‘We Continue Working to Make Sure Afghan Girls and Women Are Heard and Not Forgotten’

Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Education, Featured, Gender, Headlines, Health, Human Rights, Labour, Press Freedom, TerraViva United Nations

Oct 15 2024 (IPS) –  
CIVICUS discusses Afghanistan’s system of gender apartheid with Shaharzad Akbar, Executive Director of Rawadari, a human rights organisation founded by Afghans in exile.


Since regaining power in August 2021, the Taliban have banned women from all education beyond primary school and most jobs. They don’t allow women to travel without a male guardian or be seen in public, with severe penalties for violations. A new law introduced in August 2024 further silenced women by literally banning them from being heard in public. This received widespread international condemnation. Afghan civil society, mostly in exile, continues to document human rights abuses, advocate with international allies and campaign for change.

Shaharzad Akbar

How much space is there for civil society to operate in Afghanistan under the Taliban?

Not much. Although there’s still some civic resistance, mainly led by women, the Taliban have dismantled almost all civic structures. They have disbanded student associations and teachers’ unions and severely restricted the space for civil society to operate.

Long before they took power, the Taliban targeted civil society activists, journalists and religious and tribal leaders who challenged their rules. But when they regained power in August 2021, they used state institutions to further restrict civic space. It was women who resisted: just one day after the Taliban seized Kabul, they took to the streets to demand their rights. Independent media cautiously tried to cover these protests, but journalists were beaten and tortured. By January 2022, the Taliban were arresting women protesters. Cases of arbitrary detention, torture and intimidation and enforced disappearances have only increased since then.

The Taliban repealed laws protecting journalists and civil society, increased censorship and used intimidation to silence independent media. Anyone who criticises their government, even if it’s a social media post questioning electricity cuts, is likely to receive a phone call from the Taliban’s intelligence agency ordering them to delete it and not to raise the issue again.

It’s now impossible to work openly on human rights or freedom of expression in Afghanistan. The Taliban shut down the organisation I headed, the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission (AIHRC). Other organisations working on cultural rights, peacebuilding and social issues have either changed their mandates or left.

How have the Taliban responded to women’s resistance?

When they returned to power, the Taliban were surprised to see women take to the streets against them. Given the Taliban’s violent past, many men didn’t dare protest. But women, who the Taliban underestimated because they saw them as weak, stood together and challenged them publicly.

At first they thought the protests would die down, but when this didn’t happen, they responded with increased violence, imprisoning and torturing women activists and targeting their families. They also launched a smear campaign accusing them of not being ‘authentic’ Afghan women. Since then, they’ve tried to impose the idea that Afghan women belong at home, fully covered and without any public aspirations.

Many repressive decrees followed. First, women were segregated from men in universities, then required to cover up even more and finally banned altogether from universities in December 2022. Restrictions on women’s work also increased over time: women were first restricted to the government health and education sectors and they were later banned from working for civil society organisations and the United Nations (UN). The result was a full-blown system of gender apartheid.

But women refused to be erased and found new ways to resist. Some have continued to protest publicly, even at great risk to their lives and those of their families. A notable example is a protester who was detained with her four-year-old son. Others have opted for more subtle forms of resistance, setting up clandestine schools and seeking education delivered via WhatsApp by Afghan diaspora and international educators. Women’s rights activists, both inside and outside Afghanistan, have formed advocacy networks that are very active in international and regional forums.

When was Rawadari founded and what does it do?

Rawadari was publicly launched in December 2022 by a group of exiled former AIHRC staff. We had been documenting human rights abuses for over a decade and were forced into exile when the Taliban came to power. We set up Rawadari because we felt it was important to continue monitoring and documenting the situation, and to counter the disinformation being spread by the Taliban.

Rawadari’s work focuses on three areas. The first is human rights monitoring. To date, we have published nine reports, available in English and Afghanistan’s two main languages, Dari and Pashto. We want to ensure they are accessible to both local and international audiences.

Our second area is advocacy, particularly on accountability and victim-centred justice. We regularly submit reports to the UN and push for the Taliban to be brought before the International Court of Justice and International Criminal Court. We also advocate for additional resources for the UN Special Rapporteur on Afghanistan and are exploring other mechanisms, such as the establishment of a people’s tribunal for Afghanistan.

The third focus of our work is to promote a culture of human rights. This is difficult because, being outside Afghanistan, we have to do it through social media campaigns and online discussions and events. But we try to keep the conversation going and build alliances within the human rights community and beyond.

How are you campaigning for women’s rights?

In June this year, it was 1,000 days since the Taliban banned girls from going to school. To raise awareness and keep the issue alive in people’s minds, we launched the Iqra campaign (‘read’ in Arabic). We worked with Musawer, an organisation led by the renowned Afghan poet Shafiqa Khpalwak.

As we couldn’t use video footage for security reasons, we asked girls to record a short audio clip about how the ban on education affected them. This wasn’t easy, because many girls don’t have their own phones and identifying them could put them at risk. But we managed to gather voices from across Afghanistan.

