Originally published on Global Voices

Students studying at a library in Wuyuan, China. Photo by Jason Hu on Pexels. Free to use.

By Salima Ennasabi

A growing number of African students are moving to China for higher education as economic and social pressures push many young people to seek opportunities abroad.

Between 2011 and 2018, the number of African students studying in Chinese higher education institutions increased from 20,744 to 81,562, making China the second most popular destination for African students, after France.

Morocco has emerged as one of the leading countries for students studying abroad, ranking 18th globally in 2022 with 74,289 students pursuing their education internationally.

Why are students leaving?

For Moroccan Gen Z, who struggle to keep up with living costs and who must rely on their families to stay afloat, studying abroad offers pathways to better education and job prospects that promise greater social protection and financial stability. 

In some European countries, as well as in China, graduates can secure jobs that allow them to live independently and plan for the future. This stability is often hard to find back home, where the unemployment rate among young people aged 15 to 24 reached an unprecedented 39.5 percent in the first half of 2025, according to a labor market report from the High Commission for Planning (HCP). 

Meanwhile, if they do find a job, the first average net salary for university graduates does not exceed MAD 4,959 (USD 550) monthly, which in cities like Casablanca or Rabat, where rent is exceptionally high, barely covers basic living costs. 

This reality leaves many feeling trapped in a system that fails to reward their efforts.

“There are no opportunities, and no choices,” 20-year-old Ihsan explained in a conversation with the Friedrich Neumann Foundation. “Some really talented people, smart geniuses, I would describe them, are working jobs that do not pay well. And it’s very unfortunate, because I would see myself being one of them in the future after getting my degree,” the English literature student added. 

Gen-Z protests

Frustration with these conditions led hundreds of young Moroccans to organize a series of protests that began on September 27. The protests, which faced backlash from authorities, demanded reforms in employment, healthcare, and education — critical sectors for the nation’s human capital development — as the education system continues to fail many students. 

Despite government efforts, including a budget increase to around 16.9 percent in 2021 (well above the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, OECD, average of 12.4 percent), systemic problems persist in higher education. Universities remain overcrowded, forcing some students to sit on floors. Resources are limited in science labs, leaving experiments to the students’ imagination. Access to quality programs differs significantly by region, making many move hundreds of kilometers away from their hometown to a new city where dormitories are full and scholarships are unavailable. 

It is no surprise that many young people are developing a mobility mindset, which creates a cycle of social peer pressure to leave the country, as Hakim describes from his own experience living near coastal cities closest to Spain. From the moment they are born, even children from well-off families hear that Europe is “heaven,” and they want to leave Morocco, influenced by cousins abroad or by what they see on television.

In response to this, educational agencies and content creators have capitalized on the rising demand for study-abroad options, transforming the educational consulting market in the process.

Content creators filling the information gap

Electronic word-of-mouth also plays a significant role in the increasing number of students moving to China. In Morocco, where about 97 percent of young people are active on social media, digital content created by local educational agencies and student-led promotions of Chinese universities tends to resonate more with prospective international students. This content uses simple, accessible language and offers a glimpse into the lives of content creators who are already studying in China and often come from similar social and financial backgrounds as their audience. 

Showing relatable experiences creates a bond between the audience and the agency or influencer, often in ways that feel more relatable and trustworthy than traditional campaigns.

One of these well-known influencers who shares China-related content is Alae Kandil. Through her channel on YouTube, which has 200,000 subscribers, she documents her life as an international student in Hangzhou, China.

In a two-part video series, Alae and Abderrahman Zahid, the founder of an intermediary agency called Tawjeeh, openly discuss their experiences as international students. They address important topics like safety, misconceptions about China in Western media, the quality of Chinese universities, and how to make the most of student life.

Content creators like Alae often exhibit a recurring pattern in their work. Their content is typically positive and constructive, emphasizing the lifestyle and benefits of studying in China rather than delving into the specifics of applications or paperwork.. This approach helps attract an audience while leaving space for paid services or educational agencies to provide more detailed support.

Content creators typically fall into two categories: those who stay in the influencer lane, focusing on monetizing their content and collaborating with educational agencies, and those who turn their work into a business by launching a formal agency.

Educational agencies as middlemen

Agencies operating in Morocco are often run by former students who use their firsthand experience of China to establish agencies across several cities, including Casablanca, Rabat, and Marrakesh.

Generally, there are two types of educational agencies. One is institution-focused, meaning they are contracted by universities to recruit students, and they receive a commission for every successful enrollment. The second type is student-focused; rather than being paid only by the universities, they charge students directly for helping them secure admission. They operate both online and offline through marketing campaigns on social media platforms, collaborations with influencers, and by organizing educational fairs.

Official agency websites indicate that when recruiting students, agencies focus on three factors: affordability, quality of education and job prospects. The last is less developed than in traditional destinations such as Canada and the UK, where pathways to residence or citizenship are often clear, even if increasingly difficult. 

In China, international students face a complicated process when converting a student visa (X-visa) into a work visa (Z-visa), which requires a job offer, employer sponsorship, and, in many cases, a minimum of two years’ work experience abroad, effectively forcing many graduates to return to their home countries. These restrictions, together with linguistic and cultural barriers, further reduce employment opportunities for international graduates.

Nevertheless, there remains a strong interest in studying in China, and educational agencies have found a ready market among Moroccan students, many of whom are unfamiliar with international application procedures, have limited access to funding information, and need guidance in navigating admissions and visa processes.

Some students report positive outcomes, while others encounter unethical practices that prioritize the agency’s interests over the students’ benefit. Walid Elamri, a content creator studying in China, made a video detailing how he was scammed by a well-known local agency that had promised him university acceptance for a one-year language program in China, along with visa support, only to find out the course was online, and he could not go to China. He had also compiled similar testimonials on his Instagram account to raise awareness about the fraudulent practices of some educational agencies in Morocco.

It remains uncertain how the growing influence of student content creators and educational agencies will shape the movement of Moroccan students to China and their experiences during this process. Given how little research exists on this topic, the long-term impact of these actors is unclear. Beyond this is a larger question: what will be the long-term impact on Morocco if its most educated and talented youth continue to leave?

Originally published on Global Voices

Destruction in Gaza. Photo by Jaber Jehad Badwan on Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 4.0).

By Masum Mahbub

A ceasefire was finally signed. Humanitarian organizations are scaling up operations to reach families facing famine after nearly two years of relentless bombardment and blockade, and the world is turning its attention to rebuilding.

But the destruction of Gaza is not only a humanitarian tragedy. It has unleashed one of the most severe environmental disasters of the 21st century. Two years of nonstop bombardment have flattened neighborhoods, poisoned the soil, and contaminated the water and air. As the world moves to rebuild, we must understand that the challenge ahead is not simply humanitarian or political.

As the head of an organization that has worked for decades at the nexus of humanitarian emergency response and climate change, I have witnessed how environmental degradation can cripple a community. However, what we are seeing in Gaza is something else entirely. It is not simply the collateral damage of war; it is the deliberate, systematic destruction of an entire environment.

This is ecocide, waged as a weapon to make the land uninhabitable and render any future for a self-sufficient Palestinian society impossible.

Systematic destruction

Over the last decade, Palestinians in Gaza were making remarkable strides in climate resilience despite a suffocating blockade. Gaza had developed one of the highest densities of rooftop solar panels in the world, a grassroots solution to a manufactured energy crisis. They were implementing plans to manage scarce water and adapt to a warming climate. These efforts were a testament to their perseverance, but Israel’s military campaign has systematically erased this progress.

These are not random acts of war. The annihilation of nearly 70 percent of Gaza’s agricultural land, the razing of ancient olive groves, the obliteration of water pipelines, and the destruction of all five wastewater treatment plants are calculated blows against the very foundations of life.

When Israeli forces pump seawater into underground tunnels, they risk the permanent saline poisoning of Gaza's only significant aquifer, the primary source of drinking water for over two million people. When bombs target rooftop solar arrays, they sever a lifeline of independent electricity for homes and hospitals.

Monumental carbon event

The environmental toll extends far beyond Gaza’s borders, creating a carbon “boot print” with global consequences. In the first 60 days alone, the conflict generated an estimated 281,000 metric tons of CO₂, more than the annual carbon footprint of over 20 of the world's most climate-vulnerable nations combined.

Over 99 percent of these emissions are attributable to Israel’s aerial and ground operations. And the climate cost will continue long after the last bomb falls.

The reconstruction of Gaza is projected to be a monumental carbon event. Rebuilding the estimated 100,000 destroyed buildings could release an additional 30 million metric tons of CO₂, on par with the annual emissions of a country like New Zealand.

The unfolding famine in Gaza is a direct consequence of this environmental warfare. Starvation is not a byproduct of the conflict; it is a tool. When you destroy farms, annihilate 70 percent of the fishing fleet, and contaminate water sources with 130,000 cubic meters of raw sewage daily, you create famine. When you litter the landscape with 37 million tons of toxic rubble and unexploded ordnance, you make the land itself a threat to its inhabitants. The air is thick with pulverized concrete, asbestos, and heavy metals. With tens of thousands of bodies decomposing under the rubble, pathogens will continue to leach into the soil and groundwater for years.

How to make Gaza liveable again?

The cost of rebuilding Gaza is therefore unlike anything we have ever faced. It goes far beyond bricks and mortar. How do you decontaminate an entire aquifer? How do you restore topsoil that has been systematically bulldozed and poisoned with white phosphorus? How do you clear millions of tons of debris laced with carcinogens?

Making Gaza livable again will require a global effort on an unprecedented scale, one focused not just on infrastructure but on deep ecological restoration.

Rebuilding Gaza will test not only our compassion but our collective conscience. The ceasefire may have silenced the bombs, but it has not ended the damage to the land, the water, or the atmosphere we all share. What happens next will show whether the world has learned anything from this catastrophe.

We can rebuild walls and roads, or we can rebuild responsibly by healing Gaza’s environment and holding accountable those responsible for this ecocide and genocide.

Originally published on Global Voices

Some of the participants at the Wikimedia Community Ireland Rising Voices Workshop at the National library of Ireland. CC BY-SA 4.0.

The following article is republished as part of a collaboration with Wikimedia Community Ireland and was originally published on their website on July 28, 2025. 

On July 14, 2025, Wikimedia Community Ireland hosted a Rising Voices Digital Activism Workshop for 20 participants at the National Library of Ireland.

Those in attendance included a range of stakeholders from the Irish language media and technology community.  We were joined by educators, representatives from Conradh na Gaeilge (a social and cultural organisation which promotes the Irish language in Ireland and worldwide), Tuarisc.ie, GaelGoer, ADAPT’s eSTÓR project team (aimed to improve machine translation and promote digital language equality in Europe), Raidió na Life, Raidió Rí-Rá, along with Irish language content creators.

Open knowledge is important for maintaining inclusivity, accessibility and diversity in the information we consume. It plays a key role in helping to dismantle a society in which certain traditions, beliefs, voices, heritage, ethnicities, or languages are valued or dominant over others.

Consequently, Irish language outreach is a key element of our work. Vicipéid, the Irish language Wikipedia, offers a valuable place for the Irish language to thrive in a community setting in the digital space. We were delighted to join Rising Voices’ international collaboration to co-host the workshop with the National Library of Ireland.

