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Digital Guerrillas Bring Down Russian State Censor’s Website · Global Voices
Isaac Webb

Image by Luis Prado for the Noun Project. Mixed by Tetyana Lokot.
When access to the messaging app Telegram was interrupted in Russia on June 3, for the second time in less than a week, some worried that the app had been blocked by state authorities. Telegram has been under pressure from Roskomnadzor, the state censor, to comply with a law requiring online services to turn over user data and register with the government for many months.
But for once, Rozkomnadzor was not the culprit. Instead, Telegram was the victim of a guerrilla campaign launched by dymoff.space, a domain that is blocked in Russia. Thanks to a flaw in Roskomnadzor's registry of blocked websites, dymoff.space was able to alter its technical settings and pass off other websites’ IP addresses as its own.
So when Internet service providers (ISPs) added dymoff.space's IP addresses to their block list, they unknowingly blocked Telegram and several other websites in Russia.
Roskomnadzor was aware of this loophole before the attack and had instructed providers to take websites’ IP addresses directly from its registry of blocked sites, rather than from websites themselves. Recently, however, ISPs have reverted to manually checking blocked websites’ IP addresses, resulting in multiple major websites — and even a program run by Roskomnadzor itself — being blocked.
These attacks call to mind rogue efforts to undermine the state censor in the wake of its decision to block Alexey Navalny's blog in 2014. RuNet Echo's Andrey Tselikov summarized the efforts at the time:
Because Roskomnadzor requires ISPs to constantly check if a resource is trying to circumvent a ban by changing its IP address, blocked resources can introduce code that redirects some of these IP queries to a different website. Eventually, goes the theory, ISPs will pick up on this redirect and block the secondary website as well. So if a blocked site is savvy enough to redirect to a government site, say Kremlin.ru, ISPs will ultimately block Kremlin.ru, a block that obviously can't stay in place for long.
When Roskomnadzor established its registry in 2012, it recorded the domain names and IP addresses of every blacklisted website and handed this list to ISPs, so that they could block the sites on the list. Since 2015, Roskomnadzor has used an “Inspector” that automatically checks access to blacklisted websites to make sure they are actually being blocked, threatening providers with administrative fines if websites fall through the cracks.
In response, several providers have begun double checking IP addresses manually to avoid punishment. According to Filipp Kulin, the general director of the host diphost.ru, this manual check caused providers to add erroneous IP addresses to their block lists.