The campaign was a success because it centred the voices of Afghan girls from every corner of the country and brought them to the fore, and because it gained support from men and women. Girls spoke about the dreams they’ve lost, the friendships they miss and the depression and negative thoughts they battle every day. Some said they’d witnessed early marriages among their friends. They all appealed to the international community to support their right to education. Some clips reached thousands of people, and prominent Afghan singers, TV personalities and other celebrities amplified the message and called for the reopening of girls’ schools.

We’ve also recently worked with Femena, a regional organisation, to launch a campaign in response to the recent ban on women’s voices in public spaces. Afghan women, at great risk, began singing as a form of protest. To show solidarity, we asked people around the world to share a song, poem or message of support each week. So we continue working to make sure Afghan girls and women are heard and not forgotten.

What challenges do you face in your work?

One of the main obstacles we face is the complete closure of the physical spaces in which we used to work. We can’t hold programmes in schools, universities or mosques in Afghanistan, nor can we speak openly about human rights issues without putting people at serious risk. This severely limits our ability to have face-to-face conversations, which are crucial for mobilising support and building relationships.

Another major challenge is gathering and verifying information. In the past, when there was a violent attack, we would go to hospitals and other local facilities to get details. Now the Taliban have ordered these facilities not to share sensitive information. Families of victims and survivors are also often afraid to speak out, making it difficult for us to document serious violations such as disappearances. Even when we promise them full and strict confidentiality, families are too afraid to come forward.

It is also a challenge to protect our network in Afghanistan. Something as simple as compensating people for their communication or transportation costs could put them in danger. We can’t organise collective online training sessions because participants could reveal their identities to each other, increasing the risks.

On the advocacy front, our biggest challenge is the lack of political will. Afghanistan has largely fallen off the international agenda and many western countries, particularly the USA, are reluctant to get involved. There’s a general perception that Afghanistan is a failed intervention they want to move on from, which leads to a lack of investment in improving the situation, particularly in this election year. Global attention and resources have also shifted to other crises such as the war in Gaza.

This risks normalising the Taliban regime. Neighbouring countries, including China, Iran and the United Arab Emirates, are gradually developing relations with it. We fear that the Taliban regime, which is not yet officially recognised by any country, may eventually gain the international recognition it seeks despite its policy of gender apartheid.

What international support does Afghan civil society need?

Humanitarian aid is key to meeting immediate needs, but it doesn’t address the underlying problems. There is an urgent need to improve the economy, but the international community must find ways to do this without empowering the Taliban, who don’t really care about the wellbeing of Afghan people.

States must be careful to avoid actions that could be seen as accepting the Taliban’s repressive policies and lead to their normalisation. For example, when they engage diplomatically with the Taliban, they must include women and civil society representatives in their delegations. It’s not about stopping engagement with the Taliban; it’s about ensuring every interaction sends a strong message about the importance of human rights, and specifically women’s rights.

People around the world can also help by urging their governments to take a principled approach in their engagement with the Taliban, prioritise women’s rights, hold the Taliban accountable and support education programmes, scholarships and initiatives for Afghan women and girls. They can also support organisations that campaign for their rights.

Even simple acts of solidarity like singing a song and reading a poem in support of Afghan women, if done collectively, can keep the international spotlight on Afghanistan, give hope to women and girls in Afghanistan and therefore make a difference.

Get in touch with Rawadari through its website or Facebook and Instagram pages, follow @rawadari_org and @ShaharzadAkbar on Twitter, and contact Shaharzad on LinkedIn.

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With Climate Change, Government Apathy, Who Should Kerala’s Fishworkers Turn To?

Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Climate Change, Climate Change Justice, Development & Aid, Economy & Trade, Editors’ Choice, Featured, Food and Agriculture, Human Rights, Labour, Natural Resources, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations, Trade & Investment

Opinion

Fishworkers are often invisible in discussions about climate change, yet they are at the heart of food security, feeding millions while struggling to feed their own families. Their fight for survival is not just about tradition or livelihood—it’s about justice. Shouldn’t their futures be at the forefront of climate justice debates?

The iconic Chinese fishing nets along the Kerala coast offer a picturesque scene that draws tourists from around the world. However, the fishworkers that have used them for centuries livelihoods are in peril. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

The iconic Chinese fishing nets along the Kerala coast offer a picturesque scene that draws tourists from around the world. However, the fishworkers that have used them for centuries livelihoods are in peril. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

KOCHI, India, Oct 10 2024 (IPS) – Every morning before dawn, fishworkers along the shores of Kochi, Kerala, head out to sea, casting their nets in the shadow of the iconic Cheenavala—the Chinese fishing nets that have become a symbol of their community. I witnessed this time-honored tradition, once a reliable means of survival, now a daily gamble, a fight against unpredictable seas and shrinking fish populations. 


The COVID-19 pandemic exposed how vulnerable they are; despite being classified as essential workers, they were left without the protections they needed.

And now, as climate change tightens its grip, these fishworkers find themselves on the front lines of a new crisis. Rising sea temperatures, erratic weather, and depleting fish stocks have pushed them further into despair, forcing them to navigate a future as uncertain as the waters they depend on.

