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As Jamaica sends a large shipment of rescue dogs to Canada, animal rights activists hope regional attitudes will change · Global Voices
Emma Lewis

Topaz, who was rescued in Tobago in 2020 has since been adopted by a Massachusetts-based dog lover who has rehomed two other dogs from the island. Jamaica's terriers look very similar. Photo by Elspeth Duncan, used with permission.
Warning: This post contains some disturbing images of emaciated and abused street animals before they were rehabilitated and rehomed.
On March 13, Jamaican news crews descended on Montego Bay's Sangster International Airport as 144 passengers boarded a special charter flight bound for Canada. The travellers, who didn't need passports or visas, were rescued Jamaican Brown Terriers—street dogs—on their way to a new life. The Montego Bay Animal Haven (MBAH), in partnership with the Canadian organisation Save Our Scruff, organised the rehoming of the dogs.
While most netizens seemed to welcome the “feel good” news about the terrier travel event, there were also social media memes and tongue-in-cheek commentary comparing the dogs’ hassle-free relocation to the challenges many Jamaicans encounter when seeking visas.
Most importantly, however, the overseas adoptions focused the spotlight on the plight of street animals. MABH founder Tammy Browne believes that Jamaica's colonial animal cruelty laws are in serious need of updating. She recently tweeted about one of many sad cases:
Safe!!! Thanks to Kingston animal angels, we need to update the animal cruelty laws in Jamaica @AndrewHolnessJM pic.twitter.com/vXbywXie28
— montego bay animal haven (@Tammy_Browne) March 18, 2021
The MBAH had simply run out of space, unable to keep up with the number of street animals in need of care because of the neglect (wilful or otherwise) of dogs, in particular. Because the rescue centre does not euthanise animals but relies on adoptions, it had to find other alternatives, so it set its sights abroad.
It turned out to be quite an undertaking, but with support from a dedicated band of volunteers, several local companies, and the government veterinarian, they got the job done.
In a Facebook post, the MBAH noted that it was “heartening to see the responses from the business community, and Jamaicans from all walks of life, to the first ‘mass migration’ of dogs” from the country:
This group of travellers is not made up of specially-reared pure-bred dogs. Far from it. They have all come from desperate situations on the streets of our nation. They are the injured, the abused, the traumatized, the starving, the neglected, the forgotten — the ones covered in mange and eaten away by maggots. […] We heal their wounds, both the physical and the emotional ones, and we take the time to teach them to trust humans again.
We give them dignity. Royal Caribbean Terriers — not mongrels.
We find them forever homes.
And they shine!
We are so proud of them and we hope that this has been a real eye-opener and game-changer for all those Jamaicans who have been accustomed to treat dogs with cruelty rather than kindness, and who have seen them only as something to bark when strangers arrive.
Muri, the first Tobago rescue to be rehomed abroad by the NGO Venus: Doggess of Love. Photo courtesy Elspeth Duncan, used with permission.
Though this is likely the largest ever shipment of rescue dogs from the region, it is not the first time that Caribbean mongrels have been rehomed abroad. Elspeth Duncan, founder of the Tobago-based non-governmental organisation Venus: Doggess of Love, has been relocating rescue dogs to homes in other countries since 2016. Her first pup to travel cross-country was Muri, a “Tobago Terrier” who found her forever home in Massachusetts, in the United States. She estimates that she has since helped rehome as many as 30 dogs and a couple of cats to families based abroad, from the United States to Europe.
In a telephone interview with Global Voices, Duncan said that animal lovers in the Global North find these dogs intelligent, loving and resilient, seamlessly adapting to new climates and new ways of life. Duncan's NGO was recently contacted by a Canada-based animal rescue that had room for up to 40 dogs, but with Trinidad and Tobago's current COVID-19 travel restrictions, it was both difficult and prohibitively expensive to get the dogs out.
The cost for sending one dog abroad, inclusive of the charges for airfare, holding crate and necessary shots, can range from 5,000 to 10,000+ Trinidad and Tobago dollars (735 to 1,500 United States dollars), depending on the destination and required processes. Travel costs from Jamaica, to the north of the Caribbean archipelago, would likely be less expensive.
Duncan has encountered attitudes to animals that are similar to the ones the MABH describes. In Tobago, she says, so-called “brown dogs” are so common that they tend to be overlooked, and the culture is one in which pets are perceived to be nothing more than workhorses. “Dogs have to keep people away,” she explains, “cats must catch rats in order to be worth their keep. Animals are typically not seen as companions.”
Before and after photos of Bonnie, a “Tobago Terrier” that Elspeth Duncan fostered after she witnessed the dog's distress at having her puppy stolen from her on the streets. Bonnie now lives in New England, where she has won awards in agility and recently completed an extensive dog training course. Photos courtesy Duncan, used with permission.
This is a key aspect of changing the prevailing attitude towards mixed-breed dogs and strays in the Caribbean. Duncan finds it fascinating that every time she features a foreign adoption on the Venus: Doggess of Love Facebook page, so many people express love and admiration for the same dogs that, had they passed them on the street, may not have even noticed them.
“I often think,” she tells us, “that what people see in those photos is more than the great life these animals now have. It's the soul connection they have with their humans. Unless we can see animals as fellow souls as these people do, then our animal culture is not going to change.”
As one Jamaican Twitter user noted, acknowledging Jamaica's large stray dog population and the many instances of animal abuse:
Jamaican brown dog has it rough for the most part, but they're still loyal and trainable with plenty of potential just like their counterparts — all they need is love without judgement or prejudice. (There is a people parallel message here too.)
— ProtocolPolice (@judithdenton4) March 15, 2021
Meanwhile, some of the Jamaican dogs that have settled into their new homes now have their own Instagram pages. Back home, the appeal of rescue dogs may well be on the rise. There are already several Jamaicans whose beloved pets are local rescues, including a fashion designer and a popular radio deejay.
However, the local landscape remains charged. In November 2020, for instance, there was a high-profile case of a young boy being seriously injured in a dog attack. Although the dogs in question allegedly belonged to someone in the boy's community, the attack happened in a public space, possibly affecting people's perception of street dogs.
Around the same time, the Jamaican parliament passed the Dogs (Liability for Attacks) Act, with the Ministry of Justice seizing the opportunity to remind Jamaicans that they should keep their dogs under control.
Regionally, efforts to educate people about animal rights and the mutual benefits of keeping them as pets continue.
Trinidad and Tobago animal lover Christine Francois, for example, recently launched the Tall Tails podcast, which focuses on animals rights and the benefits of pet companionship, and Elspeth Duncan made an award-winning short film, Venus and Magnet, which told the story of an inter-species friendship. To her, it's just another manifestation of Venus: Doggess of Love's motto—love changes lives.

author: Emma Lewis


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Increasing restrictions by Morocco against activists of Western Sahara · Global Voices
رضا حربي