In this most recent attack, dymoff.space included IP addresses for Russia's state-run Channel One website, the social media websites Odnoklassniki and VKontakte, NTV.ru, Booking.com, Facebook, Russian Railways, Mail.ru, and a number of other websites in its DNS settings, though access to most websites was not entirely interrupted because they use a large number of IP addresses.
However, users were completely unable to access one website that dymoff.space included in its troll: nag.ru, a website that provides analytical information about Russian ISPs.
Image: Pixabay and Kremlin Press Service, edited by Kevin Rothrock.
Leonid Volkov of opposition leader Alexei Navalny's Anti-Corruption Foundation summed up the event in a lengthy post on his personal Telegram channel:
Случилось то, что должно было случиться: владелец одного из ресурсов, попавших под блокировки, воспользовался очевидной ошибкой в самой системе блокировок, и сделал так, чтобы провайдеры, исполняющие решение РКН о блокировке его ресурса, одновременно блокировали еще кучу сайтов, от “Первого канала” до Телеграма, от наг.ру до “СКБ Контур” (чувак, руки прочь от Наг.Ру и от “СКБ Контур”!).
При этом РКНу все говорили много раз и много лет, что в их системе блокировок есть такая дыра и проблема, но РКНу же виднее, они там больно умные.
What happened was exactly what could have been expected: the owner of one of the resources that had been blocked exploited an obvious mistake in the blocking system and made it such that providers, fulfilling Roskomnadzor's decision to ban his resource, simultaneously blocked many other sites, from “Channel One” to Telegram, from nag.ru to “SKB Kontur” (dude, hands off Nag.Ru and “SKB Kontur!”).
People had been telling Roskomnadzor over and over for many years that there was this hole, this problem in their system, but Roskomnadzor couldn't see it…they're terribly smart over there.
Dymoff.space is not the only blocked website to fight back recently. On Thursday, Dmitry Khomak, the founder of Lurkmore, a “satirical Wikipedia,” tweeted an image of a letter from Roskomnadzor to ISPs requesting that IP addresses belonging to VKontakte and Yandex be removed from provider blacklists. Their IP addresses, it seems, were also added by domains that had been recently blocked by Roskomnadzor.
ЭТО ИСТЕРИКА.
Некий И.П. Рак (реально, такой есть в РКН) запрещает провайдерам России блокировать IP-адреса Вконтача и Яндекса. pic.twitter.com/7RGoNSAOF9
— David Homak (@aalien) June 1, 2017
This is hysterical: this I.P. cancer (really, such a thing exists in Roskomnadzor), forbids providers in Russia from blocking the IP addresses of Vkontakte and Yandex.
Similarly, in mid-May, the owner of the domain ncsmedia.ru secretly added the IP address of Roskomnadzor's Inspector to its DNS page. In response, Roskomnadzor sent the following letter to providers asking that the Inspector's IP addresses be removed from their blacklists.
The text of a message sent to Internet service providers requesting that Roskomnadzor's IP addresses be removed from their blacklists.

