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Could Miami show Trinidad and Tobago how to safely pull off Carnival in a pandemic? · Global Voices
Janine Mendes-Franco

Miami Broward Carnival 2014. Photo by Kwan Wallace on Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0.
Miami Carnival, a popular community event that is primarily fashioned after Trinidad and Tobago's annual Carnival celebrations, took place during the week of October 2-10. Many Trinbagonian performers, promoters, musicians and masqueraders travelled to Florida for the event, which was attended by thousands of Carnival enthusiasts, leaving local social media users expressing concerns about what their re-entry into the country could potentially mean for the battle against COVID-19.
Trinidad and Tobago has had some of the strictest health regulations in the Caribbean region since the start of the pandemic, with mandatory mask-wearing, social distancing and public gathering protocols being legislated early on. In addition, the country's borders remained closed to non-nationals for more than a year, and the last major lockdown, which was instituted in May 2021, brought with it the closure of beaches and non-essential businesses, as well as the cessation of outdoor exercise.
As at the time of publishing, beach access and group outdoor sports are still prohibited, with many netizens advocating for an easing up of restrictions—especially because the number of new cases has remained fairly steady, hovering around 250 per day despite the May stay-at-home orders. With the pending return of Miami Carnival revellers to Trinidad and Tobago's shores, some social media users are nervous about the potential further spread of the virus, especially given that Chief Medical Officer Roshan Parasram confirmed on September 27 that the more contagious Delta variant is now at the stage of community spread.
In a public post, Facebook user Camille Selvon Abrahams was one of several Trinidadians who expressed concern:
Could be my age but I have serious anxiety about Miami Carnival. Hope I am wrong.
Responses to her post were mixed, with some agreeing and others maintaining that COVID-19 is something we all have to learn to live with. Madienne Mahon, for instance, felt that Selvon Abrahams was being sensible, saying, “The price to be paid will not be worth that jam and wine!” Shawn Mc Neil countered:
We can't stay locked up forever. Football stadiums in England more packed than those Miami events.
Selvon Abrahams, however, responded:
I understand that but uk is 63% vacinated we are 32% that is real numbers.
While Mc Neil's point that “lockdowns are temporary fixes not the solution” may be sound, the fact remains that in a vaccine-hesitant region like the Caribbean, where many regional health systems will not be able to withstand an increased demand on its services, and citizens have been feeling the mental, physical and economic effects of lockdowns for some time now, events like Miami Carnival present an unwelcome complication.
Nicole Darmanie put it this way:
Highly vaccinated countries such as the UK that are pretty much back to normal, but they have the capacity within their health care system to treat with the rising numbers that will come with fully open economies. My question is, can we compare in that way? We are way less vaccinated and our resources are much less. What will be our outcome? It's a hard time to govern!
Several commenters, including Joan Hintzen, noted that proof of being COVID-19 negative was required to participate in the festivities:
My understanding is that anyone who participated in the carnival events had to present a negative PCR test result. There were free testing stations, temperature checks. They followed strict protocols to provide a safe as possible environment for all entering the Fairgrounds for both J’ouvert and the parade. I know that at least one fete required PCR negative test. I’m hoping that most people attending were vaccinated. My friends who participated are all fully vaccinated. Hoping that it wasn’t a super spreader.
Indeed, the event's website specified that under the theme “No mask, no mas”, the Miami-Broward One Carnival Host Committee emphasised its commitment to making all interaction safe, given the situation with the COVID-19 pandemic:
Covid 19, along with the Delta variant, has changed the landscape of our world, so we must change with it. [We are] committed to our patrons’ safety [and] will incorporate and go beyond the CDC’s minimum requirements.
A follow-up post on its Facebook page confirmed:
All patrons are required to have a mask on during the event at all times. Failure to comply will result in removal. Let's have a safe Miami Carnival 2021!
Trinidadian music manager Lorraine O'Connor, who was in Miami for the event and spoke with Global Voices via WhatsApp voice call, saw no cause for worry as there was mandatory testing for everyone involved in the event:
First off, to even travel to the United States, you have to produce a negative PCR test. To get into all the major Carnival events, like the parade and J'ouvert, you must produce a negative COVID-19 test or you won't be admitted. While masqueraders would have done their test beforehand—they couldn't even collect their costumes without that proof of negative COVID status—there were also testing stations set up outside these event locations and it was a very simple process involving an app and health care professionals on hand to administer the test. I was tested outside the J'ouvert event and the whole process took about 20 minutes to half an hour, so everyone that would have been let into these arenas was negative.
While she admitted that “nothing is infallible,” O'Connor does not think Miami Carnival will turn out to be a super spreader event, explaining, “Even if someone contracted the virus, they have to produce a negative PCR test for re-entry into Trinidad and Tobago.” Quarantine protocols for passengers arriving in Trinidad and Tobago also remain in place.
O'Connor believes that the safe and professional way in which the event was managed should be used as a template for the country to host its own Carnival come 2022. Trinidad and Tobago's 2021 Carnival was cancelled, leaving many people who rely on the festival for income in the lurch:
This event proves that hosting Carnival responsibly is possible, even in the midst of a pandemic. It felt so good to be a part of it, to see the joy on young people's faces as they enjoyed themselves. They needed this and it is so simple to do.
In response to questions about videos like this one, in which many of the masqueraders are neither masked nor socially distanced, O'Connor explained:
While the registration forms asked for vaccination status, the main prerequisite was a negative COVID-19 test—which makes sense, since vaccinated people can still contract the virus. Once you produce a negative test, mask-wearing and social distancing are not necessary, so I say, ‘Bravo'! It was a fantastic event. It was great to see the Caribbean coming together and I certainly hope we can do the same for Trinidad and Tobago Carnival 2022!
Prime Minister Keith Rowley has thus far neither confirmed nor denied whether Trinidad and Tobago will be having Carnival celebrations next year.

author: Janine Mendes-Franco


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COVID-19, vaccination and the progress of the global healthcare system · Global Voices
Ian Inkster

COVID-19 illustration by Svetlozar Hristov, used under Pixabay license.
By late September some 50 per cent of the world’s population had received at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine and over 6 billion doses had been administered. Yet only 2 per cent of people in low-income countries have received at least one dose. Some key natural advantages stemming from income levels and demography have given great advantage to large, poor nations in their levels of Covidity compared to rich nations of Europe and North America. This may well be nullified by the present failure of the vaccination program to become low-cost and global. The latter effect will be of no good to anyone.
The five rich nations of Table 1 below illustrate one perspective on the state of play.
It becomes immediately obvious that four of these nations share a very high level of Covidity, ranging from 1,115 deaths per million to 2,099 deaths per million for the period from the outset of the pandemic to the present time. For the world at large, COVID-19 deaths for September 22 were 607 per million, so on the basis of official figures, deaths from COVID-19 per capita in the USA are well over three times the global average. They are also high-income nations and share correspondingly similar attributes in terms of age, household sizes, degrees of urbanity, health expenditure, obesity, and Human Development Indicators (Rows 1-6).
Of greatest importance is the age distribution associated with high incomes—they have a small proportion of youngsters in their populations, ranging in Table 1 from 17-25 per cent, and a large number of older folk over 65 years of age, ranging here from 19 per cent to 29 per cent. In addition, these rich nations have a low level of people per individual households (ranging 2-2.4), a high proportion of people living in cities and very high levels of obesity. There is every reason to believe that these elements are causally associated and have led to the high levels of rich-nation Covidity.
Low incomes have been historically associated with a high proportion of youngsters and a low proportion of older people in all nations of the world. In poorer nations children are considered assets from an early age, medicine is relatively undeveloped so that individuals do not live long. In rich nations improved medicine, housing and environmental conditions mean that most families curtail the number of children as older members live longer, trading off the work of children for the higher incomes of smaller families. Thus, the global tendency has been that this particular pandemic, which is mostly doing little harm directly to babies, children and youth but homing in on the elderly and those with immune deficiencies, has hit rich nations very hard on purely socio-structural grounds, with COVID-19 policy measures being of lesser significance.
Furthermore, other factors work in the same direction. Rich nations may spend a large amount on health care and have high levels of infrastructural development (e.g., education, Human Development Index, Row 6), as well as smaller, more compacted households, but they also have very high levels of obesity and urbanism, both of which are almost certainly linked to COVID-19 infection and death. This all explains the high levels of Covidity regardless of exact policy measures of governments.
However, Japan provides a striking exception with much lower Covidity levels, 137 deaths per million, broadly comparable with Pakistan and India. It has been natural enough for the Japanese and the world press to explain this mostly in terms of more efficient Japanese COVID-19 policies. This cannot be dismissed but note should now be taken of Row 1, which shows that although Japanese age structures are comparable with the other four rich nations, its levels of obesity (Row 4) are far lower, and this may well be a factor to consider alongside policy (see below). Maintaining many traditional behavioural norms, including food culture, despite the transition to industrial capitalism may well have been important to low Covidity.
TABLE 2 below offers another perspective on the global situation.
Much lower income in this group skews the population age distribution (Row 1) strongly towards youth and away from old age, thus, the low COVID-19 death figures (Row 8). As dramatic are the much, much lower figures for obesity, ranging from 3.9 to 8.6 of total populations. We might reasonably hazard that since the inception of the COVID-19 virus, factors such as high health expenditure, large investments in infrastructure and COVID policies, and much more recent unfolding of huge vaccination programs have NOT even yet succeeded in bringing the Covidity levels of rich nations down to those of the poor in proper per capita terms.
But vaccination has turned the tide in rich nations whereas it is almost invisible in the very poor. So, within months from now, the rare natural advantages of poverty may well be nullified by the failure of the vaccination program to become low-cost and global.
Any discussion of this must surely cover points such as the following. First, China has for some time been offering free vaccinations to other nations, often to little avail among politicians and media internationally. But the estimated two billion-plus vaccinations that China can make available would be global game changers and should be encouraged in terms of the returns to China in increased global status at relatively little cost—especially if focused on Africa, the regions of the Belt and Road project, and South Asia. The more that might be gained in soft power through vaccine distribution the more likely it is that China will include distribution and training services, as well as personnel.
COVID-19 biohazard illustration by 12222786 used under Pixabay license
Second, an international stance on vaccine aid as development aid (in ODA budgets and so on) will inhibit nations from pulling back from foreign aid in the next months of pandemic recovery in the name of a need for national savings and a reticence to aid such nations as Afghanistan for reasons that are primarily political. Lowering of aid to well below the 0.7 per cent of GDP that has previously been an agreed reasonable level (e.g., for Germany, UK, Sweden, Norway, Turkey, Denmark, UAE) might perhaps be seen as quite short-term, but is potentially devastating in terms of the spread of new COVID varieties and weakening of global pandemic economic recovery.
Third, international institutions should be advocating global vaccination aid as exemplary of the world system countering the environmental disasters that it has been creating and is now supposedly addressing. Vaccination aid is not just a matter of rich nations protecting their commercial backyards (trading relations).
Fourth, urgently needed is the development of more cooperative research on the best way to fund and organise coherent programs of public health funding, scientific research, and socio-medical investigation—for instance concerning the global implications of rich-nation obesity. Post-pandemic global economic relations that are less dependent on failing international institutions (the UN has not used its power and influence effectively during the pandemic) and leading economies (the USA is not about to become an efficient political economy) may help serve this purpose. The Pacific region is growing far faster than the Atlantic economies.
Fifth, obesity might soon be recognised as a vitally strategic global element in explaining varying COVID-19 levels between rich and poor.  Furthermore, obesity may serve to spread serious COVID illness to lower age groups. Much more work needs to be done on the science of the seemingly fairly direct link between obesity and COVID sufferance. But the statistics do tend to signal it out as a pertinent factor with some independence—that is, as shown by Japan, high incomes per capita are a major element in high obesity, but this is not invariable.
If we broaden to East Asia more generally, nations such as South Korea and Taiwan have high incomes but their figures of deaths per million by COVID-19 lie at 32 per million for South Korea and 31 for Taiwan, and their obesity levels are at the very low levels of 4.7 and 6.1 respectively. Again, the per capita incomes of Turkey and Iran are around only one-third of those of Japan or South Korea, but they have much higher obesity levels than India (around 10 times higher) and much higher deaths by COVID-19 (three to six times, respectively). Gross health expenditure seems to be no predictor of Covidity levels, obesity serves far better. Culture may matter in unexpected ways.
Sixth and finally, it seems clear that China and Russia have nothing to gain from allowing the development of radical Islam along their own borders in Afghanistan and the region. On such issues as drug-running through Afghanistan, it should be a natural alliance between Russia, China and Middle Eastern nations to fight against this as a practical and ideological common threat—these are nations and cultures whose most basic long-term interests lie in reducing religious extremity, in removing drug trafficking from their political economies, and in becoming a basis for regional cooperation that might well begin with the fight against COVID-19 through spreading vaccination from the borders of China, Russia and Afghanistan into the rest of Asia and the Middle East.
Forging this would stand as the greatest soft-power process that one could envisage as leading to a process of post-pandemic global reconstruction that does not wait upon a presently disabled USA to put its own internal political house in order.