A screenshot from a video uploaded on Twitter by Polisario Front's ambassado at the EU, showing Sahrawi activist Sultana bruised from attack by Moroccan police.
Human rights violations in Western Sahara, which is occupied by the Kingdom of Morocco, targetting Saharawi separatist journalists, civilians, and separatist activists have intensified after an escalation in November ended three decades of relative peace in the region.
On February 13, activist Sultana Sayed Ibrahim Khaya was subjected to physical violence and beating by the Moroccan authorities in Boujdour, a disputed area between the Kingdom of Morocco and the Polisario Front, the Algeria-based movement for the independence of Western Sahara.
Sultana Khaya, who is the president of the Saharawi League for the Defense of Human Rights and Protection of Natural Resources, and a member of the Saharawi Commission against the Moroccan Occupation, was injured in the face and the eye after she was pelted with stones by the Moroccan security forces.
Her sister, Alwaara, was injured in the face near the mouth as a result of the beating. Meanwhile, the Moroccan security forces impose a siege on their family's home in the same city, not allowing them to leave its premises.
Regarding the beating of activist Sultana, Saharawi activist Aminatou Haidar wrote:
La brave militante sahraouie Soltana Khaya membre @IsacomSaharaui victime ce matin d’ une agression violente de la part de la police de l’occupant marocain, ça laisse très claire et nette la situation alarmante des sahraouis aux territoires occupés @mbachelet @UN @MaryLawlorhrds pic.twitter.com/6MH3ahluvv
— Aminatou Haidar (@AminatouHaidar) February 13, 2021
Sultana Khaya, the Saharawi brave activist and member of the Saharawi Commission against the Moroccan Occupation@IsacomSaharaui, was a victim to a brutal assualt by the Moroccan occupation police this morning. This makes the worrisome suitation of the Saharawis in the occupied territories clear. @mbachelet @UN @MaryLawlorhrds pic.twitter.com/6MH3ahluvv
The regional political scene got heated on November 13 last year, following the incident of the Guerguerat border area, which is located in a buffer zone monitored by the United Nations mission MINURSO, which is tasked with seeing through a referendum on self-determination in Western Sahara.
In late October, Saharawi civilians blocked the Guerguerat road, which runs through the buffer zone and connects Western Sahara to Mauritania. The area has long been under the control of the Moroccan kingdom, which the Polisario considers as a violation of the 1991 ceasefire agreement signed by two parties.
On November 13, the Moroccan military forces cleared the buffer zone of civilians and Saharawi political activists without causing injuries or arrests. The Polisario deemed that action as an effective end to the ceasefire and pledged to “resume war.” The president of the Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic, Brahim Ghali, announced that the Polisario Front was ending the ceasefire agreement and, since then, there have been reports of fire exchange between the two sides.
According to Saharawi human rights and media organizations:
عمليات القمع الممنهج الممارس من قبل الاحتلال المغربي ارتفعت ضد الصحراويين العزل بشكل ’هستيري’ في المناطق المحتلة من الصحراء الغربية ناهيك عن حصار منازلهم واختطافهم، وصولا الى التصفية الجسدية.
Systematic repression by the Moroccan occupation has increased against the unarmed Saharawis in a “hysterical” manner in the occupied areas of Western Sahara. Not to mention the siege of their homes and their abduction, all the way to physical elimination.
Large parts of the phosphate-rich Western Sahara have been under Moroccan occupation since 1975, despite its inhabitants’ demands for independence. Rabat rejects any referendum for self-determination as long as independence is one of its options, although Morocco itself agreed to this option under the 1991 ceasefire with the Polisario, brokered by the UN, which does not recognize the kingdom's annexation of the territory. The inflammatory effect of this has worsened after the United States recognized Morocco's sovereignty over the disputed Western Sahara last December, as part of a deal in which Rabat committed to normalizing relations with Israel.
Following this American recognition, which warned of an escalation in violence, the Saharawi Commission against the Moroccan Occupation wrote:
حتى و لو تحالف العالم ضد الشعب الصحراوي (و هو الامر المستحيل طبعا)، فذاك لن يكسر ارادته في الحرية و الاستقلال و لن يغير من طبيعة الوضع القانوني لإقليم للصحراء الغربية الغير محكوم ذاتيا و يناقش في اللجنة الرابعة لتصفية الاستعمار.
— ISACOM (@IsacomSaharaui) December 11, 2020
Even if the world were to ally against the Saharawi people (which is impossible of course), it would not break their will for freedom and independence. It would not change the legal status of a non-self-governing Western Sahara territory discussed in the Special Political and Decolonization Committee (Fourth Committee).
According to local organizations monitoring the human rights situation in Western Sahara, November events were followed by the Moroccan police cracking down on Sahrawi activists, with house raids, increased surveillance, and arrests. Moreover, access to the region has become particularly difficult for external observers. In 2020, Moroccan authorities prevented at least nine lawyers, activists, politicians, and journalists from reaching territories of Western Sahara.
In a statement to Human Rights Watch, activist Sultana said that the attack on her in February was not the first, for the police had earlier raided her family home on November 19, beating her 84-year-old mother on the head until she lost consciousness and then was taken to the hospital in an ambulance, as well as injuring her sister Alwaara Sayed Ibrahim on the head with an iron bar, causing her to have a hemorrhage.
Polisario's representative in Europe and the European Union Oubi Bachir wrote:
“هذه ضريبة النضال، كنت أعرف أن علي دفعها. كنت مستعدة، وما زلت، وربما الآن أكثر من اي وقت مضى”. تلك، خلاصة حديثي معها هذا المساء للاطمئنان على حالتها بعد هجوم #الشرطة_المغربية الغادر اليوم. كانت مجهدة وصوتها متقطع، لكن شموخها متصل ومتواصل. بالفعل، #سلطانة_خيا امرأة بألف رجل!! pic.twitter.com/juykgATA1I
— Amb. Oubi Bachir (@oubibachir) February 13, 2021
“This is the struggle tax, I knew I had to pay it. I was ready and I still am, perhaps more now than ever.” That was the summary of my conversation with her this evening, to check on her condition after today's treacherous attack by the Moroccan police. She was stressed and her voice was breaking up, but her pride is sustained and continuous. Indeed, Sultana Khaya #سلطانة_خيا is a woman with the strength of a thousand men!!
On March 10, in a statement published on her Facebook account, Sultana criticized what she called as bias by the International Red Cross in favor of Morocco, noting that she had repeatedly appealed to “international human and nations rights organizations, particularly the International Committee of the Red Cross, to urgently intervene and protect me and my family from the oppression of the Moroccan occupation.” The statement adds:
In the face of what my family and I endure — of crimes against humanity, terrorism, persecution, systematic repression, dragging along the streets, denial of visits to the house, cutting power off my family's home in occupied Boujdour, and throwing me with poisonous substances, I do not know their nature.
She added that a visit by a delegation from the International Red Cross to Moroccan entities in the occupied city of Laayoune, on March 6, was “a flagrant violation of the principles of independence and non-alignment.”
In what she described as the “deplorable human rights situation of Saharawi civilians,” Sultana Khaya referred to the detained Sahrawi politician Mohamed Lemine Abidin Hadi, who was sentenced to 25 years in prison in trials marred by flaws and defects. Mohamed Lemin has been on an open hunger strike since January 13, and his family is concerned about his deteriorating health and their inability to communicate with him due to the intransigence of the Moroccan prison administration.
In her statement, Sultana also referred to “the unjust and illegal sentences of the Moroccan occupation court against human rights activists Ghali Hamdi Albu Bouhala and Muhammad Othman Potosofra, and the list is long of violations and systematic repression against Saharawis who reject the occupation”.
In the same vein, Hayat Khatri, a Sahrawi television and radio reporter, described that Saharawis in the occupied cities live in:
A dangerous repressive political environment, that the violation of Sahrawi human rights sweeps its spaces from all directions, for the occupying state to impose its control over the joints of the Sahrawi resistance, and to face the Saharawis by all means that demeans the human dignity.
Hayat also said that her family's house in the Al-Hashisha neighborhood is surrounded and under surveillance, adding that “the Moroccan forces are using a barbaric tactic aimed at curbing any act of resistance through which Sahrawi civilians try to express their political positions against the existence of the occupation.”
Furthermore, in a report issued in December 18, Eric Goldstein, acting Executive Director of Human Rights Watch's Middle East and North Africa division, said “Moroccan and Polisario's forces may face border and diplomatic disputes, but this does not justify Morocco's repression of Sahrawi civilians who peacefully oppose the Moroccan rule.”
The Washington Post recently published an analysis of videos it conducted, showing a violent physical assault by the Moroccan security agents against Sahrawi activists last July, contrary to the official version.
Warnings are coming in that the situation in Western Sahara will worsen unless international parties intervene to resolve the conflict. “The recent hostilities portend further escalation, especially in the absence of international efforts to calm the situation and push the two parties back to the negotiating table,” wrote a Crisis Group report on March 11.

source: news-globalvoices

license: Creative Commons - Attribution - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

author: رضا حربي


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Transition in Tanzania: From President Magufuli to President Hassan · Global Voices
Amanda Lichtenstein

Moving Tanzania forward could not happen fast enough, when President John Magufuli took power in 2015.  “Hapa Kazi Tu,” or “Only Work Here” the slogan of the late Magufuli, seen on a green and yellow cap, featuring the colors of Magufuli's ruling CCM party. Photo by Pernille Baerendtsen, used with permission.
Across Tanzania, thousands of people are crowding into stadiums, airports, and curbsides to catch a glimpse of the late President John P. Magufuli, as his body is flown for week-long ceremonial processions in Dodoma, the capital, the islands of Zanzibar, Mwanza, and Chato, his home at Lake Victoria, where he will be laid to rest.
Magufuli was announced dead at the age of 61, on March 17, in a speech on national TV by then-Vice President Samia Suluhu Hassan, ending weeks of speculation about his health status and whereabouts. He allegedly died of a chronic heart condition:
Taarifa ya Kifo Cha Rais Wa Jamhuri Ya Muungano Wa Tanzania pic.twitter.com/LNi5CtoURm
— Samia Suluhu (@SuluhuSamia) March 17, 2021
Death announcement for the president of the United Republic of Tanzania.
Magufuli’s sudden death has, however, left Tanzanians, and others, speculating about the future of politics and power in the East African nation.
On Friday, Hassan was sworn in as the sixth president of Tanzania, making history as Tanzania’s first female president, the first president born on the semi-autonomous islands of Zanzibar, and Tanzania’s first Muslim woman serving in the top role.
Under Tanzania’s constitution, Hassan will serve the remainder of Magufuli’s five-year term through 2025.
In a short video clip, widely circulated on social media, Hassan dismisses any doubt about her ability to lead as a woman:
For those who have doubts that this woman will be able to be the president of the United Republic of Tanzania I would like to say to you that this person standing here is the president. [applause]  … I would like to repeat that this person standing here is the president of the United Republic of Tanzania, [and] happens to be a woman.
As Tanzanians mourn Magufuli and process this sudden shift, many have welcomed Hassan.
Opposition politician Zitto Kabwe, party leader for ACT Wazalendo, finds hope in Hassan’s history of activism and work as a “member of civil society.”
Historia nzuri sana ya Rais @SuluhuSamia katika dakika 20 ikisimuliwa na yeye Mwenyewe. Anasema alikuwa ‘activist’. Alikuwa mtu wa Asasi za Kiraia. Asante Chambi kwa kufanya nione hii. Haichoshi kusikiliza https://t.co/F2S6gW4dYK
— Zitto MwamiRuyagwa Kabwe (@zittokabwe) March 20, 2021
A very nice history of President @SuluhuSamia in 20 minutes, shared by herself [in her own words.] She says she was an “activist.” She was a public servant. Thanks Chambi for making sure I see this. Don't fail to listen.
Whereas Hassan is commonly known as a consensus-builder, calling for unity and calm during the transition, Magufuli was known as “the bulldozer,” a nickname he initially earned as Minister of Works for his efficiency in getting roads built.
Kanga honoring the late John Magufuli, Tanzania's fifth president, who died on March 17, 2021. “Buriani baba yetu mungu akulaze pema / Tutakukumbuka daima shujaa wetu,” in Swahili, or “Goodbye our father, may God bless you / We will always remember our hero.” in English.
Many Tanzanians  — and Africans — are remembering Magufuli on social media for both “the bad and the good.”
The Bad and the Good of Magufuli are equally undeniable, and it means the legacy he leaves behind is complicated but also valuable. The pro-Magufuli and anti-Magufuli camps will never agree and the debate will go on for years.
— Michael Mwebe (@MichaelMwebe) March 21, 2021
Magufuli gained popularity early on in his presidency for his strong anti-corruption promise. His efforts to boost major infrastructure projects and industrialization fed into many Tanzanians’ wishes for self-reliance after decades of international aid dependency.
Last April, for example, Magufuli rejected a $10 billion loan (United States dollars) from China for a proposed mega-port project in Dar es Salaam, saying “only a drunkard would accept these terms.”
This kanga promoted President Magufuli ahead of last year's elections. It reads: “Uliahidi Umetenda Tunatushukuru,” in Swahili, or “You promised, you delivered, we thank you,” in English. It illustrates Magufuli's achievements road construction (barabara), plane (ndege), bridges (daraja) and modern train (reli ya kisasa). Photo by Pernille Baerendtsen, used with permission.
His anti-corruption focus also appealed to Western audiences, and the media initially covered his ideas positively.
To some, Magufuli is remembered as a “true African statesman” and pan-African putting Africa first. Others remember him as a “populist” president who promoted nationalism above all else:
Been watching Tanzania mourning John #Magufuli. We denounced his autocratic ways, populism & sneered at his unscientific bent, but clearly, with the man and woman on the street, the fellow was quite popular. https://t.co/KOZ15oBK4o
— Charles Onyango-Obbo (@cobbo3) March 20, 2021
However, Magufuli applied an authoritarian-style rule during which human rights and free speech increasingly suffered.
Over the last six years, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, Committee to Protect Journalists, Global Voices and others have steadily tracked the deterioration of the civil and human rights protections.
Tanzania dropped six places on Freedom House’s scorecard measuring democracy and freedom between 2020 and 2021.
When parliament in January 2019 debated the Political Parties Act, leading to a restriction of opposition parties, it was interpreted as a bad omen when an owl entered parliament.
Magufuli’s administration often used legislation like Electronic and Postal Communication (Online Content) (EPOCA), or the Cybercrimes Act to clamp down on opposition voices and public dissent. Amended regulations in 2020 prohibited citizens from sharing public information “that may cause public chaos or disorder” and “content with information about an outbreak of a deadly or contagious disease” without the government approval from top officials.
Citizens couldn’t speak about an earthquake that shook the coastal region last year, let alone the pandemic that reached Tanzania months later.
And during the two-week period of wild speculation about Magufuli’s whereabouts and health status in early March, at least four people were reportedly arrested for tweeting about the ill president.
Magufuli reportedly died of heart complications — an issue for which he had been receiving treatment for 10 years. But Magufuli’s sudden death left many wondering if he had perhaps succumbed to COVID-19.
To many — not the least, Western audiences — Magufuli will be remembered for his COVID-19 denial.
Tanzania did initially impose restrictions and guidelines to curb the spread of the virus, but Magufuli repeatedly denounced lockdowns as a greater threat to the economy than the virus.
He actively rebuked international guidance on public health protocols like wearing masks, social distancing and vaccines — urging citizens to use prayer and herbal remedies instead.
After Magufuli halted the publication of COVID-19 data last year in April, he then insisted COVID-19 had been fended off by prayer. Soon after, he declared Tanzania “COVID-19 free.”
Though it is impossible to say exactly how COVID-19 has affected Tanzania, it did not go away.
When a new COVID-19 wave reemerged in January, many Tanzanians shared testimonies on social media of becoming ill with COVID-19-like symptoms. Knowing that it could be punishable to discuss COVID-19, people wrote nimonia mpya or “the new pneumonia” and “breathing problems.”
But Magufuli doubled down with his anti-vaccination stance in a speech from his home in Chato, on January 27:
If the white man was able to come up with vaccinations, he should now have found a vaccination against AIDS; he would now have found a vaccination against tuberculosis; he would now have found a vaccination against malaria; he would now have found a vaccination against cancer.
This was a major departure from Magufuli's predecessor, President Jakaya Kikwete, who served as global ambassador for immunization in early 2016.
Last month, Magufuli finally did admit that his country had a coronavirus problem, urging Tanzanians to wear locally made face masks. It took the death of Zanzibar’s Vice President Seif Sharif Hamad, apparently, to break Magufuli’s intransigence.
Several high-ranking officials from the political elite and close to Magufuli have also died of the disease.
As throngs of people continue to gather to pay their respects to the late president, his death has also brought some relief.
Shortly after Magufuli’s death, writer Elsie Eyakuze came forward on social media to speak openly about what it was like to live through the pandemic in Tanzania, with a president who showed willful disregard for the coronavirus.
In a long Twitter thread, she wrote:
Now. For the real story I have been at a loss to tell for too long. #thread.
In March of 2020, the Covid19 pandemic started to rampage throughout the world. It did not spare Tanzania. But in April of 2020 we stopped all public efforts to halt is spread in the country.
— Elsie Eyakuze (@MikocheniReport) March 20, 2021
In one of her last tweets, she asks:
“Did he die of Covid19, tho”. Yes, he did. And him, and her. And them. Tanzanians. And beyond. But they are not who you want to talk about is it? They are not The Story.
It is. A friend gets in touch. “Can you?” Well…can I make it personal? “Please do.”
I will. Tomorrow.
— Elsie Eyakuze (@MikocheniReport) March 20, 2021
In an open letter to Magufuli, Eyakuze points out the inconsistency of Magufuli's ideas, but also applies the empathy Magufuli himself seemed to lack, at times — and forgives him.
Tanzanians are coming to terms with the complexity and gravity of Magufuli’s death and the legacy he left behind — with a close eye on the future.