About Rising Voices and the UNESCO Digital Activism Toolkit

Rising Voices is a Global Voices outreach project that supports underrepresented communities who want to tell their own stories using digital media. Fifty percent of today’s spoken languages will be extinct or seriously endangered by 2100. Irish is considered to be at risk of digital extinction and was listed by the UNESCO Atlas of the World’s Languages in Danger as “definitely endangered.”

For the International Decade of Indigenous Languages 2022 to 2032 Rising Voices and a range of collaborators worked together to create the UNESCO Digital Initiatives for Minority Languages toolkit. The toolkit illustrates how the internet and other digital tools can be utilised to conserve and promote Indigenous languages and was the basis of the workshop.

Indigenous, endangered, and low-resource languages all have unique contexts, needs, and different resources available to them; thus, it is important to understand the local context. Grassroots action is key to achieving impactful, meaningful change. Action needs to be informed by experience and local knowledge, or in other words, those who are actively using the language in the digital space.

The Rising Voices Digital Activism Workshop 

Irish language Journalist Panel at Rising Voices x Wikimedia Community Ireland Workshop. CC BY-SA 4.0.

The schedule of the day was jam-packed with passionate presentations, interactive sessions, group Q&As, and panel discussions. Although a bilingual event, most attendees opted to use their Irish throughout the event, which had an open and warm atmosphere, instilling confidence in each participant’s language skills.

The day kicked off with a panel discussion with Maitiú Ó Coimín (Tuairisc.ie) and Róisín Ní Mhaoláin (Raidió na Life) on how digitisation has changed the landscape of media. Nóirín Ní Bhraoin, co-founder of the GaelGoer app (the first communications app in the Irish language), also presented. Cassie Ní Chatháin and Kate Ní Dhubhlaoich from Conradh na Gaeilge presented on Irish language activism initiatives and community organising.

Dr. Abigail Walsh from ADAPTs eSTÓR Project presented alongside her colleagues Mark Andrade and Bláithín Heffernan. They presented their current work on data curation using Vicipéid data. The project aims to develop key resources for Irish Machine Translation (EC) and ensure high-quality processing of Irish digital text data, which is vital for Digital Language Equality.

The post-presentation discussion highlighted the rift between the technological tools that are available for minority and majority languages, along with how powerful they have the potential to be in elevating the language in the digital space.

Content creation offers a launchpad for digital activism

Irish language content creators Laura Pakenham and Cúán de Búrca also presented. Their Irish language content serves as prime examples of how we can use social media platforms to promote the use of minority languages in our everyday lives.

Pakenham inspires users to implement Irish into their everyday language. She spoke about overcoming imposter syndrome and emphasised how mistakes can only lead to learning. She often posts vlog-style videos of her going about her day in Galway, but using Irish in her everyday interactions, like buying a coffee or popping to the shops. Her inspirational content is based on the ethos that instead of being intimidated by a lack of fluency, we should focus on the words we do have and make simple everyday switches.

Content creator and podcaster, De Búrca emphasised that revitalising minority languages starts with a community, which can be “as simple as two people speaking Irish rather than English.”

He also mentioned “the Kneecap effect” and how Irish is trending. However, he emphasized that engaging with the Irish language on a deeper level can lead to a richer experience of our linguistic heritage.

Both speakers provided the audience with some insights into content creation as Gaeilge on TikTok. They shared just how important small details like understanding how to increase engagement and cultivate your audience can be powerful skills for digital activism.

Workshop outcomes: TREORCHLÁR – ROADMAP

Cailínréalta, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

After the presentations, participants worked together to come up with a roadmap for digital activism for Irish. This roadmap outlines the current landscape, challenges, tools, goals, and collective vision for the future of the Irish language in digital and community contexts. It highlights a growing interest and pride in Irish among the public, though this is met with limited resources, government disengagement, and a lack of supportive infrastructure.

Major challenges include insufficient funding, time, and understanding of community needs, as well as a shortage of accessible digital tools in Irish. The roadmap envisions a future where Irish is widely spoken, visible in public and online spaces, supported by strong digital tools like translation apps and AI technologies, and integrated into everyday life, education, and services. Ultimately, the dream is for Irish to be a living, thriving language, used confidently across all aspects of society.

The next steps for the Rising Voice Digital Activism Initiative are to bring the results of the discussions and roadmap to those involved with the Government’s Irish Language support schemes Action Plan, for delivery of the Digital Plan for the Irish Language.

Originally published on Global Voices

A rural public primary school classroom outside Antsiranana, Madagascar. Image from Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 3.0

By Jimmy Andriatsimialina

Education in Madagascar has faced severe challenges over the last 20 years. From primary school through university, too many students struggle to acquire basic skills, and the system provides limited support to teachers. Poor infrastructure, a lack of materials, difficult learning environments, and a severe shortage of teachers compound to create a system where young people are not getting adequate education.

Furthermore, many children leave school without basic literacy skills, and graduates often experience underemployment, which threatens long-term economic and social decline. Additionally, many skilled students opt to migrate abroad, further depleting the national talent pool and perpetuating the education crisis.

Broken foundations

The root of the trouble begins in primary school. According to World Bank data from 2025, only 66.6 percent of girls and 60.6 percent of boys in Madagascar complete primary school, while the world average is 88.3 percent. This rate continues to drop as children age, with a gross enrollment rate in secondary education of 36 percent for girls and 34 percent for boys, and a gross enrollment rate in tertiary education of only six percent across genders.

Many who remain in school do not reach expected learning outcomes. According to a press release from the World Bank, only 25 percent of children in Madagascar are able to read proficiently upon finishing primary school. The report also noted a high repetition rate of 25.3 percent in public schools, which is twice the Sub-Saharan Africa average.

This can partly be attributed to a high reliance on underqualified community teachers (FRAM, short for Fikambanan'ny ray aman-drenin'ny mpianatra), according to the Education Solidarity Network. The local parent associations recruit and pay teachers when the government cannot. Even though these teachers are vital to the system since they are still better than having no teachers at all, they are often under-resourced. Around 60 percent of the primary and preschool teaching workforce in the country were headed by FRAMs in 2024. Most of them are unqualified and lack the most basic skills to teach.

In Madagascar, the pupil-to-teacher ratio (PTR) in primary education is 39.81, meaning that on average, there is one teacher for roughly 40 primary school students. This is slightly lower than the average PTR in primary school for low-income countries, which is 41.92.

On top of that, infrastructure is critically lacking. In some secluded parts of the country, there are often no schools at all, or only one three-classroom school for a rural area with hundreds of children. Recurring natural disasters like cyclones destroy 1,000–2,000 classrooms each year, making it challenging to maintain infrustructure.

The country invests only 2.8 percent to 3 percent of its GDP in education, and only 0.1 percent in research, which is below the regional average of 3.7 percent and about 5 percent in high-income countries. Schools must operate with damaged roofs, missing textbooks, and crowded classrooms. The World Bank has warned about the urgent need for investment in education in Madagascar.

A strain on higher education

Universities also face structural challenges. About 70 percent of courses are taught by non-civil servant faculty — many of whom have dealt with years of unpaid salaries. This has caused course suspensions, sometimes lasting several months. Teachers, maintenance workers, and students are promised salaries and scholarships, and though they are largely insufficient to meet people’s needs, the colleges often fail to deliver them altogether, leaving students and employees destitute. Numerous protests have broken out over these unpaid dues, further disrupting people’s education.

In May 2024, demonstrations erupted at ESPA (Ecole Supérieure Polytechnique d’Antananarivo) and other public universities across the country. Students demanded payment of delayed scholarships and repairs to infrastructure: unsafe dormitories, inconsistent water supplies, and unstable internet are just a few of the infrastructure challenges they face.

New campuses are opening in regions that lack sufficient faculty, laboratories, or libraries. Expansion often prioritizes access over quality.

These actions reflect the long-lasting and growing frustration with systemic neglect of the education sector. This, in combination with other government failures, spurred the events of September 25, 2025, that led to the impeachment of Andry Rajoelina on October 14, 2025.

From learning to employment?

Today’s graduates face one of the continent’s highest youth unemployment rates. Youth ages 15–30 account for 70 percent of the unemployed; most of those who find employment do so outside their field: engineers take taxi jobs, biologists work as clerks, and teachers seek informal income.

Hasina, armed with a Master I degree in Domestic and International Public Law and a Master II in Political Science, intended to become a Diplomatic or Consular Officer. Instead, she works as a versatile assistant in a construction startup, juggling accounting, HR, and administrative tasks. She told Global Voices:

This job was my only option post-university; it didn’t require experience, which is the sad reality.

After passing a written test and an interview for a position at a foreign embassy in Madagascar, she was turned away due to what she presumed was her lack of experience. She emphasizes that opportunities for graduates are alarmingly scarce. She points out that many young people hesitate to seek out opportunities.

There’s a pervasive culture that fails to invest in young talent. Companies are fixated on experience and impose rigorous requirements. This reluctance stems from fear and a lack of confidence. Even if there are only a few of them, opportunities do exist, and we as graduates must learn how to stand out in the crowd.

Another young man, aged 26, speaking anonymously, explained in an interview with Global Voices:

I studied corporate communication and got a Master I degree. My goal was to work as a communications manager in a company, overseeing strategy, image, and both internal and external relations. However, I currently work in a call center. This is not what I envisioned for myself after graduation, but it was one of the few opportunities available in a job market where communication positions are scarce and often reserved for those with strong connections. I had a few opportunities, but they slipped away.

There’s a significant amount of nepotism in Madagascar, and we often hear the same excuses: a lack of experience or not being qualified enough, even when we meet all the requirements. The main challenges that students face after graduation typically include: nepotism and favoritism in hiring, limited job offers that align with graduates’ fields of study, experience requirements for entry-level positions, and the low value attributed to locally acquired degrees.

Hasina warns that the value of higher education is rapidly eroding as graduates struggle to find jobs, leading society to dismiss their hard-earned degrees. She asserts that we must create more opportunities and foster a culture of excellence from an early age.

Education should return to its core mission: to prepare young people to become the pillars of the future.

This mismatch drives many to study or work abroad. Thousands leave each year for France, Canada, Mauritius, and other countries, seeking stability and better prospects, leading to severe brain drain.

Governance and institutional challenges

Part of the difficulty lies in institutional structures. There is a lack of transparency in both the recruitment and promotion processes, which extends to the highest levels of government, impacting both teachers and administrators. Corruption and nepotism have deep roots in every public institution in the country.

Madagascar scored 26 out of 100 and ranked 140th out of 180 countries in Transparency International’s 2024 Corruption Perceptions Index (CPI). In the education sector, issues such as illegal school fees, the sale of exam papers, and favoritism in teacher recruitment are widespread. Surveys indicate that about 40 percent of people have witnessed or experienced corruption in schools, with one-third of students encountering cases of sexual misconduct. These practices hinder access to education for the poor and degrade the quality of teaching, ultimately harming the country’s growth prospects.

The system’s limitations are a consequence of long-term policy and budgetary decisions. The political crisis in 2009 disrupted administrative capacity, and although subsequent governments introduced reforms, significant systemic issues remain.

Pathways forward

Experts have outlined several key priorities: increasing funding for global standards, hiring and training teachers, and formalizing the roles of qualified FRAM staff. Universities should focus on improving faculty support and infrastructure, increasing allowances, and enhancing research capacity. By raising the percentage of qualified teachers, Madagascar can significantly improve quality-adjusted educational attainment, which, in turn, would contribute to real GDP per capita growth.

