text:
Notes from Kazakhstan: Pigeons, disinfectant and COVID-19 · Global Voices
Chris Rickleton

Deserted Respublika Square in Almaty, Kazakhstan. Photo (c): Joanna Lillis. Used with permission.
Pigeons.
I'd never really thought about them. Except, as a child, to chase them. Or as a parent to plead with my child not to chase them.
Then 30 of them perish in broad daylight and the Ecology Ministry opens an investigation. And you begin to feel it.
Pecking at your skin.
Kazakhstan's two largest cities – Almaty and Nur-Sultan – have been locked down for over a month.
In recent weeks, most other major settlements have joined them, as clusters of the novel coronavirus grow in almost every corner of the world's ninth-largest country.
The vastness of the steppe limits connectivity between far-flung hubs, but have proved to be no vaccine.
My family's quarantine is a privileged one. Our flat is quite spacious. Square metres inside become more important when access to square kilometres outside – parks, playgrounds*, pedestrianised areas – have been shut down. We have the resources to wait this out.
Others in Kazakhstan do not. Kazakhstan's authoritarian government has committed to monthly handouts of roughly the equivalent of US$100 for the around four million citizens left without work as a result of the lockdown. It is more than neighbouring Central Asian countries can afford, but still short of enough.
This tweet from a journalist in Kazakhstan's neighbour Kyrgyzstan sums up the gulf between the comparatively well-off, social media-using sections of the population, and the offline masses. Although Kyrgyzstan is the poorer of the two countries, the comparison holds:
Слева: твиттерский жалуется, что у него заканчивается виски и что он начал набирать вес из-за карантина.
Справа: остальной Кыргызстан pic.twitter.com/X4iE6s4sN9
— Aibol Kozhomuratov (@AKozhomuratov) April 7, 2020
On the left, a Twitter user complains of running out of whisky and gaining weight during quarantine. On the right is the rest of Kyrgyzstan.
For governments in this authoritarian region, the race to flatten the curve feels existential.
If the choice between the spread of hunger and the unsustainable spread of COVID-19 becomes binary, even regimes that weathered the economic maelstrom of the 1990s will have cause for fear.
While governments in Europe have tossed and turned over how to enforce quarantine regimes and social distancing, the response here feels more reflexive.
And where the state does miss something, there is a network of informants to help out.
A WhatsApp group named the Action Committee, set up by the administrators of our residential complex to update residents on quarantine measures, soon evolved into a powerful lobby demanding their enforcement: How dare families use their sanctioned walks to the dustbins to stroll around the complex not once, but several times? People are walking around without masks against government recommendations! Have you seen the kids that are still playing basketball?!
Ever since, the police and the military have shown up to patrol the complex most mornings. And so, the basketball players whose games gave the yard outside a semblance of normality, have disappeared from sight.
The COVID-19 crisis is an opportunity for shows of strength on the part of the state, but it also lays bare its weaknesses.
Authorities in Kazakhstan's capital Nur-Sultan boasted that their network of Chinese-manufactured smart road cameras would be training their gaze on drivers to ensure they were not breaking quarantine.
And yet the government has been unable to prevent high infection rates among medics on the front lines — medics, in fact, make up nearly 30 per cent of the country's roughly 2,300 cases of COVID-19.
Personal protective equipment is, in many cases, scarce. So when Almaty's chief epidemiologist blamed medics for infecting themselves, doctors and nurses rebelled, threatening to sue her. They received plenty of public support. On April 18, she resigned from her post.
President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, whose government faces the additional curveball of the near-total collapse in oil prices, has since acknowledged that many hospital staff have been poorly looked after.
Disinfection looks like another muscle-flexing exercise.
Men in masks and overalls arrive twice a week at residential blocs, announcing their arrival with loudspeakers and disinfecting everything in sight. Many of the spaces they are disinfecting — playgrounds, parks, pedestrian spaces — have seen little or no use at all since the quarantine has been in force. But the exercise is not useless. Residents are warned it is unsafe for them to go outside for up to five hours after the spaces are disinfected: #StayAtHome.
Pigeons don't get the same courtesies. Around the beginning of quarantine, social media rippled with shocking images of the creatures lying dead in a popular park. The Ministry of Ecology surmised tentatively that they were poisoned, and pledged to follow up. It still hasn't, but the sense of mystery has faded. Those 30 pigeons were disinfected to death.

author: Chris Rickleton


text:
Pre-Hispanic inspiration, struggle, and satire: The art of Mexico’s Manuel Ruelas · Global Voices
Alejandro Barreto

“Mick and tecutli”. Woodcut 2017, photo used with artist's permission.
Manuel Ruelas is an artist and painter from Jalisco, western Mexico, better known as Fases, whose work lies at the intersection between consumerism, migration, and territoriality. His art, which displays satire and reflection, is also a mixture of pre-Hispanic art and everyday pop culture. Ruelas attended national and international events, such as the 6th International Szeklerland Engraving Biennial 2020 and the Second Edition of “Lumen Art Biennial” in Mexico.
His work is influenced by the TGP “Taller de Gráfica Popular” (“People's Graphic Workshop”), which is a landmark in Mexican contemporary art. This workshop has been a school for many engraving artists such as Leopoldo Méndez, Pablo O'Higgins, and Luis Arenal Bastar, and denounced class struggle through the use of Mexican symbols and popular elements.
Ruelas also alludes to the aesthetics of Chicano art, which is characterized by the use of religious, political, and indigenous symbols, and reflects social and identity issues in a Mexican-American context. Ruelas also acknowledges the stylistic influence of German Expressionism in his work.
Currently, he paints and makes prints within his Barranca Gráfica Workshop-Gallery, which currently has two offices and an art gallery. The office in Mexico is located in the Condesa neighborhood, one of the most relevant cultural places in Mexico City; the office in the USA is in Oakland, California, where he currently lives. He manages both spaces.
About a year ago, I had the opportunity to work in this Barranca Gráfica workshop in Mexico and to meet him. The following interview unfolds my recent talk with Manuel Ruelas about what influences his work and artistic vision.
“Misfortunes of faith.” Engraving on relief, 50 x 70 cm, 2019, photo used with artist's permission.
Alejandro Barreto: Your work is full of satire. What is Manuel Ruelas’ criticism directed against?
MR: El sentido del humor y la sátira es algo inherente en la cultura mexicana, crecemos, vivimos, y morimos con él, el humor ha servido de vehículo para atacar y sobrellevar las miserias y dolencias del país. En mi caso, este se dio de manera natural y casual, me dio la posibilidad de mantener una postura crítica y política ante los acontecimientos históricos. El contexto social, la mezcla de pobreza, violencia y corrupción se convierten en una realidad en México, una defensa constante en una ciudad que termina por volver rudos a sus ciudadanos. En México hay culto a las luchas y a la  rivalidad de todo tipo, la industria del deporte, la política, la religión y la televisión. Trato de captar un fenómeno del cual somos parte; el infortunio en la sociedad, que va desde enfermarse, o volverse más pobre, violento o corrupto dentro de ella, por ende, el límite del infortunio es la muerte, por eso siempre es recurrente este concepto en mi trabajo.
The sense of humor and satire is something inherent in Mexican culture, we grow, we live, and we die with it; humor has served as a vehicle to fight and cope with the hardships and ailments of this country. In my case, this happened in a natural and casual way, it gave me the possibility of maintaining a critical and political position regarding historical events. The social context, the mixture of poverty, violence, and corruption has become a reality in Mexico, [it is] a constant defense in a city that ends up making its citizens rough. In Mexico there is a cult of fighting and rivalry of all kinds, in the sports industry, politics, religion, and television. I try to capture a phenomenon of which we are a part: the misfortune in society, which ranges from getting sick, or becoming poorer, violent, or corrupt. And the ultimate misfortune is death, that is why this is a recurring concept in my work.
“Codex”. Woodcut 2019, photo used with artist's permission.
AB: In your opinion, what place does street art occupy in today's world society?
MR: Democratizó los escaparates, cualquier artista o persona que quisiera decir o pintar algo puede hacerlo, llevó el mensaje a públicos que quizá nunca habían ido a un museo o galería. El gran problema para mí en la actualidad, es que ahora los grandes capitales se dieron cuenta de ello y lo ha convertido en un producto comercial y elitista, un recuso  para la gentrificación, lo cual lo vuelve estéril y meramente decorativo, un fondo ideal para “selfies” y publicidad a gran escala. Aún así, hay grandes artistas de él, firmes y congruentes con su postura.
MR: [Street art] made the showcases more democratic, any artist or person who wants to say something or paint can do it, and in this way they took their message to audiences that perhaps had never been to a museum or to a gallery. The main issue for me today is that the big capital cities realized this and have turned it into a commercial and elitist product, a resource for gentrification, which makes it sterile and merely decorative, an ideal background for ‘selfies’, and large-scale advertising. There are still great artists who stand firm and consistent in their conception of art.
AB: Currently you live in the United States. Has this changed your perception of Mexican-American culture compared to when you lived in Mexico?
MR: El punto de partida y la conexión con la cultura méxico-americana para mí fue el concepto de Nepantla, una palabra indígena náhuatl muy importante para nosotros los mexicanos que significa “en el medio” “entremedio”, entonces, la experiencia de vivir en Estados Unidos, me ha llevado indagar por los caminos de la añoranza; la propia y la colectiva desde “en medio”, ese concepto está muy presente en mi trabajo. Al mismo tiempo voy recolectando historias sobre segregación, xenofobia y racismo, pero también de la superación personal, organización, colectividad y lucha.
MR: For me, the starting point and the connection with the Mexican-American culture was the concept of Nepantla, a very important Nahuatl indigenous word for us Mexicans, that means “in the middle”, “in between”. The experience of living in the United States has taken me to investigate the paths of longing, my own and the collective “in the middle”, so this concept is very present in my work. At the same time, I am collecting stories about segregation, xenophobia, and racism, but also about overcoming, organization, community and struggle.
“Smoking Black Mirror”. Linoengraving, 15 x 20cm, photo used with artist's permission.
AB: There are many references to pop culture and territorial discourse in your works. How do these two concepts work for you as an artist?
MR: Funcionan partiendo del mito antiguo de la migración de Aztlán de los “Mexicas” o “Aztecas” [hacia donde queda la Ciudad de México hoy], la migración y la construcción de la identidad-territorio. La gente de Aztlán, los Aztecas, tuvo que abandonar su hogar en busca de la tierra prometida por los dioses. Por órdenes del dios de la guerra y el sol, Huitzilopochtli,  iniciaron una peregrinación hasta encontrar un águila devorando a una serpiente, posada sobre un nopal para fundar México-Tenochtitlán, [la actual Ciudad de México]. Esto para mí, es un valor cultural transfronterizo y de migración, con el que quise construir puentes entre lo propio y lo ajeno, la mezcla de la iconografía de los signos aztecas pero idealizados por la cultura de barrio o popular y reinterpretada a la luz de la nueva cultura de consumo de masas. Los elementos consumistas populares y los de culto en el imperio Azteca. Nombres, personajes comunes y marcas presentes en nuestra cultura colectiva. Estos ejercicios de apropiación y e hibridación me han hecho buscar nuevos significados a los iconos, reformulando sus narrativas y dándole nuevas maneras de representación.
MR: They are based on the ancient myth of the Mexicas or Aztecas migrating from Aztlán [to where Mexico City is today], and the construction of identity-territory. The people of  Aztlán, the Aztecs, had to leave their homes in search of the land promised by the gods. By orders of the god of war and sun, Huitzilopochtli, they began a pilgrimage until they encountered an eagle devouring a snake, perched on a prickly pear cactus, and they founded México-Tenochtitlán [present-day Mexico City]. This story for me has a cultural, cross-border, and migration value, with which I wanted to build bridges between the self and the “other,” the mixture of the iconography of Aztec signs, but idealized by local or popular culture, and reinterpreted in light of the new culture of mass consumption. The popular consumerist elements and those that the Aztec empired worshipped. Names, common characters, and brands present in our collective culture. These exercises of appropriation and hybridization have made me search for new meanings of the icons, reformulating their narratives and giving them new ways of representation.
“Duality”. Linoengraving, 15 x 10cm, photo used with artist’ permission.
You can see more of the artist's work on his Instagram account.