author: Amanda Lichtenstein


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Rape case involving major film star and senior politician reignites Serbia’s #MeToo movement · Global Voices
Metamorphosis Foundation

Actress and director Danijela Štajnfeld in a screenshot from”Hold me right,” her documentary about rape survivors. Image published by a fan on Twitter.
This story was originally published by Meta.mk. An edited version is republished here under a content-sharing agreement between Global Voices and Metamorphosis Foundation.
On March 22, Serbian actress Danijela Štajnfeld, 37, testified at the High Public Prosecutor's office in Belgrade that the actor, opposition politician and former government minister of culture Branislav Lečić, 65, had raped her nine years ago.
The scandal comes on the heels of a similar development that sparked a new #MeToo movement in Serbia in January, in which another actress accused director Mika Aleksić of raping her in her teens, while she was a student at his acting school.
Branislav Lečić at a “1 of 5 million” rally in Belgrade in 2019. Photo by Wikipedia user Dzindzer, CC BY-SA 4.0.
According to Štajnfeld's testimony, 40 days after she was sexually assaulted by Lečić in 2012, she left Serbia and emigrated to the USA. During that period, Štajnfeld testified, she developed mental problems and had suicidal thoughts, and was eventually diagnosed by doctors as suffering from post-traumatic syndrome.
In 2016, the actress produced a documentary film titled “Hold me right” in which she revealed that she had been raped by a powerful man in the film industry, but did not reveal the alleged perpetrator's identity.
Hold Me Right is a #documentary which follows both survivors and perpetrators through the harrowing journey of speaking up, healing, and moving forward. Watch our new trailer below. pic.twitter.com/iMMASOzFsr
— Danijela Stajnfeld (@HoldMeRightFilm) March 12, 2020
In an exchange with another user on Twitter in January, Štajnfeld revealed that she had submitted a video recording to the Public Prosecutor's office in which the man who had raped her admits his act.
Tako bi bilo dobro da se sada i Danijela Štajnfeld ohrabri i napokon izrekne ime gada koji ju je zlostavljao…Ne samo zbog nje već i zbog potencijalnih ovih tog monstruma…
Budi hrabra @HoldMeRightFilm
— Analitičarka društva (@007_analyst) January 19, 2021
“It would be good if now Danijela Štajnfeld also takes the brave step and reveal the name of the cad who abused her… Not only for her but for all the potential victims of that monster…
Be brave @HoldMeRightFilm”
To i ja kazem. Dala sam audio snimak priznanja od mog silovatelja pre 3 meseca Javnom Tuziocu i policiji. Dala sam iskaz i od njih nista vise nisam cula. Sada je na policiji i tuzilastvu. Njih molim Vas pitajte, i zbog mene radi i zbog svih nas!
— Danijela Stajnfeld (@HoldMeRightFilm) January 19, 2021
“That is what I am saying too. Three months ago I gave an audio recording to the police and prosecutors office, containing admission by my rapist. I filed a statement and haven't heard from them since. It's up to the police and prosecutors office. Please direct your questions to them, for my sake and for all of us!”
On March 23, Serbian news sites published excerpts of a phone conversation between Štajnfeld and Lečić about the rape. The conversation took place several years after the incident and was secretly recorded byŠtajnfeld. The audio recording of the conversation was published by investigative TV show Insajder on March 23.
In the audio segment published by various media outlets, when the  young woman asks the man who allegedly raped her whether he remembers that she had cried and that she had not wanted to be with him, that she felt threatened, that she had said no, he replied:
I can understand, but that is a big mistake! The way I express gentleness is not an expression of disrespect, that is your achievement! That is meant to serve as honor and not to give a sense of threat. I say this sincerely. Why should I put my sexual organ into someone I don't respect? In order to humiliate this person, to underestimate it? On the contrary, I do it with a person that deserves my affection! Do you have any idea who am I?!!
In the show “Pressing” on N1 TV, Štajnfeld said that she did not report the rape because certain close friends in whom she confided implied that she might not be an innocent party. During the television interview, the actress explained that she intentionally did not reveal the name of the person who raped her in her 2016 documentary out of concern that it would shift the film's entire focus to the perpetrator.
Razlog zbog kog nisam dala ime u filmu je taj što ako bih iznela ime ko mi je to učinio, ceo fokus filma bi se sveo na to. Ali priča filma ‘Hold me right’ ima misiju da skrene pažnju na iskustvo i poziciju žrtve.
The reason for not naming [the rapist] in the film is simple. If I tell the name of the person who did this to me, the entire focus on the film would divert to my rapist. The mission of the film “Hold me right” was to direct attention towards the experience and position of the victim.
The actress stressed that the perpetrators of rape are most often people from the victim's surroundings and whom the victim knows, respects, and trusts, which, she noted, is a fact that is hardly taken into account.
Regarding the accusations lodged against him by Štajnfeld, Lečić has said that he is prepared to report at the Prosecutor's office to answer the charges.
“I absolutely respect the laws and the legal institutions in this country and I'm ready to answer for it at the Prosecution about these accusations. It is a vicious lie that aims at discrediting me,” Lečić stated in a press release.
After Danijela Štajnfeld's accusation against Branislav Lečić became public, the journalist Hristina Stoiljković came forward with a similar claim.
Stoiljković claims that she met Lečić in 2019 during the filming of the TV show “One minute until 12 o'clock”, after which the actor began stalking her.
On Twitter, Stoiljković shared screenshots of messages she received from Lečić, explaining:
Izvolite, prvo Lečićev očigledno ustaljeni manir da se postavlja kao da ti zapravo čini ogromnu čast što si mu se dopala pic.twitter.com/LqIEco0oxf
— HristinaStojiljkovic (@HristinaHris) March 22, 2021
Firstly, Lečić positions himself as if he is honoring you by liking you…”
A zatim i gomila poruka uz skoro svakodnevno neprestano zvanje. Dotičnog nedeljama nije tangiralo preterano što pozivi i poruke svi do jednog ostaju bez odgovora, a ova navlakuša za drugi osnovne “trebaš mi profesionalno”, bitch please pic.twitter.com/1XyuMeTy3v
— HristinaStojiljkovic (@HristinaHris) March 22, 2021
“…Then he sent bunch of messages followed by almost daily phone calls. He was not at all concerned by the fact that for weeks all of his calls and messages remained without replies, and he uses primary school level pick up lines like “I need you professinally.” Bitch, please!
A charismatic actor who often played characters bent on social justice and starred in numerous hit films, TV series and on the stage, Branislav Lečić was one of the most beloved public figures of the former's Yugoslavia final decade. The initial reaction of numerous celebrities to the scandal, including some female colleagues, was to take sides. For instance, the actress Eva Ras, 80,  expressed dismay and accused the accuser of foul play against Lečić, calling the whole situation “a public lynching.” On the other hand, actress Mirjana Karanović, 65, wrote a letter to their theatre demanding that she never again be cast in a production with him.
Serbian pro-government tabloids are also having a field day gloating about an alleged rapist who is also an opposition politician. Hello! Magazin published a much-quoted article reporting that around the time of the alleged rape, Lečić was celebrating the second anniversary of his “fairy tale” marriage to TV presenter Nina Radulović, who is 31 years his junior. The marriage, Lečić's second,  ended in divorce in 2017.

