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

Asia-Pacific, Biodiversity, Civil Society, Economy & Trade, Editors’ Choice, Environment, Featured, Headlines, Human Rights, Ocean Health, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations, Trade & Investment

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

Civil Society, Development & Aid, Editors’ Choice, Energy, Headlines, Human Rights, Integration and Development Brazilian-style, Latin America & the Caribbean, Sustainability, Sustainable Development Goals, Women & Economy

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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Noor Mukadam Got Justice, But Why Does Pakistan’s Legal System Fail Its Women?

Active Citizens, Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Editors’ Choice, Featured, Gender, Gender Violence, Headlines, Human Rights, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations | Analysis

Gender Violence

Noor Mukadam at a protest outside the Islamabad Press Club, holding a poster demanding justice for a rape survivor. The photo was taken on September 12, 2020. She was murdered by her partner on 20 July 2021. Credit: Shafaq Zaidi

Noor Mukadam at a protest outside the Islamabad Press Club, holding a poster demanding justice for a rape survivor. The photo was taken on September 12, 2020. She was murdered by her partner on 20 July 2021. Credit: Shafaq Zaidi

KARACHI, Pakistan, Jun 4 2025 (IPS) – “It’s brought me some closure,” said Shafaq Zaidi, a school friend of Noor Mukadam, reacting to the Supreme Court’s May 20 verdict upholding both the life sentence and death penalty for Noor’s killer, Zahir Jaffer.

“Nothing can bring Noor back, but this decision offers a sense of justice—not just for her, but for every woman in Pakistan who’s been told her life doesn’t matter,” Zaidi told IPS over the phone from Islamabad. “It’s been a long and painful journey—four years of fighting through the sessions court, high court, and finally, the Supreme Court.”


Echoing a similar sentiment, rights activist Zohra Yusuf said, “It’s satisfying that the Supreme Court upheld the verdict,” but added that the crime’s brutality left little room for relief. “It was so horrific that one can’t even celebrate the judgment,” she said, referring to the “extreme” sadism Noor endured—tortured with a knuckleduster, raped, and beheaded with a sharp weapon on July 20, 2021.

Yusuf also pointed out that the “background” of those involved is what drew national attention.

Noor Mukadam, 27, was the daughter of a former ambassador, while Zahir Jaffer, 30, was a dual Pakistan-U.S. national from a wealthy and influential family. Her father and friends fought to keep the case in the public eye, refusing to let it fade into yet another forgotten statistic.

Still, the response has been muted—many, including Yusuf, oppose the death penalty.

The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan recorded at least 174 death sentences in 2024—a sharp rise from 102 in 2023—yet not a single execution was reportedly carried out. The last known hanging was in 2019, when Imran Ali was executed for the rape and murder of six-year-old Zainab Ansari.

However, Noor’s father, Shaukat Ali Mukadam, has repeatedly stated that the death sentence for Zahir Jaffer was “very necessary,” emphasizing, “This isn’t just about my daughter—it’s about all of Pakistan’s daughters,” referencing the countless acts of violence against women that go unpunished every day.

The HRCP’s 2024 annual report painted a grim picture of gender-based violence against women in Pakistan.

According to the National Police Bureau, at least 405 women were killed in so-called honor crimes. Domestic violence remained widespread, resulting in 1,641 murders and over 3,385 reports of physical assault within households.

Sexual violence showed no sign of slowing. Police records documented 4,175 reported rapes, 733 gang rapes, 24 cases of custodial sexual assault, and 117 incidents of incest-related abuse—a chilling reminder of the dangers women face in both public and private spaces. HRCP’s media monitoring also revealed that at least 13 transgender individuals experienced sexual violence—one was even killed by her family in the name of honor.

The digital space offered no refuge either. The Digital Rights Foundation recorded 3,121 cases of cyber-harassment, most reported by women in Punjab.

Justice Remains Elusive

But numbers alone can’t capture the brutality—or the deep-rooted disregard for women that drives it.

“We recently took a man to court and secured maintenance for twin baby girls,” said Haya Zahid, CEO of the Karachi-based Legal Aid Society (LAS). “The father divorced their young mother while she was still in the hospital—just because she gave birth to daughters.”

LAS offers free legal aid to those who can’t afford it, handling cases like rape, murder, acid attacks, forced and child marriages, and domestic violence.