source: news-globalvoices

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

author: Alejandro Barreto


text:
Setbacks for freedom of expression as Tunisia fights COVID-19 · Global Voices
Afef Abrougui

As Tunisia fights COVID-19, those who criticize the government's response to the pandemic are facing attempts to silence them.
Pigeons occupy the usually-crowded Bab Bhar square in the capital Tunis, as the country is in general quarantine since 22 March. Photo credit: Lost in Tunis blog [Used with permission].
Two bloggers were arrested earlier this month for accusing local authorities of corruption in relation to the distribution of aid, while a journalist who criticized the health minister faced insults online.
Blogger and local activist Anis Mabrouki was arrested on April 14, 2020, a day after he live-streamed on Facebook a crowd of citizens in Tebourba (30 kilometers west of the capital Tunis), gathered outside the mayor’s closed office to demand financial aid promised to them by the government.
‘’Aid is given to certain people and distributed in questionable ways,’’ Mabrouki commented while live-streaming the video.
After the mayor filed charges against him, he appeared in court on April 15 and was charged with “causing noises and disturbances to the public” and “accusing public officials of crimes related to their jobs without furnishing proof of guilt” under Articles 316 and 128 respectively of the Penal Code, his lawyer told Amnesty International. He remains in prison as he awaits his next hearing, scheduled on April 30.
In Tajerouine, a town in the province of El-Kef governorate (175 kilometers west of Tunis), female activist Hajer Aouadi was jailed for accusing local authorities of corruption in the distribution of semolina in a video posted on Facebook April 12. In the video, she also said that when she went with her uncle to the police complain, they were assaulted and threatened with arrest. Local police arrested them both that same day. They appeared in court the following day and were charged with “insulting a civil servant” under Article 125 of the penal code and “causing noises and disturbances to the public” under Article 316 of the penal code. They each face up to a year in prison and a fine.
‘’Tunisian authorities have long resorted to vague criminal laws to punish and prosecute online commentary but continuing to do so in the time of COVID-19 pandemic is upsetting,’’ Nissaf Slama, a member of Human Rights Watch Tunis office research team, told Global Voices. “Officials should abstain from arresting and prosecuting bloggers and citizens over their peaceful commentary on issues of public interest,” she added.
Slama urged Tunisian lawmakers to “amend laws that criminalize peaceful speech.”
While Tunisia has made commendable progress when it comes to freedom of expression, press and media freedoms since 2011, several laws that contain restrictions to freedom of expression that violate international standards remain on the books.
Article 86 of the Telecommunication Code stipulates that anyone convicted of “harming others or disrupting their lives through public communication networks” may face up to two years in prison. The Penal Code has provisions that criminalize defamation and the spreading of content “liable to cause harm to public order or good morals.”
Journalist and media commentator Khalifa Chouchene was recently subjected to an online campaign of insults after criticizing Minister of Health Abdellatif Mekki.
In a radio show titled “Albilad Alyawm,” on National Radio on April 9, Chouchene criticized government members’ lack of respect for COVID-19 health and safety measures, such as wearing masks and keeping the 1-meter distance in their visits to hospitals and quarantine centers. “They should cry less because coronavirus recognizes neither the tears of ministers nor human feelings, it only recognizes real and practical measures on the ground,” he said. In a press conference held on April 7, the minister of health, Mekki, cried as he urged people to respect the general health quarantine in place in the country since March 22.
After Chouchene ended his commentary, later in the same show hostsd by another journalist, Mekki requested the right to respond. He criticized Chouchene for ‘’taunting’’ him and for “evaluating things he’s not qualified to evaluate.” “You’re not an expert to criticize us,’’ Mekki said, referring to the commentator.
Some of the minister's supporters on social media resorted to attacking the journalist and the media sector in general on Facebook. One wrote that “this media of shame should only be destroyed.’’ Another wrote that he supports the “burning of [media] headquarters and the execution of all those who work in any media outlet that spreads fear or strife, or even questions the efforts of health professionals.”
In a statement published on April 10, the National Syndicate for Tunisian Journalists (SNJT), denounced the online campaign while raising concerns over ”the minister’s rejection of media criticism under the pretext that the country is at war against the coronavirus.’’
وتذكر النقابة الوزير بالدور الأساسي الذي يعلبه الصحفيون في مسار التوعية وإصلاح الخطة الوطنية لمكافحة فيروس عبر نقد النقائص التي تخللت بعض الإجراءات التي تم اتخاذها
The syndicate reminds the minister of the role journalists play in awareness-raising and in reforming the national plan to counter the virus by criticizing the shortcomings that permeated the measures that were adopted.
In an article published on Global Voices on April 24, Tunisian contributor Saoussen Ben Cheikh wrote that the war rhetoric deployed in the fight against the COVID-19 pandemic by politicians and some media in the Middle East and North Africa, ”has sparked hysteria, fear and polarization among citizens.”
She added:
This war narrative has created a climate of a ‘rally around the flag’ effect where people unite behind supposedly strong and decisive leaders.
In this climate, criticism of the government is not tolerated because the country is allegedly “at war.” As a result, journalists and bloggers who question the authorities’ response and measures to the novel coronavirus can face attempts to silence them under the pretext that they lack ”patriotism” or ”expertise,” or, as in the case of Mabrouk and Aouadi, charged with ”causing noises and disturbances to the public.”
‘’Officials and state institutions are not immune from criticism, and especially not so, during a crisis,’’ Slama of Human Rights Watch said.

author: Afef Abrougui


text:
Coronavirus and surveillance technology in India: Public health vs. privacy · Global Voices
Subhashish Panigrahi

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay. Used under a Pixabay License.
Check out Global Voices’ special coverage of the global impact of COVID-19.
Surveillance in India has in recent weeks increased because of new and untested technology in play — all for fighting COVID-19.
The government is currently considering the use of”Aadhaar-integrated cameras”. If implemented, these cameras can capture body temperatures and facial images, and pair those images with the same in the Aadhaar database to help authorities identify potential COVID-19 positive cases, according to a report by Indian news outlet the Outlook.
Use #Aadhaar data for #FacialRecognition with drones. Somebody send this to the supreme court and all the @Product_Nation apologists who said no surveillance can happen with Aadhaar. https://t.co/7xIz0JVG8R
— Srinivas Kodali (@digitaldutta) April 15, 2020
Aadhaar is India's biometrics-based digital identity program that has more than 1.25 billion individual enrollments and is also arguably the world's largest biometric data-collection system.
A former official at the Unique Identification Authority of India (UIDAI) was quoted in the report as saying that the use of personal data stored in the Aadhaar database can be used to quickly identify COVID-19 positive cases. This will help the authorities conduct immediate physical checks. UIDAI is a government entity that manages the Aadhaar program. The Aadhaar database, among many sets of personal data, includes home addresses, phone numbers and details of family members which can be key to identification in this case.
Subhashish Panigrahi of Global Voices reached out to Mishi Choudhary, a rights lawyer and legal director at the Software Freedom Law Center, and Srinivas Kodali, a noted tech and policy researcher, to discuss the use of surveillance technologies in the fight against COVID-19 in India.
Subhashish Panigrahi (SP): How is India doing at the moment when it comes to individual rights, all things considered at the time of the pandemic?
Mishi Choudhary (MC): While we cannot expect the same levels of privacy as in times of peace, we can expect that rules caution is not thrown to the wind and time-limited measures are put in place. Any data collected should be destroyed completely once the pandemic is over and should not be used for any commercial or another purpose unrelated to public health.
What's your take on both the Aarogya Setu app and this emerging update about the Aadhaar-integrated cameras from a legal standpoint?
MC: The liability limitation clause of the Terms of Service limits the government's liability even if inaccurate information is given by the [Aarogya Setu] app or in case of failure to generate true positives. It is pertinent to note that this acquits the government’s liability in case of any harm caused due to incorrect information. Therefore the app’s policies render the app as nothing but another data grabbing exercise.
Moreover, the liability clause also exempts the government from liability in the event of “any unauthorized access to the [user’s] information or modification thereof” (emphasis supplied). This means that there is no liability for the government even if the personal information of users are leaked.
Aarogya Setu is a mobile app launched by the Indian government to track COVID-19 cases. It alerts its users when they are within six feet of a person infected with the coronavirus, provided the latter's infection status is updated on the app.
SP: What are the precautions that authorities can still take to make sure the country fights COVID-19 while still protecting the basic human rights of each citizen?
MC: Data Security can never be compromised. Just because we are all in a hurry does not grant anyone the right to exploit sensitive personal information of citizens for commercial or other benefits. All measures related to the public emergency response to COVID-19 should be temporary in nature and limited in scope and should not become permanent features of governance. There should be use and access restrictions of data. Large swaths of data in untrained hands including the Police is a recipe for disastrous situations.
Will it be feasible to even use the Aadhaar-integrated camera technology in rural India and in small cities while ensuring privacy and security?
Srinivas Kodali (SK): I think there is a lack of infrastructure to monitor people at this scale with cameras, drones or any other means. So this can never be implemented in due time. Even if such a thing was being worked on, it will be against the supreme court's judgement on Aadhaar. It can lead to further litigation and problems that the government or UIDAI will not choose to have.
How much such initiatives or apps like Aarogya Setu comply with the WHO advice? What are the chances of possible data leaks as almost all apps seem to be built in collaboration with “industry volunteers”?
SK: I haven't looked into the WHO advisory, but the other interesting question to ask is whether these apps comply to any standards at all. There is no framework to evaluate these systems. Any frameworks proposed by citizens will be rejected by the associated industry volunteers and the government. The possibility of lack of control over data for an individual exists because there are no rules to protect the individuals. Vague terms and conditions say that the government can share the data with anyone it deems fit.
As facial recognition gains immense popularity across the world as a technology for swift recognition of potential coronavirus positives, India is ready to bet on using its existing infrastructure like Aadhaar. However, there are many obstacles including legal ones. Opinions are divided on the use of Aadhaar data for COVID-19 surveillance purposes and if the Aadhaar Act, 2016 that provides guidance on the use of personal data collected, allows the government to use the data for such purposes or not. Indian supreme court lawyer Sanjay Hegde suggests that such cameras can be used even though there is a breach of privacy while cautioning that “it should not result in warrantless surveillance“. There are also technical challenges. A 2018 article by Indian newspaper the Hindu explained how facial recognition can be a “bad factor” for authentication while frowning on the security issues.
The government authorities are quick to adopt surveillance technologies like Aadhaar-integrated camera or apps like Aarogya Setu or even use of drones for surveillance, and there are private initiatives like tracking app and thermal app, telemedicine, and frugal and swift manufacturing of personal protective equipment (PPE). Only careful testing of prototype cameras will tell about the efficacy and potential privacy risks of combining the use of Aadhaar and temperature-tracking and facial recognition cameras to track potential COVID-19 patients.