source: news-globalvoices

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

author: Ian Inkster


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Chinese movie ‘The Battle of Lake Changjin’ turns the painful history of the Korean War into a glorious victory · Global Voices
Oiwan Lam

A screenshot from the official “Battle of Changjin Lake” trailer on Youtube.
A former investigative reporter Luo Changping was recently arrested for mocking the newly released propaganda movie, “The Battle at Lake Changjin” (or Chosin Reservoir), a war drama featuring the People's Volunteer Army (PVA) during the Korean War (1950–53).
The film was released as part of the 100th Anniversary of the Communist Party of China. With a 200 million US dollar production budget, the movie is co-directed by award-winning filmmakers Chen Kaige, Hark Tsui, and Dante Lam and stars top actor Wu Jing.
The film was released on China's National Day, and mainland Chinese box office earnings passed 4 billion Chinese Yuan (600 million US dollars) in less than 10 days. The film tells a story of the Chinese Volunteer Soldiers’ self-sacrificing heroism which helped them dramatically defeat the US army in the battle of Chosin Reservoir.
The battle took place between November 27 and December 13, 1950 — one month after former Chinese leader Mao Zedong officially entered the Korean War. The three-year war between the Soviet-backed North and United Nations-backed South Korea was triggered after North Korean military forces crossed the border and entered South Korea on June 25, 1950.
Under the slogan “resist the US in support of Korea” (抗美援朝), Mao ordered the Chinese liberation army to attack the United Nation troops, which was composed mainly of US forces, in North Korea to prevent the unification of Korea under capitalist forces. To avoid declaring war against the UN and US, the Chinese troops were dubbed the “People's Volunteer Army (PVA).
About 3 million Chinese civilian and military personnel served in the Korean War.
During the war, 120,000 Chinese soldiers from the PVA's ninth army were sent to the battlefield in the middle of winter to attack 30,000 United Nations troops in Chosin Reservoir.
The Chinese volunteer army was so poorly equipped that tens of thousands froze to death as the temperature in the Chosin Reservoir reached minus 30 degrees Celsius. According to official Chinese reports, the army recorded 48,156 casualties during the battle, with nearly 29,000 being non-battle-related deaths. As for the UN troops, they lost 17,843 lives, with 7,338 killed by the brutally cold weather. However, the latter managed to retreat and eventually evacuate 98,100 refugees and civilians who wanted to escape the Soviet-backed military regime out of Northeastern Korea, a region surrounded by the Korean People's Army (KPA).
The choice of the battle as a patriotic propaganda film is controversial, as the Korean War was an incredibly painful period for both China and Korea. It is estimated that North Korea and China each lost between 200,000–400,000 soldiers while the South Korean army lost 162,394 and the American army lost 36,574 lives. The Soviet Union air force lost 335 planes and 299 lives.
China's intervention in the Korean War was largely controversial until recent years as the war caused huge causalities on all sides. More than 3 million Korean civilians died in the war. As pointed out by Adam Ni from Chinese political news analysis site, the battle Chosin Reservoir was considered a “failure at massive cost”:
even before the battle ended, already handed in to Party Centre a doc titled “9th Army Group self-criticism on the battle on the eastern front”, saying that it was a failure at massive cost.
Today, this failure is celebrated.
— Adam Ni (@adam_ni) October 6, 2021
However, in China today, reflecting on the war can have grave consequences. Former investigative reporter, Luo Changping was arrested for “infringing the reputation and honor of national martyrs” after he wrote the following comment on Chinese social media:
半個世紀之後國人少有反思這場戰爭的正義性，就像當年的沙雕連不會懷疑上峰的『英明決策』。
After half a century, people in this country seldom reflect on the cause of this war. The situation is like the frozen troops back then, they did not question the “acute decision” from the above.
While most negative comments about the movie and critical comments about China's intervention in the Korean War have been suppressed and censored, patriotic messages spread on social media. One netizen @fangshimin placed two video bloggers’ so-called “personal” interpretations of the film together to demonstrate the propaganda authorities’ effort to advocate for a “hot-blooded” (血性) patriotism, which means a willingness to fight for the country:
《长津湖》宣传通稿出新版了。 pic.twitter.com/ZUu2W3yCyN
— 方舟子 (@fangshimin) October 11, 2021
Here come the propaganda script of “the Battle of Changjing Lake”
It is common to see pro-Chinese government bloggers spreading authorities’ talking points. One notable example was a flood of video clips on Uyghurs’ life in Xinjiang. Investigative journalists pointed out that the so-called experience shared by over a thousand Uyghurs was taken from an identical script, which suggested that the videos were part of a coordinated influence campaign. The netizen @fangshimin believed bloggers were using the same tactic when discussing the patriotic movie — both bloggers said that they had a grandpa who fought in the Battle of Chosin Reservoir and that history shows that it is necessary to suppress feminine masculinity and the fandom culture. The Chinese government recently launched a communications campaign to suppress “sissies” and fan culture. Below is the partial translation of the script:
…這個仗如果說我們不打，就是我們的下一代要打，電影的這句話一直劇在我的腦子裡面，我們現在的年輕人，只要多一點血性，多了解一點歴史，就不會去參拜靖國神社…我們現在口雖然能吃飽飯了，有肉吃的，但精神上還是竹很匱乏的，想想在戰場上的美軍吃著火雞，過著感恩節，而我們的戰士只能吃著冰凍的土豆填著肚子，這個就是我們1950年時候的年輕人，在那麼寒冷的環境裡面，裝備那麼落後的情況下，還創造了震驚世界的奇跡，只因為要保護我們的家園…我特別支持打擊娘炮和飯圈文化，讓我們重新立起了這份陽剛之氣，因為我們的生活和工作都需要，這不僅僅是軍人的事，而是整個社會的事…
… “If we don’t fight this battle, our next generation will have to fight this.” This line in the movie stays in my brain. If our young generation is more “hot-blooded” and has more knowledge about history, they would not visit Yasukuni Shrine [in Japan]… Now, we have meat to fill our stomach, but we have lost our spirit. Just imagine in the battlefield, the American soldiers were having their turkeys to celebrate thanksgiving, our warriors only had frozen potatoes. The young people in the 1950s were like this: in such brutal cold weather, with such backward equipment, they had created a miracle that shocked the whole world. All because they wanted to protect their homeland… Hence, I support the crackdown on sissies and fandom culture. This would help us to rebuild our martial spirit. We need this in our life and work. This [protecting the homeland] is not the soldiers’ duty, but the whole society should take up the duty…
The film has also triggered an editing debate on Chinese Wikipedia. William Long, a prominent tech blogger, noted that some Wikipedia users are continually attempting to edit the original entry of the Chinese term the Battle of Chosin Reservoir (長津湖戰役) to suggest that China gained a “decisive victory” in the battle, while others disagreed given China lost tens of thousands of lives in the battle and failed to eliminate the UN troops.
As there is no space for critical discussion on the movie's content in mainland China, some Chinese netizens turned to the movie production team and criticized them for making a profit by commercializing patriotism. They suggested that the movie production team should donate their profits to the Korean War soldiers and their families.
New York Times reporter, Evan Hill, notes that outside China, the space for critical deliberation on history is also shrinking because Hollywood has been self-censoring their production for the sake of gaining profit in the China market:
It's very funny that Western cinema won't do anti-China nationalism because Hollywood desperately wants the money while the most popular film in the world is going to be about Chinese chads defeating Americans in the Korean War https://t.co/y7y8vMuPs0
— Evan Hill (@evanhill) October 11, 2021

author: Oiwan Lam


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Fake vaccine passport scandal revealed in Armenia · Global Voices
OC Media