Bassam Dhari, also from LAS, recalled Daya Bheel’s gruesome murder, which took place after Noor Mukadam’s but failed to stir national attention because it happened in a remote village in Sindh’s Sanghar district.

“She was skinned, her eyeballs removed, her breasts chopped off, and her head severed from her body,” said Dhari.

He said the postmortem report confirmed that she was neither raped nor sexually assaulted, and the attack did not appear to be driven by rage or revenge.

While Mukadam’s family may have found closure, justice remains elusive for thousands of Pakistani women.

“Noor Mukadam’s case is indeed a rare instance where justice was served,” said Syeda Bushra, another lawyer at the LAS.

“It’s not that there aren’t enough laws to protect women and children—far from it,” said Bushra. “There are plenty of laws, but what good are they if investigations are weak?” According to her, only a small percentage of women can seek redress. “Justice is denied or delayed every single day,” she added.

“The problem is that these laws are crafted in a social vacuum,” observed Fauzia Yazdani, a gender and governance expert with over 30 years of experience working with national governments, the UN, and bilateral development partners in Pakistan.

She acknowledged that although many progressive, women-friendly laws have been passed over the years, they’ve failed to resonate in a society resistant to change. “Laws are essential, but no amount of legislation can end violence against women if the societal mindset remains misogynistic, patriarchal, and permissive of such crimes,” she said.

Buying Justice Through Blood Money

At the same time, Dahri highlighted critical flaws in the justice system.

In Pakistan, where the death penalty remains legal under its Islamic status, such sentences can be overturned through the diyat (blood money) law, which allows perpetrators to buy forgiveness by compensating the victim’s family.

“In our country, money can buy anything,” said Dahri. “This blood money law is routinely abused by the rich and powerful to literally get away with murder.”

He stressed the urgent need to reform these laws. “Many families initially refuse compensation, but intense pressure and threats—especially against the poor—often force them to give in.”

In 2023, 10-year-old Fatima Furiro’s death might have gone unnoticed if two graphic videos—showing her writhing in pain, then collapsing—hadn’t gone viral. The resulting public outcry led to her body being exhumed. Her employer, a powerful feudal lord in Sindh’s Khairpur district, who appeared in the footage, was swiftly arrested.

He spent a year in prison before the case was closed, after Fatima’s impoverished family accepted blood money—despite forensic evidence confirming she had been raped, beaten, and tortured over time.

Shafaq Zaidi—Noor Mukadam’s school friend—stood outside the Islamabad Press Club on July 25, 2021, at the very spot where Noor had once protested. This time, Zaidi was seeking justice for Noor herself, who had been killed just days earlier, on July 20, 2021. Courtesy: Shafaq Zaidi.

Shafaq Zaidi—Noor Mukadam’s school friend—stood outside the Islamabad Press Club on July 25, 2021, at the very spot where Noor had once protested. This time, Zaidi was seeking justice for Noor herself, who had been killed just days earlier, on July 20, 2021. Courtesy: Shafaq Zaidi

Law vs Prejudice

Alongside a flawed justice system, women must battle deep-rooted social taboos—amplified by relentless victim-blaming and shaming.

“In such an environment,” said Bushra, “it’s no surprise that many women, worn down by the long and exhausting process, eventually withdraw their complaints.”

“A woman’s trial begins long before she ever enters a courtroom,” said Dahri.

In Noor Mukadam’s case, the claim of a “live-in relationship”—real or fabricated—was used by the convict’s lawyer to downgrade his death sentence for rape to life imprisonment.

“A boy and girl living together is a misfortune for our society,” remarked Justice Hashim Kakar, who led the three-member bench hearing Mukadam’s case.

“Her reputation was sullied—even in death,” said Yazdani, adding that judges should refrain from moralizing and preaching.

“A judge’s verdict should rest solely on an impartial reading of the law,” said Bushra.

But as Dahri pointed out, few lawyers in Pakistan dare to say this openly. “Judges can take it personally,” he said, “and we risk facing repercussions in our very next case.”

According to Yazdani, even a few targeted reforms—like faster hearings, clearing case backlogs, setting up GBV and child protection courts, and training judges, lawyers, and police on the realities of misogyny and gender-based violence—could cut victim-blaming in half.

But she also offered a word of caution: reforms alone don’t guarantee empathy, which she called the cornerstone of real justice.