author: Subhashish Panigrahi


text:
In Mexico, relief program ‘insufficient’ to keep 30 million informal workers at home · Global Voices
Anette Eklund

Bubble Vendor. Photo by albertozero_7/Pixabay. Licensed by Pixabay.
With over 30 million informal workers, social isolation in Mexico is unrealizable for many. While the government has taken relief measures, many see them as being “insufficient,” and have highlighted the fact that quarantine is a “class privilege.”
En México, ponerse en cuarentena, hacer "home office", lavarse las manos constantemente es un privilegio de clase.
En nuestro País, más de 30 millones de mexicanos viven al día. Entonces, no se puede detener la economía porque si no trabajan, no comen.
— Ladxidua (@ladxidua2345) March 27, 2020
In Mexico, to quarantine, to have a “home office,” to constantly wash your hands, is a class privilege. In our country, more than 30 million Mexicans live from day to day. So, you can't stop the economy because if they don't work, they don't eat.
On March 31, partial and voluntary mitigation measures were announced in response to the pandemic. At the time of this report, there have been 15,529 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in Mexico, with 1,434 deaths and 9,086 recoveries.
Non-essential activities have been suspended in compliance with health measures. Some of these measures include not congregating in groups of more than 50 people, washing hands regularly, and greeting one another without physical contact. There has also been an official campaign encouraging social distancing, which has been popularized with the hashtag #QuédateEnCasa (#StayHome, in English).
In Mexico, according to official data published in 2019 by the National Institute of Statistics and Geography (INEGI), 30.8 million people work in the informal sector and 15 million of these individuals work without being constituted as a company. That is to say, they work in the informal sector with resources that come from their homes. Among these groups are domestic workers, rural workers, private teachers, micro-entrepreneurs, street vendors, and traders.
According to a 2014 report by the International Labor Organization (ILO), almost 60 percent of Mexican workers have informal jobs. For those who work in the informal sector, the general recommendation to “stay home” is either difficult or impossible.
Even if someone in the informal sector continues to work during the pandemic, it is likely that their salary is not enough to cover basic living expenses. According to data shared by Rogelio Gómez Hermosillo, coordinator of Citizen Action Against Poverty, 25 percent of workers hired by a company don't have an employment contract.
“Street Vendor.” Photo from iber34/Pixabay. Licensed by Pixabay.
Street vendors in Mexico who sell tacos, clothing or juice say riot police have been evacuating workers from their stalls. Vendors Nora and Venancia told Deutsche Welle (DW) in early April that “the riot police are at the end of the block (…) and when they come, we pack up and try to hide.”
In a recent report, Roger Gomis, an economist with the ILO, stated that “it is very important to make specific programs for these workers, in particular by making cash transfers to compensate for lost income, but also to ensure the provision of essential goods.”
After weeks of uncertainty, on April 6 the Mexican federal government announced an economic recovery plan. It will allocate 25,000 pesos (a little over US$1,000), in the form of loans, to one million small and medium-sized businesses in the formal and informal sectors.
President Andres Manuel Lopez Obrador said the government will “seek a simple and rapid mechanism for delivering the resources” via banks by early May, and that the only guarantee for the loans is “the word [of the government].” After three months with the first loan, one million family businesses would receive 850 pesos, equivalent to 35 US dollars each month, for three years.
While it will help one million small formal and informal businesses, the population that depends on informal work exceeds 30 million.
“Aid recipients will be selected through the Mexican government's census of five million applicants,” according to Infobae, and “the small businessmen who are authorized will receive a phone call” to go to a bank branch.
Before the economic plan became official, DW reported that government initiatives could be difficult to access for many workers in the informal sector. The economic plan was criticized as being, in the view of several business unions, “insufficient.”
On April 21, the authorities of Mexico City allowed for an additional, one-time 1,500 pesos ($62) subvention to 4,264 informal workers in Mexico City. However, workers need to prove that they have officially registered as non-employee workers before March 23, 2020, or that they live within Mexico City. But many informal workers commute from the periphery of the capital, thereby failing to prove the residency requirement.
Veronica, who runs a store in Mexico City, told local media Omnia that “according to the government, they are offering support, but they ask for a lot of requirements that no one can meet.”
The government also plans to continue its social welfare programs and the controversial construction of the Mayan Train and other infrastructure to generate employment.
According to another InfoBae report, “an association of 5,000 street vendors in Mexico City's historic center said in late March that it would give 6,000 pesos ($250) to each vendor to encourage them to stay home and criticized the city government for not offering more support.”
For the time being, people in the informal sector are still working. “I can't stop,” Leonardo Meneses Prado, a hamburger vendor on a sidewalk in Mexico City, told the New York Times. “If I don't sell, I don't eat. It's that simple.”

author: Anette Eklund


text:
Japanese superfood can’t combat COVID-19, but may prolong your life · Global Voices
Nevin Thompson

“納豆ごはん” (Natto over rice) by Flickr user Masafumi Iwai, CC BY-NC 2.0
Check out Global Voices’ special coverage of the global impact of COVID-19.
Amidst the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic, a beloved Japanese food has become even more popular. Like toilet paper, hand sanitizer and medical masks, natto, a sticky, stringy and some say even smelly fermented dish made from soybeans that is believed to boost the immune system has disappeared from supermarket shelves in Japan in March and April. Luckily, however, it's possible for anyone to make natto at home.
Natto, sometimes compared with cheese, is a traditional Japanese dish made by fermenting soybeans with a bacillus subtilis culture, or nattokin. Loved for its rich umami flavor, natto is a popular and inexpensive daily staple in many parts of Japan, and is eaten on over rice or toast, in sushi rolls, in spaghetti, or by itself, mixed with hot karashi mustard and citrus ponzu sauce.
In mid-March, Nexer, a consumer research company in Japan, found that nearly 40 percent of Japanese people they surveyed incorporated special foods into their diet in order to “boost their immune systems” (免疫力を高める). While garlic and ginger were popular foods in the survey, fermented foods such as yogurt and natto topped the list.
Also in March, rumors spread on social media that natto prevents COVID-19. These rumors were sparked mainly because, in prefectures traditionally associated with natto, such as Ibaraki and Iwate, COVID-19 infection rates have been relatively low. As shoppers started hoarding natto, Japan's Consumer Affairs Agency issued a bulletin debunking the idea the food could protect against COVID-19.
By late April, there were still shortages of natto in Japan, and the food began to be identified in the media as just one of a variety of quack COVID-19 “cures” that also included “wood creosote” (正露丸, seirogan), black tea, garlic, and cocaine.
However, while natto will definitely not help protect against COVID-19, the fermented “superfood” may actually be connected with increased longevity, according to two recent studies in Japan. In one study, which tracked eating habits and health outcomes of nearly 29,000 people in the city of Takayama between 1992 and 2008, participants who consumed one package of natto at least once a week had a 25 percent lower risk of dying from cardiovascular disease than those who reported rarely eating it.
Sticky, stringy natto, ready to be served. Photo by Nevin Thompson.
Another study of about 90,000 middle-aged and elderly people over 15 years conducted by Japan's National Cancer Center found that intake of fermented soy foods, especially natto, was correlated with — if not directly linked to — a lower risk of death from cardiovascular disease and cancer.
While the connection between natto consumption and increased longevity has not been proven, one theory is that nattokinase, an enzyme found in the sticky strands of natto, has been shown to dissolve blood clots and in turn potentially help mitigate heart disease.
Despite its irresistible umami flavor or reputation as a superfood, some people are put off by natto's distinctive nutty aroma and sticky texture. Natto is generally more popular in Tokyo and other parts of eastern Japan compared to the rest of the country.
Taking a shortcut in the fermentation process and using packaged natto as a starter when making natto at home. Photo by Nevin Thompson.
“I wasn’t keen on natto either, in the beginning,” says journalist, author and photographer John Ashburne, in an interview with Global Voices. “It was when Sasha (a chef and Ashburne's wife) prepared it with a raw quails egg and sliced scallions – both of which served to lessen somewhat the pong – that I began to appreciate it.”
Ashburne, a longtime resident of Kyoto and a self-described mushroom cultivator and forager, is a well-known writer on Japanese food who has written a Lonely Planet guidebook on the subject.
Ashburne also makes his own natto at home.
“Fermentation brings intoxication, joy, and freedom. You can escape the tyranny of the food industry by making your own natto,” says Ashburne. “There’s a sense of creating something special, individual and something almost impossible to replicate exactly twice. Even if I wanted it to be, I don’t think my natto would be exactly the same every time.”
Ashburne says he likes to vary the beans he uses, and his process, sometimes steaming the beans, sometimes boiling them, or sometimes preparing over a slow heat with konbu, often without.
“It’s as if the micro-organisms have a mischievous quality, with microscopic minds of their own. Fermentation on a non-industrial scale strikes me more like alchemy than cookery,” says Ashburne.
Outside of Japan and other countries where natto is also popular, it can be hard to find it in supermarkets. However, with the right ingredients and cooking equipment, natto can be made at home.
Using one low-temperature method, natto can be made in the oven using sterilized glass jars or even plastic containers. The easiest method for making natto is by using an Instant Pot or pressure cooker. A key challenge will be finding natto starter spores, which contain the nattokin necessary for fermentation. One shortcut is to use packaged natto as a starter for a larger batch.

