In a 2025 report , they point out that from 2017 to 2024, 103 such bills were introduced across the country. “These bills often create legal uncertainty for healthcare professionals, interfering with their work and increasing the stigma surrounding legal abortion,” AzMinas feminist journalist Maria Paula Monteiro wrote at the time . “It is an attack to weaken reproductive rights.” According to a May 2025 report by NetLab , a research laboratory at the School of Communication at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, abortion has been a central issue in the intensification of political polarization in Brazil. The report reveals that it was used in “disinformation campaigns and as a motive for attacks on institutional, legislative, and public opinion” in 2024, a year that saw municipal elections in the country . The report highlights WhatsApp messages that said abortion and its advocates were directly connected to the devil. “Abortion is understood as a symbol of a spiritual and political battle, in which Christian values are at risk,” it concludes.


According to Brazilian legislation, city legislators and mayors do not have the power to legislate on abortion rights, and yet, morally condemning it helps candidates to gain votes. The text submitted by Tonietto claims that the Conanda protocols force “an almost compulsory submission to the abortion procedure,” and inverts current medical conclusions about the health risks of early pregnancy, claiming that abortion “may pose a serious risk to the life of the pregnant woman who, under current legislation, is not able to make her own decisions.” Although Tonietto uses the word “woman” in her proposal, the Conanda resolution concerns pregnant girls. According to the World Health Organisation (WHO) , adolescent mothers aged 10 to 19 face higher risks of eclampsia, puerperal endometritis and systemic infections than women aged 20 to 24. Additionally, WHO warns that babies of adolescent mothers face higher risks of low birth weight, preterm birth and severe neonatal conditions. For Conanda’s president, this move could lead to a lack of protection for child victims of sexual violence, favoring abusers and pedophiles. “It seeks to continue the tradition of silence and invisibility around this problem,” she says.


Effects on the ground Advocates fear the chaos created by supporters of the suspension will lead to even fewer girls seeking the services they need. “We are already getting messages from health professionals and other partners who think legal abortion for minors has been forbidden,” Laura Molinari, executive director of Nem Presa Nem Morta , a campaign to advocate for decriminalization of legal and safe abortion, told Global Voices. This is the kind of access barrier the Conanda resolution sought to address: misinformation. Molinari notes that spreading misinformation through political action is a common tactic used by the right-wing. “The confusion itself is beneficial for them.” Abortion access for statutory rape victims in Brazil is precarious, with a low number of health staff able to provide the service, as well as a lack of unified guidelines on how to serve these victims. Only 4 per cent of Brazilian municipalities have facilities to provide legal abortion services, according to data submitted by O'Neill Institute to the Supreme Court — 88 public clinics across 55 cities — a significant geographical barrier for the majority of the population.


In 2024, when a bill proposal sought to amend the Penal Code to equate abortion with murder if performed after the 22nd week of pregnancy, health specialist nurse Lígia Maria, who provides abortion services at a public hospital in Brasília, noticed a significant number of patients asking whether they would be criminally liable for the procedure. Maria’s hospital had also previously been a target of harassment and threats for providing these services. “Now, we are concerned about patients not seeking abortion services at all because of this misinformation,” Maria said. “We worry that they’re not even coming to us with questions.” The move to block the resolution, last year, sparked protests in different regions of the country. Protesters called politicians in favor of it “pedophiles” and “enemies of children,” reframing the effects of the block as detrimental to children’s rights. Lígia Maria, however, believes that the reaction might mask the real ineffectiveness of the attempted blockade. She also emphasises that it should be seen as a call to recognise Conanda’s role in defending children’s rights, rather than a victory for conservatives. “It feels like we are giving ammunition to the far right when we confirm their claim to victory,” she said. Feminist Justice Fellowship


Introducing kobudo, Japan’s traditional martial arts

Nowadays, most martial arts are consumed primarily as sporting events. Matches at the Olympics, or other shows, have strict rules that define the scoring systems and target areas to ensure participants’ safety. In judo, joint locks are only permitted on the elbows. In fencing, participants cannot attack the back of the opponent’s head. When watching gamified versions of martial arts, it’s easy to forget that in the original practices, these techniques emerged and were developed to harm opponents. What are the original martial arts? A few examples are Indian kalaripayattu , Chinese kung fu , or Cambodian bokator . In Japan, there are various classical martial arts schools that still practice ancient techniques today. These schools, collectively called kobudo , were established before the Meiji Restoration (in 1868). As the words ko (古/ancient or traditional) and budo (武道/martial arts or the martial way) suggest, kobudo prides itself on long-standing traditions.


On February 1, Global Voices attended the 49th Japanese Kobudo Demonstration at the Nippon Budokan, one of the largest martial arts events in Japan, to see these ancient techniques in action. We interviewed experts from martial arts schools to learn the true meaning of kobudo and explore how the instructors preserve traditional values in a contemporary environment. Efficiency in combat Kyoichi Inoue Sensei, the soke (headmaster) of Hontai Yoshin-ryu — a traditional Japanese martial art school founded in 1660 — pointed out that the biggest difference between kobudo and other martial arts is that kobudo does not have rules on where to strike. Drawing from his extensive experience in judo and kendo, the soke told Global Voices (GV): 古武道は全身の致命傷になる部分を狙います。現代武道は主にルールの中で戦うスポーツとして発達したので、古武道とは変化した部分も多いと思います。 相手を殺そうと思ったら、硬い頭蓋骨や防具に守られているところよりも、防具に守られていない動脈が通っているところを狙えばいいんです。 Kobudo aims for lethal points across the entire body. Since modern martial arts evolved as sports played within a ruleset, many aspects have changed from kobudo. If our purpose is to kill an opponent, instead of striking the hard skull or areas protected by armor, it would be efficient to simply target the soft, exposed areas where major arteries run.


The school demonstrated various techniques, including both empty-handed and weapon-based combat. These various techniques symbolize the character of Kobudo: it rejects standardization, rewards efficiency, and prioritizes flexibility, preparing users for any situation. This also explains why kobudo only has demonstrations, not competitions with real combat, unlike other fighting-based sports: it is way too dangerous. The martial way and bushido While the inherent danger of kobudo might suggest a focus on violence, the tradition is anchored by centuries-old values that transcend mere brutality. Shojitsuken Rikata Ichi-ryu Katchu Battojutsu, a martial art school established during the late Sengoku period (mid-15th century to late 16th century), stands as a testament to this heritage. Its practitioners utilize authentic armor and real Sengoku-style long swords, preserving the ethos of the ancient bushido (the tradition of Bushi/Japanese warriors) — transforming a lethal art into a disciplined practice of honor and etiquette. During the Nippon Budokan exhibition , representatives from the Shojitsuken Rikata Ichi-ryu school demonstrated the penultimate move of todome-wo-sasu (とどめを刺す/delivering the final blow).


This is a powerful act stemming from Japan’s cultural philosophy around mortality, in which dishonor in battle was worse than death. The school’s representative, Masaru Kanzaki Sensei, explained this unique philosophy: 我々は相手を「一刀両断」にし、必ずとどめを刺すことを定めています。これには武士道の精神が深く関わっています。武士は相手の名誉を重んじます。斬った相手をのたうち回らせて苦しませるのではなく、速やかにとどめを刺して楽にしてあげる。これは切腹の際の「介錯」と同じ考え方です。名誉を保ったまま逝かせるという、武士の情けなのです。 We aim for itto ryodan (一刀両断/cleaving in two) and are strictly taught to deliver a finishing blow. This is deeply rooted in the spirit of bushido [the samurai moral code]. This is the same principle as the kaishaku — an act to end one’s life in seppuku [a ritual suicide to wash away shame]. A bushi respects an opponent’s honor. Instead of leaving a wounded enemy to writhe in agony, you end their suffering swiftly. This philosophy sounds quite similar, but fundamentally different from the Western concept of coup de grâce , which was an act to free the opponent from the desperate pain under the Christian concept of mercy. Under the bushido tradition, there was no greater disgrace than to die a “messy” death. A warrior was expected to maintain composure even in death; to writhe or scream in agony was viewed as utterly unsightly.


It meant losing the disciplined spirit that warriors had spent their entire lives cultivating. While other East Asian cultures value dying for one’s principles, the specific idealization of finding beauty in the act of death itself is a uniquely Japanese sensibility. The famous metaphor of short-lived cherry blossoms symbolizes the bushi’s ideal: to live vibrantly and die without hesitation. Practicing tradition Currently, 75 schools are affiliated with the Nihon Kobudo Association. Each year, roughly half of the member schools take turns participating in the public demonstration. This year, 36 schools participated. Haruhiko Hata, the Chief of the Promotion Division of Nippon Budokan, told GV that the venue serves as a hub for Japanese martial arts schools to showcase the results of their training and hence preserve the tradition. A major challenge for these schools is attracting young people to practice and study the ancient martial art and its philosophy. Yoshin-ryu Naginatajutsu , a school that has been led by female sokes in recent years , for example, has become more flexible in adapting its culture to appeal to young Japanese.


The school’s soke, Takako Koyama, said: 今回の大会の時に、演武者が髪を染めるか、染めないかという話になりました。でも、国際化の時代ですから、外国人も日本人も、自然体で生きていくべきだと思います。門下生の子たちには、今日はメイクを濃いめにしてくださいって言ったんですよ。写真に撮られるから。 For this demonstration, there was a discussion about whether the practitioners should dye their hair back to black or not. But we live in an international age. Whether you are foreign or Japanese, I believe you should live as your natural self. Actually, I told my students to wear their makeup a bit heavier today — since I knew they’d be getting their pictures taken. Different from other Budo schools, Yoshin-ryu Naginatajutsu was founded about 400 years ago to teach court ladies serving in the palace self-defence. The school has followed the convention of Yoshin-ryu (the School of the Willow Heart), one of the most influential Japanese martial arts schools founded in 1642 during the Edo period, and wears the furisode (long-sleeve kimono) as its combat outfit. Soke Koyama explains that the traditional attire offers a tactical advantage as it can conceal one’s movement and enhance the willow-like efficiency — a key combat style of Yoshin-ryu. Many schools also welcome enthusiastic learners from abroad.