“Social change doesn’t happen overnight,” Yazdani said. “Anthropologically speaking, it takes five years for change to take root—and another ten for it to truly take hold.”

Gender balance matters in justice

Judicial gender inequality worsens the situation. Some experts argue that increasing the number of women judges and lawyers could lead to a more fair, dynamic, and empathetic justice system.

A 2024 report by the Law and Justice Commission of Pakistan (LJCP) reveals that women make up less than 20 percent of the country’s judges, lawyers, and judicial officers—an alarming gap in a nation of over 117 million women. Of the 126 judges in the superior judiciary, only seven are women—just 5.5 percent. In the Supreme Court, that number drops to two.

Meanwhile, the 26 judges of the apex court (including the chief justice) are burdened with a backlog of more than 56,000 cases—not all related to violence against women.

Bushra believes more women must be encouraged to enter the justice sector—particularly as prosecutors, police officers, and judges. “I’ve seen how distressed victims become when forced to repeat their ordeal to male officers—often multiple times,” she said.

But she emphasized that simply increasing the number of women won’t end victim-blaming or guarantee survivor-centric justice. “Everyone in the system—including women—must be genuinely gender-sensitized to overcome personal biases and deep-rooted stereotypes,” said Bushra.

Special Courts

In 2021, the government passed the Anti-Rape (Investigation and Trial) Act, leading to the formation of an anti-rape committee by the Ministry of Law and Justice to support victims, including setting up special courts nationwide. “Special investigation units with trained prosecutors now handle 77 percent of complaints, and 91 percent of cases go to special courts,” said Nida Aly of AGHS, a Lahore-based law firm offering free legal aid and part of the committee.

By 2022, Sindh had set up 382 such units. Aly noted that a survivor-centered, time-bound, and coordinated approach raised conviction rates from 3.5 percent to 5 percent. A national sex offenders registry, managed by police, was launched in 2024. In Punjab, all 36 districts now have crisis and protection centers offering legal and psychosocial support, though some face resource limitations.

Nearly five years after gender-based violence courts were established in Karachi, she sees a promising shift in how judges handle such cases. “Prosecutors now take time to prepare women complainants—something that never happened before,” she said.

However, she added, the number of such courts and sensitized judges remains a drop in the ocean compared to the overwhelming number of violence committed against women and such cases flooding the system across Sindh.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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‘We Are Witnessing Ecocide in West Papua, One of the World’s Richest Biodiversity Centres’

Active Citizens, Asia-Pacific, Biodiversity, Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Economy & Trade, Environment, Featured, Food and Agriculture, Headlines, Human Rights, Indigenous Rights, TerraViva United Nations

May 29 2025 (IPS) – CIVICUS discusses the devastating impact of palm oil extraction in West Papua with Tigor Hutapea, legal representative of Pusaka Bentala Rakyat, an organisation campaigning for Indigenous Papuan people’s rights to manage their customary lands and forests.


Tigor Hutapea

In West Papua, Indigenous communities are boycotting palm oil products, accusing major corporations of profiting from environmental devastation and human rights abuses. Beyond environmental damage, Indigenous leaders are fighting what they describe as an existential threat to their cultural survival. Large-scale deforestation has destroyed ancestral lands and livelihoods, with Indonesian authorities enabling this destruction by issuing permits on contested Indigenous territories. Local activists characterise this situation as ecocide and are building international coalitions to hold companies and government officials accountable.

What are the problems with palm oil?

In West Papua, one of the world’s richest biodiversity centres, oil palm plantation expansion is causing what we call ecocide. By 2019, the government had issued permits for plantations covering 1.57 million hectares of Indigenous forest land to 58 major companies, all without the free, prior and informed consent of affected communities.

The environmental damage is already devastating, despite only 15 per cent of the permitted area having been developed so far. Palm oil plantations have fundamentally altered water systems in regions such as Merauke, causing the Bian, Kumbe and Maro rivers to overflow during rainy seasons because plantations cannot absorb heavy rainfall. Indigenous communities have lost access to forests that provided food and medicine and sustained cultural practices, while monoculture crops have replaced biodiverse ecosystems, leading to the disappearance of endemic animal species.

How are authorities circumventing legal protections?

There’s unmistakable collusion between government officials and palm oil companies. In 2023, we supported the Awyu Indigenous people in a landmark legal case against a Malaysian-owned company. The court found the government had issued permits without community consent, directly violating West Papua’s special autonomy laws that require Indigenous approval for land use changes.

