Pandemic Agreement: Important Step but Big Decisions Deferred

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Opinion

Credit: WHO/Christopher Black

BRUSSELS, Belgium, Jun 11 2025 (IPS) – When the next pandemic strikes, the world should be better prepared. At least, that’s the promise states made at the World Health Organization’s (WHO) World Health Assembly on 19 May when they adopted the first global pandemic treaty. This milestone in international health cooperation emerged from three years of difficult negotiations, informed by the harsh lessons learned from COVID-19’s devastating global impacts.

Yet this step forward in multilateralism comes at a deeply difficult moment. The WHO, as the organisation tasked with implementing the agreement, faces its starkest ever financial crisis following the withdrawal of the USA, its biggest donor. Meanwhile, disagreements between states threaten to undermine the treaty’s aspirations. Some of the big decisions that would make the experience of the next pandemic a more equitable one for the world’s majority are still to be negotiated.

A treaty born from COVID-19’s failures

Processes to negotiate the Pandemic Agreement came as a response to the disjointed international reaction to the COVID-19 pandemic. When the virus spread across borders, global north countries hoarded vaccines for their populations but left much of the world unprotected – an approach that as well as being manifestly unfair enabled the virus to further mutate. The treaty’s text emphasises the need for proper pandemic prevention, preparedness and response in all states, with the potential to enhance multilateral cooperation during health crises.

With 124 countries voting in favour, 11 abstaining and none voting against, many diplomats presented the agreement’s finalisation as a victory for global cooperation. It comes at a time when multilateralism is being severely tested, with powerful governments tearing up international rules, pulling out of international bodies and slashing funding. The window of opportunity to reach some kind of agreement was rapidly closing.

A major absence loomed large over the final negotiations. Upon his inauguration in January, President Trump announced the USA would withdraw from the WHO and halt all funding. The withdrawal of a superpower like the USA harms the WHO’s legitimacy and sends a signal to other populist governments that withdrawal is an option. Argentina is following its lead and Hungary may too.

Funding crisis

US withdrawal will leave an enormous funding gap. In the pre-Trump era, the USA was the WHO’s biggest contributor: it provided US$1.28 billion in 2022-2023, amounting to 12 per cent of the WHO’s approved budget and roughly 15 per cent of its actual budget.

As the treaty was agreed, WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus painted a disturbing picture of the organisation’s financial situation. Its 2022-2023 budget showed a US$2 billion shortfall and its current salary gap is over US$500 million. The proposed budget for 2026-2027 has already been slashed by 21 per cent, and this reduced budget is expected to receive only around 60 per cent of the funding needed. The WHO will likely have to cut staff and close offices in many countries.

This reflects a lack of political will: states are making the choice of cutting down on global cooperation while boosting their defence spending. The current WHO funding gap of US$2.1 billion is the equivalent of just eight hours of global military expenditure.

Big issues kicked down the road

Deteriorating political realities made it crucial to reach an agreement as soon as possible, even if this meant kicking some difficult decisions down the road. As a result, the text of the agreement has severe weaknesses.

The treaty lacks dedicated funding and robust enforcement mechanisms, which means the blatant inequalities that defined the global response to COVID-19 are likely to remain unconfronted. It doesn’t tackle the most critical and contested issues, including the international sharing of pathogens and vaccine access.

The treaty will open for ratification following the negotiation of an annex on a pathogen access and benefit-sharing system, a process that could take a further two years. This means implementation is likely still a long way away.

The current impasse reflects an enduring faultline between global south states that need better access to affordable health products and technologies, and global north states siding with powerful pharmaceutical corporations that want their assets protected. Wealthy governments are making their decisions safe in the knowledge they’ll be at the front of the line when the next pandemic starts, while the world’s poorest people will again face the brunt of the devastation.

Political will needed

The Pandemic Agreement is a step forward at a time when international cooperation faces increasing attacks. That 124 countries demonstrated their commitment to multilateral action on global health threats offers hope. But substantial work remains if the treaty is to enable a truly global and fair response to the next health crisis.

For that to happen, the world’s wealthiest states need to put narrow self-interest calculations aside. States also need to address the issue of long-term funding. Right now, global leaders have agreed on the need for coordinated pandemic preparedness, but the institution meant to lead this doesn’t have the resources needed to put goals into action.

The next pandemic will test not just scientific capabilities, but also collective commitment to the shared global values the treaty is supposed to represent. Political will and funding are needed to turn lofty aspirations into meaningful action.