author: Isaac Webb


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To Resign or Not: Two Attorneys Make Their Case on the ‘No Confidence’ Vote Against Trinidad & Tobago’s Chief Justice · Global Voices
Janine Mendes-Franco

The Hall of Justice in Port of Spain, Trinidad. Photo by Klaas Vermaas, CC BY-ND 2.0.
Online discussion about the Law Association of Trinidad and Tobago's (LATT) vote of no confidence against Chief Justice Ivor Archie continues. Is calling for Archie's resignation justified or overhyped? Would his exit be a help or a hindrance to accountability? Depends on who you ask.
Senior Counsel Martin Daly has been one of the most outspoken voices on the controversy underpinning the vote — the bungling of the appointment of Marcia Ayers-Caesar to the High Court. Ayers-Caesar, who was previously chief magistrate, had left behind a significant unfinished case load, which has compromised the ability of scores of prisoners to get justice in a timely manner.
In a weekend post on the candid Wired868 news site, Daly put forward his rationale for why both Archie and members of the Judicial and Legal Service Commission (JLSC) — which advises the president on the appointment of judges — should resign over the matter. Daly has repeatedly called the no confidence vote “a key moment in the pursuit of accountability by public officials”. He explained:
There are two critical components in the exercise of power. One is the lawful authority to exercise the power. The other is the moral authority that underlies the exercise of that power and which rests on the trust and confidence of the citizens. […]
When its acts and omissions were first subjected to legitimate inquiries, the JLSC was utterly dismissive. […] More offensively the JLSC never once acknowledged that it had even a share of responsibility for the now notorious debacle of 53 part heard cases having to be started over. […]
That wrong and strong attitude has destroyed the public trust and confidence in the JLSC and has resulted in the overwhelming passage of the resolutions of no confidence and call to resign. The Chief Justice and the other members of the JLSC as a result, have lost their moral authority to a degree that they have lost their legitimacy to exercise the constitutional authority entrusted to them.
Attorney Justin Phelps — who boycotted the no confidence vote on the grounds that, the chief justice not even being a member of the law association, it was not legitimate LATT business — called Daly's post “the best of the arguments FOR the resignation of the CJ [chief justice] that you will find amongst the flood of such calls.” However, he still believed “the factual basis for this call for a resignation is slim – despite its hype level”:
What does it allege against him and is it right in its conclusions? The allegation I find in here is failure to do adequate background checks on Caesar-Ayers and a lack of humility in responding to calls for answers. The first was corrected by the JLSC by revoking the appointment, and issuing a statement explaining why. There was also a statement from Ayers-Caesar which accepted responsibility and which she has never publicly disavowed. The second assertion about the lack of humility in replying is not a reason for removing a CJ, or an argument that he lacks transparency or accountability. It might be a reason not to like him- but that's irrelevant.
What is missing from the discussion is what cannot be disputed: there are ancient and very good reasons for securing the office of the CJ from intimidation and politicization. His tenure has to be protected so that he can maintain the body which acts as a final check on the exercise of executive power. No one is mentioning that and that is unfortunate- because it would help the public measure the extent of the alleged transgressions of the CJ. Instead key-words like accountability and transparency are being used to justify the ruin of the arm of government that ensures that the executive is transparent and accountable.
On the question of legitimacy, Phelps countered:
It's incorrect to suggest that the CJ (JLSC)'s ‘legitimacy’ has been lost. The CJ has not lost the ‘moral authority’ to perform its functions because of the vote any more than a government loses the moral authority or legitimacy to tax because a portion of the country sign a petition of no confidence in the government. If our institutions are that fickle we would not be able to maintain law and order.
Daly's article maintained, however, that “lack of diligence and of accountability are quite different matters and not to be confused—as some have attempted to do—with impeachment on the ground of misbehaviour under the Constitution”:
The loss of confidence and legitimacy of the JLSC guarantees, if they cling on to office, that any appointments they purport to recommend in the future will be under a cloud and the legitimacy of the appointees will be seriously infected. […]
Another fallout of this debacle is a further painful questioning by the man in the street whether we can be the ultimate guardians of our legal affairs.
Phelps found this completely ironic:
The legal profession is in error if it thinks its vote represents ‘public opinion’ so wide to remove the authority or legitimacy of a democratic institution. Public opinion is very important- but here, that opinion is being shaped NOT by the conduct of the CJ but by the relentless and highly publicized calls by a few for him to go. Ironically- his detractors are CREATING the lack of trust that they claim is the reason he should go.
Whether he will go is another matter entirely, and doesn't seem likely. It is a very tricky business getting rid of a chief justice. The process of removal must involve an independent investigation. The constitution says that a chief justice can be removed “only for inability to perform the functions of his office […] or for misbehaviour”, neither of which appears to apply in this instance.
Phelps explained it this way:
There's a reason why Section 137 [on the removal from office of a judge] sets the standard high for removal of a CJ- and it's for the very reason that the judiciary is afforded a high level of protection in order for democracy to work. The same point that is missing from the discussion. If there's any merit in this perspective, then maybe Archie has a duty NOT TO RESIGN in order to protect the legitimacy and moral authority of our judiciary.

source: news-globalvoices

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

author: Janine Mendes-Franco


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A New Festival in Madhya Pradesh Revives a Lost Indigenous Culture · Global Voices
VideoVolunteers