These actions contravene national regulations and international law, including the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which guarantees the right to free, prior and informed consent. Yet despite clear legal violations, authorities continue defending these projects by citing tax revenue and economic growth. They are clearly prioritising corporate profits over Indigenous rights and environmental protection.

The government’s response to opposition is particularly troubling. There is a systematic pattern of human rights violations against people defending their lands. When communities protest against developments, they face arbitrary arrests, police intimidation and violence. Police frequently disperse demonstrations by force, and community leaders are threatened with imprisonment or falsely accused of disrupting development. In some cases, they are labelled as separatists or anti-government to delegitimise their activism and justify repression.

What tactics are proving effective for civil society?

Indigenous communities are employing both traditional and modern resistance approaches. Many communities have performed customary rituals to symbolically reject plantations, imposing cultural sanctions that carry significant spiritual weight in their societies. Simultaneously, they’re engaging with legal systems to challenge permit violations.

Civil society organisations like ours support these efforts through environmental impact assessments, legal advocacy and public awareness campaigns. This multi-pronged approach has gained significant traction: in 2023, our Change.org petition gathered 258,178 signatures, while the #AllEyesOnPapua social media campaign went viral, demonstrating growing international concern.

Despite these successes, we face an uphill battle. The government continues pushing ahead with new agribusiness plans, including sugarcane and rice plantations covering over two million additional hectares of forest. This threatens further environmental destruction and Indigenous rights violations. Supporters of our movement are increasingly highlighting the global climate implications of continued deforestation in this critical carbon sink region.

What specific international actions would help protect West Papua?

Consumer power represents one of our strongest allies. International consumers can pressure their governments to enforce laws that prevent the import of products linked to human rights abuses and deforestation. They should also demand companies divest from harmful plantation projects that violate Indigenous rights.

At the diplomatic level, we need consistent international pressure on Indonesia to halt large-scale agribusiness expansion in West Papua and uphold Indigenous rights as defined in national and international laws. Foreign governments with trade relationships must make human rights and environmental protection central to their engagement with Indonesia, not peripheral concerns.
Without concerted international action, West Papua’s irreplaceable forests and the Indigenous communities who have sustainably managed them for generations face an existential threat. This isn’t just a local issue: the destruction of one of the world’s most biodiverse regions affects us all.

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SEE ALSO
Indonesia: ‘The transmigration plan threatens Papua’s autonomy and indigenous ways of life’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Budi Hernawan 03.Feb.2025
Indonesia: ‘The international community should help amplify the voices of Indonesians standing up to corrupt elites’ CIVICUS Lens | Interview with Alvin Nicola 28.Sep.2024
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The 2025 World Social Summit Must Not Be a Missed Opportunity

Civil Society, Climate Change, Conferences, Development & Aid, Economy & Trade, Gender, Global, Headlines, Human Rights, Inequality, Labour, Poverty & SDGs, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

GENEVA / NEW YORK, May 29 2025 (IPS) – Rumors circulating at UN Headquarters suggest there is little appetite for ambition at the Second World Summit for Social Development, set to take place in Doha on 4-6 November 2025. Diplomats and insiders whisper of “summit fatigue” after a packed calendar of global gatherings—the 2023 SDG Summit, the 2024 Summit of the Future, and the upcoming June 2025 Fourth International Conference on Financing for Development. Compounding this fatigue is the chilling rise of anti-rights rhetoric and political resistance from some governments, casting a shadow over multilateral efforts. For some, just getting any multilateral agreement is good enough. As a result, the Zero Draft of the Social Summit Political Declaration lacks the ambition required to confront the multiple social crises our world faces.


Isabel Ortiz

Many have raised the alarm: we need more than vague recommitments—we need a strong plan to bring people back to the center of the policy agenda. The stakes could not be higher. The world has changed dramatically since the historic 1995 first Social Summit in Copenhagen. Then, world leaders recognized the need for human-centered development. Today, the urgency has grown exponentially in our fractured and volatile world. People face multiple overlapping crises — a post pandemic poly-crisis, a cost-of-living crisis pushing millions into poverty, corporate welfare prioritized over people’s welfare, a rapid erosion of democracy leading to staggering disparities, an escalating climate emergency, a prolonged jobs crisis that is poised to dramatically worsen by the use of artificial intelligence (AI). Trust in governments and multilateral institutions is eroding, social discontent and protests are multiplying, and inequalities—within and between countries—have reached grotesque levels. A timid declaration would be a betrayal of the people who look to the United Nations as a beacon of fairness and human dignity.