Among the schools we interviewed, Hontai Yoshin-ryu has branches in eight countries. Among the practitioners at this demonstration, Frederic Roncioni Sensei and Sami Mechmech Sensei were from Belgium. Frederic Sensei, the head of the Hontai Yoshin-ryu Belgian Branch, began his Budo journey 40 years ago in Belgium. His teacher spent a year in Japan studying Hontai Yoshin-ryu and, upon returning in 1990, began teaching Frederic Sensei. Since then, they have travelled to Japan at least once a year — sometimes twice or three times — to deepen their training. He told GV: If you want to truly understand Japanese budo, you need to study Japan’s general culture, not just the fighting techniques. To gain a full perspective of any martial art, you must understand the culture from which it emerged. Budo is not just physical training; it is a profound gateway to understanding Japanese culture as a whole. The journey of Kobudo began long before we were born and will continue its deliberate walk towards the future, not by standing still, but by carefully blending with contemporary Japanese culture.


Hongkonger fights in Ukraine as diaspora marks grim anniversary

When US President Donald Trump announced plans to withdraw aid to Ukraine in early 2025, 31-year-old Hongkonger Nid made a decision that would change his life: he would join the fight himself. “I felt it was very unfair,” Nid told Global Voices over a crackling video call from his military base in Ukraine. “When those in power don’t do anything, those below have to act. We, ordinary citizens, have to do it.” Nid arrived in Ukraine in March 2025, leaving behind his job as a chef. Now a combat medic in the 3rd Separate Assault Brigade, he evacuates wounded soldiers using robots after serving several months as an infantryman. Nid sees parallels between Ukraine’s resistance and Hong Kong’s own struggles. Both were forced to ramp up their fight for autonomy in 2014, after Russia’s annexation of Crimea and the resistance campaigns in the Special Administrative Regions of China (SAR), known as the Umbrella Movement . “We’re both being occupied by a neighboring power that’s gradually eroding our political autonomy and assimilating us,” Nid said, praising his unit’s effort to preserve the Ukrainian language and wishing the same for Cantonese.


After Beijing’s crackdown on the 2019 pro-democracy protests and the implementation of the National Security Law , Nid felt increasingly hopeless about participating in Hong Kong society. There was no way to participate in society like before. People who spoke up politically became fewer and fewer. I felt somewhat disheartened. So I thought: why not go somewhere where I could use my own power to support justice, even in a small way? In 2019, protesters drew inspiration from Ukraine’s Euromaidan revolution, portrayed in the film “ Winter on Fire. ” People screened the film across neighborhoods throughout Hong Kong to learn resistance tactics. By 2022, solidarity reversed: Hongkongers flocked to Ivan the Kozak , a Ukrainian restaurant in the city, expressing support through donations and messages. A war with no end in sight Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine entered its fifth year on February 24, 2026, marking Europe’s largest military conflict since World War II. At least 15,000 civilians have been killed since the invasion began, including 763 children, according to data by the United Nations .


The Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS) estimates Russia has suffered around 1.2 million casualties, including around 325,000 killed. For Ukraine, CSIS estimates military casualties between 500,000 and 600,000, including up to 140,000 deaths. Russia has intensified attacks on energy infrastructure during one of Ukraine’s coldest winters in recent years, leaving millions without consistent power, heat, or water. “It’s minus 20 degrees Celsius, and there’s electricity for just two hours a day. Residents in apartment buildings in Odesa can’t burn wood for warmth. Life is very hard for them,” said Nid. International support remains divided. The European Union (EU) has provided over EUR 193 billion (USD 228 billion) in aid, but unity faltered when ministers failed to agree on new sanctions against Russia. Trump’s proposed 28-point peace deal would require Ukraine to cede territories to Moscow. Two Hong Kong volunteers killed in action In December 2025, two Hong Kong volunteer soldiers, known as Pin and Shui, were killed during their first frontline deployment in Zaporizhzhia while attempting to recover a comrade’s remains.


Nid, who had been in contact with Pin, was devastated. He said: When my other comrades died, I was still at a position with work to distract me. But when Pin and Shui died, I was at the base doing routine training. There wasn’t urgent work to dilute the emotion. It felt like swallowing something bitter. In January, the city’s security secretary, Chris Tang, suggested that some Hongkongers joining Ukraine’s military might be seeking training to later use against their own government. Nid dismissed this claim: “If the government doesn’t need violence or bloodshed [to act], who wants to die?” He urged functional dialogue over fear, recalling the peaceful July 1 marches of old, when grievances were resolved naturally. EU pledges continued support amid criticism On February 21, Hong Kong Anti-war Mobilization held a protest at the Tsim Sha Tsui Cultural Center to mark the fourth anniversary of the war. The group mourned fallen soldiers before being stopped by the Leisure and Cultural Services Department staff for not applying for an official permit.


In their statement , the group condemned Putin’s expansionist war and criticized the US for sidelining Ukraine in peace negotiations. “We also condemn European countries for continuing to import Russian natural gas, and criticize Russia's allies for providing diplomatic, military, and economic support,” the statement read. Speaking at a screening event on February 24, Harvey Rouse, head of the EU office in Hong Kong, emphasized the bloc’s unwavering commitment to Ukraine. Rouse said Moscow’s ability to obtain dual-use goods for its war machine remains a major concern. He said: This is also a discussion that we are having with the Hong Kong administration. We are also discussing the need to avoid any enabling of Russia’s shadow fleet of ships transporting sanctioned oil. Ukraine is not just fighting for its own freedom. Ukraine is fighting against a world where might equals right. Ukraine is fighting for all of us. Watching from afar For Anna Odnokopyla, society representative of the Ukrainian Society of Hong Kong, watching the war from thousands of miles away brings its own anguish.


Born in Kyiv, Anna has lived in Hong Kong for almost 10 years, but her family remains in Ukraine. She told Global Voices at the EU screening event: Of course, being in Ukraine is tough, being outside is also tough for the family members. Obviously it feels terrible because every single Ukrainian, has someone either at war. Like my family is still there, so it’s been hard. Anna noted the recent escalation of missile attacks on Kyiv. “The news every day is not great, and lots of family members are on the battlefield, and they have to go to serve. It’s the reality of having a Ukrainian notice,” she said. The Ukrainian Society of Hong Kong has organized events for the diaspora community while also collaborating with local institutions to share Ukrainian culture, Anna added. Asked about the passing of two Hong Kong volunteers, Anna said: It's terrifying, it’s like losing one of our family members. Every single Ukrainian will appreciate their contribution to the frontline. Anna hopes for lasting peace: We all want to have the war finished.


We all want to have all territories back as it was before 2014, because the war started way before [2022]. “Don't give up hope” Back at his base in Ukraine, Nid reflected on what keeps him going: the Ukrainian people, his fallen comrades, and hope for the future. Meeting older Ukrainian soldiers reinforced his resolve: There’s an uncle in his 50s or 60s in my position. When I look at him, I think: this person is only a few years younger than my dad. If my father had to fight on the frontline, I’d feel terrible. Nid was injured by an enemy drone a few months ago, but that didn’t stop him. Don't be too immersed in this oppressive atmosphere. Do what you can within your means. Don’t lose heart. Don’t forget you are Hongkongers. As the war grinds into its fifth year, Nid plans to fight until the end. “I find life here quite comfortable,” he says. “I want to learn new skills and knowledge, like how to use drones, unmanned ground vehicles, and combat medicine to save people.”


Cameroonians turn to private solar grids in response to prolonged power cuts

In Mile four of the New Council area in Bamenda, of the North West region of Cameroon, residents have increasingly turned to solar energy to cope with prolonged and unpredictable electricity disruptions as the country’s electricity crisis intensified. For the past two years, households in this part of town say they have experienced inconsistent or completely absent power from the national grid managed by Eneo Cameroon , the company responsible for the production, distribution, and sale of electrical energy in Cameroon. Officials have attributed widespread power shortages to technical and hydrological factors. In January 2025, the Ministry of Water Resources and Energy explained that reduced generation at major hydroelectric stations, including Songloulou, Edea, and Memve’ele, and the shutdown of certain thermal plants contributed to diminished power supply, prompting rationing and frequent outages across the interconnected grid. Frustrated by repeated delays in restoring stable electricity, inhabitants of the New Council area contributed personal funds to purchase a community transformer in mid-January 2026. The investment was intended to improve access during extended outages.


Despite this, the power supply remains intermittent, prompting many residents to adopt decentralized solar systems in their homes as an alternative. Godwin Benyella, a resident of Mile 4 Nkwen, said: I’ve been using solar energy to power up my household since 2020. It helps us whenever there are frequent power outages. The solar has definitely attracted neighbors’ [attention] and even pushed them to get their own. Benyella’s solar setup, six panels and two batteries, cost about CFA francs 1.5 million (USD 2,705). His technician charged CFA 75,000 for installation. He reported that the system powers his television, refrigerator (barely), and blender, but noted that heavy appliances like irons and washing machines cannot be run without more equipment. Across Bamenda’s Main Market, solar panels and batteries have become widely available, reflecting rising demand. Martin, a vendor who imports panels and batteries, described changing market conditions: At first 100 Watts cost 120k [CFA francs]. But now with 20k [CFA francs] you can have a 100 watt panel, we who have our small shops in town no longer make profit because most people travel to Douala and buy directly from the manufacturers.