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

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

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Waves of Change: From the Glittering Shores of Nice to Struggling Seaweed Farmers in Zanzibar

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Africa, Biodiversity, Civil Society, Climate Change, Climate Change Justice, Editors’ Choice, Environment, Europe, Featured, Headlines, Ocean Health, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations

Conservation

Yachts dock in Port Lympia, Nice, where the 3rd United Nations Ocean Conference is underway. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS

Yachts dock in Port Lympia, Nice, where the 3rd United Nations Ocean Conference is underway. Credit: Kizito Makoye/IPS

NICE, France, Jun 10 2025 (IPS) – The late afternoon sun sparkles on the waters of the French Riviera as yachts dock at the Port of Nice with mechanical grace. A tram glides past palm-lined boulevards, where joggers, drenched in sweat, huff past leisurely strollers and sunbathers. Just beside the promenade, a crowd gathers around a young girl. With braided hair bouncing in rhythm, she belts out Beyoncé’s Halo with stunning precision. Her bare feet dance on the cobblestones, her voice echoing against the pastel façades.

Tourists smile and drop coins into her hat. She grins, curtsies, and begins again. Her melody, effortless yet soulful, is a momentary respite from the conference halls just a few blocks away, where global leaders in gleaming designer suits dart to and from the United Nations Ocean Conference—a stone throw away.

Among those representing Africa is Tanzanian Vice-President Philip Mpango, who reaffirmed his government’s commitment to the sustainable conservation of oceans and marine resources, citing national efforts to combat pollution, overfishing, and the common affliction of climate.

“We must take action to protect our oceans and marine ecosystems. The challenges are enormous, but there is always hope for  when we build resilience  against the harsh impacts  of climate change that threaten our  coastal communities,” Mpango said in a statement aired back home on national television, TBC.

But as policymakers speak of high-level goals, thousands of kilometers away on the sun-scorched coast of Zanzibar, 43-year-old Amina Ali squats barefoot in the muddy shallows of the Indian Ocean. Her weathered hands move through the water with practiced familiarity, adjusting the polyethylene ropes that hold her seaweed crops.

“I used to earn enough to send my children to school and buy food,” she tells IPS by WhatsApp call, her voice tinged with quiet desperation. “Now, the weather is so unpredictable, and the sea is eating our farms. Some days, I come home empty-handed.”

Amina is among the thousands of women in the Zanzibar archipelago who depend on seaweed farming for survival. Once hailed as a booming green economy venture, seaweed production is now threatened by rising sea temperatures, shifting tides, and erosion—climate change-fueled adversities that have turned once-thriving beaches into battlegrounds.

Back in Nice, as the world gathers to chart a course for ocean health, Dr. Immaculate Semesi, Director General of Tanzania’s National Environmental Management Council (NEMC), underscores the stakes. “Our oceans  are our economic lifeline for thousands of our people; we must protect them at any cost,” she tells IPS on the sidelines of the conference.

Tanzania’s ocean territory spans more than 64,000 square kilometers, rich in biodiversity and crucial for food, transport, and employment. Yet, this “blue economy,” as experts call it, remains heavily underutilized and at risk due to Illegal, Unreported, and Unregulated (IUU) fishing, marine pollution, and poor regulation.

IUU fishing, often conducted by foreign-flagged vessels, has long plagued Tanzanian waters. Fishermen employ destructive techniques—blast fishing and banned nets—that decimate marine habitats and undermine lawful fishing operations.

“We’ve made huge progress—blast fishing has been reduced by 80 percent through community vigilance and stricter law enforcement,” says Dr. Flower Msuya, a marine biologist at the University of Dar es Salaam, in an interview with IPS in Nice. “But we still face serious challenges. Seaweed farmers are suffering. Corals are bleaching. Fisheries are dwindling. Climate change is accelerating it all.”

In recent years, Tanzania has stepped up efforts to curb environmental degradation. It has banned single-use plastic bags, ratified international marine protection conventions, and adopted policies like the National Blue Economy Policy (2024) and the National Action Plan (2024/2025–2025/2026). These frameworks aim to integrate environmental sustainability with economic development across sectors—fisheries, tourism, transport, and renewable energy.

Zanzibar, the semi-autonomous archipelago, has become a model in this regard. Under President Hussein Ali Mwinyi, the region has elevated the Blue Economy to a national development priority. Seaweed farming has rebounded, recording over 16,000 tons in 2023, nearly double that of 2020. Fish production reached 80,000 tons last year, thanks to government support including boats, loans, training, and a dedicated Ministry of Blue Economy and Fisheries.

Tourism has flourished as well. In 2023, Zanzibar welcomed more than 638,000 international tourists, surpassing pre-pandemic highs. The number of hotels and guesthouses rose to 709, including new eco-friendly lodges that promote marine conservation.