Martin, a fishworker from Kochi, Kerala, who smiled and invited me on his boat, has been fishing for over 25 years, reflecting on the mounting hardships. After a while explaining to me about the huge boat and the process of fishing, he said, “In these difficult times, when the government should be supporting us after generations of families have relied on fishing, we are left with nothing and are desperate for help. We purchase our tools and equipment for fishing, yet there’s no assistance from the government for education or healthcare.”

Fishworkers face uncertain future due to climate change and a lack of support from government. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Fishworkers face uncertain future due to climate change and a lack of support from government. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Martin continued, “Five to six people work on a boat, and money has to be given to the owner as well. We have started to rely on tourism now, where we invite tourists, especially foreigners, onto our boats (private property) to explain our craft and fishing process, for which we sometimes get compensated. Some are generous, and some are not! This used to be the only way of earning in the rough season (Monsoon Fishing Ban), but now, after the climate change, this has become the only source of income for us.”

Kochi, once known as Cochin, was a major global trading hub. It drew merchants from Arabia and China in the 1400s, and later the Portuguese established Cochin as their protectorate, making it the first capital of Portuguese India in 1530.

Today, the city’s rich architectural heritage, along with the iconic Cheenavala (Chinese fishing nets), are major tourist attractions. Fishermen here use these Chinese fishing nets as a traditional method of fishing.

Believed to have been introduced by the  Chinese explorer Zheng He from the court of Kublai Khan, these iconic nets became a part of Kochi’s landscape between 1350 and 1450 AD. The technique, which is quite impressive to witness, involves large, shore-based nets that are suspended in the air by bamboo/teakwood supports and lowered into the water to catch fish without the need to venture out to sea. The entire structure is counterbalanced by heavy stones, making it an eco-friendly practice that preserves marine life and vegetation, relying solely on natural materials without harmful gadgets.

Once a vital tool for sustaining the livelihoods of Kochi’s fishworkers, the traditional Cheenavala fishing nets have now become a symbol of a deepening crisis. Climate change, particularly the warming of the Arabian Sea, has drastically reduced fish populations.

Ironically, the government profits from promoting this iconic symbol even as the seafood industry faces closures, with four export-oriented fish processing units shutting down in Kerela in recent months due to the shortage of fish. This stark contrast highlights the growing disconnect between tradition and survival in the face of climate change.

The walls of Kerala are adorned with graffiti advocating for fishworkers and marine biodiversity. In Kochi, a mural reads, “Save the largest fish on Earth,” calling attention to the need for conservation. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

The walls of Kerala are adorned with graffiti advocating for fishworkers and marine biodiversity. In Kochi, a mural reads, “Save the largest fish on Earth,” calling attention to the need for conservation. Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Despite the Chinese fishing nets being a major tourist attraction, the government has shown little or no interest in preserving them. The process started in 2014 when a Chinese delegation, led by Hao Jia, a senior official of the Chinese embassy in India, met with Kochi’s then-mayor, Tony Chammany, to help renovate the nets and proposed constructing a pavement along Fort Kochi beach.

KJ Sohan, former mayor of Kochi and president of the Chinese Fishing Net Owners’ Association, expressed his support for the Chinese initiative to preserve the traditional fishing nets. He emphasized that such large nets, rooted in ancient techniques, are unique to this region. However, he also highlighted the significant governmental neglect of these nets. Insurance companies refuse to cover them, and they need to be replaced twice a year, which incurs substantial costs.

The Tourism Department later instructed the Kerala Industrial and Technology Consultancy Organisation (KITCO) to refurbish 11 of these nets and allotted 2.4 crore rupees (24 million), along with teakwood and Malabar for the repairs.

The authorities had initially refused to release funds directly, requiring the owners to start the refurbishment first, with promises of staggered payments. It has recently come to light that the boat owners, many of whom took out high-interest loans to begin the renovation, are now in financial distress as they have yet to receive the promised government funds, despite completing the work over a year ago.

 A Chinese fishing net on the coast of Kochi, Kerala (India). Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

A Chinese fishing net on the coast of Kochi, Kerala (India). Credit: Aishwarya Bajpai/IPS

Many took out loans and installed new coconut timber stumps, but even after nearly finishing the work, they are still waiting for the funds. This has left the fishworkers in debt while authorities cite GST-related issues for the delay. The owners argue they are exempt from the tax.

Fishworkers, both men and women, are often invisible in discussions about climate change, yet they are at the heart of food security, feeding millions while struggling to feed their own families. Their fight for survival is not just about tradition or livelihood—it’s about justice. If the government continues to turn a blind eye, Kerala’s fishworkers may have no choice but to seek support elsewhere, from international bodies, non-governmental organizations, or global climate finance mechanisms. Their struggles must be recognized, and their voices amplified in the push for climate justice.

Kerala’s fishworkers are not just battling the seas—they are fighting for their future. Without immediate action and meaningful support, we risk losing not only their livelihoods but an entire way of life. If the government cannot rise to the occasion, the world must step in to ensure that these communities do not slip into obscurity.