Education is essential for development. The children studying today can be the foundation of a future, more prosperous Madagascar, as long as they are given adequate support and opportunities to thrive.

Originally published on Global Voices

Protesters in Madagascar raising the ‘One Piece’ skull and cross bones, with an adapted Malagasy hat. Screenshot from the video ‘Madagascar president flees country amid Gen Z protests’ uploaded to YouTube by Channel 4 News. Fair use.

By Jessica Northey and Narda Natioranomena 

Across the African continent, from Madagascar to Morocco, young people known as Generation Z, those born between the late 1990s and early 2000s, are taking to the streets to demand social justice and have their voices heard.

Beginning on September 25, Gen Z protests erupted in Madagascar, initially focused on the persistent power outages and water shortages that have plagued the country for months. This quickly expanded to target corruption, rampant inequalities, the lack of food security and later calls for the president to leave. On October 12, when it became clear that the anger against him meant his life was in danger, President Andry Rajoelina disappeared. He was later reported to have travelled via the French island of Reunion to Dubai.

The peaceful demonstrations, organized on social media, faced heavy repression from the authorities, leading to the deaths of 22 people, according to the UN. A special advisor to the president, speaking with TV5 Monde, denied that any deaths had occurred, much to the dismay of the protesters, who accused the government of lying.

Inspired by similar youth demonstrations in Nepal, the Malagasy Gen Z youth movement uses the same Japanese manga “One Piece” symbol of the skull and crossbones, with an adapted Malagasy hat. Protesters marched en masse across the capital, major cities and in the diaspora across the world.

Real demands

Meanwhile, in Morocco, mass youth demonstrations erupted in mid-September, focusing on inadequate and negligent healthcare, a lack of education, and corruption.

Why have these Gen Z revolutionary movements ignited now? And are they connected?

In Madagascar, there had long been dissatisfaction with the president and his network of extremely wealthy elites. Visible wealth and economic growth are evident throughout Madagascar, with new construction, high-rise buildings, and large SUVs crowding the streets of the capital, where the majority of people walk on non-existent sidewalks. Young people criticized a new football stadium and what is largely considered an ill-conceived yet very expensive electric cable car in the capital, despite severe electricity and water shortages.

The discovery of critical minerals, new mines and resources across the country underlines the riches and wealth in the Malagasy soils and waters. From sapphires, gold, graphite and cobalt, to vanilla, lychees, cocoa and coffee, Madagascar is increasingly and visibly abundant in natural resources.

Yet, the average Malagasy is poorer today than they were 20 years ago. Seventy-five percent live beneath the poverty line, and the international companies extracting those resources often appear to care little for Madagascar’s natural environment. The president provoked even  further outrage over his disconnection with the lives of the majority when he justified glaring inequalities in an interview with TV5 Monde Journal Afrique, declaring that the rural poor in Madagascar were “nevertheless happy.”

In the case of Morocco, the recent deaths of eight women in childbirth sparked the initial protests. Also organizing via social media, young people have demonstrated for days, calling out the huge expenditure on football stadiums, while women and youth are marginalised, and their parents are denied decent health care.

They are demanding basic services including health and education, and an end to corruption, which, they argue, reigns at every level of state service. As in Madagascar, they express a love of their homeland and a deep commitment to freedom of speech.

Not willing to be sacrificed for football infrastructure, they demonstrate on the streets, supporting one another as they do. Volunteer doctors care for injured protesters, lawyers represent the victims for free, and communities provide food, in a context of serious risks of repression and state violence. The protests at two ends of the African continent are strikingly similar.

Colonial pasts

One root cause in Madagascar is perhaps clear. While French and international media may neglect this issue, addressing it transparently could have significant implications across Africa and beyond. In 2009, when Andry Rajoelina, then mayor of the capital, launched his first coup d’etat, he did so while taking refuge in the French embassy. In 2014, five years later, he became a naturalized French citizen. Since his coup in 2009 and presidency of Madagascar in 2018, there has been an influx of French businesses and influence in France’s former colony.

Apart from numerous anomalies in the 2023 presidential election, with protesters jailed and opposition harassed, Rajoelina is, according to Article 46 of the constitution, not allowed to have French citizenship as president of Madagascar. That a former colonial power should return to an independent country is unbearable for African youth.

Madagascar shed blood in 1947 when an anticolonial rebellion led to brutal repression across the country. Similar to the atrocities committed in Algeria in the late 1950s, the French military carried out mass violence in Madagascar between 1947 and 1949. This included executions, torture, rape, the destruction of entire villages, and the horrific practice of throwing live Malagasy prisoners from airplanes, which became known as “death flights.”

The number of casualties is difficult to confirm, but there are estimates that 100,000 Malagasy were killed, compared to hundreds of French nationals. This brutality and its lasting scars are documented in films such as Raymond Rajaonarivelo’s “Tabataba”  and novels such as Andry Andraina’s “Mitaraina ny tany,” (“The Earth is Lamenting”), and in the case of North Africa, in Gillo Pontecorvo’s film “The Battle of Algiers.”

And today, 65 years after independence, the Malagasy population demanded, albeit respectfully and peacefully, that France take their French president back, before he subsequently left on a French military plane. France bears its share of responsibility for the 2009 Malagasy crisis, and for the current one.  Reflecting on this could trigger wider self-reflection in European countries.

The failure of the French and European education systems to engage honestly with colonial pasts is part of a systemic problem of global injustice and oligarchical control over our media and the world’s resources. This amnesia feeds into the rise of the European far right today, perpetuates the extraction and destruction of former colonies, and exacerbates our collective global inequalities and ecological crises.

While common threads have been identified, the colonial factor has been largely ignored. Across Africa, young people feel an increasing sense of injustice that former colonial powers continue to exploit resources, economies and societies, with no recognition of past crimes and no accountability for those continuing legacies. This not only damages Africa and former colonies around the world, but also underpins the constant malaise, or what Alistair Horne described as a legacy of “poison” with violence and inequalities in Europe and its settler colonial partners.

African and global majority youth, from Madagascar to Morocco, from the Philippines to Nepal, have stood up to protest these searing inequalities and demand social justice. As they open our eyes to an opportunity for much wider reflection on the continuing effects of colonialism in the 21st century, they, and whatever transition processes follow, deserve our full support.

Originally published on Global Voices

Congolese Army troops patrol to protect the town against attacks by armed groups. Image by MONUSCO/Abel Kavanagh. CC BY-SA 4.0 deed via Wikimedia Commons.

By Sam Irving

In eastern parts of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), conflict creates more than just human tragedy and a breakdown in governance; it also blurs the trail of the country’s most valuable natural resources, namely gold. In neighboring Uganda, gold exports have risen sharply over the last decade, with noticeable surges between 2022 and 2024.

In 2023, Uganda’s gold exports were a staggering USD 2.3 billion, a drastic increase from the mere USD 201 million exported over the 12 months prior. This raises the question: Is Uganda’s gold truly Ugandan, or is it conflict gold smuggled from neighboring war-torn countries and exported as its own? 

Colonial scars and the March 23 Movement

The DRC is one of the largest African countries and one of the most mineral-rich countries in the world, holding over 70 percent of global cobalt reserves. However, despite vast resource wealth, the DRC has been trapped in a cycle of poverty and conflict since its colonization by  Belgium under the rule of King Leopold II.

In 1960, the Congo gained independence, yet it was a nation scarred with political instability, fractured social fabric, and a lack of administrative capacity, resulting in the Congo being deemed a failed state. Despite having vast mineral riches, the Congo is now one of the world's poorest countries.  The dire political and socioeconomic conditions have resulted in over half a century of conflict and instability. The most noticeable conflict of recent years is the conflict in Eastern DRC between the Congolese army and differing armed groups, most notably the M23 rebel group. 

The March 23 Movement (M23) is a primarily Rwandan-backed, Tutsi-majority armed rebel group that was formed in 2012 by mutineers from the Congolese army. The formation of M23 can be traced to the spillover effects of displaced and victimized communities after the  Rwandan genocide, which saw the Hutu majority in Rwanda turn against their fellow Tutsi minority countrymen who had been the favored ethnicity of German colonialists and therefore controlled much of Rwanda’s wealth and high societal positions.

International watchdogs and governing bodies like the United Nations have speculated about why Rwanda continues to fund and support M23. One reason is likely the lucrative smuggling market that emerges as a result of the conflict, destabilizing the DRC and disabling chances of regional hegemony by such a resource-rich sub-Saharan state.  However, Rwanda might not be the only neighbor sponsoring conflict in the eastern DRC to further exploit smuggling routes. Could Uganda's almost inexplicable increase in gold exports over recent years be attributed to smuggled Congolese gold?  

Consequences of the ongoing conflict in eastern DRC

The ongoing conflict in eastern DRC, allegedly fuelled in part by Uganda’s support for  M23 rebels, has inflicted devastating consequences on Congolese civilians as well as the wider region. 

Rebel groups such as M23 tend to operate in remote rural areas, sustaining themselves through the looting and sale of natural resources. This perpetuates a cycle of instability that thrives on the absence of state control. M23 can be directly linked to outside actors via its control of mines and smuggling routes, redirecting wealth away from the DRC towards itself and its state sponsors. 

Sexual violence has emerged alongside economic exploitation, being used as a weapon of war. Recent reports from international organizations have documented 761 victims of sexual violence between 2019 and 2022, although the real figure is likely far higher. As key scholars note, wartime rape devastates not only individuals but also whole communities as it works to fracture families, dismantle key social networks, and thus cripple local economies. 

Sexual violence and wartime rape, however, do not represent all the human costs of the ongoing conflict. Further testimonies from Eastern DRC locals affected by the conflict can help to paint an equally gruesome picture. Tontine, a Congolese woman, recalls being caught up in an outburst of violence when an explosion devastatingly killed six members of her family and injured many more. As well as death and the loss of family members and friends, several sources note the mass displacement of people, many of whom were forced to leave their homes due to the violence. A  testimony from a civilian in a camp in Goma, in eastern DRC, further illustrates how M23 soldiers are forcibly removing civilians from their homes and from temporary camps. These more personal accounts align with reports from  Human Rights Watch (HRW), which supports allegations that M23 is forcing the mass displacement of civilians, as well as other atrocities that border on war crimes. 

Uganda’s gold boom

Uganda's gold boom is no coincidence. Its soaring exports come at the same time as the eastern DRC is engulfed in violence, raising questions over who really benefits from this endless conflict. For years, Rwanda has been accused of backing M23 rebels to control mines and smuggling routes. Now, Uganda’s sudden gold windfall seems to tell a parallel story: that conflict next door provides the perfect cover for smuggling Congolese gold. 

This is the fog of war at work, violence obscures everything, allowing armed groups and their state spenders to profit at the DRC’s expense. It is ordinary Congolese citizens who suffer mass displacement, sexual violence, and shattered communities while their country's wealth continues to spiral. Instead of being a driver of stability and growth, the DRC’s mineral riches are siphoned off by others, turning chaos in the DRC into profit for themselves. 

The DRC is trapped in the resource curse paradox, where staggering natural wealth generates instability, not development. Regional actors play a central role; however, so do international actors, as global demand for gold, whether for technology, finance, jewelry, and more, drives this illicit economy. From traders in Kampala to refineries in  Dubai to European markets, consumers in the global north are indirectly complicit in sustaining these economies of war. 

