. In 2024, addresses of Hong Kong citizens living in the UK were published online and anti-migrant protesters were encouraged to attack them, in a move that showed all the signs of a Chinese influence operation.

Intensifying domestic repression

As a new CIVICUS report documents, repression has intensified further within Hong Kong. In 2024, authorities introduced the Safeguarding National Security Ordinance, which allows them to criminalise simple acts of dissent by claiming they constitute secession, sedition, subversion and other major crimes. They’ve used this latest law’s sweeping provisions and the 2020 National Security Law to prosecute activists, dissidents and journalists. Since 2020, Hong Kong authorities have arrested at least 365 people and convicted 174 under the two laws. People have been convicted for such trivial offences as wearing T-shirts with protest slogans.

The authorities’ determination to silence dissent was on display again in the aftermath of a horrendous apartment complex fire in November 2025, in which over 160 people died. People were arrested for social media posts calling for accountability . Student Miles Kwan Ching-fung was detained and expelled from university after starting an online petition urging an independent investigation. China’s national security office in Hong Kong warned foreign journalists about negative coverage of the government’s response.

Hong Kong once had one of Asia’s most vibrant media environments, but now it ranks 140th out of 180 on the Reporters Without Borders World Press Freedom Index. In February, media owner Jimmy Lai, whose Apple Daily newspaper championed democracy, received a 20-year sentence under the National Security Law. Lai has been detained under multiple charges since 2019, often in solitary confinement. At 78 years old with diabetes and other reported health problems, he faces dying in jail. Despite Lai’s British citizenship, China has refused international appeals for his release.

The campaign against Lai continues, with four bookshop staff arrested in March on suspicion of selling copies of his biography, deemed a seditious publication. The authorities’ attempts to suppress the book are part of their wider cultural censorship, which extends to banning films, barring publishers from book fairs and demanding the blocking of YouTube videos of the protest anthem ‘Glory to Hong Kong’. In the face of this repression, many civil society organisations, media outlets and political parties have concluded that their only option is to close down.

In these circumstances, it will continue to fall on the diaspora to keep shining a light on the suppression of basic civic freedoms in Hong Kong. States where Hong Kong’s exiles live must be alert to the threats of China’s transnational repression and defend and protect exiled activists. They must confront the full scope of this repression, or be complicit in 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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A rare glimpse of a snow leopard prowling through the high-altitude wilderness of Kangchendzonga National Park, captured by a trail camera. Credit: WWF/Sikkim

By Diwash Gahatraj
SIKKIM, India, Jun 17 2026 (IPS)

The tea arrives before the conversation starts. Jayanta Mukhia sets two cups on the wooden table and pulls up a chair across from the couple who arrived that afternoon with trekking poles and rucksacks. They have come to walk the Goechala trail into the heart of Khangchendzonga National Park in India. They will leave in two days. Before they go, she has something to tell them.

Jayanta asks if they know what happens to the garbage they carry in. Some of it comes back out. Some of it does not. In the high pastures above Yuksom, a town in West Sikkim, the trail climbs toward the glaciers, and plastic bags caught in the rocks stay there through winter. Army camps, tourists, and trekking groups – they all leave something behind. That waste feeds dogs that follow the trails running through the same corridors where snow leopards move at night.

Jayanta Mukhia outside the Chungda Hidden Family Homestay in Yuksom, West Sikkim. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

Her husband, Chungda Sherpa, started the Chungda Hidden Family Homestay in Yuksom in 2012, when he was still a trekking guide who knew every switchback on the Goechala route. Today he handles the bookings, the outreach, and the digital presence that brings guests from cities they have never visited. Jayanta runs everything else, the kitchen, the guests, the conversations at the wooden table, and the quiet insistence that every person who sleeps under her roof leaves the park cleaner than they found it.

“The homestay earns between eight and ten lakhs (about USD 8,400 to 10,500) a year. That income exists because the park exists,” she says.

According to Tshering Uden of the Khangchendzonga Conservation Committee, Yuksom has 15 hotels, 25 homestays and more than 21 travel agencies registered under the local Panchayat, all of whose income depends directly on Khangchendzonga’s ecological health. Their collective livelihood runs on the same high-altitude corridors where Sikkim’s 21 snow leopards live.

A hiker admires the view in the Khangchendzonga National Park. Credit: Tshering Uden, KCC.

Guardian of the High-Altitude

Known locally as Saagey, the snow leopard is revered as a sacred guardian of the high-altitude ecosystem in Sikkimese Buddhist tradition, its conservation inseparable from the beliefs and pastoral lifestyles of the communities that share its landscape. Khangchendzonga National Park, inscribed as India’s first mixed natural and cultural UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2016, sits at the heart of this landscape.