author: Metamorphosis Foundation


text:
Cancellation of conference on 50th anniversary of the Bangladesh War of Liberation sparks criticism · Global Voices
GV South Asia

Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS) students listening to a talk. Image from Flickr by Rehman Chughtai. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
The cancellation of a five-day online conference commemorating the 50th anniversary of the Bangladesh War of Liberation organised by two Pakistani institutions has sparked widespread criticism by scholars and academics.
The conference “War, Violence and Memory: Commemorating 50 Years of the 1971 War” organised by Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS) School of Humanities and Social Sciences, and the National Institute of Pakistan Studies (NIPS)  at Quaid-i-Azam University Islamabad was scheduled to take place from 23-27 March to mark the 50th anniversary of the creation of the nation of Bangladesh. No reason was given for the cancellation.
Professor Ali Usman Qasmi had announced the details of the event on Twitter on March 19:
The School of Humanities and Social Sciences, LUMS, in collaboration with the National Institute of Pakistan Studies (NIPS), Quaid-i-Azam University, is organizing an online conference to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of the Bangladesh War of Liberation. Here's the schedule: pic.twitter.com/oOqRN1SUgA
— Ali Usman Qasmi (@AU_Qasmi) March 19, 2021
According to the Professor, the conference's aim was:
“. . . to gather academics and non-academic voices on one platform to showcase emerging research and critical approaches that can enhance our understanding of the 1971 conflict. The conference will cover the political history of East Pakistan between 1947-71, the democratic struggle for rights, and the genocidal military operation that resulted in mass displacement and massacres.”
Jibran Nasir, a lawyer and activist tweeted his appreciation of the event:
#LitmusTest. All the best for the conference. We cannot carve the way for a just fair and progressive political future without objectively engaging with our past. https://t.co/aG6xsZThzL
— M. Jibran Nasir (@MJibranNasir) March 19, 2021
Journalist Ejaz Haider, however, accused the organisers of emphasising historical events rather than addressing present-day issues such as India's abuses in Kashmir:
just when #India is killing #Muslims and oppressing #Kashmiris, intellectuals in #Pakistan are doing a 50-year commemoration of #EastPakistan. #Pakistan has the worst #intellectuals on earth.
— EH (@ejazhaider) March 19, 2021
Haider's opinion, however, was challenged by others who were interested in the event. Then on March 20, tweets about the cancellation of the event started appearing, though there was no announcement on any of LUMS’ platforms. The hashtag #LUMS went viral and people began weighing in with their opinions on the cancellation.
Journalist Raza Rumi was:
Appalled at #LUMS cancelling an important conference on #1971 — no break from the erasure of memory & history. No country can succeed without introspection, learning from past mistakes & healing. Also worrying that if LUMS has no academic freedom then let’s forget about the others. pic.twitter.com/mr0yMGdrPV
— Raza Ahmad Rumi (@Razarumi) March 20, 2021
Hassan Javid, professor of politics and sociology at LUMS, said in a thread on Twitter that concerns had been raised over scheduling the conference to begin on March 23, the date on which Pakistan became a republic:
5. Rather than seeing 23 March as yet another opportunity to indulge in unbridled jingoism, it might make sense to reflect on whether the state has learnt any lessons from the factors that led to the independence of Bangladesh in 1971.
— Hassan Javid (@HassanJavid_) March 20, 2021
Republic Day—also called Pakistan Day—is celebrated annually in Pakistan and commemorates the passage of the Lahore Resolution on March 23 1940, and the adoption of the constitution on March 23 1956 that made Pakistan the world's first Islamic Republic. March 23 a usually marked by a Joint Services (JS) parade, which was postponed this year to March 25  due to inclement weather.
Some people even speculated that the event had been called off because the state and establishment were afraid of looking back at history.
Anas Tipu, a digital marketer, quipped:
dartay hain wardi wale aik zoom conference se .#LUMS
— anastipu (@teepusahab) March 21, 2021
People in uniform are scared of a zoom conference.
There is a persistent and long-standing narrative in Pakistan denying the atrocities committed by its army during the liberation war of Bangladesh in 1971. Pakistan is yet to extend to Bangladesh an official apology for the atrocities, though former Pakistan President General Pervaiz Musharaf did express regret for what had happened during a visit to Dhaka in 2002.
This is not the first time that an event in the academic arena has been called off, and some Pakistanis believe that the space for intellectual discussions has been shrinking over the past few years.
In April 2015, LUMS cancelled a talk by Baloch Activist Mama Qadeer titled “Un-silencing Balochistan,” ostensibly on orders from the government. Some days later, human rights activist Sabeen Mahmud was killed in Karachi after a talk titled “Unsilencing Balochistan Take 2: In Conversation with Mama Qadeer, Farzana Baloch and Mir Mohammad Ali Talpur” had taken place in Mahmud's community space, The Second Floor.
Last time LUMS buckled, someone got killed https://t.co/VXHI5GsYft
— Mohammed Hanif (@mohammedhanif) March 20, 2021
In 2019, the Saadat Hasaan Manto Festival in Lahore was postponed after religious extremists claimed that the celebrated author's works promote vulgarity. More recently, another talk on Balochistan was cancelled at Sindh Literature Festival 2021.
At the partition of the Subcontinent in 1947, Pakistan was divided into two wings, East and West Pakistan, with India in between. In December 1970, the Awami League from East Pakistan won 160 out of 300 seats in the Pakistani general election, its leader, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the founding father of Bangladesh, becoming the Prime Minister-designate who would lead Pakistan to democracy by transferring power from the President and Chief Martial Law Administrator, General Yahya Khan. But Khan delayed the transition, as the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) chairman Zulfikar Ali Bhutto did not want a party from East Pakistan included in the federal government. This led to unrest and civil disobedience in East Pakistan.
The Bangladesh liberation war started on the night of March 25, 1971, when the Pakistani military launched Operation Searchlight to quell the Bengali nationalist movement. East Pakistan declared its independence as the nation of Bangladesh on March 26, 1971, and a nine-month-long armed liberation war ensued in which civilians and Mukti Bahini — the national liberation army—took up arms against the Pakistani army. They were aided by neighbouring India, which was burdened with millions of refugees as a result of the atrocities and the genocide by the Pakistan army, which Bangladesh claimed resulted in the deaths of 3 million.
India entered into direct war with Pakistan in December 1971 on the Western Borders to support the Mukti Bahini in East Pakistan, and on December 16, 1971, the Pakistani Army surrendered. December 16 is known as Victory Day in Bangladesh and the Fall of Dhaka in Pakistan.

author: GV South Asia


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COVID-19: Spanish town hopes to overcome the economic crisis with its own virtual currency · Global Voices
Laura Carraso Alvarez

Photo by Pixabay, licensed under Pixabay
A town in Andalucia, Spain is banking on cryptocurrency as a way of rescuing local commerce from the severe economic slow-down caused by measures to control the spread of COVID-19.
Lebrija, a town of 27,000 inhabitants in the province of Sevilla, is taking an innovative approach to stimulating the local economy by investing in its own virtual currency. The digital currency is called the “elio” and is meant to assist small businesses adapt to the demands of the “new normal” by linking disadvantaged families and local traders. The use of this local virtual currency was inspired by the loyalty systems of large corporate chains but has been adapted for small businesses.
Elio, “the new money of Lebrija” is linked to the euro and was promoted by the first deputy mayor and delegate of new technologies, David Pérez, and his team, who launched the app during the 2020 lockdown. The name “elio” was chosen in honour of the town's most famous historical figure, the humanist and author of the first Castillian grammar, Elio Antonio de Nebrija.
Families were selected based on income and were able to make purchases in shops in the area; the system, therefore, encourages the local economy and supports underprivileged families. The elio was launched at the end of 2020 and more than 600 families have already used the app.
Each elio is equivalent to one euro, and in order to use this technology, the selected citizens must download the app and pay half of the cost of each product or service in elios and the other half in euros. Each user must register in the app to be able to see the amount they have available or the businesses where this technology can be used.
Each family receives grants of between 50 and 200 elios from the city council, and they can use this payment method only in participating establishments. Once purchases and services are made, companies must present the invoices to the city council so that it can change the amounts to euros.
This virtual currency is only valid in Lebrija. To launch the project, the city council donated part of its funds reserved for other activities, such as municipal festivals, deciding instead to prioritise aid to its population. This allowed the city to launch the project with 60,000 elios.
To date, a total of 50,000 euros has been invested in the commercial activity of Lebrija, of which 25,000 were in elios, and this initiative has been very well received by the inhabitants of the municipality. “Some of the merchants tell us that it has saved the month and some have doubled their sales,” reports Spanish television. This was not the first technological initiative of the Lebrija City Council, since many of its services are now communicated through Telegram.
The economic crisis has not only deteriorated the fabric of business in Spain during the pandemic, but the situation has worsened for the average citizen and a huge number of families have been pushed into a precarious situation. The country now has 800,000 more people classed as destitute as a result of COVID-19 and a “historic drop” of 11 per cent of its economy in 2020.
Like the elio, other Spanish technological initiatives have been born in these times of pandemic to help society, including the app La Noria Social Hub, in Málaga, aimed at supporting innovation and provincial development, and Got salt?, an app which allows residents of Madrid, Barcelona and Valencia to get in touch for mutual support. This platform promotes contact and solidarity among neighbours to encourage sustainable communities.
The elio will end on March 31, but because of its success, future launches of the virtual currency are already being studied by the city council. For Lebrija, this is proof that solidarity and technology can go hand in hand, and that the way out of the economic recession will be through digitization.

