But we can also question which lived realities we have in mind when making this claim. Certainly not the one of the traditional communities under attack in Brazil, to share one example from this series. And if this is not the case for everyone, who is pushing this narrative and with what purpose? Where will AI be and how can it be regulated? In an age of certainties shaped by opaque algorithms and narratives that reinforce biases, uncertainty may well hold power. Raising questions certainly helps expose false assumptions. It may also help to dismantle a web of deception designed to divert attention from urgent issues, such as the lack of transparency, participation in decision-making, and accountability mechanisms, even when we are faced with such serious violations. But what about you, reading this now? If you or your community were to consider questions like the ones explored in this series, what would the answers be? Did you experience any discomfort along the way when reading these articles? Did they raise any new questions? Have you found inspiration in disagreeing?


Have you spoken to a peer recently? Débora Prado (she/her) is the lead editor of APC.org and a journalist with a background in strategic communications, feminism and human rights. Ellena Ekarahendy is an Indonesian creative strategist weaving art and design as catalysts for community building. Through creative direction, visual design, and illustrations, she pursues radical imaginations of liveable futures that center gender justice, emancipatory politics, liberatory knowledge sharing, and interspecies care. Pondering meanings between the machines, she fosters conversations around feminist technology with PurpleCode Collective. Off the screen, she treasures solitary conversations with her houseplants, her books, the moon, or the waves and the trees. This art is created as she wonders: maybe her ancestors have been trying to speak to her for guidance through the stars or the wind and the mountains, but she’s too distracted by the AI-boost interfaces. What if the immediate AI we actually need to click with in this present moment is Ancestral Intelligence?


How Nigerians are coping with heat waves amid crippling power outages

Nigerians are currently facing severe heat stress . The extreme heat has caused widespread distress, with many social media users reporting that it is affecting their health and reducing their productivity. According to the Nigerian Meteorological Agency (NiMet) , the heat stress is occurring because March falls in Nigeria’s peak transitional heat window — after the Harmattan dry season ends but before the rainy season begins. The heat is affecting people in many parts of the country, but it is more pronounced in the north-central, north-west, and north-east regions, as well as inland areas of the southern states. Impact of the heat stress on Nigerians Global Voices spoke to some Nigerians to understand how heat stress is impacting their communities, work, and everyday life. Onyekachi Ogbu is an Igbo-language consultant and AI data specialist. He lives in Enugu , Nigeria. He explains how the heat stress is affecting his productivity: It makes it difficult to work, especially for a person like me who works from home.


We don't use the regular power supply in my house. We rely on solar power and a power generator for power, but the solar power does not last for 24 hours. So, we majorly use it when the sun is shining from peak from 9 am to 12 pm or 1 pm. We use it mostly at night, and we can not use it to power fans because it is incapable of powering fans. So, we mostly rely on natural air entering the house from the windows. It's only when we are on the power generating set that we can use the ceiling fans. Because of the heat, it is hard to work indoors. Sometimes, I would have to work on my laptop outside to get fresh air as I work. The heat is also causing distraction. Imagine having a virtual meeting, and you have to be fully clothed, and you are sweating heavily as the meeting is ongoing. It will cause distraction because you won’t be comfortable because you can’t take off your clothes while having virtual meetings.


What I rely on to work easily these days is to use hand fans or step outside of the house. On some occasions, I buy fuel for the generator, but I cannot afford to do this every time because fuel price is high. I believe everyone is feeling the heat stress, but many people in rural areas have limited awareness about it. That's why we need to create awareness for them to take safety precautions such as staying hydrated and being well-aerated. Adewale Afolabi, a commercial rider in Osogbo, Osun State, Nigeria, said the heat is unbearable: The heat is too much and it is affecting my work, but I must continue working in order to take care of myself and my family. Muh’d Tasi’u Jibril, a linguist living in Bauchi, narrates how the heat is affecting people living in the Northern part of the country: The heat has been unbearable for the last two weeks. As for a remote worker like me, I cannot work around 11pm to 3pm due to the unbearable heat. The heat was too much during the last ten days of Ramadan.


It was so hot that people suffering from ulcer had to break their fast. Normally, over here we used to experience the harmattan season during the months December, January and February. But this year there is nothing like that. The heat did not affect my daily work since I work remotely. It is just the epileptic power supply that is making me feel the heat because you won't be able to use ACs and fans. I hardly sleep at night. I only sleep when I am able to find an alternative source of power to power fans and ACs. Also, it is difficult to get cold water to drink in this period because there is no electricity. What we used to do to cope with the heat stress at night is sleep outdoors, but we can no longer do that due to insecurity. It's only those who can afford solar panels that can power fans or AC that are not affected by the heat stress. Nigeria’s power crisis worsens the situation The country’s deteriorating power supply has made the situation worse.


The National power grid has collapsed many times in 2026 . This has led to nationwide blackouts, which have made it difficult for many citizens to cope with the heat stress. Due to the power cut, many Nigerians cannot use electrical appliances such as fans and ACs that could provide relief. On March 24, the Minister of Power, Adebayo Adelabu, apologized to Nigerians for the frequent power outages. Adesewa Popoola, an entrepreneur in Lagos, explained how the crippling power supply has worsened the situation: I live in a neighbourhood where there is not much space between houses, and because there is no adequate ventilation in the houses in the area. I have noticed a significant change in the temperature pattern over the years. December is supposed to be the Harmattan season, when it might be hot during the day and cold during the evenings. But there was no Harmattan in Lagos throughout December and January. The temperature is always hot throughout the day. The heat has affected my work and daily life.


There are times I need to go out and do some things. Once the time is past 10a.m. I won’t be able to go out, because of the extreme heat. I only go out when I am able to get a ride to my destinations. On many occasions, I have to wait till evenings when the heat has reduced before going out If I am unable to get a ride. If I have an appointment, I have to be mentally prepared for coping with the heat. It is also affecting the way I dress. I am unable to wear some of my clothes because of the heat. In order to cope with the heat, I stay indoors most times, bath as many times as I can, and drink water regularly. About awareness, I think most people are not aware of the risks of the heat. We all know the current situation of electricity in Nigeria. Due to epileptic nature of the power supply, it is difficult to cope with the heat, especially during nighttime when the heat is intense.


Since there is no power, many people cannot turn on their fans. To make the matter worse, a lot of people cannot afford to buy fuel because of the hike in the price of fuel. It would have been easier to cope with the heat stress if the power supply is stable. Cause of the heat wave and recommendations Researchers have attributed the cause of the heat stress to climate change . Earlier in March, the Nigerian Meteorological Agency (NIMET) issued a nationwide alert , warning the general public about the health risks the heat stress may pose in some parts of the country. The agency also warned the public to take necessary precautions to reduce their exposure to the heat. In the X post , NIMET encouraged Nigerians to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated, stay in well-ventilated or air-conditioned rooms, wear light, breathable clothing, and wear hats, sunshades, and sunscreens. It advised parents to keep infants cool and hydrated, and never leave children in a closed, parked vehicle. People are hoping the rainy season starts soon to ease heat stress.


Tracing the local impacts of global topics

A famous aphorism attributed to science-fiction writer William Gibson observes that “ the future is already here, it’s just not evenly distributed.” This is what our Spotlights seek to track: the uneven distribution of technology, trends, attitudes, and attention around our world. Because it’s not just the future: so many things in our world depend on where you are, and where you’re from: the latest technology; affordable health care; high-speed trains; international mobility; community. And it’s hard to see that unevenness past your own bubble, depending on the language you’re getting your news in, and who you talk to, or follow, or scroll past. As a science-fiction writer myself, I don’t equate so-called AI – the subject of our first spotlight – with the future. From my particular perspective as a concerned author who talks to a lot of authors, and an academic who interacts with a lot of academics, I know I have a particular perspective on that technology.


I read a lot about the way the technology is being used in publishing , from attacks on copyright and intellectual ownership to the propagation of specific language styles. I was heartened, though not very surprised, to read the article about Australian artists and culture workers resisting AI . But I know that I come at this from the standpoint of a native English speaker, for whom writing is relatively easy, and my own voice is an important part of my career. I also know there are other uses for the technology, which I’ve paid less attention to — many of them at least as damaging in their respective sectors. From this Spotlight, I’ve learned more about the way AI is being used in dangerous and exclusionary ways at the US border , as well as an attempt to use it for inclusion and facilitation at the Italian border . I’ve read about the way AI is contributing to a culture of surveillance in India , and the initial hype and then cost-related disappointment around agentic AI in China .


Through interviews and essays , I’ve learned more about the potential and risks of AI in language preservation efforts for minority and Indigenous languages — a question that we’ve done a lot of thinking about at Global Voices in connection with our digital inclusion work. One thing about technologies being unevenly distributed is that it’s not just the access that is uneven. The value chains and by-products of modern life are spread across the globe, with goods often manufactured in one part of the world, used and discarded in another, and those unwanted remnants shipped as waste to be interred in the landfills of a poorer country. This Spotlight, with its global, multilingual burst of stories on the topic, reminded me that even a virtual technology like AI can have a similar pattern. Enormously valued companies and their profits are concentrated in rich countries, even if the excitement has spread globally. But those products, launched with so much fanfare from their wealthy CEOs, are supported by low-paid moderation, often in a multitude of languages .