He noted that while solar has become a “good investment,” increased competition from larger suppliers has driven prices down and squeezed small-scale retailers. A tour around the council area shows that most houses have one, two, or even six solar panels on their roofs, purchased from the local market and installed by technicians throughout the neighborhood. Technicians in the city who install these panels for households report intensified solar adoption as grid reliability declines. Nelson, an electrician, explained the basic functioning of residential systems: Solar panels capture sunlight and convert it into direct current electricity. An inverter then kicks in to convert the DC power into alternating current, which is what your house uses. Any excess energy can be stored in batteries. It’s a clean, sustainable way to power your home. He added that the consistent, intense sunlight in Bamenda makes solar power particularly suitable and that many residents are installing systems to supplement or replace unreliable grid service.


Solar Bright Future Company CTO engineer Kigha Paul Tabo, an expert who has been in the solar domain for years, described broader trends in energy needs. He said awareness campaigns and falling prices have made solar more accessible, especially in Bamenda’s rural areas and across the northwest region. Over the last five to seven years, he noted, many household clients have adopted solar as the national grid’s reach declined in some areas due to infrastructure damage and maintenance challenges. He also highlighted efforts to develop mini solar generators capable of powering single rooms, Tabo said: Many families are embracing the shift. Solar is better and cheaper than generators, it may be expensive to install but far cheaper to maintain daily than buying fuel for a generator. He acknowledged access constraints, including the high upfront cost of installations, a lack of licensed vendors, and skill gaps among informal installers, and encouraged households to buy products with guaranteed warranties to better enjoy the benefits of solar panel installations. Solar in Mile 4 does not fully replace grid electricity.


Basic domestic solar systems provide light, refrigeration, and device charging, but are limited in capacity without larger battery banks and panels. However, the expanding adoption of solar reflects practical responses to recurring grid failures and has contributed to decentralized energy access for households in the community. In student neighborhoods such as Bambili University campuses, students say frequent power outages affect their studies, as it’s challenging for them to study in the dark. Munaseh Courage, a fourth-year student at the University of Bamenda, told Global Voices: You cannot even make plans to study because you are not sure when there will be light, having phones go off also makes one miss important assessments announced on the class forum. In addition to students, the disruptionsin recent years have affected businesses and non-profits that operate in the town. The Luc Menora Rehabilitation Foundation (LMF), located in Bamenda, Cameroon, which takes care of disabled children, has suffered from this issue. “Yet today, this mission is under serious threat.


The foundation is facing an electricity crisis that is dimming the light of opportunity for these children,” they wrote in a release after an evaluation meeting. They said they are looking to switch to a solar grid so they can better support the young people they work with. At the national level, government officials acknowledge persistent challenges in electricity supply across multiple regions, including those served by the Southern Interconnected Grid , which covers the northwest and southwest regions. The Minister of Water Resources and Energy has stated that the government has taken steps to strengthen the electricity sector, including the state’s acquisition of the majority stake in ENEO, with the stated goal of improving distribution network reliability and meeting growing demand. The minister has also called for improved billing and reduced fraud to support system sustainability. The expansion of solar use in Mile 4 reflects one locally driven adaptation to systemic electricity instability, with households investing in decentralized, renewable energy systems that enable basic electrical access despite persistent grid disruptions.


Government attacks on mainstream media undermine the credibility of democracy in Botswana

In most discussions of democracy in Africa, Botswana is among the first countries to come up. Respected for its peace and tranquillity, the country, which gained its independence from Britain in 1966 , has maintained good governance and political stability, particularly compared to some of its neighbors. For the first time in history, a coalition of opposition political parties , the Umbrella for Democratic Change (UDC), took political power in the 2024 elections. No blood was spilled, and there were no protests or public hostility. The former president Mokgweetsi Masisi handed over power smoothly, bowing out graciously. Botswana’s hostile media landscape For nearly 60 years now, Botswana has continued to reflect an impeccable democracy. However, this is changing over time as the media becomes more outspoken and robust, and attacks on the press become more common. During the administration of Seretse Khama Ian Khama , some journalists were even arrested and thrown into jail. When President Mokgweetsi Masisi took over in 2019, he promised fair engagement and treatment of the media.


But his presidency was marked by endless rebuttals and public attacks against the press . Fast forward to today, and the media is still fighting the same battles, particularly private media. It is well documented that private media in Botswana is under threat and seems to be dying a slow death. Newsrooms are under-resourced and functioning with poor morale, reporters are widely overworked and underpaid, and many experienced journalists are leaving to work for international media or join the corporate sector. There is also pronounced self-censorship among journalists as they fear criticism, harassment, and lawsuits for their reporting. Botswana’s new president, Duma Boko , is a human rights lawyer. During the new administration’s inaugural cabinet meeting on November 21, 2024, President Duma Boko underscored the significance of accountability, discipline, and service to the nation. He also reiterated the “importance of unity, collective responsibility and collaboration.” But his recent attacks on the Botswana media have threatened to undermine the ethos of democracy and also what the media represents.


President Boko has expressed disdain for the media and accused it of peddling lies , even saying that 90 percent of media outlets in Botswana spread fake news. He also criticized the quality of journalism, the standard of reporting, and reporters’ language skills. He hastened to add that he “appreciates what the media is trying to do.” But the damage had already been done. What is at stake in the Botswana media? How does the media operate under the glare of disdain and resentment from the president? Chairperson of the Media Institute of Africa (MISA) Botswana chapter, Thomas Nkhoma, has written endless commentary on how the president’s sentiments and attacks on local media can damage press freedom in the country. Nkhoma noted that the Botswana media stands at a crossroads, and it is a tough position. What is at stake in Botswana media is not only law reforms but the viability of journalism in a disrupted, underfunded and rapidly changing environment. It appears that it is not only private media that should be “scared.”


Most recently, seasoned broadcast journalist Letumile Montsosa was removed from his breakfast slot on the government national broadcaster RB1 (Radio Botswana) following a controlled broadcast on the controversial introduction of the Constitutional Court in Botswana . It was alleged that there was a directive from the office of the president that the discussions should not include calls from the public. This was captured in a snippet of a live video by the studio guest Uyapo Ndadi, a respected lawyer in Botswana. The video went viral in a few hours. The next day, Montsosa was demoted. Free and functioning media as a key component of democracy Above all, the “cold war” between the new Botswana government and local media reflects increasing global hostility towards the media. The media has played a key role in educating and empowering communities in Botswana since independence, and the private media has served as a stern national watchdog since the 1980s. Watchdogs argue that upholding freedom of expression and media liberty should be balanced with media accountability, ethics, and quality standards.


In an interview with Global Voices, the International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA) Secretary General, Kevin Casas Zamora, noted that although Botswana is performing well on the democracy front, more can still be done. He has been to Botswana on several occasions for governance engagements, including a conference on democracy in Botswana’s capital city, Gaborone, prior to the 2024 elections. The democracy expert boasts 25 years of experience in democratic governance as a researcher, analyst, and public official. His career has focused strongly on electoral processes and democratic institutions. Zamora said Botswana is “mid-range” in terms of freedom of expression, which he explained means the situation is not good or bad but is above average in Africa. He noted that protecting the free press is essential for democracy. He said: We have seen instances where authoritarian leaders target independent journalists but journalism is good for the health of democracy… Without journalism we cannot for example fight corruption and this leads to the weakening of democratic institutions.


It is therefore important to strive to collectively protect human rights defenders and journalists because journalism is an essential service. He added that the government would benefit from creating conducive laws and supporting the development of the media, rather than routinely stifling its operations. A free and functioning media is a key component of democracy, said Andrew Bummel, Executive Director of Democracy without Borders, in a virtual interview with Global Voices. Bummel said media accountability must “come from strong professional standards and peer regulation, not state control.” He noted that state-owned media are a particular challenge because of their government connection. But overall, fair reporting should be paramount, he echoed. He noted: At a time where disinformation and misinformation are common, it's important to prioritise education that improves media literacy. Education that fosters critical minds and covers media literacy is the best vaccine against disinformation and misinformation.


Papua New Guinea journalist assaulted over prison reporting

Veteran Papua New Guinea journalist Rebecca Kuku said she was assaulted by correctional service officers at the Bomana remand facility after she reported on the living conditions of inmates residing there. The incident has alarmed local media groups, which called for an immediate investigation as they urged authorities to uphold press freedom. Kuku and other local journalists reported that more than 50 prisoners were attacked by jail guards at the prison facility, but correctional service officers disputed this and insisted that they were merely trying to respond to a jailbreak attempt . In response to the news report, Papua New Guinea Prime Minister James Marape said prisoners must be treated humanely. Even in prison, human rights must be respected and those responsible for managing detainees must act within the law. Allegations of excessive force or mistreatment must be fully and independently examined.


When Kuku visited the Correctional Service Office on February 27 in Port Moresby, she said she was verbally attacked, then punched from behind, and threatened by officers because of her reporting. The National, the online news outlet where Kuku works, said authorities must discipline the officers who attacked the journalist. For warders to now assault a journalist is reprehensible and does nothing to improve the image of the service. We are fully supporting our journalist in filing a criminal assault case. We are calling on the Correctional Service command to look into this and discipline the officers responsible. We have lodged a complaint with the Correctional Service management. Kuku called out the attempt to besmirch her reputation on social media and insisted that she did nothing wrong in reporting the facts of the incident. The pictures and videos were sent to all media houses [by inmates]. Similar reports were published/reported by all media houses.