“The Zanzibar model shows us that sustainability and economic growth can go hand in hand,” says Dr. Msuya. “But we need more investment, more climate adaptation technologies, and policies that reach grassroots communities—especially women like Amina.”

Still, gaps remain. Many seaweed farmers struggle to access modern farming tools, credit, or markets. Amina’s coastal village, once lined with seaweed drying racks, is now dotted with abandoned plots.

“We are not asking for charity,” Amina says. “We just want support to adapt. The sea has always fed us and we will always depend on it.”

At the United Nations Ocean conference, Mpango acknowledged these vulnerabilities. He stressed the need for global cooperation and regional partnerships to enhance ocean governance and marine security. His call for action resonated with delegates from across the Global South, many of whom face similar crises.

Tanzania’s latest marine action plans aim to increase surveillance, foster community engagement, and harness scientific research. These include more patrols to combat IUU fishing, tighter enforcement of fishing licenses, and partnerships with universities to monitor marine ecosystems.

Yet, the pace of change is often slower than the rising tides.

As the sun dips into the Mediterranean in Nice, casting a golden glow on the port where that young girl sings Beyoncé with raw emotion, her voice seems to echo the silent struggles of women like Amina—unheard yet vital.

The ocean, vast and mysterious, connects them.

From the gilded shores of France to the salt-sprayed coasts of Tanzania, the fate of the sea is tied to every song sung, every rope tied, and every promise made.

And as leaders pack up their speeches and fly home, the real work begins—not in marble halls, but in muddy waters where the ocean meets life.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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UN Ocean Decade vs. Coastal Reality: ‘They Took Our Sea,’ Say Vizhinjam Fishworkers

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Ocean Health

Vizhinjam Port—Inaugurated by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 2 May 2025, as India’s first deep-water container transshipment hub—has been criticized for displacing fishers and disrupting the sensitive ocean biodiversity. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Vizhinjam Port—Inaugurated by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 2 May 2025, as India’s first deep-water container transshipment hub—has been criticized for displacing fishers and disrupting the sensitive ocean biodiversity. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

THIRUVANANTHAPURAM, India, Jun 8 2025 (IPS) – As the UN Ocean Conference (UNOC) approaches, bringing renewed attention to SDG 14 (Life Below Water) and the rights of ocean-dependent communities, India’s Vizhinjam coast highlights the environmental injustice and human cost of unchecked coastal development.

Kerala’s traditional fishworkers—communities historically rooted to the sea—are now facing irreversible disruption due to the controversial Vizhinjam Port project.

Despite repeated rejections by multiple expert appraisal committees over severe environmental concerns, the Vizhinjam Port—Inaugurated by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 2 May 2025, as India’s first deep-water container transshipment hub—was approved under questionable circumstances.

Experts have raised serious concerns about the compromised Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) process for the Vizhinjam Port, calling it a “cut-copy-paste” job lifted from unrelated projects. The port’s viability studies were manipulated to overlook ecological threats and suppress dissenting community voices.

According to Vijayan M.J., Director of the Participatory Action Research Coalition—India, “The first viability study by Ernst & Young clearly said the port was not feasible—environmentally or economically. So did the second. But both were dismissed, and a third study was commissioned with the clear expectation that it would declare the project viable. They didn’t even put the E&Y logo on the final report—just the names of the two researchers. That tells you something.”

Breaking the Coast: Ecological Damage and Fisher Exclusion

In spite of these warnings, the Vizhinjam Port project moved forward in a coastal region already burdened by extensive human intervention. As of 2022, Kerala’s 590-kilometer coastline hosted a major port at Kochi and intermediate ports in Thiruvananthapuram, Alappuzha, Kozhikode, and Thalassery. The shoreline was further segmented by 25 fishing harbors, multiple breakwaters, and 106 groynes. Nearly 310 kilometers of this coastline had already been transformed into artificial stretches.

These cumulative constructions had already disrupted the natural rhythms of the coast, causing severe erosion in some areas and sediment build-up in others—ultimately leading to the loss of accessible beaches. To mitigate these impacts, the state installed additional seawalls and groynes, which only further interfered with the marine ecosystem and traditional fishing practices.

For Kerala’s fishworkers, this pattern of exclusion and ecological damage is not new.

The situation intensified with the onset of Vizhinjam Port’s construction, when hundreds of local fishers were abruptly informed that they could no longer fish near their home shores due to the imposition of shipping lanes and designated no-fishing zones.