A vaccination station in Yerevan. Photo: Robin Fabbro/OC Media.
This article by Ani Avetisyan was first published on OC Media. An edited version is republished here under a content partnership agreement.
Six health workers were detained in the Gyumri Family Medical center in Armenia’s Shirak Province on October 13  after investigators revealed the facility was distributing fake vaccine certificates. According to the official report, the staff members were issuing fake papers in exchange for bribes ranging from 5,000–10,000 Armenian dram (10–20 US dollars).
Authorities estimate that over 700 people bought the fake vaccine certificates in Gyumri — Armenia’s second-largest city.
A day earlier, the National Security Service reported they had arrested a nurse from a clinic in the village of Yeranos, in Gegharkunik Province, for distributing fake vaccine certificates to local residents.
The arrests come soon after Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan expressed dissatisfaction with the low vaccination rate in the country. In a government meeting on October 7, Pashinyan stated that he was giving a “task” to the state bodies: “go and solve it.”
He specifically appealed to law enforcement bodies to crack down on false vaccination documents.
“To the National Security Service and to the Police: I don’t want to hear about fake vaccinations anymore. Arrest them,” he said.
The only such arrest before Pashinyan’s instructions was in Yerevan, when a doctor allegedly issued a fake vaccine passport in exchange for money.
The issue of fake vaccine certificates arose after vaccination or bimonthly, paid PCR tests, became mandatory for many employees in the country.
On Thursday the Health Ministry announced that vaccine certificates or PCR tests would soon be required to enter cafes, restaurants, and other public places.
Amidst the growing daily cases of COVID-19 and an average of 20 daily deaths, only around 6 percent of the country’s population is fully vaccinated. The number of people to have received at least one dose is around 500,000 people, around 12 percent of the population.

author: OC Media


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In Belarus, subscribing to Telegram channels branded as ‘extremist’ may now get users in trouble · Global Voices
Tanya Lokot

Telegram messenger. Image by Ümit Solmaz from Pixabay.
Subscribers of dozens of Telegram channels, such as Nexta Live! or Tut.by, labelled as ‘extremist’ in Belarus may themselves be considered participating in extremist activity – and could face administrative or criminal prosecution.
According to an October 13 statement on the Telegram channel fo the Main Directorate for Combating Organized Crime (GUBOP), a new government resolution considers subscribers to ‘extremist’ Telegram channels to be participants in an extremist organisation and, thus, subject to criminal prosecution.
The resolution by the Council of Ministers of Belarus came into force on October 14 and, according to GUBOP, allows for recognizing “unregistered groups of citizens, carrying out extremist activities, including on messengers and social networks,” as extremist formations – a designation the Belarusian criminal code suggests carries a maximum punishment of seven years in prison.
However, the text of the resolution does not mention criminal responsibility verbatim. According to independent outlet Radio Svaboda, while the resolution does enable law enforcement to collect subscriber data from extremist Telegram channels, a court order would be required to recognise any users or groups of users as belonging to ‘extremist formations’.
Belarusian lawyer Syarhey Zikratski told RFE/RL that only amendments to the criminal code can introduce criminal liability, but conceded that in Belarus things are “sometimes not done according to law” and that “nobody can be sure” they won't be criminally charged for subscribing.
Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, Belarus’ exiled opposition leader, condemned the new resolution on Twitter.
Belarus’ independent media are destroyed, many journalists are imprisoned, websites are blocked. Now the regime threatens with criminal persecution & up to 7 years in prison for a subscription to “extremist” Telegram channels, incl. of free media. The truth is banned in Belarus. pic.twitter.com/3tAZv9nYtE
— Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya (@Tsihanouskaya) October 13, 2021
Since the post-election protests began in August 2020, Belarusian authorities have cracked down on independent media outlets, human rights NGOs and opposition groups. More recently, the authorities began targeting channels on Telegram, which remains one of the few platforms accessible to the opposition and independent media.
Currently, more than 170 channels and chats on the messenger platform are labeled ‘extremist’ by the government. Among them are popular independent channels with thousands of followers such as Nexta Live! and independent media such as Tut.by.
Nexta Live! was one of the first Telegram channels to get the ‘extremist’ designation in October 2020, having been central to grassroots protest mobilisation efforts. Tut.by was added to the extremist list in August 2021 alongside a number of other media organisations and Telegram channels.
After the government resolution went public, both Nexta Live! and Tut.by saw a sharp drop in subscriber numbers, losing tens of thousands of readers in the span of one or two days, according to RFE/RL.
On October 15, opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya's official Telegram channel was also designated as ‘extremist’. However, the channel, which boasts over 100,000 subscribers, actually saw their number rise, evidently due to the large international community of exiled Belarusians and other supporters following events in the country.
Since the August 2020 protests in response to a fraudulent election that Belarus’ Aliaksandr Lukashenka claims to have won, the Belarusian authorities have jailed thousands of protesters and opposition activists. Hundreds of them have been tortured, while the state has shut down independent media websites and disbanded human rights and media freedom non-profits. Many opposition leaders, reporters and ordinary Belarusians have been driven to leave the country, but a dedicated community continues to organise online and across borders to support those imprisoned and persecuted by the Lukashenka regime.

author: Tanya Lokot


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No hatred nor pity: Just let me live in my own body · Global Voices
Lucía Jiménez Peñuela

Drawing by Lucia Jiménez Peñuela, designed by Giovana Fleck.
In Colombia, the average height is 1.54 m for women and 1.71 m for men. Cisgender men and women that is, of course. My body, which is 1.88 m tall, attracts attention now more than ever. In my “past life,” I was complimented on my height, given that for masculine people, it's generally a good thing to be tall. I was always the first choice when it came to lifting something heavy because men are the strong ones; they have been ever since the Stone Age, right?
This body was seen then as that of a “strong man dressed up as a woman.” Later, it stopped being a human body and became the object of public scrutiny.
More discreet people would tell you that they're amazed to see someone so tall. Most of the time, however, eyes scan your body until you feel uncomfortable, regardless of the dress you've put it in. The bodies of women who transition from masculine to feminine are constantly sexualised. Their genitals are scrutinised, and they're always criticised against a model of the unattainable cis white woman. I'm talking about passing: the extent to which we do or do not resemble this model woman—or to use more traditional terminology, the extent to which we don't look trans.
No matter how much we change our body shapes, genitals, breasts, clothing, and more, it's never enough; we could menstruate, even, and that still wouldn't be enough. Science will advance and trans women will be able to get pregnant and even so, they'll be told that they're not truly like other women.
So, this is where I find myself: a tall woman with copper skin, who until last year received an average of three comments a day from strangers about how wrong my body was. Looks of disgust, fear, and lust. And that doesn't include the verbal and physical assaults I've faced because of my feminine identity.
A year ago, my mobility deteriorated as a result of long sedentary working days with no breaks. This caused me chronic, paralysing pain and instability while walking, and so now I use a walking stick. While the looks, comments and hate crimes against me didn't completely disappear, now that I'm disabled, I can feel how the looks have changed to glances of pity. It shouldn't be like that, but at least that pity has given me back some of the humanity that had been stripped away. I prefer to be looked at with pity than with the usual hatred.
Before, some comments, “catcalls”, were related to the fact that I must be a prostitute (because they think that's all I'm good for). Now, my body with its walking stick has partly lost its attraction for those who make those kinds of comments.
Where am I going with all of this? I'm not aiming to inspire pity in those who read this; I want to highlight that people who criticise different bodies so much have no idea what we've had to go through to have, heal and/or preserve the bodies that we live in.
They have no idea about the strict routines I follow to be able to walk with as little pain as possible.
They have no idea how brave you have to be to defend the validity of your body all the time.
They have no idea that this voice that they laugh at for being a “man's voice” is actually within the feminine range, and that I've been through a lot of speech therapy to achieve it, like a singer preparing for a show.
They have no idea how many doctors to whom I've had to prove that I'm a woman to access my right to healthcare. Doctors who see me as the strong man, who is only going to the appointment to make things up. That me not having periods is enough to not recognise me as a human being.
They have no idea of the post-traumatic stress I suffer from having been followed and almost beaten up, or how exhausting it is to have to shut my eyes or stare at the floor on a bus to avoid meeting the stares of the passengers around me as if I were a product on promotion in a supermarket.
They have no idea of the mocking, stares, finger-pointing, and aggressions of all kinds that my friends and acquaintances who have more complex disabilities than mine have had to face in the streets and during medical appointments.
They have no idea how painful electrolysis and complications during laser hair removal for facial hair can be. It's as if the only valid pains for a woman are period cramps and giving birth. This hurts my body and soul as if they had left scars on my heart.
At some point, we've all criticised bodies that weren't our own. We criticise from our own position of privilege. How easy it is to tell a trans girl that she isn't a woman and invalidate the way she was created when you've never had to do anything to be yourself, when you never even question who you are. You have a vagina, you have periods and you have been or are able to get pregnant. That's enough for you to count as a woman. You have a penis? You're a man.
You say over and over again that trans women are men because they have a prostate gland. Thank you for caring about our health, although maybe it would be a good idea to direct a little of that worry towards your own body and go for an annual medical check-up. You have to really take care of a prostate and penis, especially when it's the only thing you have that makes you a man.
You sit down in the seats reserved for people with mobility issues and other conditions, and you decide whether or not I deserve to use them. You don't care when you see me about to fall over from the movement of the bus, while you're scrutinising me from head to toe with those looks that penetrate straight to my genitals. Just like in public toilets, where you decide who gets to pee in them, you also decide who has mobility difficulties.
So, I invite you to look at your own body, not at mine, not at anyone else's. It's not for you to judge, simply because you're not that other person; you are yourself. Remember that the bodies you criticise have gone through a long and difficult journey to become or stay as they are.