IPS UN Bureau Report

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VIETNAM: ‘Human Rights Conditions Will Likely Worsen as the Country Descends into a Police State’

Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Environment, Featured, Global Geopolitics, Headlines, Human Rights, Labour, TerraViva United Nations

Aug 29 2024 (IPS) –  
CIVICUS discusses recent leadership changes in Vietnam with David Tran, coordinator of the Alliance for Vietnam’s Democracy, a civil society platform that promotes democracy in Vietnam and the region through international cooperation and the strengthening of local civil society.


On 3 August, President Tô Lâm was confirmed as General Secretary of the Communist Party, Vietnam’s top position, following the death of long-serving General Secretary Nguyễn Phú Trọng. Lâm, who has been president since May, is known for leading an aggressive anti-corruption campaign that has seen many officials jailed and others forced to resign. He will continue as president while assuming the duties of general secretary, potentially enabling him to consolidate power ahead of the 2026 party congress, which will choose Vietnam’s top leaders for the next five years. Civil society fears the regime could become even more autocratic and repressive if Lâm retains both positions.

David Tran

What’s Vietnam’s political system like, and what’s the likely impact of the recent leadership change?

Vietnam is an authoritarian one-party state led by the Vietnamese Communist Party (VCP). There are four key positions of authority: the president, who is the ceremonial head of state, the prime minister, who heads the government, the chair of the National Assembly, the unicameral legislature, and the most powerful, the general secretary of the VCP.

Although the president is elected by the National Assembly, this body is overwhelmingly made up of VCP members, who usually approve all incumbents unopposed. On 3 August, following the death of the last VCP general secretary, Nguyễn Phú Trọng, Tô Lâm was confirmed as the new VCP leader.

This appointment is particularly significant because it puts a lot of power in the hands of one person. His dual role gives Tô Lâm considerable influence over the state and party, as well as greater control over the public security apparatus. While he appears set to continue the policies of his predecessor, there are several cracks beneath the surface. His power is likely to be challenged by several VCP members who’ve been forced into retirement by his ‘anticorruption’ campaign, effectively an initiative to eliminate competing factions. We can expect this infighting to continue and intensify.

What does Tô Lâm’s rise mean from a human rights perspective?

Tô Lâm has had a long career, including stints as minister of public security and a member of the politburo. The key role he played in the previous general secretary’s ‘anticorruption’ campaign saw him elected president in May, after his investigations into several high-profile politicians and businesspeople led to the resignation of his predecessor and other top officials.

The accumulation of power in the hands of the architect of a purge is unlikely to lead to improvements in civic space or human rights. Tô Lâm has been closely associated with the worsening human rights situation, as the Formosa and the Trinh Xuan Thanh cases clearly illustrate.

In April 2016, the Formosa company caused an environmental disaster when it discharged heavily polluted waste off Vietnam’s central coast. This caused widespread damage in at least four provinces and sparked protests. Instead of prosecuting Formosa, Tô Lâm, then minister of public security and in charge of the environmental police, suppressed peaceful protests and had 220 people sentenced to a total of 133 years in prison, not including probation after release. He said he was protecting Formosa from what he called ‘hostile forces’ – essentially anyone who criticised the company.

The second case involves Trinh Xuan Thanh, a former vice chair of Hau Giang Province, who fled to Germany in 2016 after being accused of ‘deliberately violating state regulations, causing serious consequences’. He was abducted on German soil by the Vietnamese secret service, which is under the Ministry of Public Security, and returned to Vietnam. Tô Lâm was directly involved in this operation, which Germany condemned as a ‘scandalous violation’ of its sovereignty and a ‘gross breach of international law’.

Given Tô Lâm’s track record, we expect human rights conditions to worsen under his leadership as Vietnam descends into a police state where human rights and the rule of law are ignored. The already limited space for civil society in Vietnam has shrunk under his watch, and we expect this trend to continue.

What are the challenges facing civil society in Vietnam?

Tô Lâm’s rise to power has been marked by his consistent efforts to stifle dissent. Under his leadership, the authorities, particularly the Ministry of Public Security, have increasingly tightened their grip on civil society organisations (CSOs). They have implemented new decrees that overregulate the registration and management of foreign CSOs and applied stricter rules to domestic organisations.

They have also weaponised tax laws and the criminal code to target civil society leaders, charging them with offences such as tax evasion and ‘abuse of democratic freedoms’. This has led to the imprisonment of prominent activists, including environmental and labour rights advocates.

Independent CSOs are subject to strict surveillance, with some being dismantled or forced to reorganise to conform to the authorities. This was exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic, which the authorities used as a pretext to impose further restrictions on civil society under the guise of public health measures.

Despite this repressive environment, some social service CSOs and philanthropic groups continue to operate and strive to make a positive impact. But their independence is severely restricted as they and their activists are constantly targeted.

What international support does Vietnam’s civil society need?

Human rights organisations and international bodies have raised concerns about the shrinking space for civil society in Vietnam. They have called for respect for freedoms of assembly, association and expression and urged the authorities to ease restrictions. While these statements are important, they must be accompanied by trade sanctions and other enforcement mechanisms. Words alone are not enough.