India’s first national snow leopard population assessment surveyed the Trans-Himalayan region between 2019 and 2023, deploying camera traps at nearly 2,000 locations across about 120,000 square kilometres and counting 718 snow leopards across six Himalayan states and union territories. Sikkim recorded 21, a modest figure in a rugged landscape where the cats share space with herders, trekkers and Dzo transporters. The SECURE Himalaya project, supported by the Global Environment Facility, helped make that count possible by building community-based monitoring capacity across the high mountains, demonstrating that conservation works best when local communities are invested in it.

This is a hyperlocal account of what that investment built in one corner of a much larger effort.

Buddhist stupas covered in flags serve as a spiritual landmark on high-altitude trekking trails, such as those leading to Mount Kanchenjunga. Credit: Tshering Uden, KCC

SECURE Himalaya ran for nearly seven years across four Himalayan states: Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Sikkim and the Union Territory of Ladakh. In Sikkim, it focused on the Khangchendzonga-Upper Teesta landscape – roughly 4,000 square kilometres from Khangchendzonga National Park down to the upper catchment of the Teesta River. Backed by a GEF grant of USD 11.5 million and over USD 60 million in co-financing from the Government of India, the funding went into four interconnected areas: conserving key biodiversity zones, securing sustainable community livelihoods, reducing human-wildlife conflict, and building knowledge systems for long-term landscape management.

In Sikkim, this translated into camera trap networks, community patrol volunteers, women’s handicraft enterprises, and waste management systems all designed around a single argument: that communities with an economic stake in a healthy landscape will protect it.

The project received a Highly Satisfactory rating from independent evaluators for results, relevance and efficiency. Khangchendzonga National Park recorded one of the largest improvements in management effectiveness across all project sites.

One of the project’s most practical interventions targeted feral dogs, which had become a dominant predator in North Sikkim, chasing snow leopards from their kills and hunting the blue sheep and pika the cats depend on. “The project worked with army establishments in Sikkim to set up biodigester facilities in strategic locations to manage food waste from army camps, which helped directly address the feral dog problem,” says Ruchi Pant, who oversaw SECURE Himalaya’s reporting at UNDP India. “The army subsequently scaled up these biodigesters using their own resources.” The initiative has continued independently, one of several project interventions that continues even though the project’s funding has ended.

Young volunteers were trained as Himal Rakshaks, protectors of the Himalaya, to set camera traps, patrol Khangchendzonga National Park and report sightings. The Sikkim Forest Department has since integrated them into its regular operations, with volunteers supporting fire line management and routine monitoring alongside forest guards. The State Biodiversity Board has constituted 196 Biodiversity Management Committees across Sikkim, many of them women-led, operating under the Biological Diversity Act 2002.

Nedup Bhutia’s dzo loaded with trekking supplies at the Yuksom trailhead, West Sikkim, ready for the Goechala trek into Khangchendzonga National Park. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

In Yuksom, the results were visible in ways the community could measure. The KCC trained trekking guides, porters and tourism operators to monitor trails, manage waste and report wildlife sightings. The project’s midterm review cited its zero-waste management model as a national best practice. In 2022, the programme was formally handed over to the Yuksam Gram Panchayat Unit and now runs under the Block Administrative Centre, according to Tshering Uden — a concrete example of the institutional transition the project was designed to achieve. Blue sheep, rarely seen in the national park before the project, are now a regular presence on the slopes. More blue sheep means a more reliable prey base for snow leopards, and fewer reasons for the cats to come down and take livestock.

“Before the project we only heard about snow leopards in our area,” says Tshering Uden. “Now we have picture evidence.”

Tents in the valley of the Khangchendzonga National Park. The zero-waste aspect of its zero-waste management model, including from visitors to the park, has been cited as a national best practice. Credit: Tshering Uden, KCC

A Shift in Mindset

Udai Gurung of the Sikkim Forest Department says the project changed the department’s fundamental orientation. “The biggest shift was conceptual,” he says. “The forest department moved from a protection-centric model to a landscape-level, coexistence-based approach.”

The project ended in 2024. GEF funding was always designed to be temporary and not a permanent handhold but a spark for something that continues under its own momentum. By that measure, the terminal evaluation rated the project highly satisfactory for results, relevance and efficiency, while assessing sustainability as moderately likely, noting that targets were met in full and, in some instances, exceeded.

The long-term expectation, consistent with how all GEF projects are designed, is that technical capacity and systems developed under the project are handed over to the government to carry forward.

In Sikkim, that transition is underway. Gurung identifies the slow release of funds as the single biggest structural challenge throughout implementation, not a shortage of money, but a bureaucratic delay in releasing funds already allocated. In high-altitude Sikkim, where the working season is a matter of weeks, entire field seasons were lost waiting for approvals. “Capacity exists,” he says, “but long-term sustainability will require consistent financial and institutional support.”

That support now rests primarily with local and state authorities. The Himal Rakshaks operate within the Sikkim Forest Department. The BMCs sit under the State Biodiversity Board. The zero-waste programme runs under the Yuksam Block Administrative Centre.