Uganda’s role should be seen for what it is, not just opportunities but complicity. By sponsoring conflict across the border in eastern DRC, Uganda ensures the steady flow of smuggled gold that has transformed its export economy almost overnight.

Will the world continue to turn a blind eye? If global markets, governments, institutions, and watchdogs fail to act, then the cycle will continue. Uganda’s booming exports will stand as a stark reminder that in the DRC, peace pays less than plunder.

Originally published on Global Voices

Screenshot from video ‘Sudan War Deepens as RSF Intensifies Attack, Several Women & Children Killed in Drone Strikes’ uploaded to YouTube by user WION. Fair use.

By Meera Selva

Editor's note: An earlier version of this article was pulled for security reasons. This updated version was published on October 28, 2025. 

Now more than ever, we need to talk about the importance of journalism. This is not about journalism as an abstract ideal, or as an industry fighting for survival, but as a living, breathing force that connects people to the information they need.

Protecting journalism is not just about saving newsrooms. It is about safeguarding people’s right to usable, trusted information, which is the very foundation of healthy societies everywhere.

It is literally about saving lives.

Because when information is deliberately and continually withheld from those who need it most, other human rights violations quickly follow.

In Sudan’s devastating multi-faceted war, a promising nascent journalism scene is being dismantled and weaponised. The journalists who reported with such energy about the political movements that upturned the old order had created a new, pluralistic, vibrant media sector. But with the start of the conflict in 2023, the information space has emerged as a parallel battlefield where warring parties readily spread disinformation and routinely suppress independent journalism.

What’s more, access to news is deeply unequal: women, displaced people, those with disabilities, and rural communities are often excluded from critical information because of poor connectivity and destroyed infrastructure. Military control of online spaces further restricts people’s access.

Sudan’s fragile information ecosystem reflects both the peril faced by journalists and the resilience of efforts to sustain independent reporting.

A report recently published by Internews has mapped the Sudanese media ecosystem, revealing the severe challenges this sector is facing, as well as the incredible and vital work that Sudanese journalists on the ground are carrying out for all of us.

Systematic attacks on media

Both the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) have destroyed media infrastructure, leaving journalists without livelihoods. Many self-censor, particularly around corruption and security agencies, while others have been forced to align with armed groups to survive.

Surveillance, cyber harassment, and arbitrary arrests under cybercrime laws are common. The result is a skills vacuum, with experienced journalists having fled, leaving behind less experienced individuals thrust into reporting roles.

The warring parties also maintain sophisticated media operations funded by their gold mining revenues. The war itself began with and continues to be sustained by information manipulation with false promises of quick victory and continued mobilisation narratives that prevent peace.

This underscores why neutrality is not an option. When propaganda is the engine of war, failing to challenge it means becoming complicit in its spread. Understanding how information is weaponised in Sudan is crucial because the same tactics are increasingly deployed across global conflicts to manipulate public opinion and obstruct peace.

The hollowing out of Sudan’s media isn’t just a local tragedy: it allows warlords to operate in the shadows, unchecked by scrutiny. Without accurate testimony, the international community cannot deliver the precise support Sudanese citizens desperately need to survive this conflict.

Evolving media consumption

As traditional media is dismantled, Sudanese audiences are turning to alternative sources, but these come with their own risks.

Public attitudes reveal a deep mistrust of traditional outlets. Many Sudanese now rely on personal networks, social media influencers, and citizen journalists, sources they sometimes deem more credible than official channels. Trust in local Sudanese media has also deteriorated significantly, with audiences demonstrating a clear preference for international outlets, particularly Gulf news outlets.

Despite their overt allegiances to factions within the conflict, such channels are widely consumed by Sudanese audiences, highlighting both the scarcity of independent alternatives and the urgent demand for reliable information.

Podcasts, livestreams, and citizen reporting dominate the information space. Both SAF and RSF aligned accounts readily circulate deepfakes, recycled footage, false casualty reports, and graphic images online, with posts often encouraging sectarian violence, particularly targeting the Darfuri and Nuba communities.

For Sudanese audiences, this distortion of the information space fuels real violence, entrenches mistrust between communities, and makes it nearly impossible for people to agree on a shared reality. Without credible alternatives, citizens are left vulnerable to manipulation that worsens both the conflict and the social fabric.

Exile journalism and grassroots initiatives

The war in Sudan has not only displaced millions, it has gutted the country’s information ecosystem. Over 1,000 journalists have lost their jobs, hundreds have fled to Uganda, Kenya, and Egypt, and those who remain risk their lives to report from hostile and perilous environments, including hot spots of fighting such as Darfur and the Nuba Mountain in the South Kordofan region. Working collaboratively with journalists in-country, exile media are keeping Sudan’s story alive, but with little funding and mounting pressure, their survival is precarious.

This matters far beyond Sudan. Information vacuums allow atrocities to go unrecorded, and disinformation is spread around the world via social media channels. When Sudanese reporters are silenced, others, often with political agendas, step in to rewrite the narrative. Campaigns like #KeepEyesOnSudan cut through this silence, ensuring the war isn’t forgotten.

Failing to support these efforts risks enabling further harm. Governments, NGOs, and global audiences must recognise Sudanese media for what it is: resistance, survival, and the last safeguard against the war’s total invisibility.

Beyond institutions: Strengthening ecosystems

Sudan’s information crisis reflects a global reality: where communities are under pressure, the need for reliable information grows stronger. Yet discussions about media often focus on institutions rather than people.

This is why media support must go beyond helping journalists. Strengthening whole ecosystems, including local outlets, digital platforms, and community leaders, ensures information remains trustworthy and resilient. Traditional organisational models may not be adequate; diverse, collaborative approaches are required. For Sudanese citizens, this means access to information they can rely on in moments when misinformation can cost lives.

International media development actors and NGOs must therefore act as intermediaries between journalists on the ground and institutional donors, ensuring sustained support beyond immediate crisis response. A long-term strategy is essential: one that builds professional capacity, supports public-interest journalism, and helps outlets adapt to rapidly changing conditions.

Investing in resilient media ecosystems is not a luxury; it is a necessity. It is a prerequisite for peace and justice.

Why it matters

Press freedom cannot be separated from the public’s right to information. When reporters are silenced, it is communities that suffer. When local outlets disappear, it is ordinary people who are left without the knowledge they need to navigate their lives. Defending journalism is not charity for journalists. It is a commitment to the health, security, and dignity of everyone who relies on trustworthy information.

The challenges are enormous. Yet the situation in Sudan, and countless other contexts across the globe, also reminds us of the enduring hunger for reliable information. People still turn to journalism, even under the harshest conditions. Our job is to make sure they find it.

That is why decision-makers and leaders in the media and information space must remain committed to being global, present, and engaged, even in places that are too often overlooked. In Sudan and beyond, journalism is not just a profession; it is a lifeline that we must protect. Because if information is the oxygen of democracy, then ensuring access to trusted, usable news is one of the most urgent tasks of our time.

Meera Selva is the chief executive officer of Internews Europe.

Originally published on Global Voices

Image by Ileanaruavi on Pixabay. Free for use under the Pixabay Content License.

By Frida Ibarra

In the highlands of Chiapas, Mexico, where mist curls over green mountains, my grandmother still lives in the small rural community where she raised her family. She never learned to read or write.

My mother, determined to continue her studies, left that village as a teenager to attend school in a nearby town, a difficult journey that few girls from her community could make at the time.

I grew up with privileges my mother and grandmother never had: a steady place in school, access to books, and later, the internet. That generational leap from illiteracy to digital access shapes everything I do. It’s the compass that guides me in making sure young girls in Chiapas can use technology not only to learn, but to lead.

The stakes are high. Chiapas is one of Mexico’s poorest states. According to the National Council for the Evaluation of Social Development Policy (CONEVAL) in Mexico, 74.2 percent of the population lives in poverty, with 46.5 percent in extreme poverty. Women’s participation in the formal workforce is just 31 percent, far below the national average of 45 percent, and most women work informally in subsistence agriculture or small-scale vending, earning around MXN 5,200 a month (about USD 260) without benefits or job security.

Illiteracy remains a significant barrier. Statewide, rates hover around 16–17 percent, but among Indigenous women, they rise to between 25–30 percent. About 28 percent of Chiapas residents speak Indigenous languages such as Tzotzil, Tzeltal, and Chol, yet most educational and digital resources are in Spanish, creating major linguistic barriers and often alienating students from their cultural roots.

Internet penetration in rural Chiapas is among the lowest in Mexico: only about 35 percent of rural households have access, compared to 75 percent in urban areas. Many community centers rely on outdated desktop computers and intermittent electricity, sometimes supported only by solar panels. In some villages, one computer is shared among 20 or more students.

Violence adds another layer of restriction. In 2024, the Feminist Observatory recorded 197 violent deaths of women in Chiapas, 63 of them confirmed femicides. Such threats make it harder for girls to attend school or take part in after-school programs safely.

Some initiatives work within these constraints. The Low-Tech Program, supported by UNICEF, equips rural teachers with mobile-friendly, high-quality lesson plans. Tecnolochicas is a program that introduces girls aged 12–17 to coding, robotics, and other STEM skills, where participants improve their digital skills by 60 percent, and leave with more confidence and higher aspirations for tech-related careers. Their projects range from web design to AI, with a gender perspective.

Integrating Indigenous culture into digital education has also shown results. Co-developing STEM content in local languages not only improves retention, it also builds cultural pride, a critical factor in keeping girls engaged in school. One example is Mexico’s recent initiative to translate 180 new textbooks into 20 Indigenous languages, led by the Secretary of Public Education, aiming to foster both educational inclusion and cultural pride.

The fourth wave of feminism in Mexico, marked by youth leadership and digital activism, has found fertile ground in Chiapas. Girls trained in coding are creating websites for women’s rights collectives, running social media campaigns against domestic violence, and analyzing femicide data to support grassroots advocacy.

These collaborations between community organizations and tech-trained youth are a quiet but determined resistance to systemic inequalities, one that insists cultural preservation and progress can go hand in hand.

Studies from the World Bank suggest that sustained investment in rural digital education could cut illiteracy in Chiapas by 10 percent within a decade. With more local tech hubs, young women could lead economic development through businesses, cooperatives, and cultural projects, without leaving the place they call home.

But without long-term funding and policy support, poverty and gender violence will continue to limit opportunity. The digital divide will deepen, and another generation of women will remain shut out of the digital economy.

The future of these girls depends on creating a space where women can fulfill their dreams, share their knowledge, and shape the future of Mexico. It begins with identifying and understanding the specific issues that women face, followed by a response that offers empathy and support. It is only through these actions that we can truly unleash their potential and create a more just and prosperous society.

I think back to my grandmother, whose world was limited by the absence of literacy, and my mother, who left home to pursue an education. Now, I see girls in Chiapas climbing a ladder my family could never reach. That ladder is fragile, but we’re building it brick by brick.

Originally published on Global Voices

The American Redstart (Setophaga ruticilla), one of the eight species chosen as 2025 World Migratory Bird Day ambassadors. Photo via Canva Pro.

This article first appeared in Birds Caribbean on September 16, 2025. An edited version, with additional contributions from Global Voices author Emma Lewis, an avid birdwatcher and member of Birds Caribbean, is being republished on Global Voices with permission.