Instead of blaming the media for doing our job, you should instead carry out an internal investigation and find out how these prisoners have access to mobile phones in the first place Mainstream media is not a PR, we are not here to report the good only or write however way you want us to write news. Our job is to tell it as it is. Whether it’s good or bad! The Media Council of Papua New Guinea is demanding a full independent investigation by police into the attack against Kuku. Its president, Neville Choi, has condemned the attack and threat against one of its own members and said reporters in Papua New Guinea “must be respected for the work that they do in informing and educating the public of what is happening around them.” He added that if and when a citizen is unhappy with a news report or has evidence that a reporter was compromised while writing a story, they can simply inform the Media Council by filing a formal written complaint.


Pacific Freedom Forum chair Robert Iroga from the Solomon Islands described the assault as “a shocking attack on press freedom and the safety of journalists doing their jobs.” No journalist should ever face intimidation or physical harm for reporting on matters of public interest. Ms Kuku has filed a statement to Police and authorities must act swiftly to identify those responsible. This will demonstrate that such behaviour has no place within state institutions. We also commend the National team and all editors and publishers who take swift action and call out these threats to their front line staff, particularly women journalists who are often targeted with specific verbal abuse, shaming and sexualised threats in ways that men do not suffer. As of May 2025, Papua New Guinea ranks 78th out of 180 countries on the Reporters Without Borders (RSF) World Press Freedom Index. RSF reported that journalists in the country “faced with intimidation, direct threats, censorship, lawsuits and bribery attempts, making it a dangerous profession.”


LGBTQ+ rights worsen in several countries following US policy changes

Author’s note : This article specifically looks at the impact of the U.S policy changes on a sub-group, LBQT (Lesbian, Bisexual, Queer, Trans) people within the LGBTQ+ spectrum in South Asia, to understand the policy impact on people gender-assigned female at birth or trans-feminine people. “Women aren’t even allowed to choose their own life partner. So a same sex relationship is not an option,” Sandii, founder and general secretary of Mobbera Foundation in India, told me. Many activists working with the LBQT+ communities in South Asia share this opinion. As a gender professional from Pakistan said, “LGBT issues and rights are seen as Western ideas.” Given the mainstream understanding of trans identities in many countries in the region, trans people are often subjected to increased violence by religious forces, especially in places where homosexuality is criminalised, like in Pakistan and Bangladesh. However, queer activists believe that women’s sexuality is often erased. Nafisa, a queer woman from Pakistan, told me that there is a culture of invisibility: “You can be who you are, but don't say things out loud. My Allah is OK with it.


It is not Islam but the culture.” She added, “Here [in Pakistan] I’m hyper aware of being a woman. I forget I’m queer.” Following USAID’s 90 percent funding cut, the Trump administration’s attempts to stifle gender expression have had a direct impact on gendered bodies worldwide — not just in access to resources and critical services, but also in getting recognition for their identity. I have been in conversation with non-profits, networks and funders working with the LBQT+ community in South Asia and the Caribbean nation of Belize to report on the impact. Despite a history of criminalising homosexuality, varying levels of legal milestones related to LGBTQ+ rights were achieved in India , Pakistan , Nepal , and Belize since 2017 — Trump’s first term in office. However, according to Joy Chia at the Astraea Lesbian Foundation for Justice , anti-trans rhetoric has been steadily increasing, and violence towards trans feminine people has multiplied enormously in Pakistan and Bangladesh in recent years. In addition, an LBQT+ rights activist from Nepal shared, “The actions by the US have now given the anti-queer actors in Nepal more power.


There have been protests against LGBT rights. LBQ+ activists who are visible have been targeted, and those in the closet find it difficult to come out.” Shifting political priorities and their impact According to a 2025 report by the Kaleidoscope Trust (UK), funding cuts to LGBTQ+ organisations and programmes are leading to an increasingly hostile security environment. Across nations, governments are shifting their political priorities with the change in the US position on gender issues, following which, big European donors — the Netherlands, Switzerland, Denmark and Germany — have been shifting their funding priorities. Alex Farrow, CEO of Kaleidoscope Trust, said, “With the change in US position, other countries no longer feel a moral obligation to support these issues. Earlier, activists and organisations felt vindicated with the moral support from the US. The US held soft power to do things that might not happen otherwise.” However, the Mother’s Movement in Sri Lanka applauded the Trump administration’s attack on LGBTQ+ communities, requesting in a letter to the US embassy in the country that its fight continue.


In recent years, Astraea Foundation, through its work, has been noticing changes in the US and abroad that seem to have similar goals — consolidation of power and control over civil society. Joy Chia said that this policy shift has increased Astraea Foundation’s need to ensure its partners are safe from government overreach and scrutiny. “Shrinking civic space has been seen across South Asia since 2017. From a grant-making perspective, moving money and resources into South Asia has been deeply affected.” Funding cuts further limit available support Jean Chong of Asia LBQ Network shared that funding cuts have been a recurring discussion among LBQT+ organisations in South Asia. Even though they do not receive funds directly from the US government, these organisations access funds through intermediaries who redistribute them to smaller organisations. The funding cuts have impacted the intermediaries, and as a result the smaller LBQT+ organisations and those working on gender issues. “A lot of them get funding from feminist funds like Astraea, which has lost a lot of money from USAID,” Chong said, adding, “This has had a cascading effect, because LBQ groups are usually very poor and have only one or two grants.


So losing one grant could mean losing fifty percent or more of their funding.” Many sources observed the consistent pattern with every Republican administration in the US of cutting down funds for women’s health, abortion, contraceptives, HIV and LGBTQ+ rights. However, the pinch has been steep following the administrative change, especially given the generous funding for these organisations provided by the Biden administration. The archived website of the Global Equality Fund by the US government that supported grassroots LGBTQ+ organisations, mentions that it provided emergency support to individuals and organisations in over 100 countries. Funding cuts have led to reductions in life-saving programmes and in the size of teams in organisations. Many have shut down. The uncertainty about the future of their ability to do impactful work has led to a significant increase in stress and burnout, impacting the overall wellbeing of individuals working on these issues. Reimagining movement-building opportunities Some within the LBQT+ community in the region view the recent funding crisis as an opportunity to move beyond Global North funding.


A gender professional from Bangladesh told me, “Lots of funds were available over the last 15–20 years without sufficient change. Organisations have been doing the bare minimum with no larger vision. [They] receive funding and organise meetings, photos, and reports, to check the boxes for the funders’ sake but with little policy impact or real change.” Another from Pakistan agreed: “It is good to lose funding because then we will revamp the way we work. The first world creates problems, then they give money to solve these problems. But there’s no real-life impact.” Organisations have been forced to reimagine the ways to raise funding to remain afloat, including fundraising beyond their work on rights-based issues. One head of a non-profit organisation working on queer issues in Bangladesh said they are exploring themes like climate change to sustain the work they do. “We are contemplating sharing resources and services with other [organisations] like renting out our spaces, catering, providing business to each other to sustain and rotate the funds. These conversations are still in a planning stage and will see the light once we run out of all our existing funds.”


Similar ideas are emerging halfway across the world in Belize. Charrice Talbert, president of Promoting Empowerment Through Awareness for Lesbian/bisexual women in Belize (PETAL) , said her organisation plans to raise funds by providing printing services for school students, among other ideas. Joy Chia at the Astraea Foundation shared about the rise of local philanthropic opportunities, particularly in India. Following the Trump administration’s decision to discontinue foreign funding, three transgender clinics , including India's first trans clinic, Mitr in Hyderabad, were shut down . Subsequently, the clinic reopened as Sabrang clinic in July 2025 with philanthropic support from Tata Trusts. In February 2025, Godrej Industries, Keshav Suri Foundation and Radhika Piramal, executive director of VIP Industries, in her individual capacity, launched the Pride Fund to support LGBTQ+ community organisations. In addition, Jean Chong shared that the Asia Feminist LBQ Network is helping set up an independent fund, the Queer Feminist Fund (QFF), as a ground-up, regional feminist funding initiative to provide flexible core support to grassroots collectives and initiatives that are often excluded from mainstream philanthropy.


Alternative means of supporting movement building are under discussion in some cases and being tested in others; however, consistency and sustainability of these newer means remain a concern for most, and are nowhere close to sufficient to meet current on-the-ground needs. Worsening state of the left-out ‘L’ in LGBT Conversations about the US policy changes have also brought to light the pre-existing invisibilisation and misogyny experienced by LBQT+ people, and the silencing of the severity of their experiences because of political and policy developments. “Most LBQT+ organisations are much smaller than most LGBTQ+ organisations in the region, which have mainly focused on gay and transgender issues for a long time,” said Chong. Sources from across South Asia attribute the invisibilisation of LBQ+ persons to the long-running government programmes on HIV that mainly focus on gay men and trans women. “Within LGBTQIA+ spaces, gay men are visible. For women, there is no space. Gay men should use their privilege to create space for queer women,“ shared Nafisa, speaking about Pakistan.


Similarly, a queer woman working on LGBTQ+ rights in Bangladesh said that the public sees their organisation as a youth organisation. “We cannot be seen working on queer rights.” Continued criminalisation of homosexuality in Bangladesh, Pakistan and Sri Lanka has led to clubbing the rights of sexual minorities with gender diversity and gender issues. “We frame everything under gender diversity. We can’t talk about LBQ issues. It will become an existential threat if we did,” said a gender professional from Pakistan. Within the LBQT spectrum, hijras (an Indigenous identity in the transgender spectrum) are overrepresented, subjecting them to more violence, while LBQ+ persons remain invisible, according to a source working on these issues in Bangladesh. “The organising for LBQ+ persons has been more in the last decade or so. Funders also noticed this gap and tried to support women-led organisations,” she added. In contrast, Belize does not recognise the rights of transgender people. Currently, there is no way to change their gender on national documents or gain access to any kind of gender affirmative care in the country.