Unfortunately, human rights in Vietnam are also falling victim to geopolitics. As tensions with China escalate, the USA is increasingly seeing Vietnam as a counterweight to China. In this context, human rights and civic space are often sidelined, if not ignored altogether. We believe that a democratic Vietnam would be the best partner and ally in promoting a peaceful, open and stable Indo-Pacific region.

Even if Tô Lâm has a long way to go before he reaches a position comparable to Xi Jinping’s in China, consolidation of power is a general trend we’re seeing among the region’s communist states. Oddly enough, given how these two leaders came to power, it could be a sign that pressure for human rights and civic space, both domestically and internationally, is working. If the authorities feel compelled to respond by consolidating power and positioning figures like Tô Lâm to counter these movements, there is still hope we are on the right track.

Civic space in Vietnam is rated ‘closed’ by the CIVICUS Monitor.

Get in touch with the Alliance for Vietnam’s Democracy through its webpage or Facebook page.

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Chilean Fisherwomen Seek Visibility and Escape from Vulnerability

Biodiversity, Civil Society, Editors’ Choice, Environment, Gender, Headlines, Inequality, Labour, Latin America & the Caribbean, Natural Resources, Sustainability, Sustainable Development Goals, TerraViva United Nations, Women & Economy

Women & Economy

Gatherer Cristina Poblete, from the town of Pichilemu, carries one of the sacks of freshly harvested seaweed. This coastal town in the O'Higgins region of central Chile is known worldwide for its large waves. Credit: Courtesy of Cristina Poblete

Gatherer Cristina Poblete, from the town of Pichilemu, carries one of the sacks of freshly harvested seaweed. This coastal town in the O’Higgins region of central Chile is known worldwide for its large waves. Credit: Courtesy of Cristina Poblete

PAREDONES, Chile, Aug 5 2024 (IPS) – The number of organisations that bring together fisherwomen who seek to be recognised as workers, make their harsh reality visible and escape the vulnerability in which they live is growing in Chile.


These women have always been present in the fishing sector, but have been ignored, classified as assistants, and relegated socially and economically.

There are 103,017 registered artisanal fisherpeople in Chile, and 26,438 of them are women who work as seaweed gatherers on the shore, known as algueras in Spanish, and related tasks.

According to statistics from the government’s National Fisheries Service  (Sernapesca), in 2023 there were 1,850 artisanal fisherpeople’s organisations in Chile, of which 81 were made up of women alone.

The fisheries sector in this long and narrow South American country of 19.5 million people exported 3.4 million tonnes of fish and seafood in 2021, bringing in USD 8.5 billion.

Chile is one of the 12 largest fishing countries in the world, being its industrial fishery the most economically relevant.

Meanwhile, artisanal fishing is carried out in 450 coves or inlets where groups of fisherpeople operate from the far north to the southernmost point of the country, stretching 4,000 kilometres in a straight line.

Seaweed harvesting, which is mainly carried out by women, lasts from December to April. In the remaining seven months, the algueras barely survive on their savings and must reinvent themselves in order to earn an income.

The invisible seawomen

Marcela Loyola, 55, is the vice-president of Agrupación de Mujeres de Mar (Seawomen Group) in the coastal town of Bucalemu, which belongs to the municipality of Paredones. It is 257 kilometres south of Santiago and part of the O’Higgins region, bordering the southern part of the capital’s metropolitan area.

The Agrupación brings together 22 algueras, as well as fish filleters, weavers who sew and place the hooks spaced out in the fishing nets, and shellfish shuckers, who extract their edible meat.

“The main problem is that we fisherwomen are invisible throughout the country. We have always been in the shadow of our husbands. There is a lack of recognition of women also from the authorities, in society and policies,” she told IPS in the Bucalemu cove.

“There are many trade unions, but their projects only reach men, never anything that serves women. And we don’t have health, welfare, nothing”, claims Loyola.

Together with Sernapesca, her group launched an activity to legalise workers in artisanal fishery.

“We held an application day and a lot of people came because they didn’t have a licence.  In Bucalemu alone, 60 people signed up. Some had fishing credentials, but no permit to collect cochayuyo (edible brown seaweed) or in other related activities,” she explained.

Bucalemu also hosted a National Meeting of Women of the Land and Sea on 31 May, attended by more than 100 delegates from different parts of Chile.

Gissela Olguín, 40, coordinator of the national Network of Seawomen in the O’Higgins region, told IPS that the meeting sought to defend seafood sovereignty.

“We are working to learn from seawomen about food sovereignty. From the right to land, water and seeds, we analysed how people of the sea are threatened today because the inequality of the rural model is now being repeated on the coast,” she said.

Marcela Loyola, vice-president of Agrupación de Mujeres de Mar in the coastal town of Bucalemu, at a local tourist lookout point. Credit: Orlando Milesi / IPS

Marcela Loyola, vice-president of Agrupación de Mujeres de Mar in the coastal town of Bucalemu, at a local tourist lookout point. Credit: Orlando Milesi / IPS

Women-only management area

Delfina Mansilla, 60, heads the Women’s Union of Algueras in the municipality of Pichilemu, also in O’Higgins, 206 kilometres south of Santiago. It brings together 25 members and is in charge of the La Puntilla management area, the only one given to women in central Chile.