And they’re off! The issue of migration is always a hot topic in the Americas, but on Saturday, October 11, 2025, the focus is on the feathered kind of migrant. World Migratory Bird Day (WMBD) is annually celebrated on the second Saturday of October in Latin America and the Caribbean.

Twice each year, these winged, nocturnal nomads slip through immigration, flying across the American continent and down to the Caribbean region in the autumn, then back to the United States in the spring. They come in waves, millions of them, as chronicled on the BirdCast website, which confirmed a new record night of migration — 1.25 billion birds — on October 8.

Just as with human movement, these amazing journeys are not without their dangers, and migratory birds must be protected. What if, instead of driving them away, our cities could actually save them? Is it possible to create spaces where birds and people can thrive together?

The WMBD 2025 theme “Shared Spaces: Creating Bird-Friendly Cities and Communities” calls on us to flock together to accelerate life-sustaining action for nature’s frequent fliers. The event unites people across the Americas in a shared commitment to securing a bright and sustainable future for these marvellous migrants in a global initiative to create healthier habitats for birds and, by extension, people.

Shared spaces, shared benefits

Creating bird-friendly communities is vital for helping bird populations — especially important on Caribbean islands, where towns and cities are often directly adjacent to, or interspersed among, forests, wetlands, and coastal ecosystems. Urban development on an island inherently leads to habitat loss and fragmentation, directly impacting birds’ abilities to find adequate food, as well as places to raise their families and safely hide from predators.

Urban sprawl is a significant driver of some of the major threats facing birds, with climate change creating another series of deadly threats. Rising sea levels, catastrophic hurricanes, and changes in temperature and rainfall patterns directly endanger coastal wetlands and other natural habitats that birds rely on.

According to BirdLife Jamaica President Justin Saunders, “Migratory Birds and Jamaicans have quite an interesting relationship. Some Jamaicans readily recognize a few, like the American Redstart (Setophaga ruticilla) and refer to it as ‘Christmas bud’ [bird]; others will express complete amazement when they see the Chestnut-sided warbler (Setophaga pensilvanica), which is much rarer.”

He believes that Jamaicans have “a growing love for these long-distance migrants, who feel like resident birds to many of us, and our forests, rivers, and urban spaces provide critical habitat for [them] to rest and recharge as they escape the cold winter abroad.” Saunders remains concerned, however, that such spaces “are coming under increasing pressure from land-clearance, urban sprawl, and, of course, the effects of climate change.” Birdlife Jamaica, he says, is committed to “educating and advocating for more meaningful and considerate actions at all levels of society so we can continue to enjoy these shared spaces and welcome all our feathered friends into them.”

This is why every patch of green space, whether it’s a park, a backyard, or a tree-lined street, becomes a critical part of the larger ecological network on each island. Such shared green spaces are a win-win: they protect birds while also providing cool, peaceful refuges for people, offering places to relax and improve mental health. Bird-friendly communities that incorporate green infrastructure like mangrove restoration and urban forests can provide a buffer against climate impacts like flooding and rising temperatures. By investing in these environments, we build a comfortable and sustainable future for all.

Meet the WMBD ambassadors

Each year, Environment for the Americas (EFTA) selects certain bird species as ambassadors of World Migratory Bird Day. This year, the eight focal species include the American Robin (Turdus migratoriu), Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus), Red Knot (Calidris canutus), American Redstart (Setophaga ruticilla), Giant Hummingbird (Patagona gigas), Graylag Goose (Anser anser), Common Crane (Grus grus), and Yellow-breasted Bunting (Emberiza aureola). They can all be spotted in the Americas’ Flyways, as well as in the flyways of Europe, Africa, and Asia.

Laying out the welcome mat

Creating bird-friendly spaces to welcome species like these doesn’t have to be exhausting or expensive. Small, daily actions, like choosing coffee brewed from bird-friendly beans, can support birdlife — especially given that worldwide, 49 percent of all bird species are in decline. The World Wildlife Fund's 2024 Living Planet Report also noted population decrease, while a BirdLife press release that same year revealed that migratory shorebird populations were plummeting worldwide.

BirdsCaribbean Executive Director Lisa Sorensen says that migratory birds are more imperilled than ever: “Climate change, coastal development, pollution, and pressures from tourism are shrinking the critical Caribbean stopover sites they depend on,” she explains, “but it rests in our power to decide their fate. Every remaining patch of habitat is a lifeline; we must act to protect them now or watch these migrations fade from our shores.”

Other bird-friendly actions include opting for native plants, reducing the use of artificial light, avoiding pesticides, combating collisions by using window films and patterned glass or closing curtains, and preventing plastic pollution.

In that vein, Caribbean educators have been busy preparing for World Migratory Bird Day via an array of events. These  include birdwatching trips, habitat cleanups, art competitions, presentations in schools, tree planting, and even the installation of bird baths and feeders around community buildings, whereby participants can learn about migratory birds, the adaptations they go through, and the challenges they face on their incredible journeys.

Originally published on Global Voices

Aerial view of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD). Image by the Prime Minister's Office, Ethiopia. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

By Amanuel Tesfaye and Matti Pohjonen

On September 9, 2025, Ethiopia inaugurated the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD), a mega-dam with the capacity of generating over 5,000 megawatts of energy. The ceremony was highly publicized, with both state outlets and social media ablaze as Ethiopians celebrated a dam that took 14 years and USD 5 billion to build. On the digital sphere, however, another peculiar phenomenon was happening alongside the celebrations: the proliferation of videos and images generated with artificial intelligence (AI). Some of these videos and images contained a not-so-subtle message about where Ethiopia should focus its efforts next: acquiring the port of Assab, which is held by its neighboring country, Eritrea. 

Viral AI-generated content

One AI-generated video, widely circulating on TikTok and X, and shared by former State Minister Birhanu M Lenjiso, celebrates the completion of the dam while calling for taking over the Assab port as the next goal. The video starts with a fictional mega-stage simulating a concert at the site of the GERD, a stage adorned by Ethiopian flags, surrounded by a loud synthetic audience. An AI-generated voiceover says:

How joyful it is to be Ethiopian! 

How joyful it is to live in the era of the Renaissance!

How honorable it is to be a maker of Red Sea history! 

May Ethiopia live forever! 

From the Nile to Assab, one people! one heart!

The announcement is followed by AI-generated patriotic music and a video. In the second half of the video, an unmistakable message appears: “GERD 2.0 Coming Soon!” followed by “See you all in Assab!” Find the full AI-generated video here:

The inauguration of the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) has sparked widespread euphoria among Ethiopians, symbolizing a historic triumph of national pride, sovereignty, and collective resilience. After 14 years of self-financed construction through domestic bonds and… pic.twitter.com/AKvNanQH56

— Birhanu M Lenjiso (PhD) (@BMLenjiso) September 8, 2025

AI for political propaganda

A map showcasing the Horn of Africa and the Port of Assab. Copyright Z Fre, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

The proliferation of such synthetic propaganda is unfolding amid tensions in the Horn of Africa over Ethiopia’s desire to secure unfettered access to the sea. In 2023, Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed announced that access to the sea is a matter of survival, lamenting that 150 million people cannot live in a “geographic prison.” This statement alarmed neighboring countries which saw the announcement as a threat to their sovereignty and territorial integrity. This has created fears that an inter-state war might be on the horizon, particularly between Ethiopia and Eritrea.

While Ethiopia has repeatedly stated it will pursue its ambition peacefully and diplomatically, its posture has grown more belligerent, with military leaders repeatedly declaring  that the army is ready to answer the call if the government gives it a “duty or responsibility.” Prime Minister Ahmed also reportedly told local business leaders, “We want to get a port by peaceful means. But if that fails we will use force.”

The use of AI for political propaganda is emerging as a major concern in contemporary democratic societies — particularly those in sensitive geopolitical contexts. AI-generated propaganda, sometimes referred to as “synthetic propaganda” or “slopaganda,” involves the use of generative AI tools to create synthetic images, audio, and video for circulation on social media platforms such as TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, X, and Facebook. 

This new genre has become especially popular in the US and Europe in support of populist parties such as Alternative for Germany (AfD) and leaders such as Donald Trump to mobilize their support base and delegitimize adversaries, often using hyperbolic and whimsical images and videos. In much of the world, this is not only taking place under right-wing populist contexts but also influencing geopolitical conflicts. 

Similarly, in Ethiopia, AI is emerging as a key tool as the government and its supporters increasingly turn to visual propaganda to sway the public. The synthetic videos and images regarding Assab illustrate an evolving trend in how the Ethiopian government is amplifying its official discourse. A close analysis of the pictures and videos reveals the visual tropes and audio-strategies that characterize these messages, as well as the underlying narratives behind them. 

Narratives behind the AI-generated content

Visually, the images and videos are crisp and colorful, almost always adorned with the nationalist imagery of Ethiopia's green, yellow, and red flag. They depict ultra-modern ports buttressing an expansive blue sea, ostensibly representing Assab and the Red Sea. Large arch-like signs that depict the location as “ASSAB” feature frequently. Military naval ships, sometimes in exaggerated numbers, are present, marked unmistakably as Ethiopian by the flags they carry. Most of the vessels carry Navy sailors in crisp white uniforms. Some explicitly contain the phrase “no more landlocked” plastered on the sides of large ships. 

Another popular text is “from GERD to Assab,” signaling a desire to ride a wave of development and support for the GERD to rally society to pursue the port agenda next. The Ethiopian army and its mechanized divisions taking over Assab is also a popular imagery. In other instances, the Prime Minister is featured alongside the port, illustrating the importance of the leader in articulating this vision of reclaiming the country’s lost access to the sea. 

The proliferation of short-form videos means the sound accompanying the videos has also emerged as an important instrument of political messaging. AI-generated patriotic songs accompany the visuals. One AI-generated song, for instance, croons: “Assab, my bride, the gateway and passage of my being. Do not despair, my country — the hour has come; your landlockedness will soon be over!” Find the full AI-generated video below:

Now, back to our regular programming: #ASSEB pic.twitter.com/WtZOZ0BXov

— ኢትዮጵያውያን (@ethiopiansone) March 27, 2025

These videos and images are also accompanied by text amplifying the message either in the form of a caption or embedded within the video/image itself. One caption from a popular pro-government Twitter account reads:

“The Red Sea is in our past, and it must be in our future. For dignity, for development, and for generations to come, Ethiopia’s rightful access to the sea must be restored.

While another, accompanying an AI-generated image of a port with Ethiopian naval ships, declares: “My next summer vacation destination! #Assab #Ethiopia.”

Behind these visual tropes and audio files are deeply ingrained narratives that seek to justify and legitimize Ethiopia’s aspirations to reclaim its lost sea access. AI-generated content functions by appealing to patriotism, aiming to mobilize the nationalist sentiment of Ethiopians. The country’s landlockedness and the manner in which Ethiopia lost its seacoast are perhaps among the few political issues that unite an otherwise fragmented polity. There is a sense of loss and regret, an emotion these videos aim to tap into in an attempt to generate public support for the government’s ambitions.

With the help of AI, these images and videos paint an alternative vision for the future — a future in which Ethiopia has escaped the “geographic prison” of landlockedness and rides on a path to “prosperity.” 