author: Laura Carraso Alvarez


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Is Bolsonaro’s anti-China rhetoric fueling anti-Asian hate in Brazil? · Global Voices
Giovana Fleck

Joe couldn't get an Uber while his name was written in Chinese characters on his profile. Meanwhile, Telegram groups supporting president Bolsonaro contributed to spreading anti-Chinese narratives | Image: Giovana Fleck/Global Voices.
For at least two months in 2020, no driver would accept Joe's rides in São Paulo.
The son of a Chinese immigrant and a Brazilian woman, Joe (not his real name) had an Uber profile that was linked to Facebook, where his name is spelled with Chinese characters.
Before he sent a complaint to the company, a friend of his, who is also of Chinese descent, suggested he changed his name on the app. When he did — and included his mothers’ Portuguese last name — suddenly all his rides started to be accepted.
Given the historical injustice and violence perpetrated against black and indigenous people in Brazil, Asians — who make up less than 1 percent of the country's population — aren't usually acknowledged as also targets of racism.
Global Voices talked to four other people of Chinese descent in Brazil and all reported cases of racism and xenophobia in cities such as São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, and Caibaté, in the countryside of Rio Grande do Sul state. And all said intolerance increased with the COVID-19 pandemic.
Against this backdrop is President Jair Bolsonaro, who has repeatedly blamed Beijing for the pandemic, with his son Eduardo Bolsonaro, a congressman, and Foreign Minister Ernesto Araújo taking turns to attack China.
In October 2020, the president declared the federal government would not buy Coronavac, the vaccine produced by the Chinese laboratory Sinovac, and even temporarily suspended its registration process with the national drug regulator; the president said the vaccine was unsafe “because of its origin.” And there are Brazilians who agree with him.
“Brazilians I interviewed pointed out that they voted for Bolsonaro in the 2018 presidential elections and agreed with the comments that the presidential team launched through social networks,” says Edivan Costa, an anthropologist and social scientist who researches Chinese migration to Brazil, and has done ethnographic research in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro.
Chinese immigrants were first brought to Brazil to work in the early 19th century, when the Portuguese king, who was exiled there at that time, sought ways to get around the rise of British anti-slavery directives.
Many came from Macau — a Chinese territory that was under Portugal's control for more than 400 years — and started experimental tea crops at the Botanical Garden of Rio de Janeiro and at the Fazenda Imperial de Santa Cruz, the imperial country retreat in Brazil.
Costa says these first immigrants were often dehumanized: “Around 20 years after this first wave, Prince Dom Miguel was accused of participating in a hunt of Chinese immigrants who had been left on the outskirts Rio de Janeiro to be hunted for amusement.”
After that, there were at least three other waves of migration from mainland China, the largest of which in the 1950s — the political events that were taking place in China (the civil war, the Japanese occupation, World War II, and the Cultural Revolution) pushed many to leave. Since 2018, August 15 became the National Day of Chinese Immigration in Brazil.
Currently, the majority of Brazil's Chinese-descendant population — an estimated 250,000 people, according to 2012 data from the Chinese-Brazilian Association —  work in agriculture and commerce. Many are in the city of São Paulo, where whole neighborhoods are known for Chinese, Japanese, and Korean presence.
The Liberdade neighborhood, regarded as the epicenter of East Asian culture in São Paulo, is central in Costa's research. While conducting fieldwork, he witnessed hostility towards workers of Chinese origin. “In 2020, while I was interviewing the community, I heard a scream. I ran to see what was it and saw two boys shouting at Chinese sellers, ‘go back to China!’, ‘watch out for viruses!’ and ‘get out, Chinese!’.”
Dieqing took his mask out to drink a glass of water while waiting for his hemodialysis at a clinic in Rio de Janeiro when a man verbally abused him with racist slurs | Image: Giovana Fleck/Global Voices
“Put the fucking mask on, you piece of shit. These pests come to our country to kill us. Go back to your country, you animal”. These are some of the insults Dieqing Chen says he heard when he took his mask down to drink water at a clinic in Rio de Janeiro at the end of 2020.
Dieqing, who has been living in Brazil for over a decade, understands but doesn't speak Portuguese, so his ex-wife, Rosana Stofel, acted as a translator for him when he was interviewed by Global Voices via Facebook. Due to a health condition, he frequently visits hospitals and clinics to do hemodialysis. With the pandemic, he began to experience hostility in these environments.
“I am often one of the only patients there who is wearing a mask, and I notice that I am the most-watched one,” he says. Dieqing, who came to Brazil to work in the food sector, provides for his family in the province of Guangdong. He says he wants to go back to China as soon as possible due to the hatred environment.
In the meantime, Bolsonaro seems to be softening his anti-China hostility. In January, the drug regulator granted emergency approval to the Sinovac vaccine, and the federal government ended up purchasing 100 million doses. And in a public speech on March 23 — the day Brazil recorded more than 3,000 deaths from COVID-19 — Brazil's president attempted to show a pro-vaccine image, but distorted vaccination data and omitted his initial snub of Sinovac.
Many factors are at play here, including a downfall in the president's popularity, from 39 percent in October of 2020 to 30 percent in February 2021, and the oxygen and hospital beds crisis in the North of Brazil. Brazil also depends on China for supplies to manufacture the Sinovac vaccine in-country.
“Brazil and China currently depend economically on each other, and China is a world power that can't be belittled,” Costa says.
“We also need to consider that the Chinese government doesn't think in the short-term. Brazil is a key country in the implementation of 5G networks, for example. But the next chapters of this story will unfold around how Brazil will manage to stop the spread of COVID-19. In the meantime, the consequences of this destructive discourse are felt by the common people”, analyzes Costa.
This story is part of a Civic Media Observatory investigation into competing narratives about China’s Belt and Road Initiative, and explores how societies and communities hold differing perceptions of potential benefits and harms of Chinese-led development. To learn more about this project and its methods, click here.

author: Giovana Fleck


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My truth: The pain of being silenced in Cuba · Global Voices
Global Voices América Latina

Havana, Cuba. Photo by Pixabay
To the artists of the 27N movement, architects and protagonists in the construction of a pluralistic and democratic society.
Throughout the history of humanity, intellectuals committed to truth and freedom have always represented a threat to different power structures. The 1984 book by George Orwell provides an understanding of the existing analogies with the oppressive Cuban society.
One of the most nefarious effects of totalitarianism does not lie strictly in physical and brutal repression. The main consequence of the psychological pressure exerted by totalitarian states on the individual is the pretense that it causes in the human being; this is a mechanism that usually hides true ideas and convictions, and thus preserves the individual's social and economic status, and way of life. It is a society where all spheres of life are controlled by the state machinery, especially the academic and intellectual professions. In this way, opinion leaders who carry out creative work in the artistic and literary spheres, and also scientists, are silenced.
In this sense, totalitarianism in the Cuban context constitutes a sui generis referent, not only because of its continuation in time, but because it is evident that the system is based on that apparent and false adherence to a worn-out ideology that only offers messianic and utopian horizons for the human being.
Since the beginning of the Cuban Revolution, intellectuals in Cuba have had few options to live in the truth, as the Czech writer and playwright Václav Havel argues in his fundamental work El poder de los sin poder (The Power of the Powerless) for the Czech context. He refers to an existence based on lies and pretense, aspects that are accentuated in the Cuban regime.
In Cuba, we, the intellectuals, have generally had three paths: to simulate our loyalty to the regime as a survival mechanism, and in certain cases to enjoy few and modest privileges—such as publishing or teaching, professions where the intellectual usually takes refuge; to confront power regardless of the consequences, even losing freedom (let's not forget the fate of writers like Raúl Rivero and Ángel Santiesteban-Prats, imprisoned for their ideology); and the third path, the exile, which is as sad as imprisonment.
Great Cuban intellectuals have found in their exile the only possible place for their artistic creation. Mentioning all of them is impossible and beyond the objectives of this text. For example, Reinaldo Arenas, Heberto Padilla, Rafael Rojas, Gastón Baquero, Wendy Guerra, among others, are on that long list.
In Cuban society, people have always lived with masks. From a young age, they instill in you empty slogans that have no meaning, but with the passage of time and access to information, they lose their credibility. For example, when I was just a child they imposed on me the slogan: “Pioneers for communism, we will be like Che” [Ernesto “Che” Guevara]. Without having the slightest idea what both symbols meant, those words always sounded empty in my fragile spirituality.
The previous generations that in their time supported the system, now feel deceived and experience the greatest frustration, because their dreams were hijacked. This is why a book like La gran estafa (The Big Scam), by the Peruvian Eudocio Ravines, fascinates me and has a lot to teach us.
My experience is painful, not only because every day I live with the fear of repression and ending up in jail for challenging the system and its totalitarian power, but because, by not playing the simulation game, I have to resign myself to marginalization, since I cannot publish in my own country in magazines or newspapers, and I am no longer able to teach at university (which is one of the most beautiful and exciting professions). My Catholic activism is a social sentence because the system does not tolerate a philosophical vision other than Marxism-Leninism.
In earlier times, Catholic intellectuals like José Lezama Lima found a refuge in the National University in order to survive economically and dedicate themselves fully to literary creation. At that time, Eliseo Diego had the support of activist Nicolás Guillén in the National Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba. My situation is dire because I have been denied belonging to that institution of Cuban artists and intellectuals. The reason for this exclusion is obvious: because I disagree with the official ideology.
To suffer social exclusion for thinking differently and for reasons of conscience constitutes a violation of human rights. There is a high price to pay for dissenting from the regime in Cuba, and few dare to confront the system. But in recent years the situation has changed, demonstrating the power of the intellectual and his ability to subvert totalitarian power.
As society overcomes fear, totalitarianism begins to weaken, to the point of dying like a terminally ill patient, as in the case of Cuba. The Cuban regime does not tolerate losing control of the cultural and intellectual sector, considered strategic and crucial, which is why the regime clings to having a monopoly on it.
The regime tries to neutralize the dissenting intellectual in different ways: including him in the institutional power, or corrupting him, even getting him to collaborate with the State Security and inform on his colleagues (as it happened in many Eastern European countries). Let us not forget the case of the Cuban writer Eliseo Alberto Diego, whose work Informe contra mí mismo (Report Against Myself) is a testimony to the pressure that State Security exerted on him to spy on his own father, the famous Catholic writer Eliseo Diego. Nowadays, writers like Rafael Alcides have challenged the totalitarian power. Alcides has inspired the documentary Nadie (Nobody) by Miguel Coyula, a Cuban filmmaker who has suffered repression in his own country.
Someone who has never lived in such a society cannot understand the damaging impact of the fear of expressing their thoughts and having to resort to private and domestic spaces to vent their daily worries and challenges.
Moreover, the human being in Cuba lives so burdened by the scarcity of even the basic necessities that it is pointless and practically a luxury to seek ways to fight for their freedom, much less to carry out intellectual reflections and abstractions of any kind. One of the most visible signs of the failure of the Cuban model lies in the high levels of social inequality that it has created in society. For example, the introduction of stores that operate in US dollars was rejected by the majority of the population, because it marginalized a large part of society that does not have relatives in the US or other countries who could send remittances in the US currency to them.
The attachment to a totalitarian ideology in Cuba has had an enormous social cost. The regrettable and dramatic result is that the Cubans live in a permanent ethical and moral duality. Since no one can survive on Cuban wages, Cubans have had to legitimize the philosophy of stealing from the state as a survival mechanism. The worst thing is that even if a large part of society has lost its faith and belief in the system in Cuba, the person is still dependent on the state and has to live under constant pretense.
Cuba will not be a state governed by the rule of law until it accepts democratic opposition and freedom of thought. Someone who has not lived in a communist regime can not understand this in its true dimension.
I am one of those who believe that we, the Cuban intellectuals, defenders of freedom, will be a key piece in the transition that is looming with an unstoppable force on this island which is currently suffering so much.