I’ve read a lot lately about how communities in the United States are fighting against the establishment of data centers; two collaborative articles in the Spotlight make clear how this dirty, loud, wasteful, environmentally harmful part of the process is also being exported to other countries — many of them low-income — and how people are resisting there too. In Latin America , some countries are racing to accelerate approvals, while communities are pushing back. In Asia , water use is a major concern, and some countries, like Singapore, have already put a moratorium on new data centers, while countries in Central Asia are ramping up — signaling the deeply uneven distribution within the region. All of these developments are driven not only by massive capital flows, but by stories. They are driven by hype, by deception, by anthropomorphizing, by projections. The Undertones column from this Spotlight uses approaches developed through our Civic Media Observatory methodology to unpack the narratives used to promote the insertion of AI into the healthcare system in El Salvador , thereby illuminating narratives that are often used to promote AI in other contexts as well.


The broad range of uses of large language models (LLMs) and so-called AI technologies has led to important conversations about what jobs, tasks, and leisure activities can or should be mechanized, and the importance of human intervention. Through a collaboration with the Association for Progressive Communication ( APC ) and GenderIT , we commissioned essays to consider what our obsession with AI says about humanity, in the series “Don’t ask AI, ask a peer.” Topics range from questioning whether AI can be ethical and feminist ; examining the intersection of AI and Big Agro in Brazil ; and a human rights perspective , among many others. I’ve only skimmed the surface of the articles in our April Spotlight — there are many more excellent ones. Which one speaks to you very much depends on where you’re coming from, but I’m confident there will be some angle in the series that you’re not already aware of.


Just to pick just one relatively cheerful example, I had no idea that a Bosnian rock group had written a total bop satirizing dependence on AI — much less the historical context relevant to the music video — or that it would be exactly what I needed to sing along with to let off some AI-related frustration (try it!). Access to all these stories, events, and issues I didn't know about before has also highlighted another good that is unevenly distributed in our world: information. We all have access to enormous amounts of coverage about a small subset of people and topics in a few countries, and very little about anything outside that limited subset. Even with the amazing tool that is the internet, the disproportion in the way attention is allocated can make it very hard to find an audience for what you have to say, and conversely to find the stories you didn’t know you needed — about how AI is affecting the conflict in Colombia ; about toolkits for civil society confronting AI ; about the dismantling of the Russian internet , and more. With Global Voices, and particularly with these Spotlight series, we hope to tilt that distribution a little closer to even.


Archiving Nepal’s medicinal plants and Indigenous knowledge for future generations

Most of the Tharu community ’s medicinal and cultural knowledge in the western and southern plains of Nepal and northern India has been passed down orally, from healer to healer and generation to generation. Yet this living knowledge rarely appears in archives in ways that center community voices and consent. The OpenSpeaks Archives , launched in 2024 and hosted by the Wikimedia Foundation , is a digital language archive that supports community-based archivists in documenting, transcribing, and publishing Indigenous and low-resourced languages from India, Nepal, and Sri Lanka. As part of this work, Sanjib Chaudhary has been documenting his community’s traditional healing practices and folk knowledge through audio-visual recordings. He is a long-time Global Voices contributor, author, and Eastern (Saptariya) Tharu language activist. This interview was conducted by Subhashish Panigrahi on behalf of Rising Voices and OpenSpeaks Archives via online call. Rising Voices (RV): You are both documenting and archiving your community’s traditional knowledge. Could you briefly describe the project and what you hope it will achieve?


Sanjib Chaudhary (SC): As part of this project, I am interviewing Tharu traditional healers and documenting their practices in Eastern (Saptariya) Tharu. I have started with two healers from Saptari District in Madhesh Province, eastern Nepal, and I plan to reach more healers in Dang District in western Nepal and in Chitwan District in central Nepal. I want people to see how Tharu healing systems work across this east — west geography — how the plants, remedies, and rituals change from place to place, and what they have in common. These healers prepare many important decoctions and concoctions from local medicinal plants. I hope the documentation will be useful not only to my community but also to those working in Ayurveda and other traditional systems of medicine. RV: Why did you choose audio-visual documentation instead of purely text-based documentation? SC: Earlier, through another grant, I had written about Tharu traditional healers in text form, but I increasingly felt that it was not enough.


When we write, we lose so much: tone, rhythm, body language, and the emotion in the healer’s voice. Many people also do not have the time or habit to read long articles; they skim. With audio and video, they can hear the healer’s voice directly instead of reading my description of them. That creates trust and credibility — people see that these are real community members speaking about their own practices, not someone speaking on their behalf. RV: Today, many people also upload oral histories and interviews to YouTube. How is your work different from simply putting videos on YouTube? SC: YouTube is important because many people use it, but in its current form it adds more credibility. We follow specific documentation protocols; the documentation is directly from the field and is not for commercial use but for researchers, educators, and community members. This infrastructure gives the content a different kind of credibility and longevity.


RV: How can the tools and frameworks we’ve created for subtitling, documentation workflows, and language documentation guides be useful for you and other Tharu community-based documenters? How do you plan to use them? SC: They are very useful for community-based documenters. I am not only creating new recordings. I am also integrating them into various Wikipedia articles, enriching them with authentic audio-visual evidence from the community. This improves both the depth and credibility of those articles. I also contribute those materials to Wikisource and Wikidata. Subtitling in Eastern Tharu, Nepali, and English makes the content accessible to my own community as well as to people who do not speak Tharu but are interested in the knowledge. I call this the “media multiplier” effect—a single recording on one platform multiplies its impact across several platforms. RV: Wikimedia projects usually avoid “original research.” Yet oral documentation like yours often contains primary knowledge that is not written anywhere else. How do you see the value of these recordings in relation to academic citation and GLAM collaborations?


SC: Often, when audio or video is uploaded to Wikimedia Commons, it only says this is the language spoken in this clip. But the actual knowledge spoken in the clip matters. I hope we archive the material properly and credit the documenters, so that future writers and researchers can use and cite such knowledge. If community members know their work will be cited and recognized, they are more likely to spend time documenting, transcribing, and annotating. It also means that the community’s own interpretations and explanations enter the record, not just the interpretations of external researchers. RV: You mentioned concerns about how community knowledge is used. What kind of safeguards or recognition are needed to document and share the Tharu community’s knowledge? SC: When we publish deep community knowledge—especially about medicinal practices, rituals, or other sensitive areas—we have to think carefully about where and how it is stored. The knowledge belongs to the community as a whole. Ideally, the documentation should clearly state that this is Tharu community knowledge, recorded with consent, and that the community retains rights over reuses.


If someone in the future uses our recordings, they should acknowledge that the material comes from the Tharu community and from specific healers, and follow the permissions the community has given. RV: Looking ahead, what do you see as the long-term benefits of this documentation for the Tharu community itself? SC: Many of our resource persons — our healers, singers, and storytellers — are growing older. Younger people in the community are often not fully aware of how rich our Indigenous culture and knowledge are. When these elders pass away without their knowledge being documented, we lose songs, healing practices, and ways of seeing the world forever. If we document these practices now, the recordings will hold knowledge for future generations. Maybe my son, or my grandchild, or any young Tharu who becomes curious about our traditions can go back to these archives and learn directly from the elders’ voices. This is not just a repository. It is a living body of knowledge kept for future generations.


Why we’re choosing to focus on climate solutions

The climate crisis can feel like an insurmountable problem, and for good reason. Humans aren’t very good at conceptualizing — let alone coming up with solutions to — large-scale issues. And it doesn’t get much larger than an Earth-wide crisis hundreds of years in the making. Much of the news around climate change focuses on troubling developments, including increasingly common devastating weather events ; rising sea levels that could overtake entire archipelagos and displace millions; heatwaves that are making some parts of the world borderline unlivable; glacial lake outburst floods ( GLOFs ) that can devastate mountain communities, and countries already implementing stricter border regulations to head off future waves of climate migrants. Journalists and climate scientists aren’t wrong for sounding the alarm. After all, collectively, as a species, we aren’t doing a very good job of mitigating the crisis, even though we’ve known about it for decades.


Corporations still carry out emissions-intensive activities unchecked ; nearly every population on earth has microplastics in their bodies because of widespread plastic pollution, yet we continue to utilize an astonishing amount of single-use containers and packaging, and big tech companies are barreling full force toward an AI-powered future with little regard for how the resource-heavy technology might impact surrounding communities. Combined, all of these challenges can be frightening, and it’s no surprise that a 2022 study published in Lancet Planetary Health found that 60 percent of young people globally are “very worried” about the future of the planet. So why is Global Voices choosing to launch a Spotlight on climate solutions amid this less-than-cheery landscape? I’ll explain. It’s practical The climate crisis scares me. I will openly admit that, and it’s easy to feel nihilistic about our future when those in power seem fairly unmoved by the predicament we face. However, one thing that keeps me motivated is reading about success stories and resilience where people made a difference in their own communities.


Global Voices has shared stories of the largest seed bank in Africa, coral restoration projects in the Indonesian archipelago, communities in Latin America successfully pushing back against water- and energy-intensive data centers that would drain their precious environmental resources, conservation campaigns that have revived endangered species in Nepal, the use of vetiver plants in the Caribbean to help combat environmental impacts like drought and flooding, and forest reclamation efforts led by the Indigenous communities in Thailand, just to name a few. On one hand, these stories are deeply inspiring and can provide a much-needed emotional boost amid a fairly depressing news cycle. On the other hand, they can also offer something more practical: a roadmap. It is important to share replicable, scalable examples of successful climate action because that’s the only way these strategies can be employed in other communities that need them. Communities suffering from shrinking bodies of water can look to Kazakhstan’s ongoing, successful restoration of the Aral Sea . Environmentalists seeking to include Indigenous communities in their conservation strategies need only look to Nepal and its work with Chepang community leaders when creating national parks.