author: Lucía Jiménez Peñuela


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Peter Telfer, the Trinidadian percussionist who made African drumming a church staple, goes to his Creator · Global Voices
Janine Mendes-Franco

Trinbagonian musician Peter Telfer, who died on October 15, 2021. Screenshot taken from the music video for Kutunza Uhuru (Cherish Freedom) by Mawasi Experience on YouTube, from the album of the same name. Video by Elspeth Duncan.
Musician Peter Telfer, whose fiercely original and experimental percussive style moved a nation, is being mourned by Trinidad and Tobago netizens after his death on October 15. He had been admitted to hospital on September 30, after complaining of “pain and discomfort.” A music enthusiast from childhood, when he began playing with his lifelong friend, the exemplary flautist and saxophonist Dawud Orr, who passed away this past August, Telfer was a deeply spiritual man whose Roman Catholic faith was intertwined with every note he created. He was 63 years old.
As young men, he and Orr would play at various community events—they were just as adept at disco music as they were at soca, the newly burgeoning music genre—and they gigged at many Carnival parties. In October 1980, Telfer founded the band Mawasi Experience, into which he poured his love for music and merged it with his purpose-based faith. Yet, according to rapso performer Wendell Manwarren, who spoke with Global Voices by telephone, Telfer's music “didn't feel heavy,” preachy or overly religious. Rather, it felt spiritual. Describing him as “a true giant of a man and the definition of a patriot,” Manwarren remembers Telfer as “always being clad in red, white and black,” Trinidad and Tobago's national colours.
That unique combination of spirituality and cultural pride is an integral part of Telfer's legacy. In keeping with the Second Vatican Council, which began under Pope John XXIII in 1962 and ended under Pope Paul VI in 1965, there was a recommendation that the church should adapt to local cultures, “including philosophical and theological adaptation.” As a result, churches in Trinidad and Tobago began to welcome the participation of folk choirs, but Telfer led the charge in bringing the concept of African drumming into the celebration of the Catholic mass.
Cultural activist Rubadiri Victor said on Facebook:
I cannot even begin to fathom the battles that Peter Telfer must have fought to get the African Drum & its Musics accepted by and integrated into the Catholic Church (and by osmosis-others). Also because his version of Drum Music was not neutered of African Revolutionary Sentiment and Civilisational Subversive Retentions…Yet he fought that battle-AND WON!!! He has a whole Liturgy with songs throughout the life cycle of Catholic worship. He was musical director in a major Port of Spain Convent! Drums are now everywhere in the Church. African music is everywhere. And all its children are inside the Church proper…
Many fought those battles-but that's Peter Telfer and the Mawasi Experience doing that heavy lifting…
In a telephone interview, Patrice Cox-Neaves, who began her friendship with Telfer as a member of the folk choir at St. Theresa's Church on the outskirts of Port of Spain, described his work as “the wholeness of the music ministry” in the local Catholic church, saying, “Our music liturgy—for me, that was Peter.” She remembers him forever experimenting, making his own drums, and showing up to church with his “battery of instruments,” many of them made from local materials such as bamboo.
Of his numerous liturgical contributions, Telfer was probably best known for his inspired “O Creator,” a startling and spirited piece that most people heard for the first time on February 5, 1985, during then pontiff John Paul II's celebration of Holy Mass in Trinidad and Tobago's National Stadium as part of his apostolic journey to the Americas. Its bold and unapologetically exuberant percussive backbone was strong, joyous, and freeing, and got everyone in that stadium moving to a deeper rhythm while connecting to a higher source.
Facebook user Leslie-Ann Joan Boiselle called the piece “the beginning of the evolution of our liturgical music,” while Rubadiri Victor described the experience of hearing “O Creator” as “humanity attempting to talk to God”:
The song was that big, oceanic, and powerful. I could not get enough of it. Nothing else mattered for its duration. There was something so Ancient and Elemental about it. Direct. Heartfelt. Monumental. And Honest. After I met Peter and we became closer I could see how the song was very much like him… Honest. Direct. Fuelled by a deep innocent Faith. […]
It is a song I always have time for. I will stop what I am doing for it. In writing this testimony I searched online for a video for it and encountered none. I had just presumed for a song of such National importance that there would be a video that matched its Magnificence. I really should have known better. That song is a National Symphonic masterpiece. A work of prime indigenous skill. A Heritage Site. It should be declared as such and consecrated with a video that matches the song's scale and ambition. […] I would suggest that ‘Oh Creator’ deserves a video worthy of its status as a National Spiritual Symphony, and it should be done as one of the many things to pay Tribute to Peter…
Archbishop Jason Gordon expressed his own connection with the song:
I remember the first time I heard ‘O Creator’ […] in a liturgy. […] It woke me up because here you had this rhythm and this chant, and this music that was so different from others that we've had and experimented with in the church, and it was us. It was our rhythm, it was our chant, it resonated with us, a Caribbean people. That's Peter's gift to us as church.
Despite the unavailability online of what is arguably Telfer's magnum opus, he did record several albums over his long career. Vocalist and musician Raymond Edwards worked with Telfer on some of his more recent offerings. In a telephone interview, he described Telfer as “the big brother of musicians, always looking out for you and ready to offer support”:
Peter was a loving, giving, genuine—and Catholic–musician. His faith was intricately intertwined into the fabric of who he was. I always wanted to ask him where he got his passion from—for church, for mentoring others, for country. The dynamism of the musical liturgy was directly connected to his own dynamism. He wore his love of country on his sleeve—literally—and he wore it well.
Elliot Francois concurred, noting:
Peter's drumming was responsible for so many drummers pursuing the art form. I must say that Peter was revolutionary in that he straddled and bridged the gap between ‘hardcore’, accepted Catholic, charismatic renewal musicality (organs and the young people ‘box guitar’) and the rebellious African drums/'trapset'…Often times all percussionists were given ‘the eye’ or forcefully told to tone down the drums. Nevertheless, Peter's mission was clear and he never relented through the 40+ years of the Mawasi Experience. Is he fault we could do de ting now.
As with so many talented people here, I believe he was not valued enough and often misunderstood. But he trodded on…
Upon hearing of his passing, online tributes began to pour in from friends, admirers, and cultural enthusiasts who spoke of his selfless devotion, passion for service, and skilful musicianship.
Vashty Maharaj shared:
I will always remember Peter Telfer as the kindest, gentlest soul I ever knew […] he was so passionate about his drumming and the Mawasi Experience and you just got caught up in that joy and warmth. Trinidad is a little less today for his loss.
Telfer's niece shared both family photos and videos of her uncle's performances, while his cousin, Jason Jones, remembered his musical legacy:
Peter was well known and loved for his tremendous work in the field of music and especially African drumming and elevated the humble drum to performances before many distinguished audiences around the World. […] Rest in peace dear Peter. You have served your country and your community with distinction. ?? ❤ ?? ?
Speaking at Dawud Orr's funeral service earlier this year, Telfer revealed that the two things that meant the most to him in his own life were music and service. Addressing Orr, he continued:
You didn't always believe in what I believe, but you believed in us as [friends] and [in] Mawasi, and you supported. You were there. You made time.
Trinidad and Tobago is better for Peter Telfer having been there and making the time.


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Thousands rally in Tbilisi demanding freedom for imprisoned former president · Global Voices
OC Media