The Summit is a once-in-a-generation opportunity for governments and the UN to remedy the grievous social malaise and lead a global recommitment to social justice and equity. For this, the Social Summit Declaration must offer more than aspirational language; it must define binding action with explicit commitments to build societies that work for everyone and bring prosperity for all, in areas such as:

    • Reducing income and wealth inequalities, which deeply erode social cohesion, democratic governance, and sustainable development;

    Odile Frank

    • Making gender justice a pillar of the Declaration: a Social Summit that fails to prioritize gender equality will fail half of the world population and fail in its mission to deliver on human rights, dignity, and sustainable development;
    • Delivering universal, quality public services by committing to publicly funded and delivered systems, with a clear focus on protecting public sector workers and eliminating barriers to quality services, in the context of robust public investment, grounded in fairer financing, reversing austerity cuts and aid cuts;
    • Ringfencing social development from budget cuts, privatization and blended finance, reversing the harmful impacts of austerity cuts, privatization/PPPs and commodification of public services, particularly their negative impact on affordability, accessibility, quality and equity of public services;
    • Addressing rising income precarity by investing in decent work with labor rights/standards and universal social protection systems and floors;
    • Regulating and taxing technology equitably. While AI is generating unprecedented private wealth, it is estimated that 40% of jobs could be lost to AI by 2030, with administrative roles (predominantly held by women) facing nearly triple the risk of displacement; governments need to redress the negative social impacts of IA such as job displacement and wealth concentration, providing adequate social protection measures for those affected by job losses and taxation of AI-driven profits to redistribute benefits back to societies;

    Gabriele Koehler

    • Promoting a care economy supportive of women that prioritizes well-being over GDP growth;
    • Moving beyond GDP growth, recognizing the limitations of growth-centric paradigms and committing to policies that promote ecological sustainability and equitable development;
    • Systematically assessing the social impacts and distributional effects of economic policies, including disaggregated data by, at least, gender and income group; if analysis reveals that the majority of people are not the primary beneficiaries or that social outcomes and human rights are undermined, policies must be revised to ensure equitable development;
    • Ensuring fair and sustainable resource mobilization, committing to progressive taxation, eliminating/reducing illegitimate debt, fighting illicit financial flows, collecting adequate social security contributions from corporations, and other feasible financing options;
    • Pushing back against anti-rights and anti-gender movements, reaffirming global commitments to human rights and democracy.

Us make this summit the moment we choose dignity and social justice over apathy and mediocrity. We know we must strive for more ambitious commitments. The 2025 World Social Summit must not be a missed opportunity.

Isabel Ortiz, Director, Global Social Justice, was Director at the International Labor Organization (ILO) and UNICEF, and a senior official at the UN and the Asian Development Bank.

Odile Frank, Executive Secretary, Global Social Justice, was Director, Social Integration at the UN and senior official at the OECD, ILO and the World Health Organization (WHO).

Gabriele Koehler, Board Member of Global Social Justice and of Women Engage for a Common Future (WECF), was a senior official at UN-ESCAP, UNCTAD, UNDP and UNICEF.

IPS UN Bureau

 

A New Pope at a Pivotal Moment: Civil Society’s Hopes for Leo XIV

Armed Conflicts, Civil Society, Climate Change, Environment, Featured, Global, Headlines, Human Rights, LGBTQ, Migration & Refugees, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

Credit: Eloisa Lopez/Reuters via Gallo Images

LONDON, May 22 2025 (IPS) – The new pope, the latest in a line dating back almost 2,000 years, was quickly subjected to a very modern phenomenon: no sooner had Pope Leo XIV delivered his first address than people started trawling his social media history for clues about his views. In the context of an ongoing culture war, the fact that far-right grievance entrepreneurs were quick to decry the new pope as ‘woke’ seemed reason enough for progressives to welcome him. But for civil society and the global human rights community, it’s how Leo acts that matters.


The numbers alone make Leo’s appointment an event of global significance: Catholics make up over 17 per cent of the planet’s population, and they live predominantly in the global south. Catholicism remains overwhelmingly the dominant religion in Latin America, while the faith continues to grow, particularly in Africa.