This phenomenon illustrates how AI is being used to heighten and accelerate visual propaganda, as it has become significantly cheaper to produce and disseminate content as a result of the popularisation of AI-driven image, video, and audio generation tools. Crucially, it highlights state actors’ ability to quickly recognize and tap into the changing nature of platform cultures, where short-form video has increasingly supplanted text as the preferred form of content among audiences. Just as importantly, it signals that the classic division between truth and falsity no longer matters, as we enter what some critics have termed the “Fuck It” Era of AI-Generated Slop.

Originally published on Global Voices

Fishing vessels at the Bridgetown Fish Market, February 2025. Photo by Linton Arneaud, used with permission.

By Destini Cummings, Jared Koon Koon, Darius, Leacock, Alexia Lovell, Tyrie Oxley and Linton Arneaud

On July 1, 2024, Hurricane Beryl made landfall in Barbados. The Category 4 storm battered the island’s coast, toppling boats, destroying critical infrastructure, and severely disrupting one of the island’s most important sectors: the fishing industry. More than a year later, fisherfolk across Barbados are still grappling with the loss of their livelihoods and the daunting task of rebuilding from the wreckage.

Small-scale fisheries play a critical role in global and local sustainability, economic development, social well-being, and nutrition. For a semi-developed Caribbean island like Barbados, which relies significantly on its marine resources, the industry is essential. It provides livelihoods for many locals, contributes to the economy, and serves as an important source of employment and food security.

Beyond its economic value, the Barbados fishing sector plays a crucial role in maintaining the balance of aquatic ecosystems and supporting biodiversity conservation. Fish are a vital part of the Barbadian diet, a rich source of protein that bolsters food security and decreases reliance on imported food. Socially, fishing is deeply tied to the island’s heritage and identity. Traditional fishing villages like Speightstown, Oistins, and Holetown are not only economic hubs but also cultural landmarks that celebrate the island’s maritime history.

Echoes of Hurricane Beryl

The impacts from the storm were immediate and continue to be profound. At Oistins, one fish vendor’s wound from Beryl was still raw. “I could not bear to speak,” she admitted, “because if I did, I would cry. All of my source of income was gone, boats sunk and barely any fish to sell.” Another vendor, a boat owner who also lost her vessel, was just sitting with nothing to do. She spoke of her struggle to get back on her feet, with low funds and a child to support.

Large, reinforced concrete blocks are used to dissipate wave energy. Photo taken at the Bridgetown Fish Market by Linton Arneaud,used with permission.

In the capital, Bridgetown, the damage was evident. The breakwater, a shell of itself, had many of its dolos — massive reinforced concrete blocks used to dissipate wave energy — toppled and sunken. “A lot of the fellas just want to get their boats back into the water and off of the land,” one fisherman explained, “so they are fixing them as much as they can, but [they] still can’t fish. It’s giving them a sense of hope.”

Other types of damage were less visible. One boat captain from Paynes Bay reported that most of the fishing aggregate devices (FADs) used to attract fish had been destroyed, significantly affecting their catch. It became clear that the impact of climate change had outgrown the current protective infrastructure.

A call for resilience

Fisherfolk at the Bridgetown Fish Market. Photo by Linton Arneaud, used with permission.

In the months following the storm, 54 individuals within Barbados’ fishery sector — boat owners, fishermen, fish vendors, processors, and other related workers at major fish landing sites that included Bridgetown Public Market, Oistins Fish Market, Pile Bay, Conset Bay, and Paynes Bay — were interviewed for a survey. A practical component of the University of the West Indies (UWI) Cave Hill’s Level 3 Fishery Biology course, offered by the Faculty of Science and Technology, the survey assessed the impact of Hurricane Beryl on the Barbados fisheries sector.

Beyond conventional engineering solutions, the findings highlight a growing need for a holistic approach that integrates nature-based solutions into disaster preparedness. These solutions, which utilise natural ecosystems to protect communities and infrastructure, are viewed as a crucial component of a more sustainable recovery. The survey results revealed a strong consensus among fisherfolk on several key improvements.

Charting a course for recovery

The main finding of the survey revealed a strong consensus for stronger infrastructure. While participants called for improvements like extending the height, length, and proximity of the breakwater, they also underscored the importance of nature-based solutions like coral reef restoration, which can reduce wave strength while boosting marine biodiversity. Natural approaches like this can serve as critical complements to traditional engineering, especially as current protective measures are no longer proving adequate against increasingly intense storms.

The main facility at the Bridgetown Fish Market. Photo by Linton Arneaud, used with permission.

The need for financial assistance, resources, and sustainable practices is inextricably tied to fisheries management concepts. Providing equipment and financing can assist fisheries workers in rebuilding and continuing operations, while simultaneously supporting sustainable methods that protect the long-term health of fish stocks and the processing environment. Without proper support, fishery-dependent communities may struggle to recover, leading to declines in employment, food security, and biodiversity.

Fisherfolk also expressed a need for more robust boats, built with stronger materials such as reinforced fibreglass, Kevlar, and marine-grade aluminium, to better withstand strong waves and winds. Better boat storage was also a common theme. A larger marina with strengthened anchoring points would allow for more space and prevent boats from colliding, they said; dry storage — on-land facilities made to endure hurricane-strength winds — were also identified as a crucial protective measure.

Answering the call

In response to these urgent needs, the Barbados Fisheries Division (BFD) has recognised the need for greater resilience. Chief Fisheries Officer Shelly-Ann Cox stated that understanding the importance of a robust infrastructure to protect livelihoods and ensure a stable fish supply is at the forefront of the BFD’s work.

The Beryl Emergency Response and Recovery Project (P507109), funded by the World Bank, is currently underway. This initiative is complemented by a project designed to enhance the resilience of the island's fishing sector, supported by the UNDP and the government of Japan.

Docked fishing vessels and a catch at the Bridgetown Fish Market. Photo by Linton Arneaud, used with permission.

The focus is on key aspects of recovery, including vessel repair and replacement assistance, marina rehabilitation, and coastal protection. The projects also aim to strengthen resilience for future events by improving the National Emergency Management System (NEMS) and enhancing disaster preparedness. The BFD is also prioritising the construction of a marine travel lift and haul-up facility, slated for later this year, to further enhance the ability to safely manage vessels.

Ultimately, the survey findings highlight the necessity of combining disaster preparedness with fisheries biology to ensure that both human livelihoods and marine ecosystems remain resilient in the face of environmental threats, an approach that is central to securing a more sustainable future for Barbados's vital fishing sector and its people.

Originally published on Global Voices

A woman displays handmade carpets at a roadside near Cuzco, Peru. Photo by Urbain J. Kinet on Wikimedia Commons. Public domain

By Grecia Flores Hinostroza

In Peru, women’s rights exist in a strange paradox: on paper, we have the laws, the representation, and the international commitments that promise equality; in reality, our lives tell a different story. Political progress coexists alongside persistent neglect, with numbers that flatter and figures that fail. This contradiction is not hidden in the shadows — the painful contrast is written plainly in the numbers we so proudly display.

According to the SDG Gender Index, Peru scores 72.9 for “Proportion of seats held by women in national parliaments,” a figure that suggests progress, visibility, and leadership. And yet, when we shift our gaze to health, the score drastically drops to 35.5, barely half. Women are present in Congress, but absent from the healthcare system that should protect them.

If political participation alone were enough, our streets would be safer, our hospitals accessible, and our voices heard beyond the voting booth. But in Peru, as in much of Latin America, representation has not broken the chains of inequality — it has simply made them less visible to those who govern.

Graph by author, used with permission.

The data tells one story. The lives of rural, Indigenous, and poor women tell another — one where access to basic sexual and reproductive health services is a distant reality. Where hospitals, experts, and care are unreachable. As the political scientist Stéphanie Rousseau notes in “The Politics of Reproductive Health in Peru,” “Although health sector reforms have had some positive impact on women’s reproductive health, the many restrictions placed on women’s right to reproductive choices have blocked further progress.”

The consequences are not abstract. In 2020, Peru’s maternal mortality ratio stood at 69 deaths per 100,000 live births, according to the World Health Organization, far above the Latin American average of 45 and nearly five times that of Chile (16) and Uruguay (13). These numbers represent women whose lives could have been saved by timely care, safe births and the fulfilment of rights already recognized by law.

Graph by author, used with permission.

But these injustices are not only moral failures; they are legal betrayals. Peru has signed its name beneath international promises: the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), and others. These are not distant treaties gathering dust in diplomatic archives. They are binding commitments, written to safeguard the dignity, health, and safety of women — commitments meant to reach every hospital room, courtroom, and remote village in our country.

Laws protecting sexual and reproductive health rights exist on paper, but they remain distant from the realities of rural, Indigenous, and poor women. Clinics lack essential services. Comprehensive reproductive care is unavailable. Legal frameworks declare equality, but equality disappears in places where women still face forced pregnancies, unsafe births, and systemic neglect.

The Constitution speaks of equality, but equality does not walk the roads where women carry their pregnancies alone. The Ministry of Health issues protocols, but those protocols do not save lives when the nearest health centre is closed, or when the only doctor is gone. Rights without access are hollow. Commitments without implementation are betrayal.

In this context, political representation must not be mistaken for liberation. We cannot accept the illusion of progress that comes from more women in office if it is not matched by concrete action to dismantle structural barriers. Empowerment is not an empty slogan — it is the lived reality without fear, accessing healthcare without barriers, and raising one’s voice without retaliation.

The gap between law and life is not an abstract policy flaw; it is a daily crisis. It is the young girl in a rural province forced to give birth after sexual assault because abortion is inaccessible. It is the mother who dies on the way to a hospital that never has the capacity to treat her. Likewise, it is the Indigenous community where reproductive rights exist only in the language of faraway courts, not in the practice of local healthy systems.

If we measure success only by the presence of women in power, we ignore the absence of justice in their communities. Numbers in parliament cannot compensate for empty maternity wards. International recognition cannot replace the right to safe childbirth.

I call on the Peruvian Congress to legislate not for appearances, but for autonomy. To ensure that health, safety, and dignity are realities in every province. I call on international donors to fund the fight for reproductive freedom, not just political participation. And I call on Peruvian society to recognize that representation without rights is no victory at all.

Representation matters. But it is only the beginning. Real empowerment is when every woman controls her future — her body, her health, her voice — regardless of where she was born or how far she lives from the capital. Until the day, the paradox will remain, and progress will be a promise half-kept.

Originally published on Global Voices

Pigeon peas image via Canva Pro.

By Natalie Briggs

When I first met Florence Warrick-Joseph, there were two things I didn’t know. One, we were related in that pumpkin vine way only Caribbean people can be. Two, the doubles I had just bought from her at a pop-up market had a surprise in them.

It wasn’t the comforting warmth of a bara hot out of the box, leaking through greaseproof paper. It wasn’t the silken tear of teeth into that just-fried pillowy goodness, which, if you’re lucky, will still hold a hint of the crackle of oil.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was the filling. Cucumber, check. Sweet sauce, check. The heady bouquet of garlic, cumin and spices was there. But there was something different in the mouth feel. It wasn’t the melt-in-your-mouth consistency of the channa that makes doubles a national byword in Trinidad and Tobago. Tasty, yes … but different.

The same bouquet is heavy in Warrick-Joseph’s small kitchen, tickling the nostrils, making me think about the last time I ate. “I don’t curry the peas. I stew it,” she revealed, while demonstrating how she puts her spin on the popular street food. This is not her only departure from the norm. The peas she uses? They are pigeon peas.