In Jamaica, which experienced the effects of Hurricane Melissa last year, people have been finding innovative ways to secure their properties’ roofs, and amid worsening annual hurricanes and tropical storms — strategies that could be incredibly useful in other places that experience annual storms, such as the Philippines. It’s easy to feel helpless in the face of a problem as big as the climate crisis, but sharing success stories can help mitigate that feeling. It shows those on the front lines of climate action that we see them, appreciate them, and want to follow their lead. Psychological support “Climate anxiety, also known as “ eco-anxiety ,” a phenomenon where people feel a deep-seated anxiety or despair about climate change, has become more and more widespread in recent years. This is likely tied to the increasing number of natural disasters and severe weather patterns, as well as increases in generalized anxiety, but it may also be linked to increased social media usage, “doomscrolling,” competitive news cycles that, on some level, need consumers to be scared so they keep coming back, which keeps ratings up.


Eco anxiety is particularly common among people who have experienced or been exposed to climate disasters , such as flooding, wildfires, droughts, or territory destruction. While much of the research on this subject has centered on the Global North, it makes sense to assume that those in more climate-vulnerable states, who are disproportionately affected by the climate crisis, would be more acutely concerned about future environmental disasters. Research shows that climate anxiety doesn’t affect everyone in the same way. For some, when managed effectively, it can be a motivating factor , spurring them to engage in positive climate action and activism. But when anxiety tips into hopelessness and despair, it can be devastating for community engagement. A 2023 study published in the “International Journal of Environmental Research and Public Health” found that climate anxiety can induce “eco-paralysis” — a state in which people feel the world’s situation is beyond repair. This leads to nihilism and inaction, which is simply unhelpful when we are facing a crisis that requires significant global cooperation and behavioral changes.


When people feel a situation is hopeless, they are less likely to push for change, adapt their habits, or support those doing positive climate work. This can increase apathy and make it more difficult for environmental defenders and activists to achieve the lasting climate action that we, as a society, desperately need. This is particularly important for young people. In an interview with UNICEF, John Jamir Benzon R. Aruta, a climate researcher in the Philippines, explains how climate-induced psychological stress can affect children. “Children and young people are particularly at risk for climate anxiety. Although climate anxiety is a natural and adaptive response to the real and existential threats of climate crisis, climate anxiety can cause depression, anxiety, and trouble sleeping, among others, in young people. Many young people around the world are very worried about their future on a warming planet.” This anxiety can have real consequences. As Elissa Epel , a researcher at UC San Francisco, notes : “If our young people can’t have hope and engage in climate action, then we’re going to have that much harder of a time bending the curve back.”


Sharing stories of hope and progress can break this bleak cycle and energize people to find ways to contribute in their own communities. Change starts at the community level Life is hard now, and we have no guarantee it’s going to get better anytime soon. It’s important to celebrate the wins as they emerge and nurture gratitude and respect for our fellow humans. The reality is, it is very difficult to make global change in how we approach our environment. But on a community level? It’s much easier to make a difference. A small-scale shift toward a greener life looks much more attainable and is something most individuals could achieve, whether they’re a top international climate expert or just a regular person interested in making a change in their community. That could look different for different people. In some spaces, that might mean planting biodiversity hotspots, where Indigenous plants can thrive and support the local ecology. In others, that might mean launching education campaigns about plastic use, protesting, organizing river cleanups, or eating less meat.


Some people might lobby local officials to increase funding for recycling or increase electric vehicle infrastructure. Others might help create a community resilience hub in their neighborhood, which can help organize aid when disasters strike. We can all vote with our wallets and intentionally support companies that are implementing greener policies, while shaming those who don’t. The possibilities are endless, and they all contribute to a greater goal of encouraging more people to think critically about our consumption habits, the politicians we vote for, and the companies we support. Communities in the Global South are often both the most affected by climate change and the most innovative in their responses, partly out of necessity. Many of our global community of contributors, academics, activists, translators, and researchers are on the front lines of climate change and in a prime position to tell the stories of resilience and success we need to hear most. Throughout May 2026, check in regularly on Global Voices to stay updated. Who knows what you might be motivated to do next.


Can the Great Nicobar Islands survive India’s development aspirations?

A massive infrastructure project planned for Great Nicobar Island , part of India’s Nicobar Islands , an island chain owned and managed by India in the eastern Indian Ocean , has triggered growing debate over development, environmental risks, and the future of Indigenous communities. The proposed Great Nicobar Development Project includes a transshipment port, an international airport, a township, and a power plant. First proposed by NITI Aayog (policy commission) in the late 2010s, the project received environmental clearance in 2022 and has since moved into the early stages of implementation. The Indian government has described the project as strategically significant because of the island’s location near the Strait of Malacca , one of the world’s busiest maritime trade routes. Government officials have defended the project as strategically important for strengthening India’s maritime presence in the Indo-Pacific and reducing dependence on foreign transshipment hubs. The project has also received backing from defense commentators and retired military officials. Speaking to Indo-Asian News Service ( IANS ), Major General (Retd.) Arvind Bhatia argued that the development could enhance India’s surveillance and maritime capabilities near the Strait of Malacca — one of the world’s busiest shipping routes — while improving the country’s long-term strategic and economic position in the region.


The project returned to national attention in April 2026 after Rahul Gandhi , the Leader of the Opposition in the Indian Lok Sabha (lower house of the parliament), visited Great Nicobar and criticized the scale of the proposed development during a public event on the island. Subsequent criticism from opposition leaders in parliament further intensified public debate over the project’s ecological impact and its implications for Indigenous communities. An ecologically fragile island Great Nicobar Island is known for its tropical rainforests , coastal ecosystems, and rich biodiversity. Galathea Bay , where the proposed port is expected to be built, is considered one of the most important nesting grounds for the giant leatherback turtle in the northern Indian Ocean. Environmental groups and marine researchers have raised concerns about the fragile marine ecosystem surrounding the bay. Scientists cited by the Wildlife Institute of India , as well as conservation researchers interviewed by Mongabay India, have pointed to the presence of thousands of coral colonies in the area, which is not visible in government maps. Recent reporting by Scroll India also highlighted concerns over the ecological impact of construction near critical leatherback turtle nesting sites.


Critics of the project, including environmental lawyer Ritwick Dutta and researchers associated with the Society for Andaman and Nicobar Ecology (SANE), have warned about large-scale tree felling, biodiversity loss, and habitat disruption linked to the development. According to a 2026 Press Information Bureau (PIB) release on the project, the estimated number of trees in the affected area is 1.865 million, with up to 711,000 trees expected to be felled in phases as part of the forest diversion process. The concerns, however, extend beyond biodiversity alone. Great Nicobar lies in a high seismic zone and was heavily affected by the 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami , one of the deadliest natural disasters in recent history. Parts of the island experienced land subsidence after the tsunami, permanently altering sections of the coastline. Environmental analysis published by Earth.org noted that the island’s geological vulnerability continues to shape debate over large-scale infrastructure expansion. That history remains central to concerns about whether an island vulnerable to earthquakes, coastal erosion, and escalating climate risks can sustain the scale of urban and industrial development now being proposed. In a recent analysis published by the Economic Times, it was also noted that parts of Great Nicobar underwent major geological transformation following the 2004 tsunami.


Indigenous communities and changing realities The island is also home to the Shompen , a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTGs — a government classification within India) with limited contact with the outside world, and the Nicobarese community, whose lives remain closely tied to the region’s forests and coastal ecosystems. Environmental researchers and rights groups have questioned whether Indigenous communities were adequately consulted during the project’s approval process. Recent reporting by Mongabay India documented concerns raised by tribal leaders, environmental researchers, and civil society groups over transparency, land diversion, and consultation procedures linked to the development. The debate has been especially sensitive in the case of the Shompen community because of their relative isolation. Researchers have warned that large-scale migration and population influx linked to future urbanization could create long-term social and public health pressures for Indigenous communities living on the island. Similar concerns have been reflected in reporting by Scroll and independent environmental researchers. Questions have also been raised about how demographic change could gradually reshape the region’s ecological and cultural balance. Public debate around the project has increasingly spilled onto social media platforms as well.


Supporters have framed the development as strategically important for India’s maritime security and economic interests, particularly because of Great Nicobar’s proximity to the Strait of Malacca. Political commentators , defense analysts, and public figures on X have argued that the project could strengthen India’s strategic position in the Indo-Pacific region. Critics, meanwhile, have used social media to highlight concerns over deforestation, biodiversity loss, ecological vulnerability, and the future of Indigenous communities, particularly given the island’s fragile coastal ecosystem and its experience during the 2004 tsunami. Competing visions of development Supporters of the project, including government officials and retired military commentators, have described the Great Nicobar Development Project as strategically important for strengthening India’s maritime infrastructure and reducing dependence on foreign transshipment ports. Critics, including environmental lawyer Ritwick Dutta and conservation groups such as the Society for Andaman and Nicobar Ecology (SANE), have questioned the long-term ecological consequences of large-scale construction on one of India’s most environmentally fragile islands. For many observers, the debate surrounding Great Nicobar reflects a broader question facing climate-vulnerable regions: how to balance economic ambition and strategic interests with ecological survival and Indigenous rights.