author: Nevin Thompson


text:
Mass animal sacrifice in the name of God stubbornly continues in Nepal · Global Voices
Saprina Panday

Screenshot from Inside a clan's tradition of deity worship and sacrifice,  a video documentary by Saprina Panday. Used with permission.
Note: The author of this story directed and produced the mini-documentary, “Inside a clan's tradition of deity worship and sacrifice”. She is also a member of the Upamanya Gotra (Pandey) clan.
In different regions of Nepal, animal sacrifice is still a thriving part of some religious festivals. While global attention is on the famous Gadhimai festival, many small-scale religious ceremonies also include what activists see as cruel sacrificial practices. Despite continued protests from rights groups and legislation aimed at banning the practice, animal sacrifice is still a deeply entrenched part of the cultural norms of many communities.
The Gadhimai festival, often called the largest mass animal-slaughter on earth, caught the world's attention after international animal rights activists, like Brigitte Bardot, began campaigning against the event in 2009. It is held every 5 years at the Gadhimai Temple of Bariyarpur near the Indian border.
After mounting pressure from both national and international animal rights groups, India's Supreme Court outlawed the transportation of animals across the border to Gadhimai without a license in 2014. Nepal's Supreme Court followed suit by directing the government to come up with a strategic action plan for the phasing out of the practice of animal sacrifice. In 2015, even the Temple Trust of Gadhimai had agreed to ban animal sacrifice.
However, despite the ‘ban’, the Gadhimai festival took place in 2019.
#Nepal temple ban animal sacrifices #Gadhimai festival?
We object to th cruelty with which animals r treated
There is random hacking of animals in open space. Not all animals have their heads chopped off.
The festival management committee cannot stop the animal sacrifices. pic.twitter.com/eNbKhPlrBw
— Gnapika Thapa (@GnapikaT) November 28, 2019
Killing Field#GadhimaiFestival #Gadhimai #Nepal #AnimalRights #animals
Photographs and videos by @fotomanish.
More photos: https://t.co/2YDogjGRnv@SnehaCare @HSIGlobal @NawrcOrg @AnimalNepal @Himal_Khabar pic.twitter.com/mZSpiOHh7f
— Nepali Times (@NepaliTimes) December 4, 2019
The fact that the largest, and the most infamous animal sacrificial ceremony did not lead to an all-out ban suggests that it will be even harder to put an end to the practice at small-scale regularly held events like the Kul Devata Pujas.
Kuladevata refers to a diety that is worshiped by specific clans who follow the Hindu faith. During Kul Devata Pujas, different clans meet up – albeit at different intervals –  to rekindle their sense of community and worship their deity. Animal sacrifice often forms an integral part of that worship and the building of kinship.
“Inside a clan's tradition of deity worship and sacrifice” is an original mini-documentary made in March 2020 which focuses on animal sacrifice in the Upamanyu Gotra (Pandey) clan, a clan that meets once every 12 years in the eastern part of Nepal.
Attended by thousands of people, this year's event led to the killing of over a thousand goats in the belief that doing so would be honoring the wish of the deity and lead to the fulfillment of future wishes. Many members of the community also saw it as a way of uniting ties of kinship.
An interview with festival attendee Surya Bahadur Pandey shows that, despite growing ethical awareness about animal sacrifice, many are still attached to the tradition of bringing goats to slaughter, because of how it provides continuity with the past:
We know this is not right. But this is our upbringing and ancestral tradition. We cannot change this right away, but it will get amended gradually. Everybody wishes for that but you cannot suddenly change your upbringing. And for that reason, this sacrifice is ongoing.
[Warning:] This video contains graphic imagery.
While events in this video are distinct to this particular clan, the beliefs that surround the practice of animal sacrifice are similar to other rituals around the country wherever animal sacrifice is practiced whether that be at another clan's Kul Devata Puja or at the Gadhimai Festival.
But more than ever, many have expressed anger at the cruelty with which animals are treated in sacrificial festivals across the country. Nepali animal activist group, Bloodless Gadhimai, carried out numerous campaigns to try and change public opinion.
There are so many animals, and many are not even beheaded cleanly because the knives are blunted by the mass slaughter. Sometimes they have to hack the animal many times, and the animals take hours to die,” says media personality Saroj Nyaupane.
This same outrage has also led to calls for an end to animal sacrifice during the Dashain festival which is celebrated with prayers and offerings to Durga.
#Dasain animal sacrifices need to end in #Nepal.
In #Kullu #India it is happening switched 2 coconuts
In #Mysore white pumpkins are smashed
— Sujeev Shakya (@sujeevshakya) October 21, 2015
#Dasain is synonymous with goat curry & I am sure few Nepalis will relate to goats as emotional & intelligent beingshttps://t.co/dOVUYHhVnG pic.twitter.com/YTflLyyMh3
— Nepali Times (@NepaliTimes) October 11, 2016
It is promising that this new mindset is changing social norms, and many locals have opted to ‘sacrifice’ coconuts and squash instead of animals.
But clearly animal sacrifice is part of something bigger than simply a practice. It is part of a deeply embedded cultural and traditional norm and holds meaning for many of those who practice it. Trying to ignore that aspect of it, will only serve to perpetuate the status quo and so it is imperative that it be taken in to account when implementing ways to end animal suffering.

author: Saprina Panday


text:
To fight COVID-19 in Myanmar, a call to end the war and internet shutdown in Arakan region · Global Voices
EngageMedia

A geographical overview of towns where the internet has been blocked in northern Arakan. Image from EngageMedia
This edited article by Kyaw Lynn is from EngageMedia, a non-profit media, technology and culture organization. This story is republished on Global Voices as part of a content-sharing agreement.
Check out Global Voices’ special coverage of the global impact of COVID-19.
The internet is a primary source of information on the global COVID-19 pandemic. But Arakan (formally known as Rakhine State) in western Myanmar is now experiencing one of the longest internet shutdowns in the world. Arakan is the second poorest area in Myanmar with a very weak health infrastructure in place. The internet blockage has also caused a lack of information and knowledge concerning COVID-19.
The internet shutdown was first imposed on June 21, 2019, in four townships in northern Arakan. Another five townships, including one in neighboring Chin State followed on February 3, 2020. This means that more than 330 days have passed since the first four areas have been without internet and nearly 100 days for the latter townships.
The government gave different reasons for the shutdown, such as the prevention of hate speech and disinformation, and instability due to conflict in the area. None of these are justifiable.
Although the world is now fighting the COVID-19 pandemic, over one million people in northern Arakan have been neglected by the government. As of April 19, Myanmar recorded 107 confirmed cases and five deaths attributed to the coronavirus. The Myanmar government has not announced any case in Arakan. But this national figure is likely to increase rapidly.
Indeed, Arakan shares a border with Bangladesh, where there are 2,456 positive cases and 91 deaths as of the same date. If the Myanmar authorities do not address the situation, Arakan will remain prone to local transmissions in the border area.
What makes Arakan different is that an armed conflict is still ongoing in the region between the Myanmar Army and the armed group Arakan Army, despite the latter announcing a unilateral ceasefire until the end of April upon recommendations of a global ceasefire by the UN Secretary-General. Some analysts accuse the Myanmar Army of trying to take military advantage in Arakan by conducting offensive military operations, thus causing more innocent civilian deaths. Between the beginning of January and April 15, 2020, the Arakan Information Center reported 377 civilian deaths, injuries, or disappearances. Most of them are women and children.
The conflict has resulted in about 200,000 internally displaced persons (IDP) in the region, most of whom are living in camps without any well-built shelter and well-managed food distribution. The lack of social distancing in the IDP camps, the lack of water availability, and the lack of information on COVID-19 all make it difficult to prevent a coronavirus outbreak in the area.
Unfortunately, what makes people more fearful are military attacks on civilian targets rather than COVID-19. It seems that the Myanmar government and military are more enthusiastic about fighting the Arakan Army rather than COVID-19 in the region. But under this triple challenge of an internet shutdown, a poor situation in IDP camps, and an ongoing armed conflict – the situation in Arakan could get even worse, were COVID-19 to hit it massively in the future.
During the global pandemic, we need to stop the war and internet shutdowns to fight COVID-19 in Arakan.
I am one of those people speaking out, even if I am currently now hiding from police search. On February 23, 2020, in Yangon, I led the Students’ Unions’ protest against the internet shutdown and human rights violations in the conflict-affected areas of Arakan. I could be imprisoned for one month with hard labor if convicted in the trial.
But it is just my case. The more important thing to focus on is to fight against COVID-19. Over one million people in Arakan are vulnerable to the disease if we do not stop the war and internet shutdown.
Thus, let us say: Stop the war and internet shutdown to fight against COVID-19 in Arakan. Your participation is our power. Your concentration is our courage. Your word is our want.

author: EngageMedia


text:
Trinidadian Tony Hall, visionary of ‘play and performance’, leaves behind a precious legacy · Global Voices
Janine Mendes-Franco