This pattern of exclusion deepened when the state government handed over large portions of the Thiruvananthapuram coast, including Vizhinjam, to the Adani Group.

Amid rising protests in places like Perumathura and Muthalappozhi—where heavy siltation and repeated fisher deaths had triggered alarm—the government assured that Adani’s involvement would provide solutions, including constructing embankments and regularly dredging the estuary to keep it navigable. However, these promises quickly fell apart.

As Vipin Das, a fishworker from Kerala, recalls, “Adani took over the entire beach and built an office complex. Now, even stepping onto the shore requires his office’s permission.”

According to local accounts, the company’s first move was to dismantle the southern embankment to allow barge access to the port. This action disrupted natural sediment flows and caused a severe blockage of the estuary. “When floodwaters began threatening nearby homes, a JCB was rushed in to reopen the embankment—but it was already too late,” Vipin adds. “Adani’s entry didn’t solve anything—it only worsened the crisis and destroyed our coastline.”

From Biodiversity Hotspot to Danger Zone

Once a biodiversity hotspot, Vizhinjam’s marine ecosystem boasted 12 reef systems and one of the world’s 20 rare ‘wedge banks’—a critical oceanic zone near Kanyakumari where hundreds of fish species fed and reproduced. Fishers remember it as a “harbor of procreation,” teeming with over 200 varieties of fish and more than 60 aquatic species.

However, intense dredging, altered wave patterns, and ongoing port operations have severely damaged this fragile marine ecosystem. In 2020, Kerala recorded a 15 percent decline in fish catch, and the numbers have continued to fall in the years since—threatening both biodiversity and the livelihoods that depend on it.

The state’s response has been displacement disguised as compensation, offering ₹10 lakh (USD 12,000) as a one-time payment to those willing to leave their homes instead of addressing systemic erosion and disaster risks, said Vijayan.

The situation further took a catastrophic turn on May 24, 2025, when a massive shipwreck occurred off the Vizhinjam coast.

While authorities framed it as an isolated incident, environmentalists and coastal communities argue it was a disaster waiting to happen—fueled by years of unregulated dredging and reckless port expansion.

“The sea is poisoned; people are saying not to eat fish,” shared Vipin. “But it’s not just rumors—there are chemicals, plastics, and fuel. And we, who had nothing to do with this, are the first to suffer.”

With livelihoods already battered by monsoon storms and port restrictions, fishers now face public panic, polluted waters, and a poisoned food chain. “This isn’t just an accident—it’s a man-made disaster,” Vipin added. “The state must act swiftly to hold the company accountable and compensate the coastal communities who are paying the highest price.”

However, earlier this year Vizhinjam International Seaport Ltd. told the Business and Human Rights Resource Centre that  “Environment Clearance accorded to Vizhinjam Port has stood the test of legal scrutiny, having gone through litigation before the National Green Tribunal, New Delhi.”

It continued, “The Port operations and fishing/ancillary activities coexist all over the world and both activities are continuing as per the rules and regulations prevailing in the democratic country of India. It may also be noted that Vizhinjam port construction has been carried out with best practices, including stakeholder engagement, taking the community into confidence.”

IPS UN Bureau Report

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Solar Energy Brings Water to Iconic Salvadoran Village of El Mozote

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Sustainability

More than 30 solar panels power the pumping plant in the village of El Mozote, in eastern El Salvador, providing water to around 360 families. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

More than 30 solar panels power the pumping plant in the village of El Mozote, in eastern El Salvador, providing water to around 360 families. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

EL MOZOTE, El Salvador , Jun 6 2025 (IPS) – The worst massacre of civilians in Latin America occurred in the Salvadoran village of El Mozote, where environmental projects are beginning to emerge, slowly fostering awareness about protecting the natural resources of this deeply symbolic site, embedded in the country’s historical memory.

Since early 2024, a small photovoltaic plant has been operating in El Mozote, in the district of Meanguera, eastern El Salvador, powering a municipal water system designed to supply around 360 families in the village and nearby areas.

“We used to wash clothes in those communal wells, which were built after the war, in ’94.” — Otilia Chicas

“The project’s goal was to minimize environmental impacts in the area by seeking cleaner energy sources, and with that in mind, the solar panel system was implemented,” Rosendo Ramos, the Morazán representative of the Salvadoran Health Promotion Association (ASPS), the NGO behind the project, explained to IPS.

The Spanish organization Solidaridad Internacional Andalucía also participated in launching the initiative.

El Mozote is located in the department of Morazán, a mountainous region in eastern El Salvador. During the civil war (1980-1992), the area was the scene of brutal clashes between leftist guerrillas and the army.