How one Kenyan community is building a new future on reclaimed ground

In 2022, Kenya’s Lekiji community secured legal rights to the land they had occupied for more than sixty years. What followed has reshaped how land, power, and gender operate within the community. On July 11, 2022, Kenya’s then Health Cabinet Secretary, Mutahi Kagwe, issued 766 land title deeds to residents of the Lekiji community, a pastoral settlement in Northern Kenya’s Laikipia County . With a stroke of the pen, hundreds of pastoral families who had lived on the land for decades as squatters became its legal owners. Until this settlement, the Lekiji were not recognized as the rightful occupants of their land under the Constitution of Kenya (2010) . They possessed no legal deed and no formal proof of residency beyond the roads, schools, and homes they had spent sixty years constructing. Questions of postcolonial land rights remain deeply contested across Kenya, particularly where formal title possession conflicts with long-standing occupation.


A history of dispossession and legal contestation Conflict over land rights in Laikipia can be traced back to the period surrounding the Mau Mau uprising . In 1960, a white colonial-era farmer allocated small parcels of land to his former workers, who established a pastoral settlement of around three hundred families. These arrangements were never formalized through legally recognized titles. In later years, the same land was transferred through what residents describe as a series of “corrupt transactions” to a private owner, Nigel Trent. By the early 2000s, Trent began threatening eviction. Trent’s claim rested on formal ownership. Yet that ownership derived from a colonial land transfer that many postcolonial legal scholars would argue lacked a legitimate original title. The dispute, therefore, raised a deeper legal question about the relationship between formal property rights and historical dispossession. In 2012, following a petition by Trent, the High Court of Nakuru issued an eviction order affecting more than 400 Lekiji families. Residents were given 90 days to vacate or face prosecution.


The ruling affirmed the legal weight of formal title and declined to grant a stay of eviction, emphasizing that the registered owner had a right to “enjoy the fruits of their judgment.” Over the previous five decades, the community had built a social and economic life on this land. Leaving was not a viable option. With support from NGOs such as IMPACT Kenya , the community resisted. They delayed the eviction order and used that time to pursue legal avenues to reclaim their land. The case was framed in court as a conflict between competing rights. Residents argued that eviction would cause substantial loss, pointing to homes, schools, and long-term settlement. The court, however, concluded that the titleholder would suffer greater loss if denied possession. The conflict extended beyond legal proceedings. Between 2012 and 2022, violent confrontations between police and community members became part of everyday life. Community leaders established a perimeter defense system, staffed around the clock. In 2020, one resident recalled that two members of the community were killed in clashes with law enforcement.


State settlement and legal resolution The dispute was ultimately resolved through state intervention rather than judicial recognition of customary rights. Earlier court decisions had already prioritized formal title over long-term occupation, even where communities demonstrated a potential substantial loss if evicted. In 2022, the Kenyan government purchased the land from Trent and transferred ownership to the Lekiji community, subdividing it among approximately 300 households. Each household received about 2.25 acres. This outcome reflects a broader pattern in land governance, where the state resolves competing claims through purchase and redistribution rather than fully adjudicating the legality of historical ownership. For residents like Eunice Amira, the impact was deeply personal. Born in 1980, she had lived her entire life as a squatter. She watched her family engage in repeated legal battles in Nakuru and Nairobi, which drained them financially and shaped her sense of identity and belonging. When the title deeds were issued, she told the Kenya News Agency that she felt as though she had “been born again.” She added that “some have died trying to get the same.”


The government’s decision provided legal certainty and recognition for families who had long existed outside formal property systems. Women, land, and economic transformation While the 2022 decision resolved the question of ownership, the use of that land has driven further change within the community. Lekiji remains a patriarchal society, where men traditionally control income-generating activities such as farming and herding, while women manage domestic responsibilities. These economic structures are under increasing strain. As Fardosa Hassan, Community Outreach Officer at the neighboring Mpala Research Center and a Lekiji resident, explained, traditional livelihoods often fail to provide sufficient income or long-term security. As a result, many young people leave in search of employment, education, and more diverse opportunities. In response, community leaders have expanded women’s economic roles. Following the land settlement, five acres were allocated exclusively for women to develop income-generating activities. This represents less than 0.5 percent of Lekiji’s total land, but it has become a focal point for economic diversification. Women in the community have developed multiple projects on this land. They sell beadwork to tourists visiting nearby conservancies.


They are constructing a guesthouse where visitors can stay and experience local ways of life. They grow fruits and vegetables for sale in local markets. They have installed a solar-powered well to support irrigation. They also operate a chicken farm, producing eggs and meat for both consumption and sale. According to Hassan, “these activities provide women with a source of income that is flexible and controlled directly by them,” allowing women to support household needs such as school fees, food, and healthcare. She also emphasized that these initiatives create opportunities for women to develop skills in design, marketing, and business management, supporting longer-term economic participation. Shifting power within the community The effects extend beyond income. Access to independent financial resources has changed household dynamics. Women who previously had limited economic autonomy now have greater control over decision-making. Some have been able to navigate or leave difficult relationships. Others have remained within the community with increased independence. The Lekiji case illustrates a broader legal and social dynamic.


Formal land rights establish a foundation, but the distribution of access and control determines how those rights reshape power within communities. These changes reflect a broader shift in how land rights operate at the local level. Legal ownership provides a foundation. The distribution of access and control determines how that foundation is used. Looking ahead Communities like Lekiji continue to face pressures from climate change, evolving conservation policies, and changing economic conditions. These pressures affect both livelihoods and long-term stability. Securing land rights addressed one dimension of vulnerability. The longer-term challenge lies in how those rights are exercised, particularly in contexts where law alone has not resolved the legacies of dispossession. In Lekiji, expanding women’s participation in economic life has become part of that process. For postcolonial communities, ownership is only one dimension of justice. Who benefits from the land may ultimately determine whether communities can remain on it.


How climate stress is reshaping the fishing sector in Barbados

Caribbean fisheries are still recovering from the damage caused by Hurricane Beryl in 2024 and Hurricane Melissa in 2025 — yet, hurricanes are only one egg in the basket of uncertainty brought on by the climate crisis . Throughout the archipelago, vast sargassum mats stall boats, smother shorelines, and disrupt fishing activities, suggesting a tangible and inevitable impact upon various fisheries . The region’s geography increases vulnerability to climate hazards and extreme events, the effects of which are mainly amplified by increasing global sea surface temperatures . This is the driving force that feeds tropical cyclones with exorbitant amounts of energy during development, resulting in the high level of destruction we have seen on many islands. When coupled with the influx of nutrients in the ocean from anthropogenic activity, it accelerates the growth and spread of sargassum mats.


At minimum concentrations, sargassum is an essential food source, refuge, nursery habitat and natural fish aggregating device for numerous marine species, including juvenile dolphinfish ( Coryphaena hippurus ) and the eggs and larvae of four-winged flying fish — but the current surplus has had detrimental effects on the marine ecosystem, reducing light penetration and productivity in coral reefs and seagrass meadows. These habitats are essential for fish populations in the Caribbean to thrive; their degradation directly affects the fisheries industry. For the fishers of Barbados, the golden tide of sargassum is both a curse and an opportunity. Along the coast, it is a foul-smelling nuisance; in harbours, it causes vessel entrapments that clog engine intakes and destroy propellers. Yet, further out at sea, these same mats become floating gold mines, where young dolphinfish are easily — and perhaps too frequently — harvested from the safety of the weed. Additionally, reduced landings for some species and, conversely, increased landings of juvenile dolphinfish that aggregate around sargassum constitute a practice that threatens not only dolphinfish stock dynamics but also the economic sustainability of the many who rely on Barbados’ fishing sector, which ranges from commercial to subsistence fisheries and is accessible and income-generating to all.


Infrastructure and resilience The passage of Hurricane Beryl significantly impacted Barbados’ coastal assets and infrastructure, particularly at the Bridgetown Fisheries Complex, where over 200 fishing vessels and the breakwater jetties were damaged , approximately 2,500 people directly affected, and 70 boats lost. To help alleviate some of the impacts of hurricanes, Barbados’ government put several measures in place to assist fisherfolk. The implementation of a Fisheries Recovery Plan provided business interruption benefits, helped repair and replace fishing vessels, rehabilitated marine-based parts of the Bridgetown Fisheries Complex and landing sites, and protected the coastline. The World Bank Beryl Emergency Response and Recovery Project (BERRP), a USD 54 million initiative, provides direct financial aid to fisherfolk for boat repairs, and funds critical infrastructure upgrades at both Bridgetown Port and vulnerable coastal sites like Payne’s Bay. A standout feature of the six-year plan is the inclusion of a “climate resilient debt clause,” which allows the government to pause loan repayments during future disasters to focus on immediate relief.


In collaboration with the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and the government of Japan , which provided USD 2.93 million in funding, Barbados’ Ministry of Environment, Natural Beautification and Fisheries also implemented a one-year Coastal Fisheries Resilience project. A Fisheries Benevolent Fund was created with a USD 500,000 donation from the Latin American Development Bank, alongside a 30-year revolving fund that assists fisherfolk in purchasing new boats, repairing existing ones, and settling any outstanding debts. Despite these efforts, the socioeconomic impacts of Hurricane Beryl persist. Coupled with additional climate stressors such as rising temperatures and sargassum influxes, and with the instability of their livelihoods, fisherfolk have fewer incentives to refrain from harvesting juvenile dolphinfish. The competition to locate, harvest, and sell as much dolphinfish as possible has become paramount. The initiatives driving change Last year, two critical Acts were passed in parliament: the Barbados Sustainable Fisheries Management and Development Act and the Seafood Markets and Businesses Act . Provisions in the legislation promote the purchase of fish and fish products exclusively from licensed vendors.