This gives the pope great moral influence, which he can use for good – such as by urging climate action and mobilising compassion for migrants and refugees – or for ill, including by maintaining restrictions on women’s and LGBTQI+ rights. The pope is unquestionably a global leader. In an era dominated by right-wing populist and nationalist politicians who are attacking human rights, the pope’s voice can offer a vital counterweight.

Pope Francis’s progressive legacy

Pope Francis broke significant new ground. The first Latin American pope, the Argentinian lived modestly. He didn’t shy away from controversy, speaking out to defend the rights of migrants and refugees. He criticised right-wing populism, neoliberal economics and Israel’s assault on Gaza. He urged action on climate change and made moves to enable women to play a greater role in the church and open up the possibility of blessing for people in same-sex relationships.

ON his watch, the papal office became that of an international diplomat, helping negotiate a Cuba-US rapprochement, later reversed. Critics however pointed to his apparent reluctance to call out Vladimir Putin’s aggression as he sought to help negotiate peace between Russia and Ukraine. He also maintained the church’s opposition to ‘gender ideology’, a term routinely used to undermine demands for women’s and LGBTQI+ rights, particularly trans rights.

Though Francis took many progressive positions, that offered no guarantee his successor would follow suit. Historically a pope seen as liberal is often followed by a more conservative one. Francis however moved to make this less likely, appointing 163 cardinals from 76 countries. Many were from global south countries, including several that had never received such recognition, such as El Salvador, Mali and Timor-Leste. He appointed the first Indigenous Latin American cardinal, and the first from India’s excluded Dalit community.

Francis chose 79 per cent of cardinals aged under 80, eligible to vote on the new pope – including Leo, elevated in 2023. For the first time, the conclave had a non-European majority, with Europeans comprising only 52 of the 133 electors.

Francis’s re-engineering may have foreclosed the prospect of a particularly regressive choice. The result was another piece of history, with Leo the first pope from the USA, while his dual citizenship of Peru makes him the first Peruvian one as well. Known as an ally of Francis but a less outspoken figure, he may have emerged as a compromise choice.

Early days: promise and controversy

Leo’s nationality had been assumed to count against him: with the USA being the dominant global power, received wisdom held that the pope should come from elsewhere. In this Trump-dominated era, it’s hard to avoid the feeling that some who picked a US pope were trying to send a message – although time will tell whether it’s one of flattery or defiance.

US right-wingers, many of whom embrace conservative Catholicism – as Vice President JD Vance exemplifies – made clear they knew what the message was, reacting with anger. Another conservative Catholic, Trump’s former strategist Steve Bannon – who routinely vilified Pope Francis – had aggressively lobbied for a conservative appointment, such as Hungarian hardliner Péter Erdő. Trump supporters allegedly promised huge donations if the conclave selected a pope to their liking, then quickly mobilised outrage about the selection of their fellow citizen, vilifying him as a ‘Marxist pope’.

Among the pre-papacy actions they deemed controversial was Leo’s sharing on Twitter/X of a link to a comment piece that disagreed with Vance, who’d argued that Christians should prioritise their love for their immediate community over those who come from elsewhere. Leo had also shared a post criticising Trump and El Salvador’s hardline leader Nayib Bukele over the illegal deportation of migrant Kilmar Abrego Garcia.

In other past posts, he’d supported climate action and appeared to back gun control, defended undocumented migrants and shown solidarity with George Floyd, the Black man whose murder by a police officer in 2020 triggered the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement. Leo’s choice of name also appears to indicate a reformist intent. But on the other side of the ledger, a history of anti-LGBTQI+ comments quickly came to light. Leo is also accused of mishandling past sexual abuse allegations against priests under his supervision.

A moral voice in turbulent times

For civil society, what Leo does next matters more than his social media history. There are some encouraging early signs. Leo has signalled a more sympathetic approach to Ukraine and called for the release of jailed journalists.

The likelihood, if Leo’s career so far is anything to go by, is that he’ll be less outspoken than his predecessor, and more inclined towards negotiation and compromise. But the papacy offers a very different platform to that of a cardinal. Leo should take account of the fact that he’s assumed office at a time of enormous conflict, polarisation and turmoil, where many of the established assumptions about how politics and governance should be conducted are being torn up, and when global institutions and the idea of a rules-based order are coming under unprecedented strain. There’s a moral leadership vacuum in the world right now. He should help fill it.

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

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

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