Jayanta Mukhia outside the Chungda Hidden Family Homestay in Yuksom, West Sikkim. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

Women in North Sikkim continue weaving nettle fibre and accessing premium markets independently.

In May 2023, Sikkim announced its first biodiversity heritage site – Tunkyong Dho – a sacred lake in Dzongu supported by the local biodiversity management committee. UNDP remains involved at a smaller scale through the German IKI ICCA programme, a portion of which continues to support the Himalayan landscape.

The most concrete unfinished work is the compensation system for herders. Pema Yangden Lepcha, a researcher and project associate at the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment’s Himalaya Initiative in Gangtok, has spent months talking to yak herders in North Sikkim.

Herders there recently told her they had lost five yaks to snow leopard predation. An adult yak costs between 80,000 and 100,000 rupees. Government compensation is a fraction of that, and most predation happens on Forest Department land where herders are often told the department cannot help.

“They have a very negative attitude toward snow leopards,” Pema says, “and often feel a strong urge to retaliate.” Closing that gap so that herders who bear the cost of coexistence are fairly compensated is the single most urgent task for the local authorities now responsible for this landscape.

Nedup Bhutia’s dzo loaded with trekking supplies at the Yuksom trailhead, West Sikkim, ready for the Goechala trek into Khangchendzonga National Park. Credit: Diwash Gahatraj/IPS

Carrying it Forward

On the trail, Nedup Bhutia has walked the Goechala route for twenty years with his eleven dzo. He earns between one and one and a half lakhs each trekking season, porting visitors into the park. He has never seen a snow leopard. But three years ago, a two-year-old ox was found dead in the open in Jhamtong village on the park’s periphery, killed by a snow leopard overnight. For Nedup, it is proof of a landscape still alive.

In Yuksom, at the wooden table in Chungda Hidden Family Homestay, Jayanta Mukhia is refilling two cups of tea. Her guests leave tomorrow. They will carry their garbage out. She has made sure of it.

The 21 snow leopards are still there. The communities are still working. The project succeeded by every measure the evaluators applied. What happens next depends not on outside funding but on whether the institutions and communities that inherited this work choose to build on it. That is where the responsibility now sits and where the real test of SECURE Himalaya’s legacy begins.

Note: This feature is published with the support of the GEF. IPS is solely responsible for the editorial content, and it does not necessarily reflect the views of the GEF.
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Overcoming political divisions between Pro-France Loyalists and the Pro-Independence movement is a major challenge in ongoing negotiations between the French Government and leaders in New Caledonia to define the territory's future political status. Credit: Catherine Wilson/IPS

By Catherine Wilson
SYDNEY, Jun 17 2026 (IPS)

The French overseas territory of New Caledonia in the Pacific will hold elections on 28 June in the wake of the latest agreement on its political status with France being rejected. The representatives elected in the three provincial assemblies and territorial congress will then determine a new round of negotiations as the mission of achieving consensus on New Caledonia’s future continues.

New Caledonia is one of 17 non-self-governing territories due for decolonisation according to the United Nations. However, its highly divided politics is a major obstacle to reaching a unified agreement on its future. An estimated 41 percent of New Caledonia’s population of about 265,000 people are Kanak islanders, of whom most are Pro-Independence supporters, and about 24 percent are European, predominantly Loyalist voters.

“Our people are entitled to the exercise of their inalienable right to self-determination… with a cycle of inclusive dialogues open to all components of our society, including youth, women, customary authorities and economic actors,” Pierre Chanel Tein Tutugoro, President of the Pro-Independence UC (Caledonian Union) Party in the FLNKS (Kanak and Socialist National Liberation Front) coalition, stated last year.

It is a view that resonates widely across the Pro-Independence movement. “Whatever the outcome [of the election], the state must play a strictly neutral role, working towards the emancipation of the Kanak people,” Maurice Sitrita, an Independence supporter in Noumea, told IPS. And in any future agreement, “the inclusion of Kanak sovereignty in the French constitution must not be called into question so that we can build the country together.”

Doriane Nonmoira of the Union of Francophone Women of Oceania, in New Caledonia, told IPS that there are currently five women candidates vying for primary seats in the June vote, including three Kanak women. “The upcoming elections will be the scene of a significant political transition for the country,” she said, emphasising that “decolonisation from France” was essential.

Meanwhile, the Pro-France Loyalists bloc is campaigning to strengthen security, the economy and unity while defending their place in the French Republic.

New Caledonia is considered a wealthy territory. Its GDP per capita is USD 29,213, compared to USD 6,425 in the nearby Melanesian state of Fiji, according to the World Bank, but there is deep inequality. A high standard of living, most visible in the capital, Nouméa, is supported by major annual funding of about 1.5 billion euros (USD 1.7 billion) by the French Government. Despite efforts to bridge the development gap, the poverty rate is still 30 percent higher in the outer Loyalty Islands, where the population is mostly Kanak, compared to the central Southern Province.