author: Global Voices América Latina


text:
Turkey withdraws from Istanbul Convention · Global Voices
Doga Celik

Photo by European Parliament, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
On March 20, Turkey announced it will withdraw from the Istanbul Convention over what it calls the treaty's “normalization of homosexuality.”
The Istanbul Convention is a legally-binding human rights treaty of the Council of Europe pledging to prevent, prosecute and eliminate domestic violence and promote gender equality. It was open to signature in 2011 and has been signed by 45 states.
Erdogan first expressed interest in leaving the convention in 2020. The final decision came after the president unveiled a human rights plan he says would “improve rights and freedoms in Turkey and help the country meet EU standards.”
Ankara said in a statement:
The Istanbul Convention, originally intended to promote women’s rights, was hijacked by a group of people attempting to normalize homosexuality – which is incompatible with Türkiye’s social and family values. Hence the decision to withdraw.
And added:
The decision to withdraw from the Istanbul Convention by no means denotes that Turkey “compromises the protection of women.” The Turkish State has continuously stressed that the country will not give up on its fight against domestic violence by quitting the Convention.
In a separate statement, the presidency's head of communications Fahrettin Altun stressed that Turkey's existing legislation is sufficient to prevent violence against women.
With these regulations that we made in our domestic law, we strengthened our legal infrastructure in terms of ‘combating violence against women’. From now on, we will implement new regulations to consolidate further the rights that our women have gained with a much more dynamic perspective. Our government will work with all its strength to end violence against women and to further empower women's place in social life.
But is it really sufficient?
Last year alone, around 300 femicides were reported in Turkey. Considering domestic violence often goes unreported, the numbers are probably higher.
According to the local campaign group We Will Stop Femicide, at least 28 women were killed in Turkey in February 2021.
The day Turkey withdrew from the convention, six women were killed in the space of just 12 hours, according to a collective Social Gender Equality.
In July 2020, protests swept several Turkish cities following the murder of Pınar Gültekin by her partner Cemal Metin Avci.
The Istanbul Convention binds member states to ensure victims of violence have access to shelters, 24/7 helplines, and other support services. Currently, Turkey only has one phone helpline (Alo 183) for women affected by violence. As of 2020, there were only 145 shelters for women victims of violence in the entire country. In total, they have a capacity to house 3,482 women.
On March 20, women across Turkey took to the streets in protest against the withdrawal:
#IstanbulConvention protects women,children & minorities from violence. In a country where 3 women are killed every day, it was our only hope. By withdrawing from it now the Turkish government defies rule of law, human rights, gender equality and wages war against women #femicide pic.twitter.com/o9GLGQW79X
— Elif Shafak (@Elif_Safak) March 20, 2021
A day later, people were invited to bang pots and pans at 9 p.m. Istanbul time.
The most comprehensive virtual protest ever for the women's rights in Turkey on #March21 Thousands will join to this unique protest. Join us. #Fight4WomenTurkey #IstanbulConvention
Youtube Link ???https://t.co/hfMwPflT5j pic.twitter.com/n07mvr420X
— Advocates of Silenced Turkey (@silencedturkey) March 20, 2021
“Make Noise for the #IstanbulConvention” – Expect banging on pots & pans tonight at 9pm as women's groups call for continued action from balconies and windows to protest #Turkey’s withdrawal from international agreement to prevent violence against women #İstanbulSözleşmesiYaşatır https://t.co/DslTIsqXsX
— Jennifer Hattam (@TheTurkishLife) March 21, 2021
Turkey's decision also drew criticism from leaders and international institutions:
The #IstanbulConvention aims at ensuring essential legal protection to women & girls across the world.
We cannot but regret deeply and express incomprehension towards the decision of the Turkish government to withdraw from this convention. We urge Turkey to reverse its decision. https://t.co/wnXcJ1pXAU
— Josep Borrell Fontelles (@JosepBorrellF) March 20, 2021
Surprised Turkey has withdrawn from #IstanbulConvention on combating violence against women. We must not weaken efforts to protect the safety of women & girls in Turkey. I expect our government to urge #Turkey to reconsider.
— Daniel Kawczynski (@DKShrewsbury) March 21, 2021
The decision by #Turkey to withdraw from the @coe “#IstanbulConvention” is alarming and deeply regrettable. Yet another example of the backsliding of human rights and fundamental freedoms in Turkey, this time for #women + #girls. #WomensHumanRights @MarijaPBuric, @JosepBorrellF
— NikosChristodoulides (@Christodulides) March 21, 2021
Council of Europe leaders react to #Turkey‘s announced withdrawal from #IstanbulConvention – https://t.co/SU2l6MJIEX Germany chairs @coe Council of Europe‘s Committee of Ministers until May 21, 2021 pic.twitter.com/Gq3VZIwVSO
— GermanForeignOffice (@GermanyDiplo) March 21, 2021
“We call on the #Turkishauthorities not to weaken the international system to protect women against violence put in place by the @coe #IstanbulConvention”. https://t.co/p3yIDQKcc9
— Rik Daems (@PACE_President) March 21, 2021

author: Doga Celik


text:
Ukrainian Central Election Commission official resigns after criticism over Facebook sex toys post · Global Voices
Tanya Lokot

Anzhela Yeremenko, former assistant to the head of Ukraine's Central Election Commission and author of the Bad Mama blog. Photo from Facebook.
Anzhela Yeremenko, a now former assistant to the Head of Ukraine's Central Election Commission, has resigned from her job after facing criticism for a recent Facebook post discussing sex toys. While some Ukrainian social media users have castigated Yeremenko for “oversharing,” others have called the critical comments—and her decision to resign—an overreaction.
Aside from her work in the Election Commission, Yeremenko also runs a popular personal Facebook page, Bad Mama. She regularly blogs for her 31,000 followers about relationships, motherhood, dating, romance and sex, and her posts are often frank and personal. She says she started the blog six years ago to “share [her] feelings and tell stories” and has recently also self-published a book based on her personal reflections.
On February 28, Yeremenko shared a humorous story of a recent Valentine's Day gift she received from her boyfriend—a vibrator. Her satisfaction with the present soon dissipated, as the sex toy turned out to be faulty. It “vibrated twice, then blinked with a red light” and stopped working, she wrote. Further attempts to charge it didn't help (“way to spoil a first time,” she wrote), and Yeremenko said she had to take the toy to a service center for repairs. “The moral of the story: buy your vibrators from proper shops, otherwise there will be no orgasms for you (or for me),” she quipped.
Many of Yeremenko's readers took issue with her post, flooding her comments with criticism. “If any civil servant in a normal country allowed herself to espouse even a few of these words, she would be fired the next day,” seethed one user. “Are you serious? A Central Election Commission adviser? Where do they find them? Maybe you should change your job before they make you?” wrote another.
“Is this the reality we live in now? It's like she's writing about a toothbrush. If my wife needed a vibrator, I would be depressed. Or is the boyfriend imaginary?” wondered another male commenter. “Girl, why don't you find a proper man?” raged a different (but also male) user.
Among the critical voices, however, there were quite a few supportive commenters on Yeremenko's post, from both men and women. User Andriy commented that “writing about vibrators is totally normal. All of you who think otherwise, wake up, we're not in the Middle Ages anymore.” Another user, Maria, also defended Yeremenko: “This is her personal blog and she decides what to write about, if you don't like it, don't read it.”
Yet another user, Oleksandr, despaired: “I shouldn't have read the comments. The number of aggressively conservative people here is shocking. A person is writing about her personal life on her personal blog, and is getting flack for it. Why do you care what someone does at home? Are you savages?”
A few days later, Yeremenko wrote another post, where she said she had resigned from her job in the Central Election Commission. She said that for her, the ability to openly share and to joke about whatever she wants was more important than any public service position. She also said she didn't want to risk the reputation of her team because of the outpouring of negativity online. “I shared a story about a broken vibrator and now I have dozens of comments about how I'm the worst because I wrote it while working at the CEC.”
Oleksandr Ostapa, a spokesperson for the previous CEC head, Tetyana Slipachuk, told BBC Ukrainian that he thought the situation reeked of “Soviet-style hate” and praised Yeremenko's professionalism as instrumental in “taking CEC's communication to another level.”
Though Ukrainian society has made strides in opening the conversation around sexuality, gender equality and diversity, many topics still remain taboo, even to a seemingly progressive social media audience. In 2016, a post by feminist activist Nastya Melnychenko calling for more open discussions around women's experiences of sexual harassment and sexual violence—and using the hashtag #IAmNotAfraidToSayIt—caused heated debates in the Ukrainian public sphere.
Anzhela Yeremenko's story has a happy ending. On March 18, she posted on Facebook that she now has a new job: as an external consultant for the parliamentary committee tasked with reforming the public service, she would be dealing with global communications about the ongoing process of change. “How ironic: I resigned because the old system doesn't tolerate people like me,” Yeremenko wrote. “And now I will be the voice of its reforms.”

author: Tanya Lokot


text:
The watchtower on the mountain of Dagestan’s indigenous languages · Global Voices
Artyom Malykh