A portrait of Trinbagonian playwright, actor and director Tony Hall, by Maria Nunes. Used with permission.
On April 27, 2020, one of the pillars of Trinidad and Tobago's film and theatre community — actor, playwright and director Tony Hall — died suddenly of a heart attack, leaving the heart of a nation in pieces. He was 71 years old.
Hall dedicated his life to the performing arts, writing both stage and screenplays, directing theatrical and film works and often appearing on stage and screen as an actor or interviewer.
After getting his bachelor's degree in drama and education from the University of Alberta in 1973, Hall cut his teeth in community theatre in Canada; he also did work in prisons, where he created workshops for the inmates using role-play as a technique. A lifelong learner who enjoyed the questions just as much as the answers, Hall earned a diploma in film and advanced television production from the Northern Alberta Institute of Technology in 1980.
Both qualifications served him well when he returned home and became an integral part of the pioneering group of television producers that created “Gayelle” [this clip features his brother, Dennis “Sprangalang” Hall], a cultural magazine-type series that began to transform the landscape of regional television in the mid-1980s.
For many years, Hall apprenticed as an actor and director with Nobel laureate Sir Derek Walcott in the seminal Trinidad Theatre Workshop (TTW), where he performed in the world premiere of Walcott's “The Joker of Seville” and “O’ Babylon” (1975-81).
Speaking with me by telephone, Bruce Paddington, one of the founders of Banyan Limited, the video production company through which Hall put his unique artistic stamp on various indigenous soap operas, drama series, and current affairs programmes, recalled that Hall was so deeply involved in the TTW that he was “widely viewed as Walcott's heir apparent”. He described Hall as “an ultimate artist and renaissance man” who would often develop scripts from improvised sessions with other theatre giants like Errol Jones and Eunice Alleyne.
“He loved satire skits and social commentary,” Paddington said. “He was always off the wall, but very authentic — and very socially committed.” He remembers the pairing of Hall and fellow actor Errol Sitahal in the “Gayelle” series as “wonderful”, noting that Hall would usually insist they approach topics from an unexpected angle. “Tony would, therefore, do interviews for events like the Hindu festival of Phagwa,” Paddington explained, while Sitahal, of Indian descent, would host segments on things like the Orisha religion. In Trinidad and Tobago, where the population is almost evenly split between people of African and Indian descent, Hall helped make the country's rich cultural diversity more inclusive, and accessible to everyone.
Niala Maharaj, who co-hosted “Gayelle” with Hall, said on Facebook:
Tony’s pursuit of truth had no room for pettiness, for jostling for stardom, for ethnic competition, pretense and pappyshow. […] Making Gayelle was always a hunt for the unexpected twist that would flip a situation out of the mundane.
A promotional still from Tony Hall's play, “Jean and Dinah”. Photo by Abigail Hadeed, used with permission.
In a career that spanned five decades in various media — in his words, “play and performance in space, street, stage and screen” — nothing Hall ever worked on was short of original ideas. Some of his most recognised pieces of work, staged through his Lordstreet Theatre Company, include the critically acclaimed play “Jean and Dinah” (based on The Mighty Sparrow's famous 1956 calypso of the same name), “The Brand New Lucky Diamond Horseshoe Club” (a musical collaboration with calypsonian David Rudder), and “Miss Miles, Woman of the World”, a play based on the life of Trinidadian political whistleblower Gene Miles. He also co-directed the award-winning BBC/Banyan documentary, “And The Dish Ran Away With The Spoon”.
Film producer Danielle Dieffenthaler, who worked with Hall at Banyan from 1990, remembers him as “the ideas man”. “Tony's brain always worked so much faster than everyone else's,” she told me over the phone. “He was always mulling over some concept or the other.”
Actor Penelope Spencer (left), at work with Tony Hall. Photo by Abigail Hadeed, used with permission.
Hall was passionate about the culture of Trinidad and Tobago and in the 1990s, according to Dieffenthaler, was instrumental in reviving the commemoration of the Canboulay Riots, an event that birthed j'ouvert, the ritual loosely translated as “the opening of the day,” which heralds the official start of Trinidad and Tobago's annual Carnival celebrations. A lecturer at Connecticut's Trinity College at the time, Hall would bring his American students to Trinidad to experience the event first-hand, as he always believed that education and Carnival — the ultimate performance art — were closely interwoven.
Dieffenthaler also remembers, however, the frustration Hall sometimes felt as a member of Trinidad and Tobago's creative industries. Though he had many successes, some of his projects remained in flux waiting for adequate funding.
Trinbagonian playwright, actor and director Tony Hall. Photo by Abigail Hadeed, used with permission.
In a tribute posted on the Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival website, Paddington noted:
Tony played the leading role in the local film, ‘Obeah’ (1987) – initially known as ‘The Haunting of Avril’ – which was directed by Hugh Robertson [the director of the classic Trinidadian feature film, “Bim”]. Unfortunately, the film is still awaiting post-production funds, and it would be a great tribute to Tony if the government or private sector would pay for the completion of this film. […]
Tony always had great plans to complete major film projects such as a film version of his play, ‘Jean and Dinah’, and a major documentary on the life of [Trinidad-born civil rights advocate and Pan-Africanist] Kwame Ture. Unfortunately, he did not receive the support for these and many other worthy cultural projects which he developed.
“Yankees Gone”, the film version of “Jean and Dinah” to which Paddington refers, was particularly close to his heart; he had been working on it with Canadian filmmaker Mary Jane Gomes for more than a decade.
Via WhatsApp, Gomes called the collaboration “the most gratifying working relationship of [her] whole career”. “I learned so much,” she told me. “Tony was a friend and a teacher, a colleague and a comrade, a brother — everything, all rolled into one — and he will always, always be an inspiration”:
He was one of the most creative forces, and so insightful. He'd never compromise for anything he didn't believe in, but he would always embrace the journey to learn. He lived to provoke thought. Tony represented the best of that kind of extempo wordsmithing that Trinidad is famous for; he was a master of it.
In fact, Hall helped establish the Jouvay Popular Theatre Process, a drama workshop approach that draws on a type of improvisation born from this extemporaneous, lyrically improvisational form of calypso, coupled with oral storytelling using traditional Trinidad Carnival characters and regional folklore.
On Facebook, fellow academic Lorna Baez explained:
Tony always emphasized play and performance as tools for self-emancipation and as a life-organizing principle. […] He was inspired by Garveyism in the Grand Caribbean and opening up spaces of self- discovery and introspection.
Actors Michael Cherrie and Penelope Spencer in Tony Hall's Marcus Garvey Popular Theatre Project. Photo by Abigail Hadeed, used with permission.
Hall's inimitable style left its mark on members of the regional and international arts community, many of whom posted their tributes on social media, especially given the fact that current COVID-19 stay-at-home measures will prevent them from gathering to celebrate his life.
Apart from watch-party tributes, there is a plan to have a memorial for Hall via Zoom, where his friends and colleagues can honour his memory through stories and songs.
Baez ended by remembering:
Our resilience, he once said to me, ‘is not in spite of being from the Caribbean but BECAUSE WE ARE from the Caribbean’. I honor his rebellious spirit and mind. ‘Most of us’ he once wrote, ‘have allowed all sorts of schemes to disconnect us, sometimes through no direct fault of our own. We are all born connected. There are many ways and means through play and performance in which we can allow ourselves to realise our connection to the energy of the universe.’ I am grateful to have met someone with such an elevated sense of courage, clarity and artistry. May you Rest In Peace and Power.

author: Janine Mendes-Franco


text:
Women conquer space in Bolivia’s Carnival of Oruro · Global Voices
Fabiola Gutiérrez

Women make traditional Andean dances their own with female-led machas caporales at the Carnival of Oruro 2020. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
See special Global Voices coverage on how women fight gender violence in Latin America.
Before the COVID-19 pandemic forced the world’s countries to shut down, colors exploded in bright arrays and music boomed at Bolivia’s Carnival of Oruro which took place this year on February 17-26.
Musicians danced, and dancers sang, all while sporting sparkly hand-embroidered costumes that glittered under the parade lights and fires.
At 3,735 meters (12,253 feet) above sea level, 35,000 dancers and 5,000 musicians celebrated ancestral folklore on their 4-kilometer (2.48 mile) pilgrimage route in devotion to the Virgen del Socavón. The Carnival of Oruro, which takes place every year in southwestern Bolivia, has been declared a Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO.
Female band members at the 2020 Carnival of Oruro. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
Although the carnival is an arena for celebration, it also highlights the inequalities between men and women. Yet women and non-binary people, long excluded from the carnival, have now claimed a space where they can exercise their right to participate.
In the area of music, the traditional bands festival was led by a woman for the first time this year — 18 years after the band was first created. The director, pianist and soprano Vanina Miranda, along with three other directors, selected, prepared, and directed scores for 23 songs.
Cymbal players perform at the Folkloric Entrance in honor of the Virgen del Socavón in Oruro. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
Less than a decade ago, when women were first allowed to join bands in the Oruro Carnival, a photo was published in the news with the sexist caption: “Beautiful women lend another ‘touch’ to the bands.” A shift occurred with the arrival, in 2017 and 2018, respectively, of the Candelaria Female Instrumental Band and the Santa Cecilia Band, created by and comprised entirely of women.
Women interpret the virtues in the cultural demonstration of the Dance de Diablos using movement, music, and clothing. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
In the area of dance, women also move against the macho beat of gender role assignment. One example is La Diablada (Dance of the Devils) which depicts the struggle between good and evil. Previously, women were only allowed to portray devilish characters, but now play the roles of female angels representing the Seven Virtues and accompanying the Archangel Saint Michael.
Las Machas play characters in traditional Andean Caporal dance groups. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
The Machas, a female-centered version of the Caporales, a traditional Andean dance, are another recent innovation. As Spanish is a grammatically gendered language, it is worth noting the use of the name “Machas” (a feminized take on “Machos”) instead of “Las Caporales,” which indicates a woman must be referred to as masculine in order for her strength to be acknowledged. Another curious absence is that men do not seek to portray the cholitas, a female character in the Caporales dance.
Until the 1970s, the only female character in the Carnival of Oruro was the Virgen del Socavón. Patriarchal conservatism barred biological women from participating, so this female character was portrayed by trans, homosexual, and heterosexual men, as explained by researcher and cultural manager David Aruquipa.
The female characters of the Morenada dance are the China Morena (depicted with or without a mask, and sometimes as an old chola with different skirt lengths and boots), and the Figure, who is often sexualized. Photos by Fabiola Gutierrez.
In the Morenada dance, men used to cross-dress to represent the traditional “China Morena” character. In the 1960s and 70s, the China Morena acquired a more sexualized, transvestite aesthetic: the skirt was shortened, high heels were added to newly platformed boots, and fantasy images were embroidered on the clothing, turning China Morena, as Aruquipa explained,  into “China Morena Mariposa” (mariposa, or “butterfly,” is Spanish slang for gay men).
But in the mid-1970s trans women were banned from participating after a dancer named Barbarella kissed the then-de facto President Hugo Bánzer. After the incident, biological women were admitted.
Figures of the Morenada at the Carnival of Oruro. They come from the China Morena Mariposa character as created by transvestites in the 70s. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
Although carnivals are perceived as outlets for sexual liberation, women must still contend with attempts by others to control their bodies. Now granted permission to dance and make music, they are also not the targets of sexual harassment. This usually takes the form of derogatory prompts like “Move it, move it!,” whistling, and demands for kisses. Women who do not comply are accused of being “bitter.” Male dancers are subjected to this treatment as well, but to a lesser extent and without penalty. Older adults are subjected to shouts of “mother-in-law,” as sexist expectations of women reduce them to bodies that serve either erotic or maternal demands.
Furthermore, sexual harassment reinforces a sexual division of leisure. Where can Bolivian women let off steam outside of caregiving, family, or home, without being threatened with sexual harassment, rape, or femicide? Do such spaces even exist for women?
Chinas Supay (“devil women”) at the 2020 Carnival of Oruro. Photo by Fabiola Gutierrez.
One possible solution comes from another Bolivian carnival rite, the Comadres festival in the city of Tarija in southern Bolivia. This tradition celebrates friendship between women by exchanging baskets filled with food, flowers, and streamers. The festival takes place on the Thursday before the Carnival of Oruro, and women ensure that there is no male interference. This tradition has spread to other Bolivian cities in the form of a bar and party theme, as well as being co-opted by the anarcho-feminist movement Mujeres Creando (“Women Creating”), which started the Comadres Bandidas Party this year.
Together we will continue to devise ways of disobeying patriarchal mandates. With lesser or greater feminist awareness, we will ally ourselves as comadres and transvestite reality. As feminist Emma Goldman said, as though describing the Carnaval of Oruro: “If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution!”