Several organisations in Belize work on LGBTQ+ rights; however, PETAL is the only one working for the rights of LBQ women in the country, says Charrice Talbert, who heads the organisation. Further, Belize recognises the rights of heterosexual couples who live together in a common-law relationship. Magistrate Margaret McKenzie explained, “Belize does not recognise same sex relationships when it comes to legal issues. A common-law relationship between a man and a woman is legally accepted. When there is a breakup of that relationship, either party can get legal remedies.” Whereas, in South Asia, class and caste privilege also impact the access and visibility of LBQ women and non-binary persons. “Sustaining oneself in Dhaka also means that they are from a stronger socio-economic class,” said the source in Bangladesh. LBQ+ women from smaller cities and towns fear being seen in any queer events, giving rise to online engagement of the LBQ community, and with smaller private events like book readings that go beyond queer topics. In Pakistan, however, queer women seem to be absent even in online spaces for fear of being outed.


Talking about her challenges with finding community, Nafisa said, “In Islamabad, I met no queer women on Bumble. In Lahore, I met two women and one of them is married to a man. It is a lot to sustain two lives in Pakistan. I try not to think about companionship.” A Nepali queer woman said, “In Nepal, we are still talking about brahmin marrying a brahmin. If there’s no acceptance of caste, then [acceptance for] queer people will take a long time.” Nepal is the only country in the region that allows registration of same sex marriage following a temporary Supreme Court ruling in 2023, although this registration does not guarantee equal rights as offered to heterosexual couples. Another Nepali LBQ+ activist noted that lesbian women remain excluded in government programs for allowances provided for widowed women. “If a woman is over 20 years of age and widowed, they are entitled to an allowance. This is for heterosexual women. Lesbians cannot get this allowance if their partner dies.” Similar discrimination against LBQ+ women is prevalent in India, which decriminalised homosexuality in 2018.


This is one among many other latent forms of misogyny and re-discrimination and LBQ+ erasure that is prevalent in decriminalised contexts, owing to the lack of deliberate attempts by the state to amend policies and laws for LBQT+ inclusion. Worsening the existing erasure experienced by LBQT+ persons in countries with regressive and misogynistic politics and policies, the Trump administration’s position on gender issues has further pushed this community into the shadows. Most sources believe that the status quo is likely to remain the same, if not worsen in the near future. But hope may still prevail. In the words of Alex Farrow, the CEO of Kaleidoscope Trust, “In 1990, 114 countries criminalised homosexuality. By 2008, this was 78. That's a 30 percent reduction in under 20 years – achieved without major US or UK funding. So we did it before, and we will do it again. As a movement, we are agile.” One also hopes that this time, may this movement drive more countries to not only decriminalise homosexuality but also uproot their internalised misogynistic thinking at its core.


Nawat language now has its own Wikipedia

Wikipedia in the Nawat language mainly spoken in El Salvador or “Wikiamachti” was formally recognized as an official Wikimedia site in January 2026, having spent 16 years as a Wikimedia incubator project. Until these projects are deemed ready for launch and approved by the Wikimedia Foundation's Language Committee , incubator projects must follow a process of development to ensure their viability and to reflect the language community's desire to have its own Wikimedia project. The project had been dormant for many years, until a group recently revived the project through community mobilization, technical training, and an acknowledgement that digital sovereignty is an essential element for the sharing of knowledge in Indigenous languages. Joining other official versions of Wikipedia in Indigenous languages of Latin America, such as Quechua , Aymara , Guaraní , Náhuatl , and Wayuunaiki , Wikiamachti is working with native, heritage, and new language speakers to create open knowledge in the Nawat language (or also spelled as Náhuat), which is classified by UNESCO as “critically endangered.”


Factors that led to this language loss in El Salvador includes the violent events in 1932 of La Matanza , a state-led repression that targeted Indigenous Nawat-language speakers, which forced Nawat language speakers across the country to abandon their language to escape persecution. Historically, the Nawat language had been spoken in parts of Mesoamerica, but is now mainly concentrated in Western El Salvador. Despite having only 1,135 native speakers according to the 2024 Salvadoran Census, it has enjoyed a relative revival through activities, such as the launch of different initiatives using digital media, such as a Living Dictionary , books on the Storyweaver platform, online videos , and other online content. One of these initiatives has been “ Timumachtikan Nawat ” (We Learn Nawat), a grassroots collective of native speakers, especially with the participation of elders, heritage speakers, activists, as well “new-speakers” which has been an instrumental part of this revitalization. In an effort to revive the Wikipedia project, for the past several years, the collective provided online and in-person workshops for the creation of neologisms, the use of the translate Wiki platform, and the creation of other tutorials to help new users learn the skills necessary for contributing to the site.


Part of the pathway to ‘graduate’ from incubator to official status is ensuring that the interface is available in the language and that there is a pathway to sustainability through a core group of volunteers. This is achieved by facilitating the creation of a community that meets both in person and virtually to ensure steady contributions. One of the challenges for many Wikipedia projects in non-dominant languages is that there are few source materials available in the these languages, which are necessary to confirm information in the articles. Due to the fact that much Nawat knowledge is traditionally passed down through oral tradition, there are not many written source materials written in the language. However, Nawat having its own Wikipedia allows Nawat speakers greater autonomy in deciding how to document locally significant knowledge. This creates an opportunity to write about people that may be underrepresented online, but whose contributions to local communities are more significant, but less known outside of these spaces. One such example, featured among the more than 1,000 articles now available on Wikiamachti, is the article about Nantzin Sixta Pérez García , a resident of Santo Domingo de Guzmán, Sonsonate, who was the author of the first Nawat dictionary.


Following the announcement of this newest Wikipedia, an event was held in the city of Soyapango near the capital of San Salvador, to coincide with International Mother Language Day, which included speeches, music, and an opportunity to celebrate this milestone as a community. Rising Voices spoke with three participants of the program, including Tatiana Vanessa Flores de Constante, who shared her motivation for joining Wikiamachti: Por el amor que le tengo a nuestra lengua materna, ya que la familia de mi esposo es originaria de Cuisnahuat, Sonsonate, tuve el honor de conocer a sus bisabuelos, que eran nahuahablantes, y eso aumentó aún más mi deseo de poder aprender y honrar su memoria, mantenerla viva, y que otras personas o generaciones se interesen, como yo, en aprender esta lengua tan bella y tan nuestra, y ser parte de este evento tan histórico en nuestro país. Because of the deep love I have for our mother tongue, and since my husband’s family is originally from Cuisnahuat, Sonsonate (El Salvador), I had the honor of meeting his great-grandparents, who were Nawat speakers.


That experience deepened my desire to learn and honor their memory by keeping the language alive. I hope that others and future generations become as interested as I am in learning this beautiful language that is so uniquely ours, and I am proud to be part of such a historic event for our country. Nawat is often learned as a second or even third language. There is also a global interest made possible by virtual classes. One student from Morocco started to learn the language because she understands the potential of this project. Another contributor to the project is Meryem Benzemroun from Rabat, Morocco, who had been taking online classes offered by Timumachtikan Nawat. She noted that seeing Nawat on a platform such as Wikipedia can send a powerful message to those that believe that Mesoamerican languages are “destined to be buried,” and incapable of discussing complex topics such as geology, technology or literature,” adding: El mayor impacto sería que las personas vean que su lengua sigue viva y fuerte, y que puede usarse en un entorno del siglo XXI con orgullo y facilidad, adaptándose a una nueva era.


En segundo lugar, espero sinceramente que ofrezca a los nuevos estudiantes, e incluso a los hablantes avanzados, nuevas herramientas para leer en náhuat y así mejorar rápidamente sus habilidades de lectura. The greatest impact would be for [speakers] to see that their language is still alive and well, and that it can be used in a 21st-century environment with pride and ease. I sincerely hope it provides new students, and even advanced speakers, with new tools to read in Nawat and improve their skills quickly. José Antonio Guillen Landaverdes shares this same sentiment. As a math teacher in San Salvador, he said that he hopes that this project will “open doors so that more people learn about their roots, and that others can also be filled with ancestral wisdom from our nahua culture and the nawat language.”


When women organise, democracy survives: Why gender justice cannot be a casualty of global crises

This March, as the world marks International Women’s Day , women’s rights organizations are not waiting to be recognised — they are leading movements, defending rights, and redefining what democracy looks like. Yet, even as they drive change and hold societies together, they are confronting an increasingly hostile environment. Across regions, feminist movements and women-led civil society organisations face a convergence of crises that threatens decades of hard-won progress: a shrinking enabling environment, rising authoritarianism, digital repression, and a global funding landscape retreating precisely when it is most needed. This is a democratic issue, not a marginal one From Sudan to Afghanistan, from Guatemala to Senegal, women’s organisations are often the first to respond when institutions fail — providing protection, documenting abuses, mediating conflicts, defending land and labour rights and holding power to account. Yet today, many of these organisations are being systematically pushed to the margins , treated as optional rather than essential actors in social and political life.


A perfect storm for feminist civil society Over the last two years, women-led and gender-focused organisations have been disproportionately affected by funding cuts and shifting donor priorities. As resources are redirected toward short-term humanitarian responses, security, or geopolitical interests, long-term investments in gender justice, women’s leadership and feminist organising are being deprioritised or framed as “non-essential. ” At the same time, the enabling environment for civil society is shrinking at an alarming rate. Laws restricting rights of association , assembly and expression are increasingly used against feminist and LGBTQ+ movements . Women human rights defenders face surveillance, online harassment, criminalisation and physical threats — the lack of protection or accountability is often alarming. In digital spaces, the backlash is just as real. Algorithms amplify misogyny, online violence silences women’s voices , and new technologies are deployed without safeguards for gender equality or human rights . Yet feminist organisations are rarely at the table where digital governance decisions are made. This combination — less funding, fewer freedoms and greater risk — is forcing many organisations into survival mode. And when feminist civil society is weakened, societies become more unequal, more polarised and less democratic.