In December 1981, over several days, military units massacred around 1,000 peasants in the village and neighboring communities—including pregnant women and children—accusing them of being a support base for the rebels.

The conflict is estimated to have left more than 75,000 dead and 8,000 disappeared.

The photovoltaic system installed in El Mozote, eastern El Salvador, operates alongside the national distribution grid, so on cloudy days with low solar generation, the conventional power grid is activated. Credit: Courtesy of ASPS

The photovoltaic system installed in El Mozote, eastern El Salvador, operates alongside the national distribution grid, so on cloudy days with low solar generation, the conventional power grid is activated. Credit: Courtesy of ASPS

Sunlight to Distribute Water

The solar project consists of 32 panels capable of generating a total of 15 kilowatts—enough to power the equipment, primarily the 60-horsepower pump that pushes water up to the tank installed atop La Cruz mountain. From there, water flows down to households by gravity.

The photovoltaic system operates alongside the national power grid, so on cloudy days with low solar output, the conventional grid kicks in—though the goal is obviously to reduce reliance on it.

The project, costing US$28,000, was funded by the European Union as part of a larger environmental initiative that also included two nearby municipalities, Arambala and Jocoaitique, focusing on protecting the La Joya Pueblo micro-watershed.

Key aspects of the broader program include reducing the use of agrochemicals, plastic, and other disposable materials; and promoting rainwater harvesting.

The overall program reached 1,317 people (706 women and 611 men) across three municipalities and six communities, involving NGOs, schools, and local governments.

“The aim is to consume less energy from the national grid, thereby lowering pumping costs,” explained Ramos.

However, this cost reduction doesn’t necessarily translate into lower water bills for families in El Mozote and surrounding areas. That’s because the water system is municipally managed, and tariffs are set by local ordinances, making adjustments difficult—unlike community-run projects where residents and leaders can more easily agree on changes.

One benefit of the new system is that lower energy costs for the municipality free up funds to expand and improve other basic services—not just in Meanguera but also in places like El Mozote, Dennis Morel, the district director, told IPS.

The plaza of El Mozote, the iconic village in eastern El Salvador, was renovated, but local residents complain that the government-led construction work was not agreed upon with the community. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

The plaza of El Mozote, the iconic village in eastern El Salvador, was renovated, but local residents complain that the government-led construction work was not agreed upon with the community. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Water in the postwar era

Otilia Chicas, a native of El Mozote, recalled what life was like in the village when there was no piped water service—back in the days following the end of the civil war in 1992, when people began returning to the area.

“We used to wash clothes in those communal wells. They were built after the war, in ’94,” said Chicas, pointing toward one of those now-empty wells, about 20 meters away from where she stood, inside a kiosk selling handicrafts, books, and T-shirts in El Mozote’s central plaza.

Next to the plaza is the mural bearing the names of the hundreds of people killed by the army—specifically, by units of the Atlacatl Battalion, trained in counterinsurgency by the United States.

“We used to fetch water from there and bathe there, but since these wells weren’t enough, we’d go to a spring, to ‘El Zanjo,’ as we called it,” she recounted.

She added that the drinking water project arrived between 2005 and 2006, finally bringing the resource directly into people’s homes.

“The community had to pitch in, and the hours people worked were counted as payment, as their contribution,” she noted while weaving colorful thread bracelets.

There is uncertainty over whether the kiosk in the village plaza will be removed. Several women from the El Mozote Historical Committee sell handicrafts and work as tour guides there. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

There is uncertainty over whether the kiosk in the village plaza will be removed. Several women from the El Mozote Historical Committee sell handicrafts and work as tour guides there. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

 Almost No One Was Spared 

Chicas, 45, was born in 1980, a year before the massacre. Now, she helps run the kiosk and works as a tour guide alongside other local women from the El Mozote Historical Committee, explaining to visitors the horrific events that took place in December 1981.

The artisan shared that her family lost several relatives in the 1981 massacre, as did nearly everyone here. The victims’ mural is filled with dozens of people bearing the last names Chicas, Márquez, Claros, and Argueta, among many others.

“My grandmother lost four of her children and 17 grandchildren,” she recalled.

Chicas’ father, in an attempt to save their lives, moved his family out of El Mozote before the massacre and resettled in Lourdes Colón, in the western part of the country. But the military ended up killing him in 1983 after discovering he was originally from Morazán and linking him to rebel groups.

“The National Guard came for him and two uncles—they saw they were from Morazán, a guerrilla zone,” she emphasized. “Before killing them, they forced them to dig their own graves. They were left by the roadside, in a place called El Tigre,” she explained.