The last pact with France was the Noumea Accord, signed in 1998, following Kanak protests about dispossession and disenfranchisement in the 1980s. It stipulated the right of New Caledonia to hold referendums on its future. And following indigenous opposition to France’s policy of encouraging European migration to the islands, the territory’s electoral roll was restricted to Kanaks and long-term settlers only.

Kanaks are now better represented in the territory’s politics. From 2004 to 2014, the number of Loyalist seats held in the 54 seat New Caledonia Congress diminished from 36 to 29, while those held by Pro-Independence members increased from 18 to 25. And the current representative of New Caledonia in the National Assembly in Paris, Emmanuel Tjibaou, is a Pro-Independence Kanak leader from the rural North Province.

But three referendums on Independence have not led to a political solution. The first vote held in 2018 resulted in Loyalists securing 57 percent of votes, followed by 53 percent in the second 2020 referendum. The third vote in 2021, boycotted during the pandemic by the majority of Kanaks, saw an overwhelming 96.5 percent oppose Independence, an outcome that has never been accepted by the Independence movement.

Today a new strain of activism for self-determination is driven by the younger Kanak generation. They were a major presence in street protests that erupted in May 2024 following the French Government’s plan to expand the territorial electoral roll to include thousands of recent settlers. The electoral reform bill was then suspended after unrest resulted in loss of life, the destruction of homes, infrastructure and a shattered economy.

Last year, Manuel Valls, Minister for Overseas France, led new talks with both political camps to work toward a new pact on relations. The outcome was the Bougival Accord, an agreement of compromises, signed on 12 July 2025. It offered a New Caledonian ‘state’ within the larger nation of France with a further devolution of powers, such as foreign affairs, although France would retain defence and security. However, after further consultations, the UC party rejected the agreement in August. ‘As far as we’re concerned, Bougival, it’s over,’ Mickaël Forrest, UC Vice-President, told local media, claiming that ‘the document is perceived as a project for an agreement to integrate (New Caledonia) into France under the guise of a decolonization.’

France is unwilling to severe ties with New Caledonia, which represents a major strategic asset in the Pacific. It expands France’s exclusive economic zone, provides an important military and naval base in the region and inclusion in Pacific leadership forums.

However, Dr Pierre-Christophe Pantz, a researcher at the University of New Caledonia, told IPS that “the trauma of the events of 2024 has also played an important role [in negotiations], producing a coercive effect on national political leaders, who are often led to seek a rapid stabilisation of the local political system” rather than a sustainable long-term solution. But he added that “it is questionable whether there is any likelihood of an agreement that will have the unanimous support of all New Caledonian political forces.”

Yet the final failure of the Bougival Accord occurred in the French National Assembly, when parties across the political spectrum, legal experts and New Caledonia’s representative rejected the constitutional reform bill on 2 April.

Final preparations are now being made for this month’s election in which, despite protests two years ago, there will be an increased number of voters. In May, the French Constitutional Council approved the voter roll to include an extra 10,500 residents, both Kanak and non-Kanak, who were born in New Caledonia after 1998. French Prime Minister Sébastien Lecornu said the reform was imperative to recognize the democratic rights of all people living in New Caledonia, with the restricted roll now denying 17 percent their right to vote.

The vote “should contribute to reshuffling the cards of the political balance of power in New Caledonia”, Pantz predicted, and “future negotiations will depend very directly on their updated electoral weight, which could strengthen or weaken certain political lines.”

At the same time, Nonmoira stressed there was a need for women’s voices, especially Kanak women’s, to be heard in political discussions, with their current absence leading to their exclusion in the territory’s future. “In a future agreement, France should be committed to legal and institutional decolonisation; New Caledonia should be accountable to CEDAW (Committee on Elimination of Discrimination against Women) and it should be stated that gender equality is an essential lever for building a peaceful future,” she declared, adding that “there will be no decolonisation without gender justice.”

After the election, all parties have committed to resume talks with France in July. But they will occur in an environment of uncertainty until the outcome of the next French Presidential Election in 2027.

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The Russian state has, through legislation and stigmatising rhetoric, systematically worked to isolate the LGBTQ+ community. Graphic: IPS

By Ed Holt
BRATISLAVA, Jun 16 2026 (IPS)

LGBTQ+ people in Russia are being forced to increasingly use self-censoring strategies in their daily lives as they struggle with systemic vulnerability, one of the largest surveys of the LGBTQ+ community in the country has shown.

The latest annual survey of more than 6,000 people across Russia by the Coming Out and Sphere Foundation organisations showed that, in 2025, the situation for the community had neither improved nor significantly worsened.

But it showed a reinforcement of existing adaptive strategies among LGBTQ+ people, including selective approaches to coming out and avoidance of situations in which their gender identity or sexual orientation could be revealed.

There was also an increase in some forms of abuse, particularly in online spaces, and threats of violence, extortion, denunciation, and pressure from close circles continued to contribute significantly to the everyday vulnerability of LGBTQ+ people.