A woman at Thursday's protest held a rose aloft, symbolizing the Rose Revolution which swept Saakashvili to power in 2003. Photo: Mariam Nikuradze/OC Media.
This article by Shota Kincha was first published on OC Media. An edited version is republished here under a content partnership agreement.
In the capital city of Tbilisi, Georgia, thousands of residents gathered at the central square on October 14, in support of the former president Mikheil Saakashvili, who is on his 14th day of a hunger strike in prison.
The protest was organized by Georgia's largest opposition party, Saakashvili's United National Movement (UNM).
The third Georgian President, currently a Ukrainian citizen heading the Executive Reforms Committee of Ukraine, was arrested two weeks ago after covertly crossing into Georgia on the eve of local elections.
Saakashvili has insisted he is the victim of political persecution ordered personally by Bidzina Ivanishvili, the ruling Georgian Dream Party's founder, and Russian President Vladimir Putin.
Saakashvili left Georgia in 2013 and was sentenced to six years in prison in absentia in 2018 on several accounts of abuse of power in Georgia. The former president denies the accusations.
He faces a minimum of six years in prison on charges ranging from ordering an attack on political opponent Valeri Gelashvili to illegally promising to pardon law enforcement officers implicated in the 2006 murder of Sandro Girgvliani.
The UNM mobilized supporters from across the country, with many arriving by convoy to the capital. They were greeted by several groups of counter-protestors holding brooms, with some throwing them at vehicles and cursing Saakashvili.
UNM leaders claimed the groups were mobilized by local officials belonging to the ruling party and public employees.
While the UNM has insisted the demonstration voiced a cross-party and “national” demand, other opposition groups snubbed the event.
While still claiming that Saakashvili was unlikely to face a fair trial under the Georgian Dream government, opposition groups European Georgia, Lelo, Strategy Aghmashenebeli (more recently known as Third Power), and the Republican Party refused to join the protest outright.
Some underlined that the focus should remain on the second round of local elections scheduled for October 30. Several opposition leaders, nevertheless, decided to join the demonstration individually, including the Droa party leader and former UNM member Elene Khoshtaria.
In the second round of municipal elections, the ruling party faces runoffs in all five self-governing cities.
The Georgia party, led by former Prime Minister Giorgi Gakharia, distanced themselves from the event more than others by refusing to consider that Saakashvili's imprisonment was politically motivated.
Following his detention on October 1, Prime Minister Irakli Gharibashvili made several statements against Saakashvili, including threatening to press additional charges against him, earning him criticism both locally and internationally and raising questions over the ability of Georgia's justice system to provide the former president a fair trial.
While Ukrainian authorities vowed to seek his return to Ukraine, local news outlet Ukraynsy Novini reported that as of October 14, the Prosecutor General's Office of Ukraine had not made a request to extradite him.
How the former President sneaked into Georgia remains unclear.
Before and after his detention, Saakashvili poked fun at the Georgian authorities with photos published on his Facebook page allegedly showing him in Batumi and even in front of the Parliament Building in Tbilisi.
“I ordered Khinkali before being arrested. Unfortunately, I only managed to eat one,” Saakashvili joked in his latest written interview with the TV channel Mtavari.
“We wish Mikheil Saakashvili freedom. Today he is freer than us!,” Gigi Ugulava, a former UNM official, currently running for Mayor of Poti, said at Thursday's protest.
“Once upon a time, 18 years ago, he drank tea which changed the history of this country,” he said, in reference to Saakashvili drinking tea in then-president Eduard Shevednadze's office after protesters stormed parliament in 2003.
“Today he was not allowed to eat khinkali. He will definitely eat his khinkali and you will be left with the nubs. Because you deserve nothing more,” Ugulava said.
Saakashvili is expected in court next month over several other cases, including charges of illegal border crossing.
Saakashvili's detention has been closely monitored by Georgian Public Defender Nino Lomjaria, who recently criticized the authorities for disrespecting Saakashvili's privacy by publicizing details of his health.


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Turkey and Armenia ready to ‘normalize relations’ after nearly 30 years · Global Voices
Arzu Geybullayeva

“The Turkish border” by Dumphasizer is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0
Turkey closed its border with Armenia in 1993 during the first Karabakh war in a show of solidarity with its long-time ally Azerbaijan. Almost three decades later, Turkey is considering reopening that border in the aftermath of Azerbaijan's victory in the second Karabakh war in 2020.
During Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan's visit to Azerbaijan in December 2020, he said, “If positive steps are taken in this regard, we will open our closed doors.” A month later, an unnamed senior Erdogan advisor told Turkish journalist Asli Aydintasbas that Ankara was ready to “normalize relations with Armenia.”
In February 2021, Foreign Minister Mevlüt Çavuşoğlu condemned the possible coup attempt against Armenia's Prime Minister, Nikol Pashinyan, who said the General Staff issued a statement calling for his resignation.
On April 24, 2021, during his meeting with Armenian Patriarch Sahak Maşalyan, Erdogan said, “It is time for us to lay bare that we as Turks and Armenians have reached the maturity of overcoming all obstacles together.”
“Everybody would win” if there were a broad regional settlement, Turkey's former Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu told The Economist in May 2021.
“As a landlocked state, an open border and active trade could facilitate economic development and alleviate poverty in a country,” wrote Hans Gutbrod, a professor at Illa State University in Tbilisi, and David Wood, a professor at Seton Hall University in a June 2021 piece for Foreign Policy. Adding, “Rapprochement with Ankara may also allow Yerevan to address its near-total dependence on Russia, thereby promoting greater regional stability. And Turkey would also benefit, especially through increased trade.”
Then in August, Armenia's Prime Minister, Nikol Pashinyan, said the country was ready to strengthen ties with Turkey following positive signs from Ankara. The country's parliament approved a five-year action plan, stating that Armenia was “ready to make efforts to normalize relations with Turkey.” While the plan was approved, it was harshly criticized by opposition lawmakers, according to reporting by Civilnet.am.
The goodwill intentions were also reflected in Armenia opening its airspace to Turkish Airline flights en route to Baku.
On September 29, Turkey's Presidential Spokesperson İbrahim Kalınm told one Turkish television channel, “In principle, we are positive about normalization with Armenia. The main reason why we ended our diplomatic relations and closed our border in 1992 was the occupation of Karabakh. With this problem resolved, there is — in fact — no obstacle to normalization with Armeni̇a.”
Turkey and Armenia were close to finding some common ground in 2008 when Turkey's then-President Abdullah Gul traveled to Yerevan to watch the first of the two qualifying World Cup matches between Turkey and Armenia. A year later, Serge Sarkisian, the Armenian president, traveled to Turkey's province of Bursa to watch another football game between the two national teams. The game and Sarkisian's visit to Turkey followed the signing of a series of protocols in Zurich that were designed to normalize relations between the two countries. Described at the time as “football diplomacy,” the negotiations eventually fell through after Turkey withdrew due to mounting pressure from Azerbaijan. Armenia formally declared the protocols null and void in 2018.
Now, the chances of Azerbaijan interfering are slim. “Before Armenia's withdrawal from this region, Baku saw Turkey's opening of the borders as a betrayal and harshly criticized it. Now, after the truce, this issue is off the table and it won't be a surprise to see a milder tone from Azerbaijan than in 2009,” said Ankara-based political analyst Hasan Selim Özertem in an interview with Eurasianet.
In Armenia, there are differing opinions about how this new bilateral relationship may work out, according to journalist Ani Mejlumyan writing for Eurasianet:
Most Armenian analysts and officials believe that Yerevan should pursue normalization with Ankara one on one, without Russia, Azerbaijan, or anyone else getting involved. Turkey, meanwhile, appears to be more interested in pursuing normalization in the framework of its proposed “3+3” platform, a regional body made up of the South Caucasus states and their neighbors: Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, plus Iran, Russia, and Turkey.
The role that Russia would play remains to be seen. Speaking at the New Knowledge Forum in Moscow on September 3, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov said, “now that the war in Nagorno-Karabakh is over, there are grounds for unblocking the political process, transport, and economic ties.” In 2009, Russia openly encouraged the nation's “football diplomacy” and welcomed the signing of the Zurich Protocols.
However, there are also “moral dimensions” at stake, according to Hans Gutbrod and David Wood:
To achieve more effective, mutually beneficial relations, both the Armenian and Turkish governments should work to reframe the Armenian genocide—and the wider suffering that accompanied the downfall of the Ottoman Empire—as a shared history. This is an inevitably long, emotionally strenuous process. For Armenia, it means shifting toward a diplomacy that invites Turkish society to engage—whether through exhibitions, travel, or academic and cultural exchange. Indeed, Armenian and Turkish societies have far more in common than what divides them. They may find the same in their histories.
One way to do this would be by focusing on individual actions and experiences rather than “collective castigations,” argue Gutbrod and Wood. They note that stories of those who stood in solidarity with Armenians remain largely untold, and perhaps now is the right time to bring those forward, to rebuild ties. But that would depend on both sides’ willingness. According to the action plan adopted by the Armenian parliament in late August, the government of Armenia will continue to lobby “for world capitals to recognize the Armenian Genocide,” which would “strengthen the system of security guarantees of Armenia.” It may prove more difficult. Ruben Melkonyan, a Turkish studies scholar at Yerevan State University, thinks Armenia may have to drop the genocide recognition now that the country is “in a weak position.”

author: Arzu Geybullayeva


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Indigenous artist depicts the hidden history behind the creation of Bangladesh’s Kaptai Lake · Global Voices
পান্থ রহমান রেজা (Pantha)