The leader told IPS by telephone from her town that the management area has cochayuyo (Durvillaea antárctica) and huiro (Macrocystis integrifolia) seaweed, along with the bivalve molluscs called locos (Concholepas concholepas) as its main products.

The cochayuyo is extracted by going into the sea with a diving suit and using a knife to cut the stalk attached to the rocks so that the seaweed can grow back.  In the case of huiro, an iron barrette, called chuzo by the algueras and fishermen, must be used.

“Our main issue is that the men are bothered by our management area and come diving in. Some people don’t respect women and also go into an area that was given to us and that we have taken care of for years,” she said.

These women sell the locos to restaurants in Pichilemu, while the cochayuyo is traded “in green (the estimated extraction, not yet extracted)”, to middlemen in Bucalemu.

According to Olguín, there has been significant growth in women’s organising nationwide thanks to the Gender Equity Law, number 20820, passed in 2020.

“The labour of women have been invisible in the fishing sector, and even more so within the fisheries organisation because, although unions have women, they are in the minority,” she said.

The law, she explained, opened up the possibility for women to train and organise themselves.

In spite of this progress, male chauvinist mentality persists in the fishery.

“They believe women can’t be on the boats or they have smaller spaces for them in the cove. It is a behaviour of men who still think that women only help in the fishing industry, but don’t work in it,” she said.

María Godoy ties and prepares in her home in the coastal town of Bucalemu, in the Chilean municipality of Paredones, the packets of cochayuyo seaweed collected by her husband and daughter. Credit: Courtesy of Gisela Olguín

María Godoy ties and prepares in her home in the coastal town of Bucalemu, in the Chilean municipality of Paredones, the packets of cochayuyo seaweed collected by her husband and daughter. Credit: Courtesy of Gisela Olguín

Critical situation of the algueras

The leader describes the situation of women seaweed gatherers as bad.

“The women who work at sea live and sleep in little shacks with minimal conditions. They don’t have water or electricity and everyone has to make do as best they can.  The same goes for sanitation, they have to make makeshift toilets,” she said.

It is hard work because the timetable is set by the sea, she adds. The first low tides can be at 7:00 am or sometimes at noon in summer, with the sun over their heads.

“Conditions are always a bit extreme. Throwing seaweed out when cutting the cochayuyo is a job requiring much physical strength,” she explained.

Since the working season is short, the women prefer to stay in the shacks, improvised dwellings made of sticks and cloth that are erected on the sand or ground resembling tents.

“Here, women stop going to the sea only when their bodies prevent them from doing so. I know women over 70 who are still working on the shore because that’s how they subsist,” she added.

Another determining factor is the price of seaweed, which is set by buyers and ranges from 200 to 500 pesos per kilo (between 20 and 50 US cents).

The fisherwomen work long hours to extract more product. “It is a very vulnerable sector, with no social security or cultural recognition,” Olguín concluded Olguín.

Hortensia, Sonia, Cristina and Elizabeth, four seaweed workers from the Chilean municipality of Pichilemu, in front of the municipal building where they will meet the deputy mayor, Sergio Mella. The workers are seeking a concession and municipal premises to exhibit and sell their handicrafts, soaps and various products made from seaweed. The sale allows them to subsist during the southern winter, when seaweed extraction is banned. Credit: Orlando Milesi / IPS

Hortensia, Sonia, Cristina and Elizabeth, four seaweed workers from the Chilean municipality of Pichilemu, in front of the municipal building where they will meet the deputy mayor, Sergio Mella. The workers are seeking a concession and municipal premises to exhibit and sell their handicrafts, soaps and various products made from seaweed. The sale allows them to subsist during the southern winter, when seaweed extraction is banned. Credit: Orlando Milesi / IPS

The threat to seaweed

Alejandra González, a doctor in ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Chile, told IPS that some species of brown and red macroalgae found along Chile’s coasts are raw material for the food, pharmacological and medical industries.

This commercial value and high demand leads to direct extraction, “causing a reduction in natural populations and fragmentation, with a slow recovery rate of only those that survive harvesting”, she explains.

“This scenario makes populations less able to cope with environmental change, leaving them vulnerable to events such as Enos (El Niño), heat waves, increased tidal surges, changes in seawater pH, many of them associated with climate change,” she said.

Among the greatest threats to macroalgae are habitat destruction due to coastal port constructions, pollution caused by urbanization, and invasive species associated with ship movements and migrations.

Other threats are overexploitation related to human population growth, climate change caused by increased carbon dioxide (CO2) and its side effects, such as higher temperatures, storm surges and chemical changes.

According to González, the greatest threat to seaweed is the combination of all these variables.

Chile has developed various strategies for the conservation and management of natural seaweed meadows, but these measures are inadequate, argues the specialist.