Magomed Magomedov (second from left), creator of the Avzag portal, with friends and collaborators. Photo courtesy of Magomed Magomedov.
Magomed Magomedov is a Kaitag language activist from the Russian republic of Dagestan and the creator of a unique portal, Avzag (“avzag” means “language” in Ossetian), dedicated to indigenous Caucasian languages. The portal hosts samples of Caucasian languages’ bizarre phonologies, unpacks their tricky grammars, and provides a foundation for direct translation between them without the use of mediator languages.
Dagestan, situated on the Caspian Sea in the North Caucasus, is a highly multilingual territory, where more than 30 ethnic groups traditionally live, with more than 40 dialects spoken. Just 20 years ago, multilingualism was widespread among the Dagestani population. People usually spoke three or four languages: their native language; Russian; another popular local language, and the language of a neighboring ethnic group.
Despite accelerating migration away from remote highlander villages and ongoing language shifts, Dagestan still demonstrates a very high level of language transmission among its ethnic groups. At the same time, the local languages lack institutional support and have hardly any presence in the digital world. Though Standard Dargwa is used in education and local media, Kaitag and other local varieties have less recognition.
Artyom Malykh spoke to Magomed Magomedov about his work. This interview has been edited for brevity.
Artyom Malykh (AM): What is your personal background? How did you, an IT guy, discover linguistics? What inspired you?
Magomed Magomedov (MM): I am just an ordinary guy; there is nothing especially notable about my background. I finished school in Dagestan, then left for university in Russia, like many other young people from my region. The change of environment when you leave your home at a young age and face the big world triggers many questions about self-identity and awakens interest in one's intellectual property, and language is a huge part of both.
AM: Do people still use the language in informal communication? Do young people speak Kaitag between themselves and is it taught in schools?
MM: Our mountainous villages used to be strong bastions of native languages where parents were sending their kids to their grandparents on summer holidays for language acquisition. And even if a child did not start to speak over those few months, it often was enough to establish a foundation by retaining the language in the child’s mind in a somewhat “packaged” state. This is how it was with me, and this “package” from my grandparents, which I had not opened in a decade, helped me a lot to reestablish the precious knowledge. However, now even in the villages, the young generation is overwhelmingly Russified. The informational landscape, the cartoons, and other modern forms of media popular among the youth are all in either Russian or English.
Another big problem is the ongoing mass migration into other parts of Russia due to the dire economic situation in the rural mountainous areas. There are many other dimensions to this problem, but one of the most significant is the complete absence of formal education in native tongues in our schools. The literary Dargwa is actually being taught a couple of hours a week in our schools. But here is the catch: it is mostly mutually non-intelligible with our local Kaitag variety, which results in people neither picking up Dargwa nor strengthening their knowledge of their mother tongue, ultimately resulting in the loss of both. And I can’t stress this enough—we don’t need two-three hours of lessons a week, we need at the very least a full 11-year primary school education in our local languages.
AM: What about the digital representation of Dagestan’s languages? Is the situation different for “big” languages such as Avar, Dargwa, Kumyk, and for “smaller” ones such as Agul, Kaitag, Tsakhur?
MM: The digital representation of our languages is quite weak. The big literary languages have some simple dictionaries and corpora. However, as a result of Soviet politics, no such things were created for the smaller languages. Because why would you want a dictionary for, say, Kaitag, if there's a dictionary for Dargwa, which theoretically should cover Kaitag since they are the same language? In reality, while being closely related, they are quite different, and both of them need proper digital infrastructure. There is a strong need for new content like videos or articles that would be in demand among the youth. After all, if we don’t create content in our languages, who is going to do that?
AM: Despite the relatively high level of language preservation within the community, Dagestani languages are relatively weak in terms of digital infrastructure. Why is that?
MM: It might be due to the perception that our languages are only fit for small talks in a kitchen or on a farm. There is a stereotype that for anything more serious or technological, you absolutely have to use Russian because our languages lack the necessary terminology for expressing the phenomena of the modern world. And I would say this is a sort of “cultural cringe.” These are just excuses, as neither English nor Russian nor pretty much any other language had those terms up to a certain point in their development. Sure, we are a bit behind, but a persistent and energetic push can give us the required momentum.
AM: How did you come up with the idea of the Avzag portal?
MM: Around 1.5 years ago, I started to read existing linguistics papers about my language. As I was trying to learn it, I wanted to apply the knowledge I gained. Because I am a software engineer, an obvious choice was to build an application. And because I am not a linguist, I took the sounds of the language as the simplest thing I could grasp. So the very first demo was an unsophisticated sort of alphabet where you could listen to examples of pronunciation for every letter.
AM: What did you find most difficult in creating Avzag?
MM: There are two dimensions to this project: the application and the language contents. The first one, while not easy, I can do myself. This part contributes to my motivation because I truly enjoy the process of engineering which allows me to significantly develop my technical skills. The most important part, however, is the language content, and it is not easy to find people who would have some language expertise and willingness to work with the app's editing tools. The older generation usually has the former, the younger one, the latter, and it isn’t often that someone has both. And given that the project is a non-profit one, a great amount of enthusiasm is needed.
AM: What technologies is Avzag based on?
MM: Avzag uses simple web-frontend technologies, nothing groundbreaking. In a way, the app is just a tool for conveniently presenting the language contents, an interactive Wikipedia page, if you will. There is a simple text converter tool, and right now that is it when it comes to input data processing.
In the not-so-distant future, I plan to work on some more advanced analysis tools. I do not consider this to be a technically advanced project, but it’s something that I have always wanted to build, given how underwhelmed I was with some of the existing applications. Maybe they were good at the time of their creation, but I am not so sure about their functionality and user experience today. Maybe my app will feel as dated in five years, but that's progress for you. So, it is not really about using the most cutting-edge algorithms and tools, but rather about pushing the quality bar. And I believe we have succeeded. All the code and all the language contents are available in my public repository on GitHub. So I invite others to compete and collaborate because this is how we can create better solutions.
AM: Is it more challenging to make a translation engine and dictionary for Caucasian languages compared to European ones because of their grammatical features?
MM: We’ve managed to develop an interactive phrasebook and are filling it with content. So far, I cannot say our grammar makes the process any harder than it might have been with European languages. But what I can say is that our grammars are very beautiful and very different in their own unique way. Even I, a person without any linguistic education, constantly find amazing structures and ideas while getting familiar with Caucasian languages.
I think part of the reason why our people think that our languages are less “powerful” or less functional is that we are way too used to English or Russian, and we try to directly map the grammars and meanings from foreign languages onto ours. In other words, we have stopped thinking within the mental framework that the Caucasian languages provide to us, and it is such a waste on our part. Still, it’s never too late to restore one’s intellectual sovereignty.
AM: How do you get language materials for Avzag?
MM: It is all thanks to some highly enthusiastic people who care deeply about their languages. When I get to know someone who might be helpful, I tell them: look, this is what I am doing for my language, and if you think that your language can also benefit from it, you are welcome to use the system and I will be happy to help you. Although so far I have spent most of my time on the project building a strong technical foundation, now that I have it I need to start communicating about the project more, and hopefully, some local communities and language enthusiasts will find the work useful. Right now three people actively contribute their languages to the project, and I am sincerely grateful to them: Azamat Birmamit for Kabardian Circassian, Taimuraz Btemyraty for Iron Ossetian, and Abdurahim Kattir for Keren Aghul. Their company makes the work feel much less intimidating and much more fun.
AM: What are your plans for developing Avzag?
MM: For the next couple of months, my main focus is to continue adding content to the phrasebook module. After that, I will start the active development phase of the dictionary module. And of course, I want to be more proactive about getting on board people who can help with other languages, especially with my own Dargin branch.
AM: What are your hopes for the future of Kaitag and other local languages?
MM: I used to think that everything was lost, but now I believe that even a single passionate person with a cheerful attitude and the right tools can turn the tide of the battle. Most importantly, we have small but passionate local communities with individuals working hard to reclaim their intellectual sovereignty. And then—this is my part—we have technologies to facilitate our activities and explore innovative solutions. The future is exciting for those of us who aspire to use for good and multiply the intellectual assets provided by our languages and our culture.
Editor's Note: Since the interview was conducted on March 8, Magomed Magomedov wanted to commemorate the victims of the Balkar deportation in 1944. “We ask Allah to forgive the victims,” he proclaims. “Unutma, unutdurma, keçme.”

author: Artyom Malykh


text:
Timeline of the second month of military coup and terror in Myanmar · Global Voices
Global Voices South East Asia