The groups say the findings reinforce the perception that LGBTQ+ people in Russia – where a series of repressive laws demonising and persecuting the community – are likely to face persistently high levels of vulnerability and threats to their safety, health, and quality of life for some time to come as they come under attack simply for being who they are.

“Our data shows that repression of LGBTQ+ people has moved from persecution for specific actions to persecution for their identity, for who a person is, not what they do. There are more and more legal cases against people who are living their lives, not doing anything against the government or trying to promote human rights,” Denis Oleinik, Executive Director at Coming Out, told IPS.

“What we have seen in 2025 is a “normalisation” or “routinisation” of catastrophe. LGBTQ+ people now just live with [the situation], with these things happening. It’s as if this has become normal life. It’s absolutely horrible,” he added.

Russia’s LGBTQ+ community has faced increasing discrimination and marginalisation for more than a decade.

While there has historically been a degree of anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment in Russian society, this has deepened significantly with the introduction of a series of laws and increasingly hostile government policies against the community.

In 2013, not long after Vladimir Putin had returned to power as president, a law was implemented banning “the propaganda of non-traditional sexual relations” to anyone under the age of 18.

The start of what critics say has been a decade-long campaign by the Kremlin to marginalise and vilify the LGBTQ+ community in the country, the law was extended in 2022 to cover all public information or activities supporting LGBTQ+ rights or displaying non-heterosexual orientation, regardless of age.

A ban on same-sex marriage was also written into the constitution, and in 2023, legislation was passed banning transgender people from officially or medically changing their gender.

The same year also saw a ruling by the Supreme Court, which outlawed the non-existent ‘international LGBT movement’, declaring it ‘extremist’ – allowing people to be fined or prosecuted for anything that could be construed as promoting “non-traditional sexual relations”.

At the same time, homophobic political discourse has become increasingly normalised, as the Kremlin has looked to promote ‘traditional family values’ in society and cast LGBTQ+ activism as a product of a degenerate West and a threat to Russia.

This has fuelled a growingly virulent and often violent rejection of LGBTQ+ people in large parts of society and has left many in the community fearing for their physical and mental health.

Grigory*, an LGBTQ+ student from a major city in Russia, said they were selective in revealing their sexuality and gender identity and that while they do not live in permanent fear of physical attacks, they have adjusted their behaviour to avoid certain locations.

“Sometimes in the evenings I avoid certain places because I could be considered stereotypically gay, perhaps because of my voice or the way I walk. I don’t hide my sexuality in public, but I don’t manifest it either,” they said, adding that this was easier for them than for some other members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“Transgender people suffer the worst problems. It must be very hard for someone to be transgender in Russia. They are so brave and strong. I’m astonished they can keep going,” they said.

The Coming Out and Sphere Foundation showed the situation for transgender people in the vast majority of indicators for quality of life, including specific measures of discrimination and well-being, was worse than for other members of the LGBTQ+ community. Notably, they were significantly more likely to face physical threats and experience actual physical violence, including sexual and domestic violence, more frequently than other LGBTQ+ people.

“A lot of trans people right now live their whole lives at home without even going outside to the shops if they have access to courier services or some relatives or friends who can help them buy what they need. We’re seeing this more and more,” said Oleinik.

Grigory said they felt, along with many others in the community, if not fear of physical attacks, a specific sense of aggression towards them.

“I feel it indirectly. It comes through government narratives in the media and in the public sphere, or in something an acquaintance might say. Queerphobia in Russia is mainly government-induced. Of course it existed before all these awful laws, but it wasn’t that strong. The laws have made it much worse,” they said.

LGBTQ+ rights campaigners say the patterns of behaviour among the community in Russia described in the report are unsurprising given the years of growing repression against them.

“When marginalisation and criminalisation on any grounds are a long-term feature of daily life, people develop ways of managing their daily exposure to harm,” Anastasia Smirnova, Deputy Director and Director of Programmes at rights group ILGA-Europe, told IPS.

She added, though, that LGBTQ+ people in Russia were facing a very specific challenge, as the Russian state has, through increasingly harsh legislation and stigmatising rhetoric, systematically worked to isolate LGBTQ+ human rights defenders and then LGBTQ+ people from each other and from everyone around them as part of a broader dismantling of the conditions for free association and dissent.

“This is what makes it different from social prejudice: it is not a reflection of society, it is a project of the state, and its target is civic life. For many people living through this, the daily acts of self-censorship described in the report are the lived reality of that project,” Smirnova said.

The potential harms of such actions on individuals and the wider community are severe, with impacts on both mental and physical health as individuals are left isolated and in some cases afraid to access healthcare.

“The impact on children is particularly severe. State propaganda targeting schools, the absence of age-appropriate relationship and sex education, and the climate of fear surrounding LGBTI topics leave young people exposed to extreme harm and isolation, especially children who are themselves LGBTI or have LGBTI family members, but also any child who might be perceived as LGBTI,” said Smirnova.