These days, it isn’t quite the record scratch moment it was when it first appeared — but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. What we should be discussing is how pigeon peas, the stuff of pelau and coconut milk stew-downs, ended up in doubles. It started as an exhortation to think outside the box.

In 2014, Warrick-Joseph, a retired registered nurse, decided to do an event management course. Her lecturer asked the cohort to stretch themselves beyond the ho-hummery of birthday parties and christenings for their practicum. She was an avid planter of pigeon peas, one of the many members of the Upper Cemetery Street Residents’ Association in Diego Martin, to do so. They had a bumper crop that year.

“We were walking back down the hill,” Warrick-Joseph recalled. “Me, Errol [her husband] and Mr. Timothy. And he asked what were we going to do with all these peas. My husband said, ‘We will freeze it, we will sell it.’ Because that is what people do to get money to put in the organisation. So I said, thinking out of the box, we could have a pigeon peas festival.”

The two men were sceptical. Warrick-Joseph continued, “They were like, ‘Nobody ever heard of a pigeon peas festival.’ I said, ‘I’ve heard of a mango festival. I’ve heard of a breadfruit festival. There’s a chocolate festival. Why not pigeon peas?’”

The stage was set, but the main players were yet to arrive. They had the peas, but it would literally take a village to showcase their versatility. By the time the first festival rolled around in 2015, it was a result of a true community effort. They were able to generate so many recipes, including a version of doubles, that there were enough to fill a commemorative book.

Florence Warrick-Joseph at the 2025 Pigeon Peas Festival. Screenshot from a video on TTT Live Online‘s YouTube channel. Fair use.

“We got someone to do pholourie,” Warrick-Joseph said. “We got somebody who could do pigeon peas accra. Everybody ended up taking a recipe. We found people in the community who could do these things. The pigeon peas roti was from a woman who did roti, and instead of using the dhal with the split peas, she used the pigeon peas.”

Pholourie? Accra? Roti? It wasn’t such a stretch of the imagination. After all, pigeon peas’ nutty, earthy flavour lends itself well to a variety of savoury preparations. That’s why it’s a perennial favourite across the Caribbean.

But Warrick-Joseph was about to hit me another curveball. That first festival, she came up with four of her own recipes. One for ice cream. One for a punch. One for a pigeon peas wine. Then one for a liqueur. Two of those are sweet. One of them officially qualifies as dessert. The trick was in picking, shelling and stewing the fresh pigeon peas to form the custard base all within 24 hours, while they were still full of flavour. My mind had more difficulty wrapping around the idea of pigeon peas as this creamy, cold concoction.

There were no such problems with the muffins. As I stood and watched her prepare them, different scents filled the kitchen, this time with her signature spice blend. It was the spice, I realised, that gave it the illusion of being sweet. I hadn’t seen her put a lot of sugar into the mixture. The eventual result was dense, reminding me more of a coconut drop than the traditional muffin with its cakey crumb. Fresh out of the oven, breaking into one was a treat; I could smell the spices wafting up from the steamy centre. There was nutmeg. Some cinnamon, too.

Nothing in the flavour screamed pigeon peas. That was more in the texture and the solidity with which it sat in my stomach. One muffin felt like a full meal, which led me to ask about the nutritional benefits of the pigeon peas substitution. I found out that, among other things, they were high in potassium and fibre, and were good for gut flora, diabetics, and women who wanted to lose weight.

In fact, it was trying to cater to customers who wanted healthier alternatives to doubles that prompted Warrick-Joseph to come up with a recipe for gluten-free bara, made with pigeon pea flour: “The reason for the switch was that people felt they wanted gluten-free. There was a group of people that was intolerant to normal flour.”

These were what I had really come to see her prepare, the muffins being a delectable side journey. I knew it would be different from the first doubles I had from her, since the bara in that one had been made the regular way, with flour, leavening agent and oil. How different this version would be, both in taste and feel, was left to be seen.

It was a three-flour mix, including the ground pigeon peas, which resulted in a tacky, sticky sort of dough that was allowed to rest for about half an hour. While it did that, Warrick-Joseph warmed the oil in which she would fry them later, and prepared the pigeon peas filling. We talked about many things while she did this, including her business and her plans to eventually have pre-packaged products in the supermarket.

When she deemed the dough ready, she put the peas aside. The low gluten content made it difficult to handle as it tears easily, which is why she prefers to use a pastelle press to shape them, instead of rolling them out the traditional way. From there, the perfect circles went into the warmed oil, where they puff up slightly — nothing like the regular bara, because of the low gluten content. By the time they are done, I’m itching to try them.

Warrick-Joseph presented them to me on a plate, complete with pigeon peas filling, cucumber and a tangy tamarind sweet sauce. I took a bite, and chewed slowly, trying to make up my mind about them. The verdict? All the elements were there. This tasted like doubles. Purists might draw the line at the bara, which was more reminiscent of a soft taco shell — flatter, with a slight, mealy crunch to it — while health enthusiasts might hail it as the thing to make doubles great again.

Originally published on Global Voices

Montage of highlights from the Bocas Lit Fest 2025, courtesy of Bocas Lit Fest, used with permission.

This article by the Bocas Lit Fest's founder and board president Marina Salandy-Brown first appeared in the Trinidad and Tobago Express on September 17, 2025. An edited version is being republished on Global Voices with permission.

The recent alarm over the National Gas Company’s (NGC) defunding of thriving steel orchestras located in their “fenceline” communities, as well as the national embarrassment of Barbados — a country with a GDP one-fifth the size of Trinidad and Tobago’s — buying the culturally valuable Banyan video archive after NGC failed to secure it, underlines a much bigger issue with regard to Trinidad and Tobago’s culture and the value we place on it.

In Trinidad and Tobago we boast about our excess of talent, but talk is cheap. We have never been properly taught to cherish, nurture or preserve that talent, nor have we sought to align cultural development with national priorities in any serious way. All areas of the arts and cultural expression have suffered greatly as a result. The Carnival arts are a particularly striking example: our national festival’s clear commercial value has led to its foundational art forms being overdeveloped strictly for profit, and to drive tourism that fills hotel rooms for only a few days a year. The steelpan is loved, but not sufficiently supported financially and structurally, and only lip service is paid to the rest.

Cultural initiatives such as the ground-breaking Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival, the recently inaugurated Caribbean Film Festival, Green Screen, and the Africa Film Festival all struggle for financial support, along with a host of emerging and more niche festivals around the country. A glance at their websites reveals their support comes mostly from the private sector. Carnival and pan gobble up most of the state’s culture funding, and smaller initiatives are pretty much left to battle it out for the crumbs after availing themselves of the comparatively small grants offered by any iteration of a Ministry of Culture.

The Bocas Lit Fest is another major victim of the NGC’s shift in corporate social responsibility (CSR) priorities, which we understand are now geared toward sport. In 2011, when NGC decided to fund the proposed new literary festival, NGC had no well-formulated arts funding policy. Initiatives were funded on merit, and the ambitious Bocas Lit Fest became its major project. Fortunately, the head of the communications/marketing department at the time was an former schoolteacher who saw the value of a literary festival. NGC had already answered the call of the T&T Film Festival, of which I was then the executive director, to fund the country’s largest film award. It had also covered the cost of publishing the magnificent Dictionary of the English/Creole of Trinidad & Tobago by Lise Winer.

The Bocas Lit Fest is indebted to NGC, without whose support from the very beginning Trinidad and Tobago’s now world-famous annual literary festival would have been stillborn. For 12 years — 2012 to 2023 — NGC was the title sponsor of the Caribbean’s largest annual literary event. Known as the NGC Bocas Lit Fest, it caused a seismic shift in the world of Caribbean literature as well as for NGC, which garnered vast amounts of goodwill and additional promotion of its brand and logo at home and abroad.

NGC’s funding was guaranteed for three years at a time, which allowed us to plan, develop, nurture talent and promote the festival locally, regionally and internationally. That led to a host of new writers emerging and stepping up at home and in the region, to win major international awards and accolades and exert their influence in the global arena of ideas, as VS Naipaul and Derek Walcott once did. Diaspora writers have benefited, too, gaining access to the international community of Caribbean writers that surrounds the festival and the year-round work of the Bocas Lit Fest.

In 2024, NGC funded the literary festival only partially and did not contribute at all to the 2025 festival. This year’s festival was done on a shoestring, pulling in favours mainly from foreign programming partners and with the in-kind support of many smaller local sponsors. At the moment, the festival has only one partial sponsor confirmed for 2026. If the various funding proposals now sitting with the marketing departments of various companies fail to appeal to the decision-makers, we will need to seriously rethink the scale and format of the 2026 festival.

Running an arts NGO is not an easy task. All the responsibilities of running a company obtain, from legal and accounting to human resources management. Good governance is demanded by sponsors, but they are reluctant to cover the cost of annual audits and compliance. The Bocas Lit Fest spends over 10 percent of its revenue on those compulsory administrative expenses, which it then has to recoup in various inventive ways. Where is the government in all of this, you might ask? The government has so far not remitted its annual subvention to the Bocas Lit Fest for 2025, although it gave an undertaking to do so; that money was already spent in April for the festival. The state’s contribution, however, totals less than three percent of our annual operating budget.

The National Lotteries Control Board (NLCB) has a mandate to fund arts and culture, but seems to have no overarching policy or application process that is accessible to potential applicants. How the NLCB operates is a mystery, and if you worked it out and were successful, your grant would bear little relation to the size of your project. The NLCB salami slices — i.e., everyone gets a little piece of the pie.

Trinidad and Tobago cannot grow a successful arts sector in this way. This is not a stable or sustainable situation. An arts organisation in Trinidad and Tobago is only as successful or viable as the underpaid person in charge of running it is capable of procuring funding and attracting and retaining sponsors. It is why the arts continue to struggle. A further, particular challenge for the literary arts is the unfathomable full value-added tax (VAT) payable on non-academic books, which Customs and Excise has great difficulty in defining, making their levies random. We hope the present government will see the nonsense of penalising people who read and write books and remove the tax.

It is time for the state and the private sector, together, to establish an arts-funding agency that will not be a political football and is properly constituted with strict funding rules to avoid nepotism and other forms of corruption. It should have an index-linked annual budget and an arts policy that seeks to build our culture in accordance with a set of national priorities, rather than simply farm out small grants of the same value to every enthusiastic arts entrepreneur. It is not rocket science; other countries do it. An Arts Council, created by an Act of Parliament, would not prevent the private sector from funding other cultural projects, but it would allow companies to receive generous tax breaks for their contributions to the Arts Council that would support the core of the nation’s art sector.

In the absence of a sustainable national funding policy, Bocas Lit Fest adopted a policy of having more than one enlightened, long-term sponsor. One Caribbean Media (OCM) remains one of our key partners, our media partner, and the funder of the largest prize for Caribbean literature, which has helped make literary careers and catalyse the industry. First Citizens is the sponsor of the region’s most successful poetry slam, investing in the talent of the nation’s young people and also supporting the work of the Bocas Lit Fest.

We are also fortunate to have had two small sponsors from the outset who continue to contribute to the festival year-on-year. Our critical developmental year-round work is made possible through individual corporate sponsors. The festival — and the wider arts sector itself, however — is in urgent need of support.