Artwork from Bor Porong: Story of Priyo Bala Chakma. A visual story by artist Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
Kaptai Lake is the largest artificial lake Bangladesh and a popular tourist destination. Located in the Rangamati district of the Chittagong Hill Tracts, Kaptai is a sought-after holiday destination for many Bangladeshis (foreigners need special permission to visit). For people from outside the region, the lake may be a place for spending good times, but to the local indigenous Chakma people it is the site of a heartbreaking event called Bor Porong, or “the great exodus.”
Kaptai Lake was created primarily for hydroelectric power generation when the Kaptai Dam was built in 1962. The dam, created for the Karnafuli Hydropower Station, submerged 54,000 acres of agricultural land. Over 100,000 local people from about 18,000 families, mostly from indigenous communities, were displaced during that period, resulting in the forced migration to neighbouring India of over 35,000 Chakmas and Hajongs.
As the story of the dreams and livelihoods of thousands of families shattered because of this lake is unknown to many, Tufan Chakma, a young indigenous artist, wished to highlight this heartbreaking incident for a new generation. The student of fine arts has featured the story of the Bor Porong in a visual story on Facebook. The work is based on an interview with Priyabala Chakma in the book “Kaptai Dam: The Great Exodus – Autobiography of the Drowned,” written by Advocate Samari Chakma.
Kaptai lake in Rangamati, Chittagong Hill Tracts. Image from Flickr by the author. Used with permission.
Tufan Chakma spoke to Global Voices Bangla on Facebook Messenger about his motivations:
The incident that rattled and triggered divisions among the local Chakma community and led to the exodus of a lot of people remains unheard as not much work had been done around it.
Rare works like Pradhir Talukdar's Bor Porong documentary (part 1 and part 2) and Samari Chakma's book ‘Kaptai Dam: Bor Porong’ have inspired me to create this visual story.
Nowadays we have become very much dependent on social media. Throughout the day, various issues appear and slide down in our Facebook newsfeed. I thought, if we can highlight such a big historical event visually in the newsfeed, some people may notice. So I recreated the incident in these arts using my imagination and posted them on on my Facebook page Tufan's Artbin.
An edited excerpt of the selected text and artwork published on Facebook by Tufan Chakma is presented below with the permission of the artist. The original text is in Bangla.
We used to take refuge under these great mango trees to cool down. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
My name is Priyo Bala Chakma and I am 65 years old. When I married in 1958 at the age of 17, I said goodbye to my father’s village and moved to my in-laws’ house in Burighat village near Rangamati district. The village was so green, you could see only greenery all around.
When temperatures rose in the afternoon, men, women, and children used to take refuge under these great mango trees to cool down. How soothing and comfortable these tree-shades were!
Everybody was talking about it quietly, with an undertone of fear. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
The construction of the Kaptai Dam started a few years ago. I was surprised to hear that all the cultivable lands in our village would be submerged.
Maybe we would also have to leave this village and go far away. I couldn't comprehend this fully—what would drown, who was behind this.
One day I asked my father what was going on. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
When I asked about it, my father sighed and replied, “far away from the town of Rangamati, the government was building a “goda” (meaning dam) at the mouth of the big river (Karnafuli).
All that was left was to install a gate on this dam. When the gate was closed, the massive stream of the Karnafuli would not be able to flow. As a result, the water level in all the rivers surrounded by the hills would rise. The low agricultural lands we depend on for our livelihoods would be submerged due to the rising water level.”
We became restless thinking about the future. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
Our lives were threatened. Dad said if these places went underwater, we also have to leave this house, this village and this hill. Maybe we would need to migrate to the neighbouring country.
Many in the village still could not believe that the water of the dam would travel miles away and engulf our village. Although some landowners were given forms to start the process of applying for replacement land elsewhere, many could not decide what was the right thing to do.
When will the dam gate be closed? What would happen to us then? Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
It seemed that everyone had nothing thing to do except talk about this. When are they closing the gate? And we waited… and waited.
Still, so much work left! Arranging new places to take refuge, fixing boats to survive in the event of a sudden flood, securing our cattle, and whatnot!
We shifted to a new home built up the hill. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
In the meantime, our father-in-law's house was moved. We shifted to a new home built up the hill, leaving the big house near the plains so that we would not sink into the water.
It had been raining all day and night. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
At last, that critical moment came. I don't remember much about it (the date, time). It started raining just like a wet gloomy day in the rainy season. It rained all day and night. The water started to rise slowly. When a severe storm hit us, the water level rose swiftly, submerging everything under the water.
it seemed that the water had already reached our door. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
I woke up in the morning and saw water and water everywhere. It was still raining. Everyone knew that the day had come. This time the water engulfed everything.
Everyone was trying to save their lives, taking refuge in unknown places. There was no time to think clearly.
Everyone was trying to save their lives.Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
Nobody had time to say goodbye to neighbours. Luckily, the boats had been arranged before. When the water rose, our relatives from downhill came to our house by boat. Following them, we reached Larma Para in Khagrachari District.
I did not have any news about my father and siblings. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
I lost contact with my father and siblings. Many years later I came to know via a relative that my father, three brothers and one sister had all set off to Arunachal Pradesh in India after the event. There they were struggling hard just to survive.
My father had died on the way to Arunachal Pradesh. Artwork by Tufan Chakma. Used with permission.
I didn't even know then that my father had died on the way to Arunachal (sigh). Because of the Kaptai Dam, all our siblings were separated during the early 1960s. Some of us were able to reunite after two or three decades. This did not happen for all of us together. Maybe it will never happen as I am growing old.
Read the complete story here.

author: পান্থ রহমান রেজা (Pantha)


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Prefecture threatens to sue after being ranked one of the “least attractive” places in Japan · Global Voices
Nevin Thompson

A night scene at Kusatsu, a hot spring resort area in Gunma Prefecture, north of Tokyo. Gunma was ranked the 44th least popular prefecture in Japan in 2021. Photograph by Nao Iizuka, from Flickr (image edited slightly from original). Image license: Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)
A Japanese prefecture is threatening legal action ″after being named one of Japan's “least attractive” places to visit.
Earlier this October, Gunma prefecture slipped from 40th to 44th place in Japan's annual ranking of Japan's 47 prefectures on the basis of their “attractiveness.” The results are announced each year by the Brand Research Institute, a private company based in Japan that Gunma's governor is considering taking to court.
This year Hokkaido took the top spot, with Kyoto and Okinawa claiming second and third place, respectively.
Although the Brand Research Institute states that rankings are based on 84 different attributes, Gunma governor Yamamoto Ichita stated the prefecture is considering legal action over the low grade it received in 2021.
Gunma Gov. is livid that his prefecture has sunk to an execrable 44th in a high-profile annual survey ranking prefectures’ “attractiveness”, saying he may even take legal action against the polling firm. He says the poll is baseless & insultinghttps://t.co/llQFfAi4AM
— Tomohiro Osaki (@jt_osaki) October 12, 2021
In a stormy press conference following the release of the 2021 results, Yamamoto said:
「なぜ（前年から）結果が下がったのか理由が判然とせず、根拠不明確なランキングによって県に魅力がないとの誤った認識が広まる」
It's unclear why Gunma's ranking went down (over the previous year). This imprecise ranking is going to spread the misconception that Gunma prefecture is unattractive.
An exurb of Tokyo, Gunma prefecture is part of the Kanto region in central Japan. An area of sprawling commuter towns and industrial areas, Gunma is best known for its mountains, alpine regions and ski hills, as well as for Kusatsu, one of Japan's most popular hot spring resorts.
“Akagiyama panorama,” by Raita Futo. Mount Akagi is located in Gunma prefecture. From Flickr. Image license: Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)
The bellicose remarks by the governor of Gunma might have a chilling effect on freedom of speech in Japan, according to the Brand Research Institute. In an interview with BengoshiDotCom (弁護士ドットコム), a news site focusing on legal issues in Japan, a representative of Brand Research Institute expressed puzzlement over Governor Yamamoto's remarks:
そもそも、我々は消費者調査を行い、その結果を発表しているだけであり、調査結果の発表を押さえつけようという発言であれば、それは言論の自由、報道の自由を妨害することでもあり、世の中のすべての調査結果の公表・公開を妨害するということになるのではないでしょうか
In the first place, we're just conducting consumer surveys and releasing the results. If there are attempts to suppress our findings, it would mean interfering with freedom of speech and freedom of the press. It could (potentially result in) hindering the release and publication of any sort of research findings.
The 2021 survey was not bad news for everyone, however. Tochigi prefecture, which neighbors Gunma and is famed for the ornate Nikko temple complex, a UNESCO world heritage site, and for its fall colors, sprung back from last place in 2020, moving up six spots to be designated Japan's 41st most-attractive prefecture in 2021.
Tochigi's poor ranking in 2020 had also reportedly enraged the prefectural governor. Seeking re-election, Tochigi governor Fukuda Tomikazu was forced to address the declining “attractiveness” of Tochigi prefecture in the October 2020 local election campaign, shortly after rankings had been released. Once re-elected, besides developing a government website dedicated to rebuilding Tochigi's reputation “from rock bottom,” Fukuda persuaded Brand Research Institute to improve its research methodology.
In response, the Brand Research Institute amended the 2021 survey to include more survey respondents, increasing the sample size from about 600 people to around 1,000.
The annual survey asks respondents all over Japan to rank the attractiveness of the country's prefectures based on attributes including mountains, rivers, cuisine, and tourist attractions. The scores are then combined and converted into points to create the ranking.
“Gunma Livin’,” by David Shackelford. From Flickr. Image license: Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)
Other prefectures also suffered setbacks in the 2021. Ibaraki, long ranked Japan's “least attractive” prefecture had advanced 5 spots in the 2020 ranking to 42nd place, but this year reclaimed 47th place as Japan's least appealing prefecture.
Still, for some residents of the suburban prefecture to the northeast of Tokyo, last place may be the best place to be. As one Ibaraki citizen said in 2020: “Ibaraki was famous for ranking last. 42nd place feels incomplete. 47th place is better.”

author: Nevin Thompson


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Young Azerbaijani activist goes public about grave crime committed against her whose perpetrator remains unpunished · Global Voices
Arzu Geybullayeva