Gender justice is not a side issue Despite this reality, gender equality is still too often treated as a thematic add-on or a box-ticking exercise, rather than a core political priority. But the evidence is clear : when women organise, communities are more resilient. When feminist movements are included, policies are more inclusive. On the contrary, when women’s voices are silenced, democratic backsliding accelerates . Gender justice is inseparable from civic freedom. There can be no meaningful democracy without the right to organise, protest, speak and dissent — and there can be no genuine enabling environment for civil society if women, girls or marginalised gender groups are excluded, targeted or underfunded. This is why the current moment demands more than statements of concern. It demands political courage and structural change. What needs to change — now As governments, donors, and multilateral institutions navigate an era of uncertainty and reform, three urgent shifts are needed: First, funding for feminist and women-led organisations must be protected and expanded, not sacrificed. Flexible, long-term, and core funding is essential for movements working under pressure — not short-term projects that ignore political realities on the ground. Second, the enabling environment for civil society must be actively defended.


This includes repealing restrictive laws, protecting women human rights defenders, and ensuring that digital spaces are governed with transparency, accountability, and gender equality at their core. Third, women’s movements must be treated as political actors, not just beneficiaries. From UN reform debates to climate negotiations, from peacebuilding to digital governance, feminist civil society must have a seat at the table — with influence, not tokenism. March with us: From solidarity to action This is why Forus launched the March With Us campaign for gender justice, rooted in collective action, storytelling and feminist leadership. March With Us is not about speaking for women; it is about creating space for women and gender-diverse activists to speak for themselves. Through articles, podcasts, multimedia storytelling, and speaking up in international advocacy spaces, the campaign amplifies voices that are too often excluded, despite being closest to the realities of injustice and resistance. At a time when fear and fragmentation threaten to define our politics, feminist civil society continues to offer something radical: solidarity, care, accountability and hope. This March, we choose to stand with them. Because defending gender justice is not optional. And because protecting women’s rights is nothing less than protecting democracy itself.


Democracy needs women: Feminist leadership in times of shrinking enabling environments for civil society

At a time when democratic backsliding is no longer an abstract warning but a lived reality across continents, feminist leaders are quietly — and often at personal risk — holding the line. From election monitoring in Tanzania to newsroom reform in Cameroon, from challenging toxic masculinities to confronting the power of digital platforms, women and feminist allies are defending the enabling environment for civil society in ways that reveal a critical truth: democracy is not gender-neutral, and when women’s participation is restricted, democracy itself weakens. An enabling environment for civil society is the foundation, not a footnote In Tanzania, feminist advocate Martina Kabisama has spent years working at the intersection of women’s political participation and social protection. For her, the link between democracy and gender justice is structural. “You cannot advance gender justice where civic space is restricted,” she argues. Kabisama’s work underscores a reality often overlooked in global policy debates: women’s political participation does not begin at the ballot box.


It begins with safety, economic security, and the ability to organize. When women lack access to social protection systems — income support, legal protections, basic services — they are effectively excluded from civic life . Economic precarity limits mobility. It silences dissent. It narrows participation to those who can afford it. In contexts where the enabling environment for civil society is shrinking, whether — through restrictive laws, surveillance, or informal intimidation, — women activists are often the first to feel the pressure. In China, members of The Feminist Five were detained in 2015 s imply for planning a public campaign against sexual harassment on public transport , a move widely seen as an attempt to silence feminist organizing. Similarly, Moroccan blogger and human rights defender Saida El Alami has faced repeated arrests linked to her online criticism of authorities and advocacy for political detainees . Online spaces can also become sites of coordinated attacks: Brazilian journalist Patrícia Campos Mello faced a major harassment campaign after reporting on election disinformation , including threats and sexualised smear campaigns amplified by political actors.


Across parts of East Africa, women have taken leading roles in election observation, community mediation, and civic education — not as symbolic participants, but as architects of democratic accountability. For Kabisama Martina , feminist leadership is not about representation alone. It is about transforming power structures so that democracy works for those historically excluded from it. Media narratives and the politics of masculinity In Cameroon, journalist and media executive Beau-Bernard Fonka Mutta approaches democracy from another angle: the cultural narratives that shape who is seen as legitimate in public life. Raised in an environment where boys were taught not to cry, not to show vulnerability, and to equate masculinity with dominance, Mutta reflects critically on how these norms spill into politics and media. “Society imposes on us what a man should be,” he says. You should not show emotion. You should be strong. Brave. Dominant.” These expectations do not remain confined to private life. They influence leadership styles, political discourse, and even newsroom cultures.


“I remember a top executive at our news agency saying that whenever he wants to discuss serious issues, he makes sure just men are at the table because women are not intelligent. Their job, according to him, is to be pretty and on air; the brainstorming is reserved for men,” Beau-Bernard recounts. “I remember asking myself where I was and with what sort of people I was dealing with because I know many super intelligent women.” When dominance is normalized as strength, dialogue becomes weakness. When aggression is coded as authority, democratic debate narrows. MuttaBeau-Bernard ident ifies as a feminist African man — a position that challenges the idea that gender justice is a “women’s issue.” For him, healthy masculinity means rejecting violence, embracing emotional literacy, and supporting women’s leadership not as a concession but as a democratic necessity. The media plays a decisive role here. Newsrooms can either reproduce harmful stereotypes — portraying women as secondary, emotional, or unfit for leadership — or actively dismantle them. Journalism, Mutta argues, must interrogate the narratives it amplifies.


Because the media does not simply report on democracy, it shapes the conditions under which democracy functions. Digital power and democratic risk If traditional civic space is shrinking, digital space offers both opportunity and new danger. Cameroonian journalist and media leader Evelyn Mengue A Koung , recently appointed the first woman and youngest Central Director for Television at the country’s national broadcaster, sees the digital era as double-edged. On one hand, social media platforms allow women, even those in remote villages, to bypass traditional gatekeepers and tell their own stories. Digital tools can amplify marginalized voices, create networks of solidarity, and put local struggles on the international scene. “From your smartphone, you can make yourself known to the world,” Kounge explains. But the same platforms can quickly and easily become tools of silencing. Cyberharassment, coordinated disinformation campaigns, and algorithmic bias disproportionately target women in public life. A single false rumour can take years to repair. Online abuse pushes women out of political and media spaces — effectively shrinking democratic participation through digital violence. Koung also raises concerns about agenda-setting power.


Tech giants and content aggregators increasingly determine what is visible, what trends, and what disappears. In this environment, democratic discourse can be distorted — not by overt censorship, but by attention economies that privilege sensationalism over substance. According to her, public interest media must reclaim its ethical responsibility: to elevate overlooked social issues, to protect marginalized voices, and to resist becoming passive conduits for algorithm-driven narratives. Digital governance, then, is not just a tech issue — it is a democratic one. Democracy is not gender neutral Taken together, these stories reveal a shared pattern: feminists are not only participating in democracy, but they are also sustaining it. They are monitoring elections when trust erodes. They are advocating for social protection systems that enable civic participation . They are reforming media institutions from within. They are confronting toxic gender norms that normalize domination over dialogue . They are challenging online violence that seeks to silence them. Yet their work unfolds in increasingly hostile environments: shrinking enabling environments, rising authoritarian tendencies, digital repression, and cultural backlash.


The erosion of women’s rights to organize, speak, and lead is not collateral damage. It is an early warning sign of democratic decline. When women are pushed out of public life, – whether through legal restrictions, economic exclusion, media stereotypes or online harassment, – democratic institutions lose legitimacy and resilience. Conversely, when feminist leadership expands, democracy deepens. It becomes more accountable, inclusive, and participatory . Women’s civic participation is not about political correctness but about democratic survival. As these leaders demonstrate, democracy does not defend itself. Women are defending it — in courtrooms, in classrooms, in newsrooms, in digital spaces, and in communities. The question is whether institutions will meet them with protection, resources and recognition, — or continue to treat their work as peripheral. In times of shrinking civic space, one truth remains constant: without women, democracy erodes — both offline and online.


François Kaserake Kamate on global complicity and the fight for the DRC

“ If we remain silent, Congo will soon disappear from the map , ” said François Kaserake Kamate in an interview with Global Voices. For Kamate, a climate and human rights activist from the eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC), silence means the erasure of communities, livelihoods, and human dignity in a conflict the world has largely chosen to ignore. For 13 years, Kamate has been involved in non-violent movements for justice and accountability, often at great personal risk. The Congo is one of the most resource-rich countries on Earth , yet its people remain among the poorest. For Kamate, this paradox lies at the heart of the conflict: “ Our natural resources have turned into a curse .” Minerals essential to global supply chains, used in phones, electric cars, and batteries, drive armed violence rather than development. This “resource curse” is sustained by a devastating loop of corruption , colonial-era ethnic divisions , and normalizing violence and resource exploitation, including illegal mining, massacres, and state repression .


Non-violence in a militarized reality In this environment of violence, activism is not a common path to follow in the DRC. Kamate explained: People consider activists like us as useless and misguided. W e walk several kilometers on foot with simple messages, and people do not understand why we are trying to solve problems we are not responsible for. With the immediate threat of violence, child labor, and corruption, many young people of Kamate’s generation joined the militias to protect their resources, land, and families. He, however, chose a different path. He said: I was of violence, war, and the cycle of social injustices. I wanted to follow a non-violent path because I believed in peaceful strategies to change the paradigm . Kamate added: But in the DRC, activism is treated as a threat. As soon as we tell them the truth, demand our rights, they see us as enemies . It really surprised me that the national security forces decided to kill our comrades during our peaceful protests . This repression creates a widespread fear among civilians.