author: Fabiola Gutiérrez


text:
A feeling of hopelessness: Interview with a Uyghur refugee in Turkey · Global Voices
Guest Contributor

Image by Ershat Abdul'ehet representing the Chinese government as a red dragon and a man wearing a traditional Central Asian hat and a blue shirt symbolizing the movement for independent East Turkistan. Used with permission.
The author's identity has been kept anonymous for safety reasons.
Starting in 2017, the Uyghur community living in China has been submitted to increased targeting and indiscriminate imprisonment by the Chinese authorities. This policy of racial and religious profiling has led young Uyghurs, who are able, to leave China and remain in exile mostly in other Muslim countries such as Egypt, Turkey and Malaysia.
The 11 million Uyghurs living in the western province of Xinjiang in China are a Muslim Turkic nation that has been targeted by Beijing more systematically as Chinese leader Xi Jinping took power in 2012. Widely portrayed as ‘motherland separatists’ or simply ‘terrorists’ in mainstream Chinese discourse – including government statements and media – the Uyghurs have been deprived of their most basic human rights, including freedom of religion, of movement, and also of transmitting their native language.
The persecution of Uyghurs has translated into different forms: imprisonment, often with heavy sentences of over 10 years, and more recently, internment in camps in which, according to various testimonies and sources, over 1 million Uyghurs – as well as other Muslim minorities — are being kept. Given the secrecy of the internment camps, that China insists on presenting as ‘vocational training centers, exact numbers are difficult to attain but hundreds and possibly thousands are believed to have died while there. More detailed information is available in the Xinjiang Victims Database.
Global Voices interviewed Ershat Abdul’ehed, a 22-year-old native of Hotan, a city located by the Taklamakan desert in Xinjiang. Ershat is now stranded in Turkey as a refugee, while his father and older brother are in China, having been sentenced to 18 and 10 years respectively. Ershat is unable to return to China as he studied in Egypt, a country Beijing has put on a list of 26 countries deemed “sensitive”, which means any Uyghur lucky enough to have been able to travel, do business or study abroad will interrogated upon return to China and often harassed, sometimes imprisoned or sent to camps.
The interview was conducted over the phone in Uyghur and edited for brevity.
Ershat Abdul'ehed (EA): I just wanted to learn more about my religion, Islam. My plan was to study and then go back home. When I went to Egypt for studies in 2015, there was absolutely nothing illegal about doing such a thing. My father Abdul’ehed Jume, accompanied me to Egypt to get settled, and then returned home to Hotan, in Xinjiang, where he was running a successful business selling car parts. My older brother, Abubekir Abdul’ehed, was also working in the family business. In February 2016, Abubekir came to Egypt to visit me for two weeks.
EA: Both got arrested in early 2017, but we never got any information about the reason for that arrest, so I just have my own theory. The only reason I can think of, is that my father is punished for sending me to study in Egypt. And for my brother – that he went to Egypt to visit me. Plus, the Chinese authorities have targeted many wealthy and successful Uyghurs in recent years, and my father is one of them. All my family knows is that both are held in a prison in Ürümqi [the capital of Xinjiang region]. We have no news about their health status or about their charges, and I am particularly worried about my brother because just a month before his arrest, he went through kidney surgery.
EA: I am completely cut off now. My relatives deleted us from their Wechat accounts [the main social media app in China], and in the current situation I am also worried that they will get some kind of retaliation from the authorities if I try to contact them. In June 2017, I moved with my mother and sister, who had been visiting me, from Egypt to Turkey, This is the only family I am in touch with now.
EA:  Here I am studying sociology, but I find it very hard to perform. Many Uyghur students in Turkey face a similar situation: we are deeply affected by the fact we are being separated from our parents, and are not able to contact them. We are living in a nightmare. We are constantly worried and feel hopelessness. It’s really difficult to focus on our studies in a situation like this. To me, the future looks very dark, and it’s not possible for me to lead a normal life.
Image by Ershat Abdul'ehet representing the celebration of Ramadan in China. Used with permission.
EA: Following the initial shock and despair after learning about the arrests of my father and my brother, I didn’t know what to do. I just hoped that what really had happened wasn’t true. After two years passed without any news from them, I wanted to make a video testimony for them. But my mother stopped me. She was afraid that I would make the situation worse for them. But by 2020, we still had no news, so she agreed to let me do it. I have since posted some videos. Besides I started drawing caricatures as another way to draw attention.
Here is one of Ershat's pleas for the release of his relatives on YouTube:

author: Guest Contributor


text:
COVID-19 diaries from Wuhan: Chinese netizens’ tribute to whistleblower Dr. Ai Fen · Global Voices
Winston Chiu

Dogs strolling in the yard. (Photo credit: Guo Jing. Used with permission.)
The following post is the tenth in a series of diaries written by independent filmmaker and feminist scholar Ai Xiaoming and feminist activist Guo Jing. Both are living in Wuhan at the center of the COVID-19 pandemic. Here are the links to the first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth part of the series.
Check out Global Voices’ special coverage of the global impact of COVID-19.
This installment was written between March 9 and March 10, 2020. The original Chinese diaries are published on Matter News.
昨天接到一个热线的咨询，求助者在北京做教育培训的工作，过年回老家后因为疫情各地都实施了交通管制。2月7日，公司要求大家复工，她就没能回到北京。她有电脑，也可以在家线上办公，但公司部门经理认为她不具备办公条件，没有给她安排工作，而是按照请假处理。
3月6日，部门经理跟她讲：“要么回北京工作，要么离职。”她3月7日就回了北京，结果第二天公司又要求她申请离职。公司其他人暂时没有遇到跟她类似的情况。
有个在旅游行业工作的朋友最近工作也受到了疫情的影响。她的公司1月的工资都没有发，据说要到5、6月再发，2月就没有工资。公司还准备遣散员工，说等疫情过去再召员工回去。
疫情期间，全国一度都处于封锁的状态，湖北之外也有很多员工无法及时回到上班的城市，企业也因为停工而没有盈利。
有住户发了一个图到群里，图里是几种菜拼成的小人，有土豆、胡萝卜、白萝卜、青椒、包菜等，图上写着“解封之后，再也不想吃这几种菜了”。看来任何方面的单调和重复都容易让人厌倦。
我想起曾跟朋友讨论过一个问题“如果以后只能选择吃一种食物，要吃什么”。备受欢迎的是土豆和豆子。我选择的是土豆，土豆容易饱腹，可以有很多做法，也好吃。封城后，我存了一些土豆，不过一直都还有青菜吃，就还没有开始吃土豆。
Yesterday I received a call from the hotline. The call came from an education worker in Beijing who returned home during the Chinese New Year and was restricted by pandemic traffic controls. Her company asked her to resume work on February 7, but she could not make it to Beijing. She has a computer and can work from home. However, the department manager did not approve of remote work and did not assign her work. The days are counted as unpaid leave.
On March 6, the department manager told her, “You either come back to Beijing and work or you quit.” She went back Beijing on March 7, but her company asked her to resign the day after. No other staff member in her company is facing a similar situation.
Recently, a friend who works in the tourism industry has also been affected by the pandemic. Her company did not pay her salary this January and February. The word is that the company will only release salaries in May or June and has plans to cut staff. They will call them back to work after the pandemic ends.
During the pandemic, the whole country was locked down completely. Outside Hubei, many employees also failed to return to the cities where they have jobs. Many businesses could not make any profit due to the market shutdown.
A resident from our district sent a photo to our group. The photo shows a doll composed of vegetables including potatoes, carrots, white turnips, peppers, and cabbages. The message on the photo says, “I don't want to eat these vegetables anymore when the lockdown is over.” People are tired of their repetitive daily routines.
One time I brought up a question to my friends, “If you had to choose only one kind of food for the rest of our lives, what would you choose?” Potatoes and beans turned out to be most popular choice. I chose potatoes. Potatoes can fill up your stomach, they are delicious and can be cooked in different styles. I stored some potatoes, but I have not eaten them yet as green vegetables are still available.
这里，就要说到湖北浠水县洗马镇代收“火神山”医院参建人员隔离费的问题。这个事件由工人晒出镇里的代收单据而起，两天内引起诸多媒体报道，形成一个舆论热点。它也把疫情发生以来一直潜伏着的、令被隔离人员耿耿于怀的隔离费用问题引入了公共讨论。
洗马镇收隔离费这件事，从数额上说起来，真不算多。
先说工资：两位工人参建火神山医院，他们的工资分别是按每日800元和1200元发放，这已经领取到手。
当隔离结束时，镇政府要求工人支付隔离期间酒店住宿和餐饮费用，每人每天150元。那么，隔离14天，每人应交2100元，两人共交4200元。
在迫不得已支付隔离费时，工人这边支付方留下了一句尖锐的批评：非法收取隔离费。
从镇政府的角度来说，他们并未另出新规。收取这笔费用，依据是浠水县政府的通告：“隔离期间所有费用全部自理”
由于舆论高压，结果是洗马镇负责隔离点的副镇长被免职处理。代收费用已于3月7日退还。
从镇政府的角度来说，他们并未另出新规。收取这笔费用，依据是浠水县政府的通告：“隔离期间所有费用全部自理”
由于舆论高压，结果是洗马镇负责隔离点的副镇长被免职处理。代收费用已于3月7日退还。
现在要说的就是，两位工人各自得回了自己的2100元钱。可是，在这场疫情中那么多被隔离、被强制遣返的人，他们额外支付的隔离、遣返成本怎么算？
我想特别强调的是，洗马镇的收费退费事件实际上包含了各地政府从现在到疫情后续必须处理的重大问题，那就是因参与防疫而增加的隔离成本。它究竟应该由个人承担，还是由政府买单？
举例来说，外地来汉支援抗疫的医护人员，回去家乡城市时，按理也要隔离。那么，他们隔离期间的食宿费用，是从个人收入中扣除，还是由国家支付？
对待抗疫人员以及需要隔离的所有人员，都应该免费，以保障隔离效果。并且，应该立即明令禁止，各省市地区以及居民小区巧设名目，以抗疫为名，驱逐从疫区返城返乡人员或者实施惩罚性隔离收费；使他们流离失所，尤其是加重低收入人群负担，令其生活难以维持。
I want to talk about the town government in Ximazhen in Xishui County, Hubei Province billing workers who helped build the field hospital [Huoshenshan Hosptal] for their quarantine stay.
This story started after two workers posted their bills on the internet. After being reported in local media outlets, the issue got a lot of attention over the next two days. It also opened up a public debate about the issue of quarantine fees — a bitter issue for many who have been quarantined.
The amount charged by the Ximazhen town government is not really that expensive.
Let us take a look at their salary first. The daily salary of the two field hospital construction workers was RMB 800 and 1200 yuan respectively (approximately US$ 113 to 170 dollars). After they finished work and the quarantine period, the local government asked them to pay for their accommodation and food during their quarantine. It came to RMB150 yuan (US$ 21 dollars) per day. They were asked to pay RMB 2100 Yuan (US$ 296) for the 14 days of quarantine. Together they paid a total of RMB 4200 Yuan (US$ 593 dollars).
When these workers were forced to pay for their quarantine, they left harsh remarks [for the authorities]: The quarantine bill is illegal.
From the perspective of the town government, they were just following the rules. They charged these people based on the county government's official notice that people should pay for their quarantine. However, in response to the public outrage, the Deputy Mayor of Ximazhen, who was responsible for managing quarantine, was removed from his position. The quarantine fee was returned back to the two workers on March 7.
What I want to say is this — while the two workers got their RMB 2100 yuan back, what about the bills paid by others who were forced to be quarantined or repatriated?
What I want to stress is – now that Ximazhen has returned the quarantine fee, which is the cost of pandemic control. The question follows is whether this pandemic control cost be paid by the quarantined individuals or by the government?  [Note: Currently, individuals are required to pay for their quarantined fee.]
Many medical staff members have come to Wuhan to help and they will be quarantined when they return home. Who should pay for their accommodation and food during quarantine? Should they pay or should the government?
I think those who help fight the pandemic and those who were quarantined should not be charged so that people are willing to be compliant with quarantine measures. In addition, local governments should be prohibited from expelling people who return from the epidemic areas or charge them extra fees for their quarantine. Such punitive measures would force many, in particular the poor, into homelessness. They won't be able sustain themselves.
发口肖子的人ai·芬医生也站了出来，她是把写着“SARS冠状病毒”的报告拍下来发给同学的人。今天人物发了对ai·芬的采访文章，看到的时候我就觉得文章可能会被删，就截了个图。
一开始，最先发布在人物上的文章被删，接着大家开始转发别的媒体转载的文章，很快转载的文章也都被删，就有人把文章做成PDF，供大家在微信里收藏后分享。一整天，朋友圈都被“发哨子的人”这篇文章刷屏。
这种集体默契的反抗不是第一次，也不会是最后一次。大家都知道有时候讲真话是不被允许的，是会受到惩罚的，可是依然有人勇于讲真话，人们也十分珍视讲真话的人，想尽办法传播真话。希望有一天人们不再为讲真话付出代价。
今天阳光灿烂，好像昨天的阴冷一下子就变得有点久远了。小区的院子里又恢复了些许生机。
周先生也下楼遛狗，他的狗叫胖丁…我们又聊到了疫情，周先生说他有几个朋友出去旅游，现在想回却回不来，在外面一天要花掉八九百块的住宿费。他有两个朋友因为感染费盐去世的，一个四十多岁、一个八十多岁，现在都拿不到骨灰。
周先生说：“太突然了，他们得病一两周就死了，比得了癌症死得还快。”他还有个朋友的爸爸是疫情期间因为脑梗去世的，也见不到尸体。
Dr. Ai Fen, the COVID-19 whistleblower, has come forward. She is the person who took a photo of the “SARS coronavirus” test results and sent it to her former classmates. Today when I read Dr. Ai Fen's interview in People Magazine online, I took a screenshot of the the post because I anticipated that it would be deleted later.
After the original article was deleted, people started to share the same article after it was republished in other media outlets. But the republished posts were deleted too. Then people made PDF files of the article, so we can save it on WeChat and share it with friends. This article “The Whistle Distributor” has circulated in my social circle throughout the day.
This is not the first time, and won't be the last time, that we will see this kind of synchronized resistance. We all know that we are not allowed to speak the truth or we will be punished. However, there are still people who are brave enough to speak up, and we value these people and try our best to spread their messages. I hope one day we will not need pay for the price for speaking the truth.
It was a sunny today. The chill from yesterday is gone. Residents went out into the yard.
Mr. Chou also walked his dog downstairs. His dog is called Panding. We talked about the pandemic again. Mr. Chou said some of his friends had traveled out of Wuhan but they could not come back now even if they wanted to. They need to pay RMB 800-900 yuan (US $113 to 127 dollars) for accommodation everyday. Two of his friends passed away after they were infected. One was in thier 40s, and the other was in thier 80s. Their relatives have not gotten their ashes yet.
Mr. Chou said, “It happened too fast. They died just two weeks after they were infected. The process is much faster than cancer.” During the pandemic, one of his friends lost his father to a stroke and he couldn't even say goodbye.