The military operation that culminated in the massacre was planned and executed by the Salvadoran Army’s High Command, with support from Honduran soldiers and covered up by United States government officials, revealed Stanford University scholar Terry Karl in April 2021.

Karl testified as an expert witness during a hearing on the case held that April in San Francisco Gotera, the capital of Morazán.

Dormant in El Salvador’s judicial system since 1993, the case was reopened in September 2016. Among the accused are 15 soldiers—seven of them high-ranking Salvadoran officers—,the only surviving defendants from the original list of 33 military personnel.

The trial is currently in the investigative phase, where evidence is being gathered and examined before the judge decides whether to proceed to a full public trial.

A mural on the side of El Mozote’s plaza displays the names of the hundreds of people killed by the Salvadoran army in December 1981, marking the largest massacre of civilians in Latin America. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

A mural on the side of El Mozote’s plaza displays the names of the hundreds of people killed by the Salvadoran army in December 1981, marking the largest massacre of civilians in Latin America. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Times of Uncertainty 

El Mozote’s central plaza has been renovated over the past three years as part of the government’s effort to give it a more orderly and modern appearance—a promise made by President Nayib Bukele when he visited the site in February 2021.

The town is also nearing completion of a Urban Center for Well-being and Opportunities (CUBO)—a government-sponsored community center designed to provide youth with access to reading materials, art, culture, and information and communication technologies.

However, some residents told IPS that these projects are being carried out without prior consultation or agreement with the community, in violation of the 2012 ruling by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, which called for justice, truth, and reparations for the victims.

The reconstruction work demolished the bandstand, a space highly valued by the community as a gathering place for meetings and collective organizing.

Despite this, Chicas said she supports the plaza’s renovations, as they have made it more inviting for young people to spend time there. Still, she noted that the remodeling affected her personally.

The construction forced her to dismantle her small food stall, made of corrugated metal sheets, where she used to make and sell pupusas—El Salvador’s most iconic dish, made of corn and stuffed with beans, cheese, or pork.

Chicas also mentioned the ongoing uncertainty about whether the kiosk where she and other women craft and sell their handicrafts will be removed.

“We’re left in limbo—we don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said.

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Girls in Kenya Are Repurposing the Invasive Mathenge Tree Into Furniture

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Youth

Magdalene Ngimoe and Char Tito, learners at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, making chairs from mathenge wood. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Magdalene Ngimoe and Char Tito, learners at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, making chairs from mathenge wood. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

KAKUMA, Kenya, Jun 6 2025 (IPS) – Char Tito is hammering nails into wood at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School in Turkana County, northern Kenya. The 16-year-old is making a traditional chair under the scorching sun outside one of the classroom blocks.

The wood she is using is from an unpopular source in this community. It is from a species of mesquite named Prosopis juliflora, which is native to Central and South America and is known in Kenya as mathenge.

Many locals hate mathenge in Turkana County due to its invasiveness and its thorns that are harsh to humans and can cause injuries to livestock. Locals say rivers and dams dry fast in areas with mathenge, and it dominates other plants.

Over the years, the residents have found it an easy source of firewood and charcoal, fuel for many in this community.

But youths, including girls, are now repurposing the mathenge tree to make furniture, particularly chairs.

Char Tito, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School in Kakuma, is seated on a chair made from mathenge wood. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Char Tito, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School in Kakuma, is seated on a chair made from mathenge wood. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

“Plastic chairs are expensive. This is why I started making chairs from mathenge earlier this month,” says Tito, who fled the war in South Sudan to seek refuge in Kakuma Refugee Camp in 2017.

“I was taught here at school. Mathenge is abundant. We have been using it for firewood for years. I did not know that it could be used to make chairs.”

Income-Generating Scheme

The land in Kakuma is barren with sparse vegetation and the soils are so poor that they do not support agriculture. Turkana County receives little or no rain and can go for five years without experiencing a single drop of rain.

Acacia trees and mathenge, which are always green despite the high temperatures and water scarcity, make up most of the trees in this community.

Government statistics indicate that the mathenge trees spread at a rate of 15 percent yearly and have so far colonized a million acres of land in Kenya.

Some use mathenge to fence their homes and to make livestock shelters.

Locals survive on livestock production and trading charcoal and firewood.

Dennis Mutiso, a deputy director at Girl Child Network (GCN), a grassroots non-governmental organization supporting Tito and hundreds of other refugees, says the project is equipping learners with green skills.