The Act also highlights safety standards for handling post-harvest stocks, prohibits unsustainable fishing practices, protects marine mammals and coastal ecosystems through the designation of no-trawl zones in shallow coastal areas, and bans the harvesting or causing injury to marine mammals. These measures serve as a continued commitment to the vision outlined in the Barbados Fisheries Policy 2023–2033 , which underpins the goal of “improved up-to-date knowledge of the fisheries resources in Barbados’s Exclusive Economic Zone” — integral to both the local and regional dolphinfish stocks . There is a critical need to effectively manage stock and harvest levels, but this is currently undermined by weak regional data collection. In collaboration with The University of the West Indies Cave Hill Campus and the Barbados Fisheries Division, young Fishery Biology students at the Department of Biological and Chemical Sciences are assisting the Fisheries Division in collecting morphometric and meristic data under the “Dolphinfish Wild Stock Resilience Project.” The collaboration comes at a critical time to bridge the data gap for the management and conservation of marine ecosystems.


Insights, solutions, and recommendations Preliminary data from six site visits, measuring over 300 fish across two major landing sites, suggest concerns regarding the increasing prevalence of smaller dolphinfish within the Barbados fishery. Based on collected weight and length data, approximately 46 percent of the catch fell below the five-pound juvenile benchmark. In Oistins, the fishing town on the island’s southern coast known for its famous Friday Night Fish Fry , most dolphinfish landed were undersized, despite only one site visit being conducted there. Although the data do not establish climate change as a direct cause, they are consistent with broader concerns that changing ocean conditions and shifting fishing patterns may be increasing pressure on fisherfolk to maintain their livelihoods by catching smaller fish. The implementation of pre- and post-disaster plans and an early warning and monitoring system for potentially intense hazards is essential to ensuring safety at sea under variable conditions. The Fisheries Division has publicised vessel relocation protocols and plans for disaster response, which were tested during one tabletop and two simulation exercises.


Incorporating fisheries insurance also improves resilience and recovery efforts for fisherfolk in the event of a disaster, allowing them to return to sea with minimal delays and reducing economic hardships, while still maintaining their income. A vessel insurance scheme is being developed in collaboration with the General Insurance Association of Barbados , especially as parametric insurance has already proved successful in countries such as St. Lucia and Grenada through the Caribbean Oceans and Aquaculture Sustainability Facility (COAST). Raising public awareness about the long-term consequences of harvesting juvenile dolphinfish will go a long way in educating people and fostering a sustainable fishery for future generations. This increased understanding is essential to ensuring responsible fishing practices and preserving dolphinfish populations over time. The Barbados Fisheries Mock Trial Simulation provides an excellent example of how public awareness can drive cultural change, bridging the gap between complex legal theory and real-world application, and ensuring that stakeholders truly understand the regulations protecting Barbados’ marine resources. By prioritising education over incarceration, it empowers the fishing community to become active partners in sustainable conservation rather than just subjects of enforcement.


The Barbados Dolphinfish Tagging Project is a vital research framework that bridges the gap between public participation and international science by integrating citizens into a global tagging network. By crowdsourcing data on life-history parameters such as migration patterns and growth rates, the project generates the localised evidence needed to transition from general estimates to precise, data-driven management policies tailored to Barbados’ territorial waters. Although the risks of rising temperatures cannot be mitigated, ecological managers can become more adaptable to reduce the effects on both fisheries and livelihoods, and long-term sustainability goals can be achieved through improved legislation. Mechanised, large-scale sargassum influx removal offers a vital long-term management strategy; yet, its success hinges on strict alignment with existing regional mitigation frameworks projects. To safeguard biodiversity, fishery biologists must designate specific harvest zones based on evidence-led recommendations that prioritise critical habitats and species protection. Integrating climate-proof infrastructure at landing sites to protect the surrounding docks and boats during storms and other hazards can also reduce damage and high post-relief costs.


Across Latin America, May Day protests highlight workers’ struggles and solidarity

From Caracas to Santiago, workers filled the streets this May Day to demand higher wages, safer conditions and political accountability amid economic uncertainty across Latin America. Demonstrations in Venezuela, Chile, Cuba, Mexico, Colombia and Ecuador reflected both shared frustrations and distinct national crises, with unions, students and grassroots movements rallying against inequality and government inaction. In some countries, marches remained peaceful celebrations of labor solidarity; in others, protesters clashed with police as tensions over inflation, repression and social rights intensified. Together, the region’s May Day mobilizations underscored the enduring power of organized labor and the urgency of economic justice. Venezuela: A difficult minimum wage More than 2,000 workers took to the streets of Caracas on April 30 and May 1 , protesting a recently announced wage increase they called insufficient and misleading. On April 30, the protest was met with police repression against workers, guilds and collectives.


The government raised the so-called “comprehensive minimum income” from USD 190 to 240 per month , but the increase is largely based on bonuses rather than a real salary adjustment. Because these bonuses do not count toward pensions or other benefits, protesters argue the measure does little to improve long-term economic security. Chanting “a bonus is not a salary,” workers marched through the city as police blocked some roads without clashes. The protests reflect broader frustration with Venezuela’s economic crisis, where the official minimum wage has remained frozen since 2022, and is currently valued at around USD 0.30 per month amid high inflation. Many say the new income still falls far short of basic needs, with a family food basket estimated at about USD 700 monthly . Union leaders denounce the policy as deceptive, arguing workers are bearing the burden of a crisis they did not create. Demonstrations have spread beyond Caracas, and women have played a key role, highlighting how feminized sectors like caregiving remain excluded from labor discussions.


Cuba: Co-opted workers’ rights May Day in Cuba occurs at a moment of extreme strain and uncertainty. Cubans face a severe economic, political, and social crisis driven by an authoritarian communist regime that resists structural change. At the same time, statements from figures like President Donald Trump and other senior U.S. officials have fueled talk of a possible American intervention. The atmosphere feels tense, layered with both internal hardship and external pressure. Yet, May 1 has never been an ordinary day on the island. In many countries, it offers workers a chance to raise demands and spotlight their needs; in Cuba, it has long served the government as a way to project strength and popular support. For decades, large-scale marches have followed the same script. Weeks in advance, workplaces plan mandatory attendance. On the eve of the march, people stay awake through the night, waiting to be transported by buses to Havana’s Revolution Square — the symbolic heart of political power. There, crowds exceeding a million people march for five hours under the watchful gaze of the country’s elite.


But that era has faded, and participation has dropped sharply . The ongoing crisis, combined with public disillusionment, has weakened the pull of these mobilizations. For many, the pressure to attend — whether through fear of losing a job or part of a USD 15 monthly salary — no longer carries the same weight. In response, the government has moved the event to a smaller location near the U.S. Embassy. The scale has changed, but the intent remains: to preserve the image of unity, even as the reality on the ground grows more complex. Chile: Workers vs. neoliberal public policies For an inattentive observer, this May Day was like any other in recent Chilean history. Workers demonstrated peacefully in the country’s main cities, social media spread messages about wage justice, and Avenida Libertador Bernardo O’Higgins, Santiago’s most important thoroughfare, was the setting for a customary march led by the Central Unitaria de Trabajadores (CUT), joined by the Central Autónoma de Trabajadores (CAT) and the Central Clasista de Trabajadores y Trabajadoras. But something changed radically in recent months.


The government of José Antonio Kast , who assumed the presidency on March 11, is pushing forward a series of controversial measures in the management of the state, including fiscal cuts in education, a minimum wage adjustment, and a National Reconstruction Plan that, with the aim of encouraging private investment, pursues a gradual reduction of the corporate tax rate from 27 to 23 percent. The May Day marches are considered part of a nascent protest movement against Kast, a far-right leader who won the December 2025 presidential election by a wide margin. “It is a democratic government; more than seven million workers voted for them,” acknowledged José Manuel Díaz, president of the CUT. “We have to go after those votes, raise awareness among them, talk to them.” Colombia: Decent work, not precarious jobs May Day 2026 in Colombia became a key political test ahead of the presidential elections later this month. The day broke with tradition when President Gustavo Petro moved his main speech to Medellín, the country’s strongest opposition stronghold and home to many of his fiercest critics.


Speaking after the marches before large crowds that enthusiastically supported him, Petro used the public gathering to promote a campaign for a National Constituent Assembly, aiming to bypass congressional resistance to his proposed reforms. His appearance heightened tensions with local authorities and intensified national political debate. Across Colombia’s major cities, the government sought to demonstrate its mobilizing power while opposition groups dominated social media and news coverage with criticism of Petro’s constitutional proposal. Labor unions backed the historic increase of the minimum wage to 2 million Colombian pesos (approximately USD 533) , while continuing to demand an end to precarious work conditions and full overtime compensation. Women’s organizations called for recognition of unpaid care work, pensioners defended the “Solidarity Pillar,” and Indigenous and campesino communities denounced violence from armed groups and demanded access to fertile land. Despite its electoral undertones, the day preserved its traditional spirit, with unions, rural communities, Indigenous groups, and social movements leading massive demonstrations nationwide. México: More humanity, less World Cup In Mexico, thousands of workers protested across multiple states amid a climate shaped by labor reforms and longstanding grievances.