“Self portrait trauma scars, Emotional abuse, Mental, sexual, Physical, verbal Domestic Violence Spousal marital rape Trauma PTSD, Self Portrait, Runjanefox, #janefox this is me. #domesticviolence #stopdv #spousalrape #dv #hearmystory” by Run Jane Fox is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0
Sanay Yaghmur, 17, an Azerbaijani feminist activist and administrator of the popular feminist platform Femkulis, was raped by a male relative on August 25, 2020. Despite the existence of medical records proving the crime had been committed, the perpetrator, Asgar Agayev, 29, remains free, according to a personal account by the activist.
Now, more than a year later, Yaghmur, has taken her personal story to Facebook, where she describes in detail what she endured, and holding the Prosecutor General office to account for failing to investigate and charging the perpetrator.
The Facebook post Yaghmur published on October 13 details the events of August 2020:
I heard my phone ring in the morning but I could not move at all for about ten or fifteen minutes. I also could not understand where I was. A little while later, I collected myself, and when I lifted my head, I saw, him, Asgar Agayev lying next to me. What I remember from that most clearly are pain and blood.
While Asgar Aghayev, who raped Sanay Yaghmur, is freely walking around, my friend has had to wait long to publicly disclose her harrasment case so as to not put her education in danger. +#CinayətkarıHəbsEt #CinayətkarıQoruma#ProkrorluğaArOlsun #ŞəxsiOlanSiyasidir pic.twitter.com/d2etJhr4FY
— Əli Məlikov (@Elimelikov06) October 14, 2021
❗Vətəndaş cəmiyyəti nümayəndələri və ictimai fəallar kampaniya başladaraq Sənay Yağmura qarşı cinsi zorakılıq törədən şəxsin cəzalanmasını tələb edir.
Nə baş verib: https://t.co/YjIH0icDYs#CinayətkarıHəbsEt#ProkurorluğaArOlsun#ŞəxsiOlanSiyasidir pic.twitter.com/9ayNEYMUWW
— Mikroskop Media (@MikroskopMedia) October 13, 2021
Civil society representatives and public activists have launched a campaign demanding that the perpetrator of sexual violence against Sanay Yagmur be punished. More on the story: https://t.co/YjIH0icDYs?amp=1
Sənay Yağmura ədalət tələb edirəm!
Azyaşlını zorlayıb azadlıqda gəzənlərin ölkəsində yaşamaq istəmirəm!#CinayətkarıHəbsEt#ProkurorluğaArOlsun#ŞəxsiOlanSiyasidir
— Səmt küləyi (Hiddlestoner) (@ZenenXeylagi) October 13, 2021
I demand justice for Sanay Yagmur! I do not want to live in a country where rapists of minors walk free!
Yaghmur's mother Zumrud Yaghmur told Global Voices that throughout the investigation, her daughter's activism was used against her.
“She was targeted because she was a feminist. The investigators claimed her lifestyle was inappropriate. They used pictures of my daughter from protests organized in recent years in support of gender equality and women's rights against her,” Zumurd Yaghmur said.
The activist's mother also said that circumstances prevented them from publicizing the case earlier.
“A month after the incident, we were ready to share what happened to Sanay,” said Zumrud Yaghmur. “We spoke to a local journalist, but a day later, fighting between Armenia and Azerbaijan began so we had to wait. In March 2021, Sanay received an acceptance letter from a university in Riga to pursue her studies in law. We decided to wait until she left the country before going public with the case.”
Sanay Yaghmur left Azerbaijan in September 2021 to pursue her studies at Riga Graduate School of Law.
According to national legislation, rape carries a maximum 15-year prison sentence. But often, the perpetrators walk free. In a culture, where violence and harassment against women is a persistent problem and one which has seen little improvement in recent years this is not surprising.
In a statement issued on June 28, Dubravka Šimonović, the Special Rapporteur on violence against women at the UN Human Rights Council said, “Rape is frequently not reported, and even if reported, it is seldom prosecuted. Even if there is a prosecution, it is rarely handled in a gender sensitive manner and often leads to re-victimization while producing few convictions. The result is normalization of rape, a culture of rape or silence on rape, stigmatization of victims and impunity for perpetrators.”
Despite pouring messages of support and solidarity, Yagmur also faced plenty of stigma but the amount of courage it has taken the activist to share her story publicly, speaks volumes of just how far women facing violence, assault, and harassment must go in order to get their voices heard in Azerbaijan.


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Between two borders: you can’t get through · Global Voices
Transitions Online

Photo by Maciej Moskwa for Political Critique. Used with permission.
This article by Nina Boichenko of Political Critique was translated by Victoria Roberts and appeared on Transitions Online on October 8, 2021. It is republished as part of a content-sharing partnership and has been edited to fit the GV style.
The space between the Polish and Belarusian borders has become a place of refugees since August. Poland will not let them through, and tries to send them back to Belarus, but Belarusian border guards will not let them back in either.
In September, Nina Boichenko reported from the tiny Polish village of Usnarz Gorny, on the border with Belarus, before it became impossible to travel there. There, 32 people from Afghanistan were stranded in the forested no-man’s-land. This is the story of those people, and how human rights organizations and border guards battled over their fate.
“Here are the satellite phones, which you need to hand over as soon as possible,” says the landlady of the apartment, pointing at the package.
We’re standing in a cramped room, with stuff everywhere. A cat has found itself a spot on a gray sweater lying on the floor. Another cat is twining itself around my leg. The woman is chaotically packing a suitcase, explaining what needs to be handed over, and to whom. This is the second Warsaw address we’ve visited, to pick things up on our way to the border.
“Look, here you go. The main thing now is the tech – the important thing is to be in contact with them! Travel carefully and take care – there’s no fooling around over there,” the landlady warns, as we leave and she closes the door.
I open the trunk and stow the two backpacks of warm clothes and the satellite telephones. We should have set out a few hours ago, but got delayed due to the volunteers’ requests to collect things to pass on.
It won’t be easy to hand over the satellite phones: the people in the woods are surrounded by border guards, who aren’t even letting the human rights people see them.
We get on the road and reach the highway 20 minutes later. There are five of us in two vehicles, and it’s a four-hour trip from Warsaw to the Belarusian border.
We get to Usnarz Gorny, in the forest near where the group of 32 people is stranded. It’s getting dark. We only have 10 kilometers to go. A border patrol appears in the oncoming lane, and a second later, they turn on their siren, signaling for us to stop. We pull over. After the border guards check our documents, they try to find out the purpose of our visit and why we’re in such big vehicles (we are traveling in minibuses with seats for a number of passengers).
“I’ll put it to you straight. You’re in large vehicles, we’re gonna pay close attention to you. Do we understand each other?” the border guard says, looking me in the eye.
“We’re just doing our job,” I answer.
“We’re doing ours, too,” the young man states, writing down our license plates, our personal information, and details of our mileage.
We drive on. A few minutes later, we get to the village. We stop in front of a store, and another patrol comes around the corner. The situation repeats itself.
The border guard asks exactly the same question. “Why do you need such large vehicles?”
“These are the ones we have,” I answer.
“You know, it’s not safe around here. You’d be better off going back,” he says, writing down our details.
“You don’t need to worry about us,” I reply politely.
I get out of the car. The small village has practically no lighting – there’s nothing but forest all around. There’s a tension in the air. Not so long ago, only one car a day passed by, but now there are patrols, media, and human rights activists everywhere, and the terrified local inhabitants.
In response to EU sanctions imposed on Belarus in August, Minsk began stoking a migration crisis on the Polish, Lithuanian, and Latvian borders.
The plan is relatively simple. Minsk encourages those who want to flee their countries to come to Belarus. From there, they can cross the border into Poland and be in the EU. By offering its own territory as a transit zone, Belarus created a problem for the EU and a financial opportunity for itself, because even though it’s easy to get a visa to Belarus, it isn’t cheap.
Interest groups on Arabic-speaking Facebook give information about how to get to Belarus. The posts include a price and a contact telephone number. On their arrival by airplane in Minsk, the people are transported to the border, but they must cross it on their own. Some people get to the border under their own steam. The asking price ranges from $100 to several thousand dollars.
On the Polish side, they are carrying out an unlawful “pushback” policy, persisting in calling these war refugees “illegal migrants.”
Under the pushback policy, border troops force migrants and refugees to cross back over the border of the country they came from. The policy is a direct violation of constitutional human rights and the Geneva Convention.
If someone who has crossed the border has no visa, he is indeed an illegal migrant. However, if the person announces that he wants to claim asylum, then he does not require a visa. In this case, migration services are obliged to accept the person’s claim and begin verification procedures. Until the authorities make a decision on whether to grant or deny refugee status, Poland must provide temporary housing, food and drink. This is guaranteed under international law.
Nevertheless, the official line of the Polish authorities is that there are no refugees in Poland. There are only attempts to illegally cross the border by people who possess a Belarusian visa, whom President Alyaksandr Lukashenka will not let back in.
Accordingly, the Polish border guards are just apprehending people in the villages and forested areas on the border and driving them back to Belarus, breaking their telephones in order to prevent them from communicating or filming what is happening.
The Poles are leaving people in the middle of the woods or right in front of the Belarusian guards, who also force them back. And so on, in a circle.
Meanwhile the human rights organizations are also monitoring the border area, trying to find anyone coming out of the forest before the border guards do. When they manage to do this, they quickly take down personal details and case histories, and exchange telephone numbers. They also issue a power of attorney which makes the refugee a client of the human rights organization, meaning he gets a lawyer to defend his rights. In theory. In practice, the Polish border guards do not give lawyers access to their clients, destroy power of attorney agreements, and take people back to the forest.
The human rights organizations and activists communicate by megaphone with the people camping in between the borders, trying to pose yes-or-no questions. Sometimes they succeed in exchanging messages, but at other times, the border guards interfere, for example by starting up engines so that no one can hear anything.
The people trying to cross into Poland are mostly from Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and the Congo – others come from Somalia, Yemen, Egypt, Cameroon, and Tajikistan – who fall victim to Lukashenka’s scam and the Polish authorities’ migrantophobia.
Arriving at the border (for which they have to pay big money), these people had no idea that they were serving as tools for Lukashenka. They have no warm clothes, no medicines, no food. They have no contact with their family and friends, and no one to turn to for help.
They drink water out of swampy streams, and eat whatever apples and corn they find.
A group of young people hangs out in front of the local store. There’s a speaker on the steps and they’re listening to rap and laughing. These are probably the only people here whose behavior doesn’t indicate tension.
I buy some water and head for the car.
A couple of journalists come around the corner, talking loudly about the situation on the border. One of them almost bumps into a woman standing nearby, but manages to swerve.
Approaching her, I say, “There are too many people these days; it’s strange, isn’t it?”
“There are a lot. I haven’t seen so many people in years,” she answers. “At night, there are helicopters flying over, lighting up the streets. It’s eerie, seeing that spotlight.”
“Frightening?”
“Yes. It’s frightening that they’re playing with people. I don’t know who’s right, and I’ll never know. I only know that the people in the forest have become playthings, and that this is inhuman.”
Another patrol drives past us and slows down. The woman looks wary, but keeps talking.
“The other day, I heard a shot from the forest, and my knees completely buckled. I can’t stand this tension any more. Is it possible to resolve this conflict in a humane way?”
“Maybe,” I say.
“But will they resolve it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How will it turn out?” the young woman mutters sadly. “Which way will it go?”
At the end of August, Poland announced it would happily help Belarus and would supply the people in the forest in Belarus with everything they needed (while insisting there were no refugees in the forest in Poland). Warsaw sent a truck with tents, blankets, and personal hygiene items, and asked the government in Minsk to accept the aid. The truck reached the border and waited for permission to enter – at the same time as the Polish border guards were bundling people into Belarus. Meanwhile, the Belarusians were shoving them back.
We approach the border point, trying to find the aid truck. After five minutes’ driving along the line of traffic, we find what we’re looking for.
The driver is strolling around outside his vehicle, bored. I try to start a conversation with him, but he darts into his cabin, shutting the door firmly behind him.
Poland knows that Belarus will not accept help, but it’s not about the help; it’s about making the gesture.
It’s getting late, and we decide to stay the night with a local we know. We decide that if one of our vehicles gets stopped, the other will drive on and try not to lead the border guards to this person’s door.
It’s dark all around. We’re driving along along the village road behind our friend’s car. We’re going slowly so as not to run over an animal. There are a lot of deer here. After a minute, the border guards appear on our tail. They turn on the siren, signaling for us to stop. My friends manage to swerve, and we pull over.
There are four border guards. Two of them are fully equipped: vests, masks, and assault rifles. One of them, who doesn’t have a mask, is really young; he looks around 20. Another guard, this one older, asks for our documents. We hand them over.
“Where’s the second vehicle?” asks the border guard. “You had two.”
“It went on ahead.”
“Where was it headed?”
“We don’t know; we were following them.”
“Could you call them and ask where you were going?”
“We can’t, we don’t have a signal.”
The border guard takes our documents and goes to the car, while the two with the automatics stand by the side of the road. We hear the one who had talked with us trying to read out our details over the phone. They can’t hear him. There genuinely is no signal here, or only a Belarusian one.
Finally he comes back with our documents.
“Can I ask something?” I say.
“Sure.”
“What do you think about all of this?”
“It’s difficult.”
“Difficult for you as a human being, or difficult work-wise?”
“As a human being,” the border guard answers. “Work-wise, too,” he adds, after a few seconds.
After we say goodbye to the border guards, we park outside our local contact’s house. There’s not a single lamp anywhere around, and the only source of light is the house, which is in the middle of the forest. The sky is overcast and it’s wet. It’s silent.
A man opens the door to us. He has melancholy eyes and a kind face. In the entrance to his cozy house, a big white dog licks my hand.
“I moved here a few years ago, for the peace and quiet,” our host says. “Only a week ago, the border guards were stopping by for tea, out of boredom. They were nice people. And now they’re thumping the car window with their rifle butt and checking my documents,” he says, serving us dinner.
“They’ve stopped us four times in the last 10 kilometers,” I say. “One of the last set of border guards was actually nice.”
“The one thing I don’t understand is why they’re carrying out these Nazi orders.” Angry now, the man puts a plate of pasta on the table. “Why are they forcing exhausted people to climb back over the barbed wire? Why don’t they refuse? After all, they won’t be sent to a tribunal for refusing. The pushback policy violates the constitution. What they’re doing is illegal. They took their oath to the constitution, not the authorities! Why does a man hold on so hard to his cushy job? Why is his salary more important than someone else’s life? Where is the border with humanity?”
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
“I don’t know myself,” our host says quietly, staring at the wall.
Seven in the morning. There’s a light mist, and our feet are already wet with dew. It’s cold.
The human rights group’s camp lies in front of us: four tents and 10 or so vehicles.
Right beside the camp, the border guards form a line, controlling access to the group of refugees. Just a few days ago, it would have been possible to approach this group of people, but now the activists have been edged out, so that none of those sitting in the forest can be seen.
Photo by Maciej Moskwa for Political Critique. Used with permission.
One of the people from the human rights organization comes out of a tent, holding a mug and a steaming thermos.
“We brought you some things,” I tell her.
“Thanks. I’ll take them now.”
“How is it here?”
“It’s cold. All the people in the woods are already sick. Many of them have stomach ache, probably because of the water. There are swamps around here.”
Over the next few days, the woman from the Polish human rights organization Bread and Salt will tell me about finding a pregnant woman who had spent two weeks in the forest, or the diabetic man who fell into a coma – but the border guards refused to call an ambulance for him.
“People showed us their bruises from the beatings, told us how the border guards set a dog on them. But when they told the Belarusians that they didn’t want to go to Poland, and wanted to leave, the guards started firing shots around their feet, forcing them to go back over,” she adds.
At this point, we’re driving along the border. Behind the border crossing, Poland has already laid a barbed wire fence about a meter high. In August, Ukraine gave Lithuania 38 tons of barbed wire in humanitarian aid.
I stop at a place where the fencing is a little bent. I look carefully at the sharp blades, trying to find any trace of blood. Soon after this, pictures of human leg injuries started appearing on the internet. And a week later, the Belarusian border guards would put out the first video of the mutilated body of a deer which had impaled itself on the wire.
We drive back to Warsaw on an empty road. A few days later, the Polish government will declare a state of emergency, and the activists, media, and human rights people will have to get out of the border zone. Everyone will have to leave in a hurry, in order to be out of the area by midnight. There will end up being a traffic jam of activists on their way out of the area … and a traffic jam of soldiers and police on their way in.
On the same day the emergency is declared, a protest will begin in Warsaw. People will gather around the Sejm – the lower house of parliament – to express solidarity with migrants and refugees, while an activist group sets up camp and goes on hunger strike. Police will outnumber protesters.
The human rights organizations will unite into a single monitoring group, and continue filming events in the border areas that don’t fall under the state of emergency. Activists will travel through the border villages telling the locals how they can help the refugees without breaking the law.
The emergency situation is still in force in the area around Usnarz Gorny. There are no longer any witnesses. Everyone has left. Only the personal factor is left: sometimes people somehow manage to come across more humane border guards who allow them to video what is happening. Sometimes they manage to get through, or get some water. Or sometimes they get a bullet at their feet – it’s all down to luck now.
On the night of September 18, the temperature dropped to 3 degrees Celsius, and the next day the Polish border service reported the first bodies, three men from Iraq.
That same day, information about the discovery of a woman’s body appeared in the Belarusian border service report. It was reported that at the Polish crossing point, not far from the place where the body was found, there were clear traces visible of a body having been dragged from Poland into Belarus.
The account of the incident stated: “Around the body, there were three children, aged seven to 15 years old, and also a man and an elderly woman. They stated that they had been forced to walk to the border and then cross the Polish-Belarusian border, at gunpoint.”