Magdalene Ngimoe, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, is making chairs from mathenge wood in Kakuma. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Magdalene Ngimoe, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, is making chairs from mathenge wood in Kakuma. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

“It is contributing to national climate plans. It aligns with the school curriculum,” he says.

Mutiso says those youths who have been trained in making chairs partner with those untrained to pass the knowledge to the community.

Tito, who lives with her mother and her three siblings, is so far making chairs for household use but is planning to make some for sale to her neighbors.

“This is a skill that I can use for my entire life. I am looking forward to earning a living out of carpentry,” she says, smiling.

Mathenge was introduced in the 1970s in the East African country to restore degraded dry lands. It is drought resistant, with its deep roots making it ideal for afforestation in areas like Turkana. The mathenge restored the area and blocked wind erosion in some areas, but at a cost to the locals.

Magdalene Ngimoe, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, is making chairs from mathenge wood in Kakuma. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Invasive mathenge tree in Kakuma, northern Kenya. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Despite the massive cutting down of this tree for firewood and charcoal, the mathenge regenerates fast, unlike other trees like Acacia.

Lewis Obam, a conservator at the Forestry Commission under Turkana County, says there was a negative perception of the mathenge in the community.

“Communities lost their goats after consuming the tree. Its thorns were affecting the community,” he says.

Obam says mathenge is a colonizer and spreads so fast.

“It was meant to counter desertification. The intention was good,” he says.

Obam says its hardwood is ideal for making chairs.

“It has more opportunities than we knew. It has the second hardest wood in this area. We need maximum use of the mathenge.”

Protecting Environment 

To restore other trees in this semi-arid land, Tito and other girls are planting trees at school and in their homes. She has planted five trees at home and many at school, but water is a challenge amid temperatures that can go as high as 47 degrees Celsius.

Magdalene Ngimoe, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School in Kakuma, planting a tree. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

Magdalene Ngimoe, a learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School in Kakuma, planting a tree. Credit: Farai Shawn Matiashe/IPS

“I am proud that I am contributing to measures that reduce the effects of climate change,” she says.

Sometimes, the girls bring water from home to school to ensure that the trees survive.

Trees help mitigate climate change by absorbing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

Kenya is targeting to plant at least 15 billion trees by 2032 through its National Tree Growing Restoration campaign launched in December 2022.

Magdalene Ngimoe, another learner at Kakuma Arid Zone Secondary School, says she has so far planted two trees at her home in Kiwandege village in Kakuma.

“I hate mathenge. It makes our lives difficult. But I am happy that I am using it to make chairs. I am also planting trees at school, which will provide shade to other students,” says the 16-year-old Kenyan Ngimoe, the firstborn in a family of seven.

Her family survives on selling meat and she hopes she will earn some money from her newly acquired craft.

Edwin Chabari, a manager at Kakuma Refugee Camp under the Department of Refugee Services, says Mathenge has been a menace not only within the camp but also in the area.

“The local youths can get cash from a tree that we thought was a menace,” he says.

GCN, with funding from Education Above All, a global education foundation based in Qatar, has so far planted 896,000 trees in Kakuma and Dadaab and is targeting 2.4 million trees by next year.

Ngimoe’s favorite subject is science and she wants to be a lawyer representing vulnerable children.

Established in 1992, Kakuma Refugee Camp is home to 304,000 people from more than 10 countries, like South Sudan, Burundi, Somalia, and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

Joseph Ochura, sub-county director in Turkana County under the Teachers Service Commission (TSC), says the tree-planting initiative has enhanced the learning environment.

“When you visit most of the schools that have been supported, you will see big shades of trees. Whenever there is a break time, learners sit there, including the teachers. Sometimes, some lessons are even carried out under that shade,” Ochura says.

He says that of the 15 billion trees set by the government, TSC was allocated 200 million trees.

Some schools also have their tree nurseries.

When ready, they plant the seedlings at the school and supply others to the community.

“Some of the girls are at the forefront in tree planting. That is a plus. That is what we are telling the girls—outside school, you can still do this in the community,” Ochura says.

Tito, whose favorite subject is English and who wants to be a doctor, is happy to be part of the green jobs being created in Kakuma.