Although the government has introduced significant measures (including raising the minimum wage, gradually reducing the workweek , and implementing the “Chair Law” aimed at improving workplace conditions), many Mexicans argue that these changes still fall short of truly dignifying labor. The marches reflected that tension. Under the slogan “More Humanity, Less World Cup,” education workers protested unpaid wages, excessive taxation, and reforms they say seriously threaten pensions, retirement security, and access to healthcare. Healthcare workers also joined the demonstrations , denouncing severe medication shortages and staffing deficits. What distinguished the 2026 protests was the visible leadership of women from regions considered high-risk. In Iguala, Guerrero — a city operating under active Violet Alert and Gender Violence Alert protocols — unionized female teachers mobilized to demand respect for their labor rights and an end to the constant harassment, mistreatment, and discrimination they say they face from the director of their workplace. Their protest highlighted that while labor rights may be advancing on paper, structural abuse, especially against women and in vulnerable territories, remains an unresolved reality.


Ecuador: The impact of violence in workers’ lives In Quito, Ecuador’s capital, May Day brought together thousands of people who flooded Avenida 10 de Agosto in a march stretching more than one kilometer. Labor unions, social and environmental organizations, anti-mining groups, women’s collectives, artists, youth movements, LGBTQ+ communities, and other citizens joined together in a powerful demonstration against worsening labor precarity and the declining living conditions faced by much of the population. Under the chant “Noboa out, out,” protesters expressed their rejection of the rising cost of living caused by the increase of the value-added tax (VAT) from 12 to 15 percent, as well as escalating violence and insecurity, insufficient investment in healthcare and education, and the sudden dismissal of doctors, teachers, and public servants. Demonstrators also denounced what they described as growing signs of authoritarianism, which are preventing the state from functioning effectively. The organized groups that marched in Quito on May 1 made clear that protecting existing rights — and preventing further deterioration — depends on political change and the end of a government they believe continues to act against the interests of ordinary people.


Attacks on trans identities become a strategic political tool in Brazil

In July 2022, Kim Flores was denied a waxing service in São Paulo for being a trans woman. Despite having a scheduled appointment, when Flores arrived at the place, she was informed that the establishment only provided waxing services for “biological women.” Flores, a graphic designer who creates social media video content, took to the internet to share her story (the original video has since been deleted). She left a Google review describing what happened and posted videos about the situation for her 10,000 TikTok followers . In the next few days, the videos and the review posted by Flores were turned against her. They were used as a sort of moral panic weapon against the presence of trans women in women’s spaces by right-wing politicians and influencers. Nikolas Ferreira, who was a city councilor in Belo Horizonte, Minas Gerais state, at the time, reposted Flores’s video on Instagram, adding that Flores “identifies as a woman, but is a man.” Ferreira was elected for his first term in 2020.


During his time as a councillor, he was already known for addressing a trans woman peer, Duda Salabert, by using male pronouns and reinforcing that he didn’t acknowledge her gender identity . Later on, he was convicted of transphobia for his public comments about Salabert. He was also prosecuted for publishing a video exposing an underage trans girl in a school’s bathroom, which he claimed was recorded by his own sister. “It’s very convenient for [Ferreira] to continue disseminating hate speech against trans people and trans activism because they purport to be protecting women and children,” Flores told Global Voices in a phone interview. “As if trans people are a threat to women and children. Trans people are used as scapegoats.” Ferreira, a 29-year-old congressman who is conservative and religious, is well-known in Brazilian politics for using social media virality to gain visibility among the electorate. According to a study published in January by Zeeng , a company that researches online marketing strategies, he was Brazil’s most influential politician in the first semester of 2025, averaging 1,591,156 interactions per post on Instagram.


With 22 million followers on Meta’s platform, he is the second most-followed politician in Brazil, behind only former President Jair Bolsonaro , his ally. Almost four years ago, he had 3.5 million followers . A moral panic In the last decade in Brazil, transphobia has become one of the main tools for disseminating misinformation, according to Caê Vatiero, a trans journalist and media researcher. “It’s a strategy of using a scapegoat to gain voters,” Vatiero told Global Voices. “Trans people are being turned into a moral panic so right-wing politicians can say, this is what we are fighting against.” A few months after launching his attacks on Flores, Ferreira was elected to the Chamber of Deputies, securing 1.47 million votes, the highest total in the country in 2022 . Much like Bolsonaro , Ferreira owes his online virality to speeches that feed off pre-existing prejudices in Brazilian society , according to Caia Maria, trans activist and program director at Intersexo Brasil . “The right-wing camp does not elect itself by fooling the electorate,” Maria told Global Voices over a phone interview.


“It merges with the desire of these voters to return to a society that has exterminated trans people from public life. [They want to] return to a time when trans women were afraid to go to the supermarket, to carry out the most mundane activities of their daily lives, because that was the case until the end of the 20th century.” In addition to Ferreira’s video, Flores was also targeted by other right-wing influencers and politicians, who used the opportunity to increase their own social media engagement. She sued most of her detractors for libel and defamation, and Ferreira for “transphobia, hate speech, and an affront to human dignity,” according to court documents reviewed by GV. In November 2025, Ferreira was sentenced to pay 40,000 BRL (around USD 7,613) in damages to Flores. He can still appeal the decision. After the decision, Ferreira commented on X (formerly Twitter) that it was now “a crime to call a man a man” and that he was “being punished for speaking the truth.” The post received over 1.3 million views. “He ends up as a martyr,” Flores said. “It’s a type of marketing.


It’s cheaper than a [political] campaign because, at the end of the day, he will promote himself as being ‘against the system,’ someone who wants to defend free speech, the traditional family.” In the end, trans people are still affected by this speech in their day-to-day lives. “It affects all social aspects. Trans people aren’t able to rent a place to live, for example. We are being pushed further to the margins,” Vatiero said. The author reached out to Ferreira to ask about his use of transphobia online as a tactic for social media engagement, but did not receive a response before publication. Viral phobia There are limited studies on the use of transphobia as a tactic to gain visibility online in Brazil, but Caia Maria from Intersexo Brasil identifies the public rejection of any LGBTQ+ lifestyle as an old tool to appeal to the population at large in the political sphere, particularly during election year. Citing the first pro-dictatorship march in 1964, before Brazil’s military took over the country for 21 years , the “ March of the Family with God for Liberty ,” Maria argues that morally charged speeches performed for the masses are usually followed by attacks on democracy. Adding the internet to the equation increases the potential for the spread of hate speech.


“It’s important to talk about how the structures of Big Tech are built on racism and transphobia,” Vatiero said. “Their economic structure makes it easy for people to make money through the dissemination of transphobia. And today, people understand that it is extremely lucrative.” Despite rising attacks, the 2022 elections were a watershed moment for trans women in politics. According to the National Association of Travestis and Transexuals (Antra) , there were 79 trans candidates that year, a rise of 49 per cent since the previous national election in 2018, when Bolsonaro was elected president. Overall, four trans women were elected in 2022: Erika Hilton and Duda Salabert to the National Congress, and Linda Brasil and Dani Balbi to their states’ parliaments in Sergipe and Rio de Janeiro, respectively . Hilton and Salabert’s historical wins were followed by pushback. Research by Vatiero and Victória Ribeiro Carvalho at the São Paulo State University (UNESP) identified a pattern of transphobic attacks against both candidates. Between August and November of 2022, they found 665 transphobic posts directed at the politicians, questioning their gender or using masculine pronouns to refer to them.


As elected parliamentarians, they continue to be targets of attacks. City councilwoman Natasha Ferreira, elected in Porto Alegre in 2024 , describes this rise in trans candidacies as a re-organization of the LGBTQ+ movement to “dispute spaces and sectors we previously could not dispute” as a response to Bolsonaro’s far-right and openly anti-LGBTQ+ political agenda. Natasha counters these attacks with an agenda she describes as “transparent,” “pro human rights, with an emphasis on LGBTQ+ populations,” and “guided by feminism as a tool for emancipation of the people.” The councilwoman believes her broad approach helps her combat or mitigate harassment. “During my term, I chose not to be pigeonholed or reduced to the issues of the LGBT community,” Natasha said. “Because I believe that we, as LGBTQI+ people, take the bus, pay rent, and go to the market. The political stance I’m taking is a broader one: it’s about sitting at the decision-making table, and saying, look, my community isn’t represented here, and I don’t want to be in an LGBTQI+ [exclusive] table because I am not segregated from the rest of my city.”


Songs of resistance: Nepal’s Indigenous communities fight to preserve their musical heritage

Pilru, a terracotta musical instrument shaped like birds, made by Indigenous Tharu and Kumhar communities from Nepal’s southern plains, traveled from a village in Western Nepal to an art store in Kathmandu Valley, thanks to an art initiative led by Tharu artist Lavkant Chaudhary . For generations, Indigenous peoples have been using musical instruments made from clay in ceremonies, social events, and celebrations, not only to amuse and entertain the gathering but also to communicate and connect with deities and souls . Pilru – Songs of Resistance “ Pilru — Songs of Resistance is a community-led initiative dedicated to documenting, protecting, and reclaiming the Pilru, a handcrafted musical instrument passed across generations by Adivasi Tharu and Kumhar communities of the Tarai,” says artist Lavkant Chaudhary in his statement. “The project records oral histories, songs, and techniques, centering community voices and asserting the Pilru as a living practice, rather than a passing trend.” “I learned to play and make Pilru during my childhood,” said Roinu Chaudhary, a 70-year-old man from Deukhar of Lamahi in Western Nepal, in an interview with Global Voices.