CRPH or Committee Representing Pyidaungsu Hluttaw is a body established by ousted members of parliament and other concerned citizens as a counter to the governing council of the junta. Photo by author.
This article originally appeared on Medium and was written by a blogger who doesn't wish to be identified. An edited version is published here.
The military regime of Myanmar, led by Senior General Min Aung Hlaing, continued to use its iron fist against anti-coup protestors for a second month, following its power grab on February 1.
As of March 17, 217 people had been killed and 1,872 people arrested by the security forces of the self-appointed “state administrative council.” The people of Myanmar, including local media, commonly refer to the “council” as a terrorist military regime.
The actions of the regime’s soldiers and police have been recorded by civilians and shared on social media by journalists over the first two weeks of March.
For years, we’ve documented cases of forced portering and dehumanizing acts of torture, i.e. forcing people to crawl like animals, in ethnic states. Here you appear to see both … in the city. #WhatsHappeningInMyanmar pic.twitter.com/M6zKpj45Qf
— Matthew Smith (@matthewfsmith) March 19, 2021
On March 3, the military committed atrocities in the central town of Monywa, where eight people were killed. Drone footage [Warning: Graphic imagery] showed soldiers carrying away bodies on the street.
That evening, the military opened fire in North Okkalapa, a township of Yangon. There were reports about the use of submachine guns and the deaths of 20 people during the incident. Footage [Warning: Graphic imagery] showed an arrested man being shot from behind and dragged on the street. Another [Warning: Graphic imagery] showed soldiers hitting medical volunteers.
A total of 38 people died across six cities on March 3. Images also showed soldiers shooting at homes. Video from Mandalay showed police beating a detained protester. At night, the military raided the head office of a funeral parlor known for its free services.
On March 6, video footage recorded riot police violently attacking a closed shop in Yangon and dragging people outside.
Injured protesters also died during detention. On the evening of March 6, a Muslim member of the former ruling party National League for Democracy (NLD) was arrested by the military. He died while in custody the next morning. Another video [Warning: Graphic imagery] on March 7 showed an arrested protester being attacked and dragged on the street in Mandalay by riot police.
Beginning on March 7, the military forces started to occupy civilian spaces such as hospitals and universities in several cities, including Yangon, Loikaw, Mandalay, Pathein, Pyay, Lashio and Muse. Civilians who tried to oppose the occupation were attacked.
Terrorists occupying the hospitals. Are you seeing this @WHO @WHOSEARO? The terrorist junta is doing things not even permitted in war zones.
?Hkl Mindat pic.twitter.com/qXZTRIvlav
— Civil Disobedience Movement (@cvdom2021) March 12, 2021
On March 7, the military fired guns and threw stun grenades on the streets of Yangon to instil terror. Far from being afraid, residents responded by mocking the military, with some shouting “Happy New Year” from their homes after each gunshot or grenade sound, while others ignited firecrackers. Other videos spread on social media included angry, cursing people who claimed to be a military family, after the soldiers accidentally threw tear gas into their home, and a woman's recorded response when her home was shot at with slingshot by the military while she was chanting Buddhist prayers.
#HappyNewYear The civilians of Myanmar mock the gunshots at night by shouting “Happy New Year.” According to the traditional calendar, Myanmar’s new year is coming up in April. #SaveMyanmar #WhatshappeningInMyanmar pic.twitter.com/h8H0F58OQx
— GM4MD (@Gm4Md) March 15, 2021
The death toll of protesters reached 58 at the start of the second week of March.
On March 8, many cities joined in the protests as part of International Women’s Day, with women waving their sarongs as flags.
On the evening of March 8, many protesters in a San Chaung neighbourhood were trapped as soldiers surrounded the area. Protesters were hiding inside local residents’ homes. In response to this, people from other townships in Yangon came out at night to protest, defying the curfew orders. Around 30 people were arrested.
The military regime also withdrew the licenses of five independent media agencies operating inside Myanmar on March 8. On the same day, soldiers raided the deserted offices of Myanmar Now and the next day, the offices of Mizzima and Kamayut Media. Although the staff of Mizzima was already in hiding, the editor and other staff members of Kamayut Media were arrested. The Facebook page of Kamayut Media subsequently disappeared.
There were also instances of riot police attacking religious premises. On March 8, they threw tear gas grenades inside a monastery in Yangon that tried to hide protesters. The next day, footage showed soldiers trying to break inside a mosque.
On March 9, at 1 am, soldiers raided a community-based vocational school in Yangon called Su and arrested a member of the NLD who was leading the school. He died on that day and there were signs of severe torture on his body according to his family. On the same day, protesters from the city of Myeik, who had been arrested in the morning, were released after being [Warning: Graphic imagery] tortured during detention.
On March 10, the military forces occupied the premises and housing of Yangon’s Railway staff, forcibly evicting around 1,000 civil servants and their families who were on strike. In the following days, similar evictions occurred in other cities such as Yay Nan Chaung, Hakha, Taunggyi, Thaton and Naung Cho.
On March 11, military forces brought a bloody crackdown to a small central Myanmar city, Myaing, for the first time, killing 7 people.
On March 12, people were called out to protest at night time for the so-called 12321-day protest, referring to the date 12/03/21. Many cities joined the night protests.
A video [Warning: Graphic imagery] showed soldiers hitting three men arrested during the midnight crackdown in Yangon's Thaketa township. In response to this arrest, more people came out to surround the police station where two people from the crowd were shot dead.
On March 13, four protesters died in a crackdown in Mandalay. In Yangon, video footage showed soldiers pursuing protesters in the neighborhood of Tamwe
#Myanmar security forces beating underage children in Mya Yee Nandar Housing 49th Street, Mandalay today evening.@UNinMyanmar @UNICEF @save_children @RapporteurUn @USEmbassyBurma @UN_HRC#WhatsHappeningInMyanmar#Mar12Coup pic.twitter.com/mgNLTkQY0X
— Khin Zaw Myint (@RasallKhinzaw) March 12, 2021
Between March 11–13, a total of 30 people were killed across eight cities.
On March 14, security forces attacked a large gathering of protesters in Hlaing Thar Yar township of Yangon, where many factory workers, mostly local migrants, live.
Two Chinese-owned factories were also burned down during the clashes.
During that day alone, the local hospital reported 34 bodies. The death toll continued to rise in the following days.
The regime’s forces used violence across the 10 townships in Yangon. At the end of the second week, on Sunday, March 15, the death toll had reached 74, on the bloodiest day since the coup. In the second week of March alone, around 120 people died.
On the night of March 15, the regime declared martial law in Hlaing Thar Yar and Shwe Pyi Thar townships.
On March 15, martial law was extended to four more townships in Yangon. The military council ordered the blocking of mobile internet across the country. It had not been restored up to the time of writing.
The regime’s soldiers continued their operations in then-occupied Hlaing Thar Yar township amid the internet and information blackout. Several migrant workers fled the township, with most of them going back to their hometowns.
#Myanmar Hlaing Thar Yar
Dreadful scenes in Hlaing Thar Yar yesterday. When people went to assist the injured, they were shot too by the SAC Junta forces. #WhatsHappeningInMyanmar pic.twitter.com/AlX1oPJvTo
— Yoona Kim (@stephan_ieK) March 18, 2021
Twenty more people, including non-protesting passers-by, were reported to have been killed across 8 cities on March 15.
Here are some evidences how Min Aung Hlaing's terrorist groups #MyanmarMilitary burning down the people's properties, barricades and setting fire on the road. Over last few years they burned down villages in ethnic areas. Now they are committing the same atrocities. pic.twitter.com/36LzrHNCJ2
— CRPH Myanmar (@CrphMyanmar) March 15, 2021
On March 17, police and soldiers attempted to remove protest barriers set up in the streets of Yangon and threatened to shoot residents if the barriers were not removed.
Despite the lethal use of force and terror of the regime, protests across cities did not slow down throughout March. In addition to daily protests, people have also come out at night or even early morning, or organised prayer gatherings across cities. Hundreds of people also attended the funerals of those who were killed by the military.
The people of Taze Township from Sagaing Region who did not accept the military dictatorship, continued their collective strike on March 15, 2021 despite military brutality killed over 70 peoples yesterday.#WhatsHappeningInMyanmar#Mar15Coup pic.twitter.com/T2CXNr68Gz
— Heung Min Hson (@hmsburma) March 15, 2021
15.3.2021 Mandalay Engineer Group’s demonstrations successfully concluded.
မန္တလေးအင်ဂျင်နီယာများအဖွဲ့၏ ဆုံရပ်တွင် မိနစ် ၃၀ကြာ သံပြိုင်ကြွေးကြော်ခြင်း
ကျဆုံးခဲ့သူများအားရည်းစူး၍ ၃ မိနစ်ငြိမ်သက်ခြင်း ဆိုင်ကယ်ဖြင့် လှည့်လည်ဆန္ဒပြခြင်း အစီအစဥ်များ အောင်မြင်စွာပြီးဆုံးခဲ့ပါသည်။ pic.twitter.com/faeOLcm32C
— Civil Disobedience Movement (@cvdom2021) March 15, 2021
Mandalay engineer group gathered and chanted for 30 minutes, stayed silent for 3 minutes to commemorate fallen protesters, marched with motorbikes and (the event was) successfully concluded.
On March 4, the Committee Representing Pyidaungsu Hluttaw (CRPH), established by ousted parliament members, waived citizens’ taxes in order to stop the flow of revenue to the military. On March 18, CRPH postponed the collection of payments for electricity and water bills until further notice.
A small number of police defecting to join the Civil Disobedience Movement (CDM) also gained traction since the beginning of March. By the second week of March, 880 police had denounced and defected from the military council. Over 400 people, mainly from police families, have also escaped to India as of March 12.
Widespread campaigns calling for social punishment on military families and supporters of the military regime were organized across cities with some funeral parlors refusing services to military families.
While many still expect the United Nations to invoke the Responsibility to Protect (R2P) principle leading to an intervention, there are also signs of hope of forming a united federal army made up of Ethnic Armed Organisations (EAO) in Myanmar against the military as the common enemy.
Myanmar is a Bamar Buddhist majority country with more than 135 ethnic identities living in the country. Alongside the Bamar, there are other large ethnic groups such as Kachin, Kayah, Karen, Karenni, Chin, Mon, Rakhine and Shan, most of whom have formed their own armed organisations during decades of civil war fighting for self-rule or federalism against the Bamar-centric military rule.
Generations of Myanmar military leadership have brought oppression and atrocities for non-Bamar ethnic people living in Myanmar, including the one that could be regarded as genocide against the Rohingya.
The 2008 constitution drafted by the military grants no federal status to any ethnic state. Even during the short political transition in the past decade, the parliament or Hluttaw has been largely dominated by Bamar-led major parties such as NLD and the military-backed Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP).
Since the violent crackdown began in March, EAOs from Kayah state have vowed to protect protesters in their regions from the regime’s forces.
Similarly, another major armed organization, the Karen National Union (KNU), has stepped in to protect, or even support protesters, in the territories they control and other cities.
On March 5, the CRPH announced that its objectives are aligned with the vision of the ethnic people, namely to abolish the 2008 constitution and to form a federal democracy.
Political Objectives of CRPH
1. To end the military dictatorship.
2. Release U Win Myint, Daw Aung San Suu Kyi and all the detainees.
3. To get democracy.
4. Abolish 2008 constitution and establish a new one based on Federalism. #SupportCRPH #RejectMyanmarMilitaryCoup pic.twitter.com/Zq4xBW04QH
— CRPH Myanmar (@CrphMyanmar) March 5, 2021
On the same day, the KNU also released a statement that they support the CDM and share the same objective, namely to oppose the military dictatorship.
On March 9, the CRPH appointed a temporary vice-president, who is an ethnic Karen.
Another armed organization, the KIA (Kachin Independence Army), warned that they would not stand by to watch if atrocities continued. It resumed its military engagements against the Tatmadaw (Myanmar armed forces) in March. Villagers near the fighting area have fled their homes to escape the fighting.
On March 17, the CRPH declared that it would reverse the decision of previous governments designating all EAOs as terrorists or unlawful organizations.
As of March 19, around 1,000 people have taken refuge in KNU controlled areas, including protest leaders, doctors, CDM civil servants, and soldiers and police who resigned their posts.

author: Global Voices South East Asia