“In Chile’s north, the exploitation of brown macroalgae from natural meadows is greater, because drying is free on the beaches themselves, but it is also affected by El Niño current events. While in the south it is necessary to invest in sheds or drying systems, it is more efficient to cultivate them because there are tamer bays,” she said.

González also believes that measures to recover natural seaweed meadows are not efficient “either because of legal loopholes, difficulties in on-site monitoring and/or other additional environmental variables such as those associated with climate change.”

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Cambodia’s Young Environmental Activists Pay a Heavy Price

Armed Conflicts, Asia-Pacific, Civil Society, Economy & Trade, Environment, Featured, Headlines, Indigenous Rights, Labour, Natural Resources, Press Freedom, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

Credit: Tang Chhin Sothy/AFP via Getty Images

LONDON, Aug 1 2024 (IPS) – It’s risky to try to protect the environment in authoritarian Cambodia. Ten young activists from the Mother Nature environmental group have recently been given long jail sentences. Two were sentenced to eight years on charges of plotting and insulting the king. Another seven were sentenced to six years for plotting, while one, a Spanish national banned from entering Cambodia, was sentenced in absentia.


Four of the activists were then violently dragged away from a peaceful sit-in they’d joined outside the court building. The five who’ve so far been jailed have been split up and sent to separate prisons, some far away from their families.

This is the latest in a long line of attacks on Mother Nature activists. The group is being punished for its work to try to protect natural resources, prevent water pollution and stop illegal logging and sand mining.

An autocratic regime

Cambodia’s de facto one-party regime tolerates little criticism. Its former prime minister, Hun Sen, ruled the country from 1985 until 2023, when he handed over to his son. This came shortly after a non-competitive election where the only credible opposition party was banned. It was the same story with the election in 2018. This suppression of democracy required a crackdown on dissenting voices, targeting civil society as well as the political opposition.

The authorities have weaponised the legal system. They use highly politicised courts to detain civil society activists and opposition politicians for long spells before subjecting them to grossly unfair trials. Campaigners for environmental rights, labour rights and social justice are frequently charged with vaguely defined offences under the Criminal Coder such as plotting and incitement. Last year, nine trade unionists were convicted of incitement after going on strike to demand better pay and conditions for casino workers.

In 2015 the government introduced the restrictive Law on Associations and Non-Governmental Organisations (LANGO), which requires civil society organisations to submit financial records and annual reports, giving the state broad powers to refuse registration or deregister organisations. In 2023, Hun Sen threatened to dissolve organisations if they failed to submit documents.

The state also closely controls the media. People close to the ruling family run the four main media groups and so they mostly follow the government line. Independent media outlets are severely restricted. Last year the authorities shut down one of the last remaining independent platforms, Voice of Democracy. Self-censorship means topics such as corruption and environmental concerns remain largely uncovered.

This extensive political control is closely entwined with economic power. The ruling family and its inner circle are connected to an array of economic projects. Landgrabs by state officials are common. These means land and Indigenous people’s rights activists are among those targeted.

In 2023, courts sentenced 10 land activists to a year in jail in response to their activism against land grabbing for a sugar plantation. That same year, three people from the Coalition of Cambodian Farmer Community, a farmers’ rights group, were charged with incitement and plotting. The LANGO has also been used to prevent unregistered community groups taking part in anti-logging patrols.

The activity that saw the Mother Nature activists charged with plotting involved documenting the flow of waste into a river close to the royal palace in the capital, Phnom Pen. It’s far from the first time the group’s environmental action has earned the state’s ire. The government feels threatened by the fact that Mother Nature’s activism resonates with many young people.

Three of the group’s activists were convicted on incitement charges in 2022 after organising a protest march to the prime minister’s residence to protest against the filling in of a lake for construction. In 2023, Mother Nature delivered a petition urging the government to stop granting land to private companies in Kirirom National Park; there’s evidence of licences going to people connected to ruling party politicians. In response, the Ministry of Environment said Mother Nature was an illegal organisation and that its actions were ‘against the interests of Cambodian civil society’.

Media also get in trouble if they report on the sensitive issue of land exploitation. In 2023, the authorities revoked the licences of three media companies for publishing reports on a senior official’s involvement in land fraud. In 2022, two teams of reporters covering a deforestation operation were violently arrested.

Regional challenges

Repression of environmental activism isn’t limited to Cambodia. In neighbouring Vietnam, the one-party communist state is also cracking down on climate and environmental activists. In part this is because, as in Cambodia, climate and environmental activism is increasingly shining a light on the environmentally destructive economic practices of authoritarian leaders.

Cambodia’s creeping use of the charge of insulting the king to stifle legitimate dissent also echoes a tactic frequently used in Thailand, where the authorities have jailed young democracy campaigners for violating an archaic lèse majesté law that criminalises criticism of the king. Other repressive states are following its lead – including Cambodia, where the law on insulting the king was introduced when the crackdown was well underway in 2018.

Cambodia provides ample evidence of how the denial of democracy and the repression that comes with it enable environmentally destructive policies that further affect people’s lives and rights. The solution to protect the environment and prevent runaway climate change is less repression, more democracy and a more enabled civil society.