While the report did not show a significant deterioration in a number of indicators compared to previous years – in fact there was a slight improvement in some areas – its authors warn this could be misleading, highlighting that the report relied on the willingness of respondents to “share sensitive information in an increasingly oppressive environment” and that real levels of discrimination and violence could be higher.

Whatever the true levels of discrimination against the community are in Russia, many people are suffering gravely in the current environment.

Grigory said they are currently in therapy, partly to help them deal with the challenges of being LGBTQ+ in Russia.

They said that among the community, “thoughts of killing oneself and suicide attempts are pretty common.”

LGBTQ+ people and activists in touch or working directly with members of the community who spoke to IPS said substance abuse, or self-medication through unsupervised use of anti-depressants, was not uncommon either.

Trying to get help for such problems is difficult though amid mistrust of state health institutions because of widespread homo- and transphobia and concerns over staff potentially breaching patient confidentiality about sexuality.

As the pressure on LGBTQ+ people continues, many feel they have had no choice but to leave the country.

The annual report included responses from hundreds of people who had emigrated, both in 2025 and in the last few years before that.

Severe anxiety and psychological discomfort were the most commonly cited reasons for emigration (66%), while other major reasons included intensified censorship (59%), personal safety risk (57%), and increased homophobia and transphobia in Russian society (57%).

Tellingly, the majority of participants who had emigrated (63%) did not consider returning to Russia an option – a rise of 8 percentage points on the previous year.

This is perhaps unsurprising, given that many in the community see little or no prospect of the situation in Russia improving for many years.

“Many things have changed in the last few years, not just in Russia but all around the world – the far right is winning everywhere, and LGBTQ rights are under attack all over the world. I’m not expecting anything good to happen inside Russia in the next five to ten years,” said Oleinik.

But others say that despite, or perhaps because of, the report’s findings, there is an even greater need now for LGBTQ+ people in Russia and groups both inside and outside the country to do whatever they can to resist the state’s ongoing repression of the community.

“There is an important distinction to draw between acknowledging that a democratic reversal in Russia is not on the near horizon and concluding that nothing can or should be done in the meantime. The power of the Russian state, backed by resource wealth and a willingness to use every available instrument of repression, is real and cannot be minimised. And yet what we see from our position, working in support of human rights organisations, defenders, organisers, and activists, is not resignation, but realism paired with determination,” said Smirnova.

“People are continuing to organise, even though the time horizons are long and murky and the measures of ‘value’ of the organising are different from what they might be somewhere else. But keeping the lights on for the possible forms of civic engagement, critical thought, and solidarity is a form of resistance that does have long-term value,” she added.

Oleinik vowed his organisation would not be giving up on LGBTQ+ people in Russia.

“We need to continue our work, our support, because we know that LGBTQ+ people in Russia need us. Right now it might look like there is little hope of positive change, but that does not mean we should stop what we are doing,” he said.

*Name changed for security reasons

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An illustration by Serhiy Ofitserov, a Ukrainian civilian currently held in Russian captivity. Serhiy began drawing while in prison; here is a view of his prison cell. Courtesy: Hennadiy Ofitserov

By Mykhailo Savva and Oleh Martynenko
KYIV, Jun 16 2026 (IPS)

People often discuss Russia’s aggressive war against Ukraine in terms of drones, missiles, shifting front lines, and territorial borders. But this war has another dimension — the human one.

More than 90,000 Ukrainians are considered missing under special circumstances. These are official data. Some of them are currently held captive by Russia — both prisoners of war and civilians. The latter ended up behind bars when Russian forces occupied the territories where they lived.

In March 2026, in an interview with Axios, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said that the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump sees no other way to end the war except by handing over the entire Donbas to Russia. But it is important to understand this – it is not just about land but also about the people who live there. And occupation is not peace.

Mykhailo Savva is a Doctor of Political Sciences and an expert at the Center for Civil Liberties.

Oleh Martynenko is a Doctor of Law, a Professor, a criminologist, a veteran of Russia’s war against Ukraine, and also an expert at the Center for Civil Liberties.

‘The Chain of Persecution’

The terrorisation of the civilian population is one of the tactics that Russia is using in its war against Ukraine. Imprisonment has become a punishment for failing to comply with the rules established by the occupying authorities.

At the heart of this system lies what might be called “the chain of persecution.” This pattern is repeated in all occupied regions.

Stage 1: Identification. Local officials, teachers, journalists, volunteers, and ordinary residents who express even the simplest pro-Ukrainian views come under the scrutiny of the occupying authorities. Sometimes, an overheard conversation or a social media post is enough.

Russia has been using this method since 2014: it tested it in occupied Crimea and later expanded it to all occupied territories. For example, in March 2026,  a resident of Alupka was arrested in  Crimea after Russian security forces accused him of “justifying terrorism” based on posts in a messaging app.