author: Winston Chiu


text:
Fiji general cites need to ‘stifle criticism’ in the fight against the COVID-19 pandemic · Global Voices
Mong Palatino

Fiji police in the capital Suva. Photo by Flickr user Tickler Tin (CC BY-SA 2.0)
Brigadier-General Jone Kalouniwai, the chief of staff of Republic of Fiji Military Forces, wrote that authorities have ‘good reasons to stifle criticism’ as part of the government’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic. This opinion was strongly criticized by press freedom advocates. It also highlighted the appeal of civil society groups to uphold human rights in implementing health-related measures.
On April 22, 2020, Fiji Sun newspaper published an opinion piece by Kalouniwai who argued why it is justified to restrict free speech during a national emergency.
…in times of such national emergency such as this global pandemic or war against COVID-19, our leaders have good reasons to stifle criticism of their policies by curtailing freedom of speech and freedom of the press.
They are apt to have deep concerns about this enemy within, which have been fuelled by irresponsible citizens selfishly breaking mandatory curfews, social distancing requirements and questioning the rationale of our leader’s decision to impose such restrictions.
These reactions when maliciously aired on social media can become very contagious with fear and confusion becoming the order of the day.
Fiji Sun is perceived to be supportive of Prime Minister Frank Bainimarama. When the western city of Lautoka was placed under COVID-19 lockdown in late March, copies of Fiji Sun were allowed to be distributed in the area but not Fiji Times, the country’s independent daily.
A State of Natural Disaster was declared by the government on April 15 to contain the spread of the virus. It was a double disaster for Fiji which was recently heavily affected by Tropical Cyclone Harold, one of the most powerful storms to hit the South Pacific in years.
As of April 27, Fiji recorded 18 COVID-19 cases.
Reporters Without Borders (RSF) reminded Kalouniwai and the Fiji government about the importance of protecting press freedom. Daniel Bastard, the head of RSF’s Asia-Pacific desk, wrote:
No authority, and certainly not a military officer, should be arguing in favour of placing any kind of curb on press freedom
We urge the Fijian government to do what is necessary to guarantee the right of its citizens to inform and be informed, which is an essential ally in combatting the spread of the virus.
State of Fijian democracy.
Military general says COVID-19 is a good reason for political leaders to stifle citizens’ criticism of government policies by curtailing freedom of expression and freedom of the press. In the Fiji Sun today. pic.twitter.com/GdTD8XUaPK
— Kelvin Anthony (@kelvinfiji) April 21, 2020
Kalouniwai’s controversial op-ed also drew attention to the concerns raised by human rights groups about the excesses of the government in dealing with the crisis.
The NGO Coalition for Human Rights appealed for humane treatment of prisoners in light of the numerous arrests made by the police against so-called quarantine violators:
The COVID-19 pandemic is not an excuse for human rights violations. Excessive force and brutality are unacceptable from any of our enforcement or security forces.
This situation is extremely worrying, especially at a time when hundreds of people are arrested daily over COVID-19 precaution breaches. Their rights and dignity should be protected at all times, even if they are detained.
It also criticised the excessive deployment of military personnel to enforce COVID-19 measures:
The deliberate display of armed military personnel to maintain social distancing is heavy handed and unnecessary, as it only fuels public fear and intimidation.
We understand that law enforcement personnel may struggle to get citizens to observe restrictions and social distancing, however, it should not be used as an excuse to increase armed military presence on our streets, which is unacceptable as we are still a democracy.
There are laws in place that address any breaches of restrictions but also guarantee that citizens’ rights are protected whilst ensuring that public order is maintained.
Opposition parties urged the government to listen and accept criticism:
If the government is sincere about the “veilomani” tag-line, or to care for each other in order to beat covid-19, central to that traditional philosophy is also the spirit of “veirogorogoci”, or the ability to be able to listen to each other and accept criticism.

author: Mong Palatino


text:
‘Language revolt’: This activist tweets against erasure of first languages in South Africa · Global Voices
Denver Toroxa Breda