Kamate explained: “ Many times, when we organize our actions, people fear joining because they might lose their homes, their jobs, get arrested, tortured, or even lose their lives .” Over the years, Kamate has been arrested countless times, had to relocate to Kinshasa , and even lost his job as an educator. Three pillars of violence Such intimidation tactics are part of a broader strategy used by those in power to maintain control. Kamate describes ignorance, poverty, and corruption as the three pillars that sustain politicians and ongoing violence. He explained: They want people to be ignorant of their rights, too poor to think big, and therefore easier to corrupt . Under these conditions, survival becomes entangled with political obedience. Many civilians accept payments to support political agendas, protests, or even speak out against activism, out of economic desperation, strengthening a system that thrives on dependence. These internal pillars are reinforced by external actors whose interests benefit from instability rather than change. The international community and global responsibility Despite decades of high-level NGO presence, awareness alone has not translated into meaningful change.


While it’s been widely documented that militias and state forces abuse civilian rights , that armed groups operate in the interests of multinational companies , and that neighboring countries sponsor and support them to gain access to mineral wealth , NGOs or the international community often struggle to address root causes and structural violence. Kamate explained: When projects are implemented by international organizations, they do not consider the values, local voices, or communities. That’s why it is very hard and difficult to get positive results, and most of these projects do not succeed. This disconnection reflects a broader pattern in development and aid practices, known as “white saviorism,” where external solutions and interests overshadow local needs, knowledge, and agency. Kamate describes this as performative condemnation: “ They condemn them only on social media, radio, and television, but they do not stop this. They do not listen to us.” This gap between knowledge and action allows exploitation and violence to persist within the global economic system and value chains.


The minerals extracted are essential to phones, electric vehicles, and other everyday technologies, linking international consumers and demand directly to the realities on the ground in eastern Congo. Hope as resistance Responsibilities for the ongoing crisis are shared across political institutions, corporations, and global markets. Kamate challenges the idea of individual powerlessness: “ Everybody has a role. If everyone participates, hand in hand, we can finally get what we are fighting for.” Yet, decades of violence and repression have left many people unwilling or unable to speak out. Kamate’s activism focuses on rebuilding solidarity among those who have suffered. He works with women who have lost their children and families, encouraging them to believe that change remains possible through non-violent and peaceful methods. In his interview with Global Voices, he repeatedly returned to the importance of hope. He said: This is not the end of life. Even though the situation is getting worse, we must have hope that tomorrow will be better than today .


For Kamate, the urgency of the situation leaves no room for silence: “ If I keep quiet, Congo in twenty years will disappear completely from the map. If I do not act now, then when? If not me, then who?” His voice is one of many that need to be heard. There is a lack of space at both the international and national levels for young activists to express their demands, needs, and agendas. Kamate emphasizes that: “ If we have those spaces, I think that our voices will be heard because young people are not only the future of society, as most people say. We are the present and the future at the same time.” Kamate concluded: People in eastern Congo urgently need peace and justice. We are tired of suffering from situations we did not create. For too long, our country has been exploited by powerful external interests, while the world remains silent. We need international solidarity. People must understand that the resources they use every day come from places where others are paying the price. Standing with Congo means refusing silence.


From menstrual dignity to digital safety: How grassroots feminists are redefining gender justice

In a secondary school in southern Nigeria, a teenage girl got her period during class hours. She had no sanitary pads. The teacher sent her home. For Udoka Anita Ikebua, then a young graduate posted to the school for national service, that moment became a turning point. “In the 21st century,” she remembers thinking, “how can a girl still not have access to something so basic?” This is how Ikebua’s initiative evolved into one of Nigeria’s most significant menstrual justice victories: in March 2025, Bauchi State passed the country’s first bill establishing free sanitary pad banks in public schools and correctional centers — a shift from charity to rights-based policy. Across continents, similar transformations are unfolding. In Pakistan, feminist advocates are reframing social protection as democratic infrastructure. In Paraguay, digital rights activists are challenging the normalization of gender-based violence.


Their struggles may look different — period poverty, policy reform, digital abuse — but they are united by a deeper truth: gender justice today is inseparable from economic security, digital safety, and institutional accountability. Nigeria: From pad donations to policy reform Ikebua founded Project Pad A Girl after witnessing firsthand how menstruation interrupted girls’ education. Initially, the solution seemed simple: distribute sanitary pads. But she quickly realized the limits of charity. “If I give one pad today,” she explains, “what happens next month?” Girls without access to sanitary products during their periods often resort to using tissue paper, rags, leaves, or simply staying home. Teachers would sometimes send students away if they stained their uniforms. The breakthrough came with the creation of pad banks: permanent, school-based emergency supply boxes stocked with menstrual products each term. Girls who begin menstruating during school hours can discreetly access supplies from the counselor’s office and remain in class. The impact has been immediate: improved attendance, reduced stigma, and a sense of security. “The idea that if my period comes, I am safe — that changes everything,” Ikebua says.


Crucially, Project Pad A Girl intentionally includes boys in menstrual education sessions to dismantle shame. “As you are not ashamed of your body,” Ikebua tells male students, “you should not make a girl ashamed of hers.” The Bauchi legislation expanded this model further, to include correctional facilities, where incarcerated women often rely on rags and face severe hygiene risks. By introducing reusable sanitary pads designed to last months, the initiative centers dignity and sustainability. “It’s about being seen — even behind prison walls,” Ikebua explains. Yet challenges remain. Menstrual products are subject to a value-added tax, the removal of which advocates are lobbying for, but progress is slow in a male-dominated legislature where, Ikebua admits, “sometimes when you take it to men, they don’t really understand.” Pakistan: Social protection as feminist infrastructure For Marium Amjad Khan, programme manager at the Pakistan Development Alliance , feminism is not an abstract theory. It began with witnessing girls’ futures decided before they had a chance to dream. “Once you see inequality,” she says, “you cannot unsee it.”


Working at both grassroots and policy levels, Khan focuses on child marriage, domestic violence, sexual and reproductive health rights, and education governance. But increasingly, she emphasizes social protection — economic systems that determine whether women can withstand crises. Without economic security, democratic participation is fragile. Women burdened by poverty, unpaid care work, or climate shocks are less able to organize, advocate, or run for office. “Laws are only beginning,” Amjad explains. “Real change happens when communities begin to believe that girls deserve childhood, that women deserve safety.” Pakistan has passed important legislation in recent years, but implementation remains uneven. A central challenge, she notes, is awareness: many communities do not know their rights. Coalitions, therefore, are essential. The Pakistan Development Alliance brings together over 115 civil society organizations, amplifying collective voices in policy spaces. “When communities speak together, policymakers listen,” Khan posits. “They have to.” In a context of a shrinking enabling environment for civil society, global feminist solidarity provides reinforcement. “When space shrinks in one country, international networks remind us we are not alone.”


For Khan, feminist leadership is not about being the loudest voice; it is about creating space for other voices. Paraguay: Digital violence is real While menstrual dignity and social protection operate in physical spaces, in Paraguay, the struggle unfolds online. TEDIC , a digital rights organization, leads the campaign, La Violencia Digital es Real ( Digital Violence is Real ), to challenge the idea that online abuse is somehow less serious than offline harm. “A message on the internet can cost someone their job, their safety, their peace,” explains project lead Jazmín Ruiz Díaz. For years, the internet was treated as neutral, a space that would naturally advance equality. Instead, inequalities have been amplified. TEDIC’s emblematic case is that of Belén Whittingslow , a student who accused a powerful university professor of harassment via explicit messages. The case was dismissed as “courtship.” She was later criminalized and forced to seek refuge abroad. The professor faced no legal consequences. The case illustrates the layered nature of digital violence, how power, institutions, and platforms intersect.


Beyond individual attacks, activists faced coordinated online harassment that attempted to silence their advocacy and discredit their work. The responses from institutions and the limitations of platform moderation further complicated the situation, revealing how gaps in accountability and regulation can allow online abuse to persist. In this way, the experience highlights how digital violence is not only a personal attack but also a structural issue shaped by social power dynamics, institutional responses, and the governance of digital platforms. Ruiz Díaz also notes that perpetrators are not only anonymous trolls. These actors can range from coordinated harassment networks and state-backed troll farms to the platforms themselves, where opaque moderation systems and algorithmic bias have been widely criticized. Investigations and media reports have documented cases where online attacks against women journalists, politicians, and activists are amplified by organized networks, while platform responses remain inconsistent. Through its Free and Safe on the Internet initiative, TEDIC provides digital security training to activists, LGBTQ+ communities, and civil society groups. The work is slow, incremental — “a work of ants,” Ruiz Díaz says — but necessary.


As new technologies emerge, so do new forms of harm. Deepfakes, non-consensual image manipulation, surveillance technologies, and AI tools have intensified risks. “Cyberspace is not separate from reality,” Ruiz Díaz emphasizes. “Violence online has real effects on bodies and minds.” Addressing it requires coordinated action from governments, tech companies, and civil society. But it also requires community care. “The exit is collective,” she says, “and joy is also a form of resistance.” Redefining gender justice What connects a pad box in a Nigerian school, a coalition meeting in Pakistan, and a digital security workshop in Paraguay? They each address a structural barrier that limits women’s participation in education, in governance, in digital public life. Menstrual dignity affects school retention and long-term economic opportunity. Social protection shapes political agency. Digital safety determines who can speak freely. These are not peripheral concerns. They are pillars of democracy. From classrooms to courtrooms to cyberspace, grassroots feminists are redefining gender justice — not as symbolic recognition, but as systemic transformation. And in doing so, they are reshaping the institutions that govern everyday life.