The words on this drawing are “Hold on. I’m holding on.” This phrase reflects the emotional state of both those held in captivity and those waiting for their loved ones to return from imprisonment. The illustrator, Serhiy Ofitserov, has been in detention since August 2022. In January 2026, he was sentenced to 17 years on fabricated charges; he turned 50 in May. Courtesy: Hennadiy Ofitserov

Stage 2. Enforced disappearance. Detainees are not officially registered. Their whereabouts are concealed or denied. Relatives are left in the dark. This is done deliberately so that everything that happens next remains beyond their control.

Stage 3. Cruel treatment. Torture is not an exception but a systematic practice. Survivors describe beatings, electric shocks, mock executions, and prolonged deprivation of food and water. Sexual violence is used against both men and women.

“They’d take a person out into the hallway, where there were no cameras, where everyone was, let’s say, on their side. No one would object. And there, they’d simply beat the person as much as they saw fit. They used stun guns. And this was with about 10 to 12 people there. If not more. They said, “You’ve had your little taste of life – well, that’s enough – you’ve already experienced what it’s like. You won’t have any more of that,’” recalls Viktoria Andrusha, a teacher whom the occupiers took from her parents’ home on September 25, 2022.

During the search, they found messages on her phone from chatbots about the movement of Russian military equipment. Viktoria was accused of “spying” and taken away: first, she was held in a makeshift detention centre in the boiler room of the neighbouring village of Novy Bykiv, and later in a pre-trial detention centre in the Kursk region of Russia. She was released in October 2023.

Stage 4: The Sham Trial. Detainees are often transported over long distances. Such transfers sever ties with their communities, complicate search efforts, and further deprive people of legal protection.

Next comes the “trial”, which merely mimics legality. Civilians are prosecuted on trumped-up charges — extremism, terrorism, or espionage.

For example, Yana Suvorova, the administrator of the Telegram channel “Melitopol Is Ukraine”, was sentenced to 14 years in a general-regime penal colony after nearly two years of unlawful detention. The verdict was handed down by the Southern District Military Court of Rostov-on-Don on October 23, 2025.

Southern District Military Court of Rostov-on-Don, October 23, 2025.

Stage 5: Imprisonment. People are placed in a network of detention facilities where supervision is minimal or nonexistent. Conditions are often inhumane. Contact with families is restricted or completely prohibited. For many, this stage becomes indefinite.

What the world will face if this is not stopped

Each of these stages violates human rights and international norms. But together, they form something more—a system in which crimes against humanity occur sequentially and reinforce one another.

Persecution, unlawful detention, deportation, enforced disappearances, torture, sexual violence, and imprisonment are not isolated incidents. They are parts of a single, integrated, and deliberate structure.

The goal of this system is to consolidate control over the occupied territories, create an atmosphere of fear, and force people to submit to imposed rules—legal, administrative, and educational. The message is clear: people are expected to be submissive. In effect, the occupation is turning into a form of criminal governance.

This poses a question to the international community: if such systems are allowed to operate without consequences, what precedent will this set for future conflicts?

Normalising the “chain of persecution” risks cementing these practices as tools of modern warfare. And then this model of control will extend far beyond Ukraine’s borders. Therefore, the issue of accountability concerns more than just Ukraine. The task is complex—but the law is clear.

All that remains is the will to act. If that will is lacking, this practice will become the norm rather than the exception. And the price for this will be paid not only by those currently behind bars, but also by the very integrity of international law.

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Afghan media workers face growing restrictions under Taliban rule, with women journalists pushed further from reporting, broadcasting and public visibility. Credit: Learning Together.

By External Source
KABUL, Jun 11 2026 (IPS)

Afghanistan ranks 175th in the Reporters Without Borders Press Freedom Index this year. Out of 180 countries on the list, only Iran, Syria, China, North Korea and Eritrea ranked lower than Afghanistan.

Arrests narrow opportunities for work

The Taliban’s arrests and imprisonment of journalists have further narrowed opportunities for journalism.

Several prominent journalists are currently in prison. They include Shakib Ahmad Nazari, who is reportedly being held for collaborating with international media outlets. He was arrested in 2025 and sentenced to three years in prison according to sources.

Spokespersons for government ministries and agencies are reluctant to speak to female journalists and often do not even provide basic information or short statements. In the past, we had to sit in the last row of benches at press conferences, but recently we have not even been allocated seats anymore

Hamid Farhadi, a prominent freelance journalist, was arrested in September 2024 while working for foreign media outlets and the Afghan Etilaat Roz media outlet. He was sentenced to two years in prison. According to the human rights organization Amnesty International, Farhadi was sentenced without right to legal representation.

His arrest was allegedly related to a report he made for foreign media outlets about the situation of women and girls in Afghanistan.

The media in Afghanistan is overseen by the Taliban-run Audit Commission. Journalist and former member of the commission, Bashir Hatef, was arrested in 2025 for collaborating with foreign media and sentenced to two years in prison.