Cambodia’s international partners should emphasise this in their dealings with the state. They should press the authorities to release the jailed Mother Nature activists, who deserve to spend the coming years helping make their country a better place, not rotting in prison.

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

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Kenya’s Protests: More than a Question of Tax

Africa, Civil Society, Crime & Justice, Economy & Trade, Energy, Featured, Financial Crisis, Headlines, Labour, TerraViva United Nations

Opinion

Credit: Kabir Dhanji/AFPvia Getty Images

LONDON, Jul 23 2024 (IPS) – Kenya’s President William Ruto has withdrawn the tax-increasing Finance Bill that sparked mass protests. He has sacked his cabinet and the head of the police has resigned. But the anger many feel hasn’t gone away, and protests continue.

The protests have brought Kenya’s Gen Z onto the political stage, with young people – over 65 per cent of the population – at the forefront. Since the protests began, they’ve made full use of social media to share views, explain the impact of proposed changes, organise protests and raise funds to help those injured or arrested.


These protests have been different to those in the past, much more organic than previous opposition-organised demonstrations. The movement has brought people together across the ethnic lines politicians have so often exploited in the past.

People have protested even in the knowledge that security force violence is guaranteed. At least 50 people have died so far. As protests have continued, people have increasingly demanded accountability for the killings and the many other acts of state violence.

Out-of-touch elite

The Finance Bill would have imposed a levy on a range of everyday essentials such as bread, and taxes on internet use, mobile phones and money transfer services. Women would have been further hit by an increase in tax on menstrual products. For many, this was simply too much to bear in a context of high youth unemployment and rising costs.

The tax increases were among conditions demanded by the International Monetary Fund (IMF) in return for a US$3.9 billion package, along with the IMF’s usual prescription of spending cuts and privatisation that generally hit the poorest people hardest.

Ruto has continued to blame his predecessor, Uhuru Kenyatta, for lavish spending on grand projects. But Ruto was Kenyatta’s vice president, and only broke with his long-time ally after he wasn’t chosen as his party’s next presidential candidate.

To protesters, Ruto is as out of touch as the presidents before him. Opponents accuse him of trying to boost his presence on the world stage, including by offering to have Kenya lead an international policing mission to violence-torn Haiti, rather than addressing domestic problems. They see him as too willing to meet the demands of US-dominated financial institutions such as the IMF rather than stand up for Kenyans.

Problems such as corruption and patronage have run through multiple governments. Politicians are accused of enjoying lavish lifestyles insulated from people’s everyday problems. Kenya’s members of parliament are proportionally the second-highest paid in the world, earning 76 times average per capita GDP. Even so, corruption allegations are rife.

Ruto’s administration attempted to create another layer of government jobs a court ruled the move unconstitutional. He created new staffed offices for the first lady, deputy first lady and prime ministerial spouse, a decision dropped due to the protests. The proposed budget was filled with such examples of the government planning to spend more on itself.

Broken promises and state violence

For many, the sense of betrayal is heightened because when Ruto won an unexpected and narrow election victory in 2022, it was on a platform of being the champion of struggling people, promising to tackle the high cost of living. But costs kept increasing, and Ruto quickly reneged on promises to stop electricity price rises. He axed subsidies on energy, fuel and maize flour. The government’s 2023 Finance Act included a raft of new taxes and levies.

These measures sparked opposition-organised protests, and the reaction was state violence that left six people dead. The pattern is consistent. Kenyan security forces seem to know no response to protest other than violence.

On 25 June, the worst day of violence in the 2024 protests, security forces fired live ammunition at protesters, killing several, including some reportedly targeted by police snipers perched atop buildings. They’ve also used rubber bullets, teargas and water cannon, including against media and medical personnel. Protest leaders and social media influencers have been targeted for abduction and arrest.

On 25 June, some protesters briefly attempted to storm parliament and started fires, but there have been accusations that politicians have paid people to infiltrate the protest movement and instigate acts of violence to try to justify security force brutality. Media providing live coverage of protests have reported receiving threats from the authorities telling them to shut down and internet access has been disrupted. Influencers have had their accounts suspended.

Although Ruto eventually pledged to take action where there is video evidence of police violence, he’s also been criticised for saying little about protest deaths and previously praised police actions. He accused ‘organised criminals’ of hijacking the protests and called the attempt to storm parliament ‘treasonous’.

Politicians have repeatedly smeared civil society organisations, claiming they’re being used by foreign powers to fund protests. Ruto, without any evidence, has accused the US-based Ford Foundation of helping finance unrest.

Demands for change

Over a month on, protests demanding Ruto’s resignation continue. It’s not just about the economy, and it’s not just about Ruto. It’s about the rejection of a whole political class and its way of governing. Trust in the institutions of government is very low.

Dialogue has been promised, but many feel it will be superficial. The government’s response to the protests should be to listen and consult deeply – and then change. People have shown they have power. They’ve shown that a system where they elect a political elite every few years to make decisions for them isn’t enough. They’ve shown they want something better.

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

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