A woman from the Ndebele group in South Africa. Many indigenous groups and languages in South Africa lack representation online. Image by UN Photo/P Mugabane, January 1, 1988. (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
Khoekhoe and Ncuuki (or N|uu) languages that have seen more sunrises and sunsets than most South African languages.
Khoekhoe can be heard across  South Africa in three everyday words, dagga (“cannabis”), nai (“pan flute”) and kak (slang for “feces” or “rubbish”). The influence of place-names, such as karoo (“dry place”) is also a reminder of the language’s history in the country.
The history of Khoekhoe, once spoken by many Khoekhoe groups for thousands of years, is now only spoken by a few in the Northern Cape. The only surviving speakers of Ncuuki are well advanced in age, with the language nearing extinction.
South Africa has eleven official languages: nine are Bantu languages and two — Afrikaans and English — are foreign languages.
Bantu languages are a sub-branch of the Niger-Congo languages. Khoekhoe, a non-Bantu language, is spoken nearly exclusively in Namibia.
Khoekhoe is not an official language in South Africa. It is neither recognized as a first language, or mother tongue, nor taught in South African schools, making it even more difficult to reverse the trend of language loss.
This invisibility in the South African national narrative can also be seen by the language’s absence on the internet. From personal experience, I have seen the uphill battle to exercise citizens’ right to free expression in their native languages both online and offline, but a battle I have yet to give up.
Kakapusa (“erasure,” “amnesia” or “forgetting”) is one of my most used words, that really encapsulates the kuru (“work”) that I do as an advocate for the officialization of Khoekhoe and N|uu, two of southern African’s first languages.
I am not hoaragase (“complete”) until I take full possession of my heritage. Sadly, though being Khoekhoe, I am forced to think in and speak the language of tsu-khoen (“oppressors”) who dehumanised my people.
Africa is my home, but I cannot commune with my ancestors. How can I ever know vkhîb (“peace”) when foreign words echo within my soul? The vuru (“healing”) of my being will only start with the kawakawas (“restoration”) of my nam (“mother tongue”).
Kakapusa defines South Africa's post-Apartheid era. A postcolonial narrative predicated on the deliberate, institutionalised and normalised erasure of its first people of this country.
The injustice of the legacy of colonial rule and apartheid on South Africans is excruciatingly terrible. However, the impact on South Africa's first people is more brutal since it resulted in the systematic loss of first languages.
Unfortunately, the injustice continues to date, in post-apartheid South Africa, where major actors — governmental and nongovernmental — all pay lip service to the restoration and preservation of first languages like Khoekhoe and Nccuki.
Last year, President Cyril Ramaphosa of the Republic of South Africa made kaise isa (“beautiful promises”) to Auma Katriena Esau, one of the last remaining speakers of Ncuuki, that he would do everything in his power to see that no language dies. Yet very little progress has been made after that announcement. The trap between intention and performance by state actors in regard to language issues persists, asserts linguist scholar Anne-Marie Beukes.
And yet, we, the owners of what is certainly one of Africa’s greatest linguistic treasures, have been subjected to linguistic imperialism, ostracisation and the dehumanisation of our mother tongue. We have been belittled, disconnected from the Republic of South Africa and the African continent.
It has been a battle against perpetual exclusion, demanding visibility in a space, in a country comforted by the silence of our voices.
From April 20 to 24, Denver Toroxa Breda (@ToroxaD) will be tweeting on #IdentityMatrix – a social media conversation on identity, language and digital rights – from this handle.
Breda, a Khoe languages and cultural Kuwiri (activist), is from South Africa. pic.twitter.com/9UTpKJrBR3
— GV SSAfrica (@gvssafrica) April 19, 2020
Some might not consider using one's own language on the internet to be a digital right. However, increasingly it is becoming recognized as a fundamental right in many circles.
The African Declaration on Internet Rights and Freedoms states that:
Individuals and communities have the right to use their own language or any language of their choice to create, share and disseminate information and knowledge through the Internet. Linguistic and cultural diversity enriches the development of society. Africa’s linguistic and cultural diversity, including the presence of all African and minority languages, should be protected, respected and promoted on the Internet.
I have been an active voice on social media calling on public and private institutions to take this important issue seriously in both offline and online spaces.
From my own Twitter handle (@ToroxaD), I have been able to critically challenge these institutions that I feel are guilty of perpetuating such exclusion. It is often easy, convenient, to ignore me — one of the very few voices that oppose this linguistic and cultural inequity and injustice.
Universities also perpetuate exclusion — for the past 26 years, they have done little or nothing to u-khai (“uplift”) first languages in South Africa. I challenged companies like Macmillan publishers who hold the copyright for first language materials but seemed very reluctant to democratise our content by making them freely available, and thus encourage further language learning.
And yet I also knew that the past week offered an opportunity for engagement with institutions that would otherwise ignore me. I was as intentional in exploiting this opportunity as they were to erase us.
The South Africa Book Development Association organises the National Book Week, an annual event that promotes languages and the development of books. For almost a year, I have engaged them on Twitter and emailed them, all to no avail. I also noticed that Book Week was featuring online reading sessions in Abantu languages, sign languages and English but not a single first nation language like Khoekhoe.
But tweeting from my gobab khais (“language revolt”) platform, I made sure to tell them how I felt. They finally responded:
We are also currently busy developing a Children's Literature Project that will include at least one of the languages. We are only in the 4th week of Online Storytelling and have expanded the languages included with each week and will continue to do so. (2/3)
— NationalBookWeek (@NBW_SA) April 23, 2020
Obviously, I was shocked because, for the last two years, they behaved like a rock and resisted any attempts to move Khoekhoe. And here they were, responding and talking about a Khoekhoe language program they ran, a future children’s project and the possibility of including Khoekhoe in future digital storytelling sessions, which was what I really wanted. An email was sent and I am hopeful.
Another example was when I contacted a developer to include the first Khoekhoe language app on the Google app store:
I remember searching on the Google app store seeing all these Language apps and seeing NO KHOEKHOE language apps. I emailed a few of the developers and Shotgun experiments responded and created the FIRST KHOEKHOE language apps ever. pic.twitter.com/7OUsDhwH3T
— GV SSAfrica (@gvssafrica) April 24, 2020
In effect, this week gave me an opportunity to reflect. It was also a reminder of the importance of gobab udawa (“language reclamation”) work in a digital space.
I remember speaking to my community about my tweets and some really appreciated that our voice was amplified internationally. It is quite a challenge for a first nation like the Khoekhoe community with 366 years of intellectual, cultural and linguistic colonisation to realise that to qnora (“liberate”) our tongues is valid work.
At times, it’s easy to only look at this work from within your community. The past week pushed me to look at this work through a uniquely African lens. This helped me recognise that the Khoekhoe language is not just for the Khoekhoe community alone.
This language gave the world mama (ma in Khoekhoe means to “give”) and the word haka (a dance). Hence, the udawa (“reclamation”) of Khoekhoe is equally important for our continent— it's a language rich with such historical origins and narratives of Africa that should never be allowed to fade into extinction.
Africa will voaga (“rise”) when her languages rise and much more when her Xgusi gobab (“mother language”) voaga.

author: Denver Toroxa Breda


text:
Will the Lesser Antillean iguana be saved from extinction? · Global Voices
Guest Contributor

Lesser Antillean iguana (Iguana delicatissima) in a tree in Coulibistrie, Dominica. Image by Postdlf, CC BY-SA.
Often portrayed in action and adventure movies as either a giant, human-eating lizard or a harmless pet, the iguana is a reptile native to South and Central America.
In the Lesser Antilles in particular, two species have been observed over the last few decades: the common green iguana (Iguana iguana) which is largely spread throughout the region, and the Lesser Antillean iguana (Iguana delicatissima), endemic to Anguilla, Dominica, Guadeloupe, Martinique, Saint Barthélemy and Sint Eustatius.
Classified as a critically endangered (CR) species in the Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) red list since 2009, the Iguana delicatissima is threatened with extinction, despite initiatives being taken by regional governments and organisations — but is it already too late?
The first iguanas appeared in the Antilles more than 7,000 years ago, when the region was still uninhabited. These reptiles were so common in the archipelago — especially in Saint Lucia — that the indigenous Kalinago named the island Iouanalao, meaning “There where the Iguana is found”.
During the colonial era, these reptiles were chased and eaten by both the Kalinago and the French, who considered them a good source of protein.
Only 13,000 to 20,000 adult iguana still live in the Lesser Antilles, according to the IUCN. The majority of these — 10,000 to 15,000 — is located in Dominica.
Buffering Dominica are the islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique, two French overseas departments that are also home to a significant population of Lesser Antillean iguanas.
Guadeloupe counted 4,000 to 6,000 iguanas on its Petite-Terre islets between 1992 and 1993, and identified nearly 400 adults in the commune of La Désirade. In Martinique, 800 to 1,000 individuals were observed on the Chancel islet in 2013.
In Anguilla, this number rose to 300 in 1998, whereas in Sint Eustatius, the iguana population was somewhere between 275 and 650 in 2004. Last but not least, 300 to 500 adults may live in Saint Barthélemy.
In contrast, the Lesser Antillean iguana is believed to be extinct on the islands of Bonaire, Saba and Saint Martin. It has also completely disappeared on the archipelagos of Antigua and Barbuda and Saint Kitts and Nevis.
The decline of this species, whose life expectancy can at least reach 15 years, could be linked to two interconnected phenomena: competition and hybridisation. The first occurs when individuals (of the same or different species) are competing over a resource in order to survive and reproduce. The second happens when two similar species give birth to a hybrid offspring.
The incidence of the latter is increased by the resulting environmental impacts of intensive farming and urban inrush. Confronted with the deterioration of the vegetation and reduction of their natural habitats, the iguanas are compelled to live together in smaller spaces.
As a consequence, they tend to mate regardless of their species. The common green iguana, therefore, threatens the existence of the Lesser Antillean iguana because of this crossbreeding, as their hybrid offspring contribute to a reduction in the “pure” Lesser Antillean iguana population.
Moreover, quite apart from having to cope with natural predators, among which are dogs and cats, the Lesser Antillean iguanas are vulnerable to road accidents and hunting.
Since the 1970s, governments around the world began to take measures to protect biodiversity. On March 3, 1973, 80 countries adopted the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES). This binding agreement, signed in Washington, DC, regulates the trade of 30,000 species of plants and 5,800 species of animals, including iguanas.
A decade later, on March 23, 1983, 25 Caribbean states signed the Cartagena Convention for the Protection and Development of the Marine Environment of the Wider Caribbean Region, which grants protection to the Iguana delicatissima. This Specially Protected Areas and Wildlife (SPAW) protocol was signed on January 18, 1990, in Kingston, Jamaica. Both SPAW and CITES were ratified by Dominica, France, the United Kingdom and the Netherlands.
Some countries went further and added the conservation of the species into their own legislation. In 1989, for instance, a French ministerial order made it illegal to hunt, import or trade the Lesser Antillean iguana in Guadeloupe and Martinique. In Guadeloupe, the order initially protected the common green iguana as well, until it was withdrawn from the list of the protected species by an order published on February 10, 2014.
On October 21 and 22, 2009, Dominica hosted a workshop on the conservation of the Lesser Antillean iguana. It served as a basis for the IUCN’s Conservation Action Plan, a document created to ensure the long-term survival of the species in the region.
Similarly, the French Ministry of Ecology launched two national action plans, covering the periods 2011-2015 and 2018-2022. The current plan aims to protect the Lesser Antillean iguana by countering the proliferation of the green iguana.
In Dominica and the French Caribbean, citizens are committed to conserving the Lesser Antillean iguana by halting the spread of the common green iguana.
The nonprofit organisation WildDominique, for instance, surveys and captures green iguanas, while educating Dominicans about the importance of conserving the Lesser Antillean iguana. Likewise, the volunteers of the Guadeloupe-based environmental organisation TITÈ (Organisation for the Management of the Natural Areas of La Désirade) carry out catching operations, especially on the island of La Désirade and on the Petite-Terre islets. The success of these exercises is partly dependent on citizen engagement, as people are encouraged to call in whenever they sight a green iguana.
Still, much remains to be done. In Martinique, for example, the Lesser Antillean iguana is still classified as a critically endangered species — the antepenultimate threat level before complete extinction — according to the IUCN's latest red list of threatened species in France, published on April 22, 2020.
Only time will tell if the Lesser Antillean iguana will survive or disappear. Yet, the announcement of the discovery of a new species of black endemic iguana (Iguana melanoderma) on the islands of Montserrat and Saba on April 14, 2020, shows the unpredictability of nature.
Nevertheless, many feel that these hopeful signs must not relax conservation efforts.