He was praised for his contribution to preserving the practice of Pilru at the event in Kathmandu. “We used to play it while grazing cattle and going to the jungle.” “I haven’t seen anyone other than Tharus using this instrument,” said Chhabilal Kopila, a Tharu litterateur and activist, during the event. “It’s a matter of concern that the young generation isn’t interested in this instrument.” One of the proficient users of Pilru is Santu Chaudhary from Dang in Western Nepal, according to Kopila. He can create music with this instrument for any type of song. Here’s a clip of Santu Chaudhary playing Pilru: Xutuli , a similar musical instrument made of either clay or bamboo, is used during the Bihu festival in Assam, India. Made in the shape of a bird, people believe the sound of Xutuli invites rain according to Assamese folk culture. Misappropriation of traditional knowledge Lavkant Chaudhary says, “The project also challenges cultural appropriation by non-Indigenous institutions that replicate, market, and strip this art of its meaning without acknowledging its makers.”


Many institutions have been reproducing and selling Indigenous art and cultural products without informing and acknowledging the communities, let alone the Pilru. “Traditional cultural expressions (TCEs) and traditional knowledge (TK) involve important aspects of the culture and traditions of Indigenous Peoples, who should have the right to prohibit, or allow, the use of this knowledge,” writes Esther Aburto Olague, attorney, OZM Legal & Business Consulting Services, Mexico. “The use by third parties outside the community may even result in an offense to the cultural heritage of these Indigenous Communities.” Seconding Lavkant’s statement, Kopila wrote on Facebook , “As Tharu and Kumhar communities continue their struggle for recognition, it is crucial to center authorship, dignity, and cultural justice.” The Indigenous practitioners who are conserving the TCEs and TK will get due credit and returns only when the local law recognizes that they are holders of rights over works, of any kind, where they manifest elements of their culture and identity, as in the case of Mexico .


Two-and-a-half centuries of rainforest protection in Tobago

Amid grappling with various negative impacts of the climate crisis, including sargassum threats to mangroves , coral reef bleaching and hotter temperatures , Tobago has tried to find ways to pivot. Environmentalists have pointed to the potential of sargassum as a biofuel, and Trinidad and Tobago’s Institute of Marine Affairs (IMA) recently partnered with government, private sector and community-based organisations to rehabilitate coral reefs and seagrass beds. It is a process that often feels like taking one step forward and two steps back — just about a year after the IMA’s initiative began, Tobago found itself having to clean up a massive oil spill in its waters. Regional environmentalists called it “a cautionary tale” — a wake-up call about the fossil fuel industry, which caused the climate crisis in the first place. The bright spot, however, has always been Tobago’s Main Ridge , which recently celebrated the 250th anniversary of its legal protection, even as the Tobago House of Assembly (THA), the island’s primary administrative body, unanimously passed a motion at the Assembly Legislature declaring April 30 Main Ridge Day.


The start of the environmental movement The mountainous spine of the island is home to the Main Ridge Forest Reserve, legally established in 1776 and on record as the oldest legally protected forest reserve geared specifically towards conservation. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) quotes Scientific American as saying that “the protection of Tobago’s forest was the first act in the modern environmental movement.” In its own justification of Main Ridge’s value — which eventually resulted in Northeast Tobago , where it is situated , being named a Man and the Biosphere Reserve in October 2020, UNESCO explains : “[A]lthough Tobago is an island, the fauna are continental in origin, since Tobago was once joined to the South American continent […] Considerable endemism has resulted […] Support of this unique biodiversity and exceptionally diverse ecosystem is of great value to humanity. In addition, it protects against soil erosion, it encourages rainfall and provides significant carbon sinks.” A popular ecotourism destination , Main Ridge reaches a maximum elevation of 572 metres (just over 1,800 feet) towards its centre, and provides an important habitat for native plants and animals, including several endemic species .


The preservation of the Main Ridge centuries ago set a precedent that continues to impact international environmental policy today . Why is it protected? The ordinance establishing the Main Ridge Forest Reserve declares that it was established “for the purpose of attracting frequent showers of rain upon which the fertility of lands in these climates doth entirely depend.” Its passage through the British parliament — 11 years after being put forward — is credited to Soame Jenyns , who was responsible for trade, including trade linked to the output of British colonies, where sugar production was booming and plantation owners were clearing large swathes of land to increase yields. Jenyns, who closely followed the work of scientist Stephen Hales, which established a correlation between trees and rainfall, soon realised that the health of the island’s rainforest had a direct impact on the watershed, which in turn affected everything from water quality to agriculture and habitats. Two hundred and fifty years later, secondary school students in Tobago recreated that 1776 parliamentary debate at the THA’s legislature building. As the student playing Jenyns put it, “Remove the forest, lose the rain.”


Speaking at the opening ceremony of the commemorative week to mark the Main Ridge’s anniversary, the secretary of environment, climate resilience and energy Darren Henry made the point that the decision to protect this rainforest was a matter of survival for Tobago, but it also left an indelible mark on global environmental history, setting the forest aside for conservation “with the understanding that the health of the land, the rainfall and the people were all dependent on it.” He also issued some words of caution regarding environmental degradation, specifically referring to illegal dumping in the Main Ridge area, which he said would be combated through increased public awareness campaigns and enforcement efforts. In a post about the 250th anniversary, blogger Faraaz Abdool noted that the protection of the ridge “was done not for the glorious biodiversity within [but] for the ridge’s role as a watershed. While it was valued for the water it provided to the surrounding estates, we now understand the contribution of Main Ridge to far exceed what was considered a quarter of a millennium ago.” He continued : “Tobago’s climate is governed by its rainforest. If it were gone, the island would be much drier and hotter.


Denuded hills do little to attract rainfall, and it is this rainfall that is also responsible for transporting nutrients from the island’s rugged interior to its equally rugged coastlines — feeding prolific reef systems around the island. Although we may take note of a clear delineation of Main Ridge’s boundaries on a map and signposted along roadways, the nourishing fingers of this magical rainforest extend throughout the island and beyond.” Messages of support Online, there has been a proliferation of congratulatory messages about the landmark anniversary and the many events and initiatives that happened around it. One tour guide thanked “all the many individuals and entities that keep this immensely valuable and unique space protected for our future generations.” The Tobago Performing Arts Company, which participated in the celebrations, made the point that “the forest stands because we choose to protect it.” Some posts focused on the importance of collective action in keeping Main Ridge pristine, while others were deeply personal. In an emotive post, Facebook user David Rajpaulsingh said , “[T]he Main Ridge Forest has been more than a place to me…it has been home. In its silence, I found myself; in its breath, I remembered something deeper than words.


And as it celebrates 250 years […] I realise I was never just walking through it…I was being held by it all along. Happy anniversary to my favourite place in the world.” New treasures to be found As is usually the case when nature is respected and allowed to thrive, the wonders of the Main Ridge continue to unfold. In another Facecbook post, Rajpaulsingh waxed poetic : “250 years of quiet magic in the Main Ridge Forest Reserve…and still, she keeps her secrets. Beyond the trails you know, over 100 hidden waterfalls move through her like whispered stories, unseen, unheard, yet always there. Not everything is meant to be found. Some things are meant to be felt.” Abdool’s blog post echoed this admiration . “Those who have experienced the ascent into Main Ridge from either Roxborough or Bloody Bay,” he says, “would attest to the change in atmosphere that accompanies each bend in the road. Subtle changes in vegetation and birdsong follow as one rises into mist-ridden hills. As the road plateaus at the top, it feels like an entirely different world from the rest of the island. […] The soil is soft, perpetually moist, and dark.


Webs upon webs of root systems crisscross every trail through this rainforest; its largest trees are hidden in lost valleys that managed to escape the wrath of 1963’s Hurricane Flora , which whipped the tops off most. At the highest points on the ridge, trees are short and stunted, with gnarled, moss-coated limbs.” There has now been an exciting rediscovery with in the forest: the existence of a rare tree — the Blue Copper — known in modern-day circles only through historical records, which has sparked great interest among dendrologists and forestry officers, who were inspired to name a trail after it. According to Deputy Conservator of Forests William Trim, Tobago is quite familiar with a shrub that locals call “Blue Copper” — but this tree is different. Quite tall, it has buttress roots and towers over the forest canopy. Its fruit was traditionally used to relieve some ailments, and its wood for boat construction, but today its nectar sustains over 200 bird species that call the Main Ridge home. Its rediscovery is being hailed as proof of the success of the centuries-old effort to preserve the rainforest.


The illusion of online public opinion in Lebanon’s political conflicts

Social media platforms such as X (formerly Twitter) are often treated as reflections of public opinion, with journalists using social media trends and posts to infer broader sentiment , especially during political conflicts. Trending topics and viral posts can give the impression of broad, representative debate. But this perception can be misleading. An analysis of online discussions related to Lebanon showed that a small minority of users can dominate visibility and interaction, with the top 1 percent accounting for more than 60 percent of total engagement. If a handful of highly active accounts shape most of what we see, what does “public opinion” online actually represent? A small minority Engagement — likes, reposts, and replies — is not evenly distributed. A small group of highly active or highly visible accounts captures a disproportionate share of attention. As a result, a limited number of voices can shape narratives, amplify specific viewpoints, and set the tone of discussion. This is not always obvious.