“As a girl, I am proud of myself. I am contributing to environmental protection,” she says.
IPS UN Bureau Report

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Portugal: No Longer an Exception to Europe’s Far-right Rise

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Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Democracy, Development & Aid, Economy & Trade, Europe, Featured, Financial Crisis, Gender, Headlines, LGBTQ, Migration & Refugees, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

Credit: Zed Jameson/Anadolu via Getty Images

MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay, Jun 5 2025 (IPS) – For decades, Portugal stood as a beacon of democratic stability in an increasingly unsettled Europe. While neighbours grappled with political fragmentation and the rise of far-right movements, Portugal maintained its two-party system, a testament to the enduring legacy of the 1974 Carnation Revolution that peacefully transitioned the country from dictatorship to democracy. It was long believed that Portugal’s extensive pre-revolution experience of repressive right-wing rule had effectively inoculated it against far-right politics, but that assumption is now demonstrable outdated. An era of exceptionalism ended on 18 May, when the far-right Chega party secured 22.8 per cent of the vote and 60 parliamentary seats, becoming the country’s main opposition force.

This represents more than an electoral upset; it marks the collapse of five decades of democratic consensus and Portugal’s reluctant entry into the European mainstream of political polarisation. Chega could hold the balance of power. The centre-right Democratic Alliance, led by Prime Minister Luís Montenegro, won the most parliamentary seats, but fell far short of the 116 needed for a majority. Meanwhile, the Socialist Party, which governed from 2015 to 2024, suffered its worst defeat since the 1980s, relegated to third place by a party that’s only six years old.

Chega’s meteoric rise from just 1.3 per cent of the vote and one seat in 2019 to its role as today’s main opposition demonstrates how quickly political landscapes can shift when mainstream parties fail to address people’s fundamental concerns. The roots of the transformation lie in a toxic combination of economic pressure and political failure that has systematically eroded public confidence in the political establishment.

Portugal has endured three elections in under four years, a sign of its novel state of chronic instability. The immediate trigger for the latest election was the collapse of Montenegro’s government following a confidence vote, with opposition parties citing concerns over potential conflicts of interest involving his family business. This followed the previous Socialist government’s fall in November 2023 amid corruption investigations, creating a recurring cycle of scandal, government crisis and electoral upheaval.

The political turmoil unfolds against a backdrop of mounting social challenges that mainstream parties have failed to adequately address. Despite its economy growing by 1.9 per cent in 2024, well above the European Union average, Portugal faces a severe housing crisis that has become the defining issue for many voters, particularly those from younger generations. Portugal now has the worst housing access rates of all 38 OECD countries, with house prices more than doubling over the past decade.

In Lisbon, rents have jumped by 65 per cent since 2015, making the capital the world’s third least financially viable city due to its punishing combination of soaring housing costs and traditionally low wages. This crisis, driven by tourism, foreign investment and short-term rentals, has pushed property ownership beyond most people’s reach, creating widespread frustration with governments perceived as ineffective or indifferent to everyday struggles.

Immigration has provided another flashpoint. The number of legal migrants tripled from under half a million in 2018 to over 1.5 million in 2025. This rapid demographic change has fuelled populist narratives about uncontrolled migration and its alleged impact on housing and employment markets. It was precisely these grievances that Chega, led by former TV commentator André Ventura, expertly exploited.

As an outsider party untainted by association with the cycle of scandals and governmental collapses, Chega positioned itself as the defender of ‘western civilisation’ and channelled anti-establishment anger into electoral success. It combines promises to combat corruption and limit immigration with a defence of what it characterises as traditional Portuguese values, including through extreme criminal justice policies such as chemical castration for repeat sexual offenders.

Despite Ventura’s insistence that Chega simply advocates equal treatment without ‘special privileges’, the party’s ranks include white supremacists and admirers of former dictator António Salazar. Its openly racist approach to immigration and hostility towards women, LGBTQI+ people, Muslims and Roma people reflects a familiar far-right playbook that has proven successful across Europe. Chega has cultivated significant connections with Marine Le Pen’s National Rally in France, Germany’s Alternative for Germany, and Spain’s Vox party, and Ventura was among the European far-right leaders invited to Donald Trump’s inauguration.

Montenegro has so far refused to work with Chega, which he has publicly characterised as demagogic, racist and xenophobic – a rejection that may have inadvertently strengthened Chega’s anti-establishment credentials. However, the arithmetic of Portugal’s fractured parliament suggests that any significant policy initiatives will require either Socialist abstention or, more controversially, Chega support, creating new opportunities for far-right influence, particularly on criminal justice and immigration policies.

Portugal’s experience offers sobering evidence that far-right influence should no longer be viewed as a passing fad but rather as an established feature of contemporary European politics. The speed of the shift offers a stark reminder that no democracy is immune to the populist pressures reshaping the continent.

The question now is whether Portugal’s institutions can adapt to govern effectively in this new fractured landscape while preserving democratic values. Portugal’s civil society has an increasingly vital part to play in holding newly influential far-right politicians to account and offering collective responses to populist challenges.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Senior Research Specialist, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

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

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