Originally published on Global Voices

Palestine solidarity demonstration, London, May 15, 2021. Photo by Socialist Appeal on Flickr (CC BY 2.0).

Produced in collaboration with the Institute on Statelessness and Inclusion, this collective article asks people across different struggles why Palestine concerns them — revealing a common thread of solidarity against statelessness, oppression, and colonial violence.

Areej al-Shammiry, Global Movement Against Statelessness

My first ever march was for Palestine during the Second Intifada. I was in grade four [around 10 years old] in Kuwait, chanting with hundreds of students in the schoolyard: 

“بالروح، بالدم، نفديك يا فلسطين” 

[“With our souls and blood, we sacrifice for you, O Palestine”] 

At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what was happening, but I remember the image of 12-year-old Mohammad Al-Durrah, murdered on live television, and watching Palestinians resisting Israeli tanks with stones. I understood one thing: Palestine was occupied, and Israel was the occupier. And this fact alone was enough to know where I stood. As a child, I was powerless, of course, but chanting together in the schoolyard was our only way to express solidarity. 

My political consciousness of Palestine grew alongside my awareness of my own statelessness. While not identical, our struggles share conditions of dispossession, marginalization, erasure, and denial of rights. Coming from a region that has been colonized, divided, and plagued with proxy wars to uphold US global hegemony, I know well the colonial roots of our struggles. 

Palestinians embody one of the world’s longest and largest cases of statelessness. Yet, Palestine has often been sidelined in statelessness discussions. Perhaps because it reveals the limits of international refugee and human rights regimes, which focus on citizenship acquisition rather than collective rights or self-determination. Palestine shows that statelessness is not a legal anomaly but tied to colonial violence, militarized borders, and global complicity.

As we witness what is almost two years of a livestreamed Israeli genocide of Palestinians in Gaza, in what marks an ongoing Nakba that led to their forced displacement and statelessness, Palestine has exposed the most extreme forms of state violence to facilitate settler colonialism, genocide and ethnic cleansing, which deprives Palestinians of their right to self-determination, nationhood, and right of return. Talking about Palestinian statelessness demands naming the structural violence of settler colonialism, forced displacement, and genocide. 

Palestinian resistance to this structural violence has sparked global solidarities: with Indigenous peoples confronting settler colonialism, with Black liberation struggles, and various struggles across West Asia and North Africa and the rest of the world. Movements like the Boycott, Divestment, Sanctions (BDS) show how collective action can transcend borders when governments fail to hold Israel to account, or worse, are complicit. 

Palestine thus stands both as a stark example of global injustice and an inspiration for resistance. For marginalized and stateless communities, the Palestinian struggle teaches us many lessons: to assert political agency beyond victimhood; to build solidarities as survival; and to speak truth to power despite repression. For those working on statelessness, it is also a call to reflect on our failures and commit to doing things differently. We must take these lessons seriously if we are to shape a future where this violence has no place.

Sihle Nxumalo, South African activist

The impact of the ongoing violence, destruction and systemic discrimination of the people of Palestine will have long-term consequences that will affect multiple generations in the future. South African apartheid “ended” in 1994, but the effects, trauma and its legacy still linger on today, including the continued discrimination against South Africa’s Indigenous population by white settlers. 

We can draw stark similarities between old South African apartheid policies and Israel’s discriminatory practices against Palestinians. Israel has created a brutal apartheid state in which Palestinian rights are systematically removed in favour of illegal settlers: physical segregation policies, forced displacement, and illegal seizures of lands echo the treatment of Black people in South Africa. 

The effects of these practices are still visible today, with many Black people still living in congested communities in tin shacks. White people in South Africa, who only make up about 10 percent of the population, still own around 70 percent of the land to this day, over 30 years after “democracy.” South Africa is known as having the most unequal society in the world, with severe economic inequalities persisting in the country. 

The legacy of apartheid still impacts the Black population of today with high unemployment rates, limited resources, unequal opportunities and bad living conditions.  The next generations of Palestinians will, unfortunately, have to inherit an intergenerational burden of widespread trauma and destruction, which will weigh heavily on their physical and emotional well-being. 

To end apartheid in South Africa, it took a mass internal uprising and massive support and condemnation from the international community. This pressure forced the South African government to rethink its policies and come to the negotiation table to pave the way for a free and democratic country for all its citizens. 

The global response to the discrimination and genocide in Palestine is grossly inadequate. The same support and global solidarity that South Africa received are desperately needed to pressure world powers to do something tangible, including but certainly not limited to legitimate economic sanctions and immediate cessation of arms sales to Israel. 

It is evident from the case of South Africa that ending violence and discrimination is only the first step in a long, winding road to true freedom. 

Free Palestine.

Aleksandra Semeriak Gavrilenok, former non-citizen of Latvia

Growing up stateless, as a non-citizen of Latvia, I learned early what it means when rights exist only on paper, only for those considered eligible, only for those belonging by ethnicity and not by birth. As I grew older, I learned that this exclusion was not accidental, that it is deliberately established and maintained by unjust power dynamics and by state actors who feel entitled to ignore the rule of law. 

Statelessness strips people of the sense of belonging, of social and political power, of access to justice and even of the recognition of their existence. But as a human being, I have the right to exist. That is why Palestine concerns me.

Here in Spain, I also witness the struggle of the Saharawi community. For decades, the Saharawi have been forcibly displaced and denied their right to nationality and self-determination. In both Palestine and Western Sahara, statelessness is violently compounded by colonization and systemic dehumanization, revealing how ineffective and indifferent the international order has become. 

Yes, international mechanisms exist, but they have been rendered useless. Rather than enforceable actions to prevent human rights violations and hold oppressors accountable, UN resolutions have, unfortunately, become little more than letters of condolence. Yet as someone who still believes in the UN’s founding promise “to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war,” I want to hold onto hope that justice will prevail. That is why Palestine concerns me.

Across Europe and the world, I have been fortunate to meet a very diverse and still united community of people with lived experience of statelessness. Their stories, both beautiful and painful, taught me more about the multiple layers of discrimination and intersectional struggles. I saw how stateless people, with little resources, still challenged and changed the system. That confronted me with a truth: justice, recognition and equal rights will not come from institutions alone, but from solidarity among all of us. As a formerly stateless person, I stand in solidarity with those impacted by statelessness. That is why Palestine concerns me.

So, I’ve been asked why Palestine concerns me, but why does it not concern you?

Fawzi Abdul Fayaz, Rohingya activist

Palestine concerns me deeply because its people’s struggle resonates profoundly with my own community, the Rohingya. Both Palestinians and Rohingya have endured decades of systematic persecution, dispossession, and displacement. We are bound together not only by our shared experience of exile but also by the ongoing erasure of our identities through state violence and atrocity crimes. Palestine is not just “their” struggle; it is also a mirror of our own. Indeed, Arakan — the homeland of the Rohingya — is often described as the “Palestine of the East” because of the striking similarities in our people’s tragedies of forced displacement and genocide.

The Rohingya are often described as “the most persecuted people in the world.” Stripped of citizenship by Myanmar’s 1982 law, denied basic rights, and subjected to waves of military campaigns, we have faced ongoing genocide. The atrocities of 2017 — mass killings, systematic sexual violence, and the burning of hundreds of villages — forced more than 700,000 Rohingya to flee to Bangladesh. Today, most Rohingya children are born in exile, in overcrowded refugee camps such as Cox’s Bazar, without ever setting foot in our ancestral land of Arakan. And yet, as with Palestinians, our bond with our homeland remains unbroken.

To be born and raised in exile is to inherit both loss and resilience. Our parents and elders pass down stories of our villages, our language, and our traditions, ensuring that our identity survives attempts at erasure. This intergenerational memory is more than nostalgia; it is resistance. Just as Palestinians preserve their keys, songs, and oral histories, Rohingya preserve our culture and name as an act of defiance against genocide.

This enduring connection to homeland shapes identity, memory, and resistance. It reminds us that displacement does not end belonging — it strengthens it. To be Rohingya or Palestinian in exile is to embody the refusal to be forgotten, to carry both the pain of dispossession and the unyielding hope of justice and return.

Abdul Kalam Azad, activist scholar working with the Miya community in Assam, India

Palestine concerns me as a human being. Human beings are naturally wired to feel empathy when they see the livestreamed genocide of their fellow human beings for nearly two years. 

It is not just me; I am sure millions across the world see the situation in Palestine as a source of unending horror. I often feel that the majority of the world shares the same helplessness while watching the bullying attitude of colonial and imperial powers.

As an activist scholar working with the Miya community in Assam, India, the situation in Palestine has influenced how I think and work today. I once had faith in the world order; with international law and global governance in place, I believed that another genocide would never be possible.

I genuinely thought that injustices committed against marginalized people, including members of my own community, could be stopped if their stories were told to the world, if our friends and allies organized, and formed a global opinion, it would help us convince our national government to uphold the constitution religiously and protect the rights of our fellow citizens. The current situation in Palestine has shattered that hope. 

Today, members of my community are subjected to both structural and physical violence. Millions of us have been rendered stateless through discriminatory laws, policies, and practices. Hundreds of thousands of our homes have been demolished; many people are languishing in detention camps or being forcibly deported to foreign countries at gunpoint. Every aspect of our lives — livelihood, food, shelter, mobility, religion, and culture — is under constant control and surveillance. Forget about forming a global opinion — hardly anyone is even allowed to speak about these injustices. 

By sharing this, I am not attempting to draw parallels with the suffering of our Palestinian sisters and brothers. What I am trying to highlight is the collapse of the world order, the further erosion of the moral compass of colonial and imperial powers, and the resultant hopelessness, which are contributing to perpetual injustice across the globe. 

That is why stopping the genocide now is not just for the freedom of Palestinians but also to keep faith in the struggle to fight against injustice.  

Concluding remarks: Lubnah Shomali, Palestinian human rights activist and advocacy unit manager at BADIL Resource Center for Palestinian Residency and Refugee Rights

The Israeli colonial-apartheid regime has perpetrated almost two years of genocide in the Gaza Strip while fully disclosing its intentions and plans to erase the remaining Palestinian people in historic Palestine. 

And yet, states are not only failing to act but are complicit in genocide, displacement, colonization and apartheid. The Palestinian struggle for liberation has exposed this complicity, inaction, failure and sabotage of the international legal order.

What the Palestinian people have been facing and experiencing is not new nor exclusive, as the words above indicate. The reality is that colonial policies and practices are imposed in many other parts of the world, including the manipulation of the international legal order to serve the political and economic agendas of Western colonial states.

This is why the Palestinian struggle for liberation extends beyond the Palestinian people and our national homeland of historic Palestine, resonating among many oppressed peoples and groups around the world whose rights and freedoms have been denied and violated to further colonial agendas.

The Palestinian struggle for liberation reaffirms what has been historically proven and currently known: that the struggles for liberation, basic human rights, freedoms and justice require more than empty promises and condemnations, unfulfilled resolutions and symbolic gestures. 

Our struggles for liberation require that states fulfil their obligations to protect the unprotected, impose comprehensive sanctions against perpetrators of international crimes to hold them accountable and uphold the international legal order.

We also know that states will not willingly do so, especially if such actions are detrimental to their colonial agendas. Therefore, it becomes the duty of the oppressed peoples to resist, and our allies to provide solidarity. Together, through the escalation of direct actions that disrupt the colonial status quo, we will all be liberated.