Repeated exposure to similar messages can create the impression of consensus , even when it is driven by a narrow segment of users. This becomes clear in a dataset I compiled of Arabic-language posts about Hezbollah on X. The dataset includes 15,767 posts from 8,148 unique users collected between March 1 and March 8, 2026. Posts were identified using Arabic-language keyword variations of “Hezbollah,” and engagement was measured as the sum of likes, reposts, and replies. Accounts were classified as media or non-media based on profile metadata, supplemented by manual review of the most engaged accounts. The results reveal a sharp gap between participation and visibility. Non-media users make up 89.6 percent of accounts and produce 79.9 percent of posts, yet the top 1 percent of users capture 61.5 percent of total engagement. The top 5 percent capture 90.6 percent , and the top 10 percent capture 96.2 percent.


Media accounts, although only 10.4 percent of users, account for 29.6 percent of the top 1 percent most engaged users and receive roughly 34 percent more engagement per post than non-media users — about 41 interactions per post on average, compared to 31. At the same time, most total engagement (74.8 percent) still comes from non-media users because of their much higher volume of posts. Beyond social media The implications go beyond social media itself. In practice, journalists, researchers, and audiences often turn to X during fast-moving events to get a sense of what is happening and how people are reacting. Trending topics, widely shared posts, and visible engagement can quickly become shorthand for public sentiment. But these signals are not neutral. Research by Shannon McGregor shows that journalists sometimes rely on social media trends as indicators of public opinion, even though the users driving those trends are not representative of the broader population. A widely shared post or a trending hashtag can give the impression of a dominant public mood, even when it reflects the activity of a relatively small and highly engaged group.


Data from the Pew Research Center shows that political activity on X is concentrated among a small share of users. When the same accounts and viewpoints dominate what is seen, they can influence how events are framed, which voices are amplified, and which perspectives are overlooked. This dynamic can reinforce itself. Content that gains early visibility is more likely to be seen, shared, and amplified again, making certain narratives appear more widespread than they actually are. At the same time, social media data still provides valuable insights into how information spreads and narratives form, but it requires careful interpretation. This shifts the focus from ‘What is everyone saying?’ to ‘Who is being seen and heard — and why?’ In conflict contexts, this matters. When a small group dominates what is seen, it can create the impression of consensus where there is none. For those following events in Lebanon, highly visible reactions may reflect amplification rather than widespread agreement, making online discourse a misleading signal of public sentiment.


How Russians used to protest and managed to prevent some ecological disasters

Environmental problems often seem too vast for ordinary people to confront: waste management reforms, water pollution, industrial development. This is why resistance almost always begins with something concrete — a river, a forest, a village, a road — as protecting nature becomes a way of protecting one’s home, health, and right to participate in decisions that directly shape everyday life. In Russia, some citizens are pushing back against projects they believe have been threatening their water, land, and quality of life. Trout farming on the river In the spring and summer of 2025, residents of the northern Karelian town of Kem learned about plans by local authorities and the state-owned enterprise Glavrybvod to establish trout farming sites on the Kem River. According to local media reports , the proposed site was located just a few kilometers upstream from the town’s water intake facility — a location residents feared could seriously affect drinking water quality.


Karelia is Russia’s leading trout-producing region , accounting for roughly half of the country’s farmed trout production and around 10 percent of its total fish output. But the industry’s economic benefits come with environmental costs: fish farming waste can pollute lakes, rivers, and coastal waters. For years, residents across the region have protested the expansion of aquaculture projects. For local activists opposing the project, the issue was never an abstract anti-business campaign. It was about something immediate and tangible: public health, drinking water, and quality of life. Residents say that even now, water from household taps is often little more than what they describe as “technical water,” unsuitable for safe consumption. According to Karelia’s regional branch of Rospotrebnadzor, Russia’s consumer safety watchdog, only 62 percent of the republic’s residents had access to safe drinking water in 2024. A petition against the trout farm gathered 750 signatures , and residents eventually succeeded in drawing the attention of local authorities.


In the autumn of 2025, during a public meeting attended by municipal officials and company representatives, locals voiced their opposition to the proposed fish farming sites on the Kem River. Shortly afterward, the company withdrew its application, citing a “tense situation.” The outcome may not be final: the project could reappear later in a different form. But the conflict in Kem illustrates how environmental disputes often become about more than pollution or water quality alone. They also raise a broader question: why are decisions about the places where people live so often made without their participation? Landfills and local resistance In 2023, authorities in the Sysert district of Russia’s Sverdlovsk region approved plans for Yekaterinburg-Yug, a major waste management facility that would include a landfill and a waste-sorting complex. Local residents were outraged: the site was planned near residential areas and, they argued, could affect air, soil, and water quality while creating additional risks because of nearby peat deposits . Residents of Sysert did more than organize rallies and pickets. Activists filed lawsuits, appealed to state agencies, and repeatedly attempted to initiate a local referendum.


In June 2025, authorities and investors abandoned the construction plans, and in March 2026 the project was officially scrapped . The victory did not come easily. Residents spent years building a campaign that combined legal action, public visibility, and sustained public pressure. Battle against a landfill in northern Russia For many participants in similar environmental movements, an important precedent was the 2018 protest in Shiyes, a remote railway station in Russia’s Arkhangelsk region that became the site of one of the country’s most high-profile environmental conflicts. Authorities planned to build a massive landfill near Shiyes to receive waste transported from Moscow. The issue quickly grew beyond a local infrastructure dispute. For many residents, it became a symbol of the unequal distribution of environmental burdens between Russia’s political center and its regions. The movement around Shiyes took on not only an environmental dimension, but also a political one: people were defending forests and land while demanding respect for regional communities and their right to have a say in decisions affecting them.


Local residents, activists, and volunteers organized a round-the-clock protest camp, patrols, and mass demonstrations. What began in July 2018 as a local protest had, by 2019, evolved into the center of a broader anti-landfill movement. Solidarity actions in support of Shiyes took place in 30 regions across Russia . In June 2019, construction of the landfill was temporarily suspended. A month later, on July 18, the European Parliament adopted a resolution calling on Russia to stop persecuting environmental activists in the Arkhangelsk region. The landfill project was officially scrapped in 2020, and according to local authorities and media reports, the site was later designated for environmental restoration . Victories in environmental conflicts rarely look dramatic. More often, they take the form of a permit being revoked, a project removed from a regional development plan, or an application quietly withdrawn. Yet such bureaucratic decisions can fundamentally reshape reality: once a project disappears from official documents, it no longer threatens a particular river, village, or forest.


Local voices, larger politics These stories matter not because they prove that protests always succeed — that would be too simple, and not entirely accurate — but because they show that local communities can exert influence when facing bureaucratic systems, powerful business interests, and official indifference. Environmental movements become more powerful when they are rooted in lived experience. The stories of Kem, Sysert, and Shiyes show that environmental justice often begins with a simple question: who has the right to decide the future of the places people call home? Even where individuals may seem powerless, their voices gain strength through solidarity, persistence, and a community’s determination to defend its land, water, and future. However, the political climate of recent years has profoundly changed the conditions for any form of protest — including local movements centered on landfill projects, deforestation, or industrial construction. Today, participation even in small local campaigns increasingly requires personal courage. For this reason, it remains unclear what forms environmental activism in Russia will take in the future.


When privacy disappears: What life looks like inside displacement shelters in Gaza

In the early morning hours, when schools are supposed to prepare to welcome students, the yards are filled with men sleeping on the ground. Movement begins before sunrise, and lines gradually form outside sanitation facilities. Gaza’s schools are no longer places of education, but have been transformed into displacement shelters, hosting hundreds of families within a single shared space. In the first week of the war on Gaza in October 2023, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) reported that around 218,600 displaced people were sheltering in 92 of its schools across the Gaza Strip, while many others sought refuge in government schools and other buildings. Over time, these numbers grew, and overcrowding became an entrenched daily reality. In these environments, it does not take long to realize that something fundamental has disappeared: privacy is no longer part of life. A continuous collective scene Everything that once took place behind the walls of a home is now exposed. Cooking, washing, resting, and daily routines all unfold in a single shared space, in front of everyone.


There are no rooms, no closed doors, and no corners that offer even a moment of solitude. Life here is not lived separately, but in constant overlap, where the details of each family become part of a continuous collective scene. This overlap is not only about limited space — it is also about the loss of the ability to be alone, even briefly. Silence becomes rare, and rest is practised cautiously, as if it were temporary in a place that does not allow stability. During my involvement in polio vaccination campaigns in Gaza, where I worked in data entry and field support, the experience was not limited to its administrative dimension. It was a daily confrontation with this reality. Reaching children required navigating overcrowded spaces and working in environments that offered neither comfort nor privacy. There was no designated space for interaction or care; every step took place within a crowded setting where movement constantly intersected with daily life. Over time, the loss of privacy is no longer a minor detail; it becomes part of the lived experience itself.


Life is exposed, shared, and constantly visible, where nothing remains “private” as it once was understood. The difficulty of daily life The World Health Organization (WHO) and UNICEF have highlighted the growing health challenges facing children in Gaza, particularly the difficulty of delivering healthcare services and conducting vaccination campaigns in overcrowded and resource-limited settings. In this context, overcrowding becomes more than a description; it becomes a condition that governs everything: movement, communication, and even the delivery of care. Every small detail is shaped by the lack of space and the density of people, making even the simplest tasks more complex. Children live this reality every day, often without fully understanding or adapting to it. There is no space for normal play, and no environment that provides a sense of safety or comfort. For children with disabilities, the challenges are even greater, as they live in conditions that do not meet their basic needs. Estimates by Save the Children indicate that during 2024, around 475 children each month in Gaza sustained injuries that could result in lifelong disabilities, including limb loss, hearing impairment, and severe eye injuries.