Self-censorship has become a daily routine

The arrests of male journalists, however, pale in comparison to the situation of female journalists, who face professional restrictions and are subject to gender-based discrimination. Over the past four years, many have been threatened, arrested, banned from work or treated violently.

Samandar (name changed) has 13 years of experience in television and radio. According to her, journalists currently do not have the right to criticize the Taliban, officials or state institutions.

Journalists are also not able to choose their guests freely. Only experts approved by the Taliban can be invited to programs that cover politics. Regular street interviews are practically impossible.

“We are forced to self-censor or our employer gets into trouble and we are threatened with imprisonment. So we remove criticism of the Taliban from our programs,” says Samandar.

Self-censorship is also visible in practice. A well-known television channel in Kabul – whose name will not be revealed for security reasons – was planning a program on the role of women journalists in communication.

Everything was ready and guests had been invited. However, the program had to be canceled because it was feared that the discussion would cause problems for both the channel and the guests.

Female journalists face double restrictions

Salma (name changed) is a female journalist with a journalism degree and nine years of work experience. She describes how spokespersons for government ministries and agencies are reluctant to speak to female journalists and often do not even provide basic information or short statements.

Routine press conference arrangements have also changed, she says. “In the past, we had to sit in the last row of benches at press conferences, but recently we have not even been allocated seats anymore.”

According to her, separate rooms have been built for women, from where they can follow the events but not participate in them equally.

“A partition has been erected in the hall, and we are forced to sit in a separate booth. We can only listen to the speeches of officials but are not allowed to ask questions.”

Even when questions are allowed in exceptional cases, limits are placed on what can be asked. “On rare occasions, when questions are allowed, we are not allowed to ask anything critical.”

Questions can only be asked at certain events where Taliban-approved officials, such as Zabihullah Mujahid, are present. He is considered somewhat more flexible in his approach to female journalists.

According to Salma, the restrictions do not end there. Movement and work are closely monitored.

“At press conferences, officials from the Taliban’s Ministry of Virtue and Prevention of Vice demand to know who we are with and whether we have a male escort.”

Salma also criticizes news directors who favor male journalists. According to her, it is well known in newsrooms that women are practically prevented from doing normal journalistic work and that Taliban representatives do not want to talk to female journalists.

“In most media outlets, we are not treated as employees but rather as interns who are paid only for our travel expenses. The media outlets take advantage of the restrictions imposed by the Taliban on female journalists.”

According to Salma, many women accept the situation because there are few options.

“In addition to the restrictions imposed by the Taliban, we are forced to tolerate this abuse so that we are not completely excluded from editorial and media work.”

No more female journalists in many provinces

Due to Taliban restrictions, female journalists are required to be accompanied by a male guardian even when they are supposed to be at work elsewhere, which is often practically impossible. Some women have left their jobs for fear that their family members could be arrested.

A writer in Kandahar, “Shazia,” uses a pseudonym. According to her, the restrictions on interviews imposed by the Taliban have significantly changed the way they work.

Male colleagues conduct the interviews, and female journalists have to rely on their recordings when writing their articles. Male colleagues are not always willing to cooperate in situations when follow-up questions or supplementary interviews are needed for a story.

Articles written by women are often published under the names of male colleagues. Women’s voices are not even allowed to be heard on the radio.

According to Reporters Without Borders, four out of five female journalists and media workers in Afghanistan lost their positions after the Taliban returned to power.

Before August 2021, there were 2,490 women working in the media, of whom only about 410 continued to work after the Taliban took power. According to the organization, there are no active female journalists in 15 of Afghanistan’s 34 provinces.

Ban on image further tightens surveillance

Freedom of speech in Afghanistan is also significantly restricted by the ban on the display of images of living beings.

According to the Afghan Journalists Center, the ban is in force in at least 23 provinces. Reports indicate that many media outlets have been forced to switch to audio-only format and at least 20 television stations have been closed.

Dwindling female journalists work in the media industry

Recent data highlights the scale of decline in Afghanistan’s media workforce. According to Naeem (not real name), a member of association of media organization, there are currently 4,073 male journalists and 746 female journalists working across the country.

Another female journalist, Nabila (not real name) provided similar figures, estimating that more than 4,700 journalists remain active, around 700 of them women.

These figures reflect a sharp contraction compared to previous years. According to Reporters Without Borders (RSF), there were previously around 700 women journalists working in Kabul alone; that number has now dropped to fewer than 100

Laila (name changed) was previously part of one of three women-led journalist associations and unions that supported female journalists before the Taliban returned to power.

She says none of these groups is active anymore. According to her, institutions and organizations can no longer be officially registered in women’s names under the Taliban regime.

The media sector in Afghanistan is also structurally restricted. There is no clear legal framework, live broadcasts are prohibited, the number of guests on programs is limited, and access to information is difficult.

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