Rumeen Farhana on politics, purpose, and the fight ahead in Bangladesh

Forget the “ Mother of Dragons ,” in Bangladesh, a different matriarch has taken flight, the “Mother of Ducks.” If you’ve read the news, scrolled online, or even glanced at a screen in Bangladesh lately, you’ve probably learned of Rumeen Farhana . She’s currently occupying more headspace in the national psyche than anyone else. Rumeen Farhana is a Bangladeshi barrister and politician previously affiliated with the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP) , serving as its co-international affairs secretary. She entered politics under the mentorship of the former prime minister Khaleda Zia. For years, Farhana has been the unmistakable face of BNP in the Awami regime. As a Member of Parliament, she was often the solitary, piercing voice challenging the Awami League’s hegemony to its face. Yet, in a twist that mirrors the volatile nature of Bangladeshi politics, the 2026 elections saw her not as the party’s vanguard, but as a castaway. She won the Brahmanbaria-2 constituency as an independent candidate by a margin of 38,000 votes in the recently concluded 2026 Bangladeshi general election.


After failing to secure a nomination from the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), she contested as an independent with her now-iconic “duck” symbol, and was later expelled from the party. The BNP administration had instead supported a candidate from an allied party against her. Since the duck was her official election symbol, she sat down for a press meet on February 13th with a literal, living duck curled up in her lap. The internet, doing what it does best, immediately lost its mind and crowned her the “Mother of Ducks.” Of all women candidates in this and the past elections, Rumeen has endured the most abject, horrific, and relentless forms of online and offline harassment. She had stood against her own party, the nation’s tide, violent attackers, and pretty much every form of populist political rhetoric that dominates Bangladeshi society. Throughout the election, political parties and non-partisan users from across the spectrum continually attacked, vilified, and released the worst forms of AI-generated hate and sexual content against her. Yet, despite all odds, the “Mother of Ducks” remains unbowed, undefeated, and unapologetically herself.


In this exclusive interview with Abhimanyu Bandyopadhyay of Global Voices, she speaks about her rupture with the BNP leadership, allegations of internal corruption, Bangladesh’s deepening gender fault line, and the shrinking space for dissent. Abhimanyu Bandyopadhyay (AB): You’ve frequently alleged that during the recent national parliamentary elections, major political parties deployed millions of taka (BDT) and online bot armies against you. As an independent candidate, did you genuinely believe you could pull off a win against such organized forces? Rumeen Farhana (RF): Yes, I did. See, my politics revolves around Bangladesh’s most marginalized working-class people. So, I had to bet my everything on those unheard voices. What gave me confidence was the response I was getting on the ground. From day one, my campaign was all about welfare. I went door-to-door , spoke to them personally, listened to their problems, and gradually people came forward on their own. It has been my good fortune that they accepted me with such spontaneity and affection. I have never practiced identity politics, never weaponized religion for political gain, and never used hollow nationalism as a tool.


Throughout the campaign, my core mantra was to address my constituents’ demands and needs. And I think people sensed that I wasn’t there to cash in. That I wouldn’t walk away from a position or be bought off with money. And because of that trust, I didn’t need any flashy rallies or expensive showdowns to prove my credibility. AB: In Brahmanbaria-2 constituency, both the BNP alliance and Bangladesh Jamaat-e-Islami fielded candidates who are Islamic clerics, suggesting that religious influence was a significant factor in the constituency. Did you face any difficulty in making yourself acceptable to voters? RF: Not at all. There is an enormous gulf between the manufactured reality of Facebook bot accounts and the reality on the ground. The working-class people in the villages are far more transparent and open-minded than we give them credit for. Their daily struggle for food, clothing, and shelter is so intense that they simply do not have the luxury of indulging in any social media delulu. I went to them exactly as I am. I refused to feign a persona just to appear more acceptable. That would have been dishonest.


The fact that they accepted me is clearly proven by the election results. I am even grateful to those who did not vote for me, who criticized me harshly, or attacked me with inappropriate language. Because their behavior inspired many ordinary people to stand more firmly in my favor. AB: Why did you decide to contest as an independent candidate? RF: I have been working in this constituency since 2017. In 2018, I was asked to step aside for a senior leader, with the promise that 2024 would be my turn. In 2024, the party again finalized my candidacy. Even the current Home Minister, Salahuddin Ahmed, called me to confirm that the Chairman himself had confirmed my seat. Then, suddenly, everything changed. In Bangladesh, major political parties largely operate on two things: money and sycophancy. If you can provide both, your nomination is secure. I had neither. So what happened was perhaps inevitable. Look at the hypocrisy. The Ameer of Bangladesh Jamaat-e-Islami recently said that no woman can rise to the party’s top leadership. Women who join Jamaat do so knowing this reality .


But those of us in the BNP believed that there would be no such gender based discrimination. Yet, in the end, not a single woman secured nomination independently of male patronage. Only three percent of nominees were women , and almost all of them inherited either their father’s or husband’s seat. If I only knew that it would require a man’s shadow to secure a ticket in BNP, I would never have gone there. We criticize Jamaat, but can anyone hold a top position in the BNP other than a member of the Zia family? Aren’t these two sides of the same coin? The day I decided to contest as an independent candidate, I knew that I could be expelled from the party. Although I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. There is also a personal cycle here. My father ( Oli Ahad ) was a freedom fighter in the liberation movement and also a founding member of the Awami League. In 1973, when the Awami League was at the height of its power, he contested as an independent candidate and won. Fifty-three years later, history repeated itself.


I am the same age now that he was then. Sometimes I feel it’s all part of God’s plan. If Baba (father) were alive today, he would have been immensely proud. AB: Why do you think you were expelled so abruptly? RF: Because for the past 17 months, I refused to stop speaking the truth. That truth may not have been comfortable for the party. I openly spoke out against their extortion rackets(chandabazi), their indiscriminate oppression of people and the oppsition party members, and their illegal businesses in sand and soil mining. Thus, Rumeen Farhana had become a problematic individual for them whom they needed to sideline as soon as possible. They even appointed a person accused in a murder case as Minister for Shipping, Roads and Bridges in the new government. It seems that over the last 17 months, the BNP owned the very people they claimed to expel or discipline.Sometimes I wonder if these people are the real members and perhaps I was the misfit. AB: You entered politics under the mentorship of former Prime Minister Khaleda Zia.


You were expelled from the party on the day of her passing. Do you see a connection between the two events? RF: It was absolutely intentional. They didn’t even have the decency to discuss it with me first. And to choose that day? A moment of national mourning? They couldn’t wait two days? I feel pity for them. Where does this damn arrogance comes from? The August 5th mass uprising, which brought you people to power, was not even your own achievement. You guys are just reaping the rewards of others’ sacrifices. I just want to ask the current BNP leadership where were they during the 16 years of Sheikh Hasina’s rule? During the final years of the Hasina regime, I stood alone as the party’s vanguard while they were either hiding abroad or ducking under tables at home. In 2024, Rumeen Farhana was the only person who stood in Parliament and declared the election illegal to the Prime Minister’s face. Now that they have a taste of power, they want to label me an outsider?


Madam Khaleda Zia was like a guardian to me. Without her blessings, I could not have come this far. In 2018, even from jail, she sent a message to the secretary general that if anyone was to represent Brahmanbaria, it should be me. I joined this party because of her. I walked in her shadow. It seems the party leadership made it clear through my expulsion that from the moment of her passing, my journey within the BNP was over. B: How difficult is it for a woman to pursue politics in Bangladesh’s current socio-political climate? RF: It is exhaustingly difficult. In Bangladesh, we have this strange paradox. We’ve had women in top administration for decades, yet we have an insane level of misogyny embedded in our collective unconscious. Sometimes, I get the feeling that a large section of our society would only truly feel at peace if women were erased from the public sphere entirely. Let me give you an example of how deep this goes. I have many well-wishers who are highly educated people with degrees from prestigious foreign universities.


They come up to me and say, “You know, Rumeen, there isn’t a better female orator than you.” I usually just smile and ask them a simple question: “Who among the men is better?” People literally cannot process a reality where a woman’s merit isn’t qualified by her gender. So, they try to tuck me back into that neat little “female” box to make it feel less threatening. Over the last sixteen years, you won’t find a single man in my former party who stood as vocally or as fearlessly in the line of fire as I did. But as a nation, we have this systemic, almost cellular resistance to giving a woman her due. We’ll cheer for her, sure, but we hate to admit she’s the best in the room. It’s not like we can’t win an election; it’s the system that’s gatekeeping us from contesting. AB: Regarding attacks on women, we saw the Awami League’s “ Helmet Bahini ” (helmet brigade) do it, and we’ve seen similar patterns under the interim government .


On February 20, at midnight, just one day after the elected government was established, you were attacked at the Shaheed Minar by BNP supporters. What is your take on this? RF: Right now, the biggest threat to the BNP is the BNP itself. They secured a two-thirds majority in Parliament. The Awami League is not currently active in the field. Therefore, they are running an unbalanced parliament alongside their former allies. If they cannot restrain and civilize their own cadres, the BNP is headed for dark days. However, when I look ten or fifteen years down the road, I struggle to see a place for the BNP in the long-term future of Bangladeshi politics. I believe our political landscape will likely return to a two-party system. On one side, there will be Jamaat and its allies, and on the other, the Awami League and the left. I don’t think the BNP can survive by trying to hold the middle ground unless they treat their two-thirds majority as a threat and implement constant checks and balances.