author: Transitions Online


text:
Deputy from Kazakhstan says ‘Squid Game’ mirrors everyday life in the country · Global Voices
Paolo Sorbello

The ominous card given to the participants in the Squid Game. A screenshot from Netflix's YouTube promotional video.
The popular streaming service Netflix said its new series, Squid Game, created by Korean director Hwang Dong-hyuk, became the platform's most-watched show. The series, which portrays a survival game among impoverished, debt-ridden residents in South Korea, has sparked conversations about how unequal economic systems trigger a deadly battle for survival.
Aikyn Konurov, the leader of the People's Party of Kazakhstan a member of parliament, said that the tragic competition of Squid Game plays out in real life, as people in Kazakhstan try to grapple with mounting debt and poverty.
“These problems exist all over the world. Kazakhstanis have been playing this game for a long time,” Konurov said at a press conference.
The People's Party was born in 2004 from the merger of a fraction of the Communist Party and the People's Party. It used to be called Communist People's Party until November 2020, when the members decided to drop the “Communist” moniker.
In the January 2021 elections, the People's Party obtained a record 10 seats in the 107-member parliament, while the lion's share of the vote was unsurprisingly captured by the long-reigning Nur-Otan party.
Konurov went on to blame exasperation and bursts of violence – such as the shooting that targeted bailiffs in the process of repossessing a home in September – on predatory lending. “Our financial system is sick, it breeds discontent, it creates social tension,” he said.
According to the country's Central Bank, individual debt rose by 17 percent in the first seven months of 2021. The Financial Association of Kazakhstan, a sectoral lobby group, said in a report that the loan portfolio in commercial banks has grown significantly in the past three years.
In a joint statement with the Confederation of Labour, a trade union organization, the People's Party called on the government of Kazakhstan to ratify the International Labor Organization's Convention 131, which regulates the minimum wage.
In a follow-up interview with the news site Orda.kz, Konurov said his party would demand that the government increase the minimum wage to 90,000 tenge (around 210 US dollars) from today's 42,500 tenge (around 100 US dollars) per month. Earlier this year, President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev promised a 40 percent increase to 60,000 tenge starting from January 2022.
The campaign to increase the minimum wage, called “For a dignified salary!” was posted on the global petition website Avaaz.org. It has so far gathered only about 300 signatures, a far cry from the 10,000 the party promised during the press conference.
In September, the People's Party presented a draft law to parliament that would establish the principle of individual bankruptcy, which would change the rules of engagement for debt collection. While the law is still under review, its proponents say that, with such protection, individuals could not be deprived of their home. After a deadly shooting in Almaty, the country's largest city, deputies cited “monstruous” debt collection practices as the shooter's motive.
In a mockery of Tokayev's 2019 policy of the “listening state,” the open-door policy of transparency inaugurated by the new president, in June the People's Party sent hearing aid devices and prescription glasses to the members of the government. The move, aimed to stir controversy, was a provocation to nudge the government to fulfill the promise and listen and look closer into the problems of the population, according to the party's MPs.
While the harrowing carnage portrayed in Squid Game is certainly not how life plays out in everyday Kazakhstan, the rare admission that inequality and poverty have become increasingly widespread across the country is perhaps a relevant social critique coming from a historically-timid political opposition.
In neighboring Uzbekistan, another kind of social critique emerged from a popular Telegram channel, Troll.uz, which shared a doctored picture of one of the games played in the series, highlighting how difficult and complicated the solution would be in Uzbekistan.
In the series, some players find that the solution to a complicated puzzle is to lick the back of a sugar cracker. This moment in the show was used as a metaphor for the Kafkaesque situation in the country, where “to win, you must lick well.”
A post shared by TROLL.UZ (@troll.uz)
The all-too-real reception of the dystopian Netflix series in Central Asia suggests that the socio-economic conditions have worsened in recent years and the population is increasingly indebted.

author: Paolo Sorbello