The festival of Rani Kajal Mata, Screenshot from YouTube.
This post was written by Sangeeta Rane and originally appeared on Video Volunteers, an award-winning international community media organization based in India. An edited version is published below as part of a content-sharing agreement.
Thousands of people have gathered in Verwada village in Barwani district to celebrate the newest festival in Madhya Pradesh – the festival of Rani Kajal Mata, an ancient, indigenous deity. The deity, a sacred rock, is the guardian goddess of the Pata tribe that resides in Barwani, the northernmost district of the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh, bordering Rajasthan.
It was the first time that such a festival, celebrating the goddess and the indigenous way of life, was organized by Jagrit Adivasi Dalit Sangathan, a nonprofit working for the welfare of the Adivasis or the tribals. To join in the celebrations, a crowd of over 5,000 indigenous people from around Barwani and it’s neighboring districts came together. Rani Kajal Mata is the protector of an ancient tribe in Madhya Pradesh. The community prays to her in times of trouble.
Why are the tribal residents of Barwani now summoning their protector? “We’ve lost our indigenous seeds. Our water and jungles are disappearing,” says Bilatibai from Verwada village of Barwani. Bilatibai and her community’s concerns are valid and supported by a study that places Barwani in districts that are “very highly vulnerable” to climate change, particularly with regards to the availability of water. Madhya Pradesh is home to 14.69 percent of India’s Adivasi or tribal population, which totals 104 million nationwide.
Barwani, primarily a tribal district, lies in the valley whence the river Narmada flows. Large swathes of the district’s settlements and forests have been submerged due to the Sardar Sarovar Dam — one of the highest dams in the world. For instance, this report claims that several tribal forest villages have been completely submerged under Narmada’s waters, displacing local communities and destroying the green cover of this largely arid area. The study also shows that dams along the river have caused water stagnation, making it saline and hampering the natural process through which fertile sediments would be deposited on the banks. The alkaline saline water is unsuitable for irrigation and has rendered fields barren. This has severely affected the tribal communities in the region whose primary occupation is agriculture.
Video Volunteers’ Community Correspondent Pawan Solanki, whose own tribal family has been displaced from their home at the banks of Narmada river, says:
Our culture worships nature and its elements as divine. Over the time, we’ve replaced these gods with others and have forgotten the importance of nature in our lives. But we depend on the environment for food, livelihood and shelter.
Pawan Solanki filed this video report for Video Volunteers:
According to Pawan's report, the Adivasis consider Rani Kajal Mata to be their protector, praying to the Goddess to ward of trouble, and asking for answers to their problems.
In the festival and by invoking Goddess Rani Kajal Mata, the tribals elders of Barwani want to remind the younger generations about their dependency on nature and the need to protect it. It is also an attempt to revive the fight to regain jaal, jungle, zameen (water, forests, and lands).
Our ancestors could bring water to dry land by singing. A choki (ritual) could end a pandemic disease. These simple ways kept our communities happy.
The community's concerns about the environment have been prescient, as impoverished, vulnerable rural communities have had to bear the brunt of deteriorating environmental conditions and shortages of different vital natural resources.
The community elders are feeling the impact of environmental degradation through development projects draining their livelihood and eroding their identity. These communities are trapped in cycles of famine and debt. As a result, members of the younger generation are forced to migrate across the country, often working low-paying hazardous jobs. Migration itself has diluted individual tribal identities, alienating these people from their sustainable way of life.
“Due to migration, our brothers and sisters go to cities and lose pride in their individual identity. They assume that being tribal is inferior,” says Pawan. The festival celebrates this unique identity through arts and culture, and people tell stories that reflect the generational oral history, and say prayers invoking the ancient goddess.
The gathering also serves as a meeting point for the thousands of people from various villages across Barwani, who are fighting for their rights under the environmental and social movement Narmada Bachao Andolan (Save Narmada Movement). “The people come here for three days. They congregate and discuss new strategies, learn about new solutions from each other and learn about the overall progress,” says Pawan. While elders have been active in the movement, the youth’s interest in the movement has been fading. Pawan feels that this festival can become a starting point to get more young people to join the community’s fight to protect and preserve the environment and, hence, their own identity.

author: VideoVolunteers


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Chronicles of a Concerned Venezuelan: The Landscape of Everyday Terror · Global Voices
Aglaia Berlutti

Policemen getting ready. Photo by Flickr user Rodrigo Suárez. Used under CC 2.0 license.
This post is the second of a series originally published by the author on Medium. Read here the first installment.
“Are you afraid?”
My five-year-old neighbor asks me this as he waits beside his mother for the elevator. His little face is pale, with violet bags under his eyes. His mother glances at me, worried and tired. I shrug, not knowing how to respond.
“A bit, but I try not to pay too much attention to it,” I say in the end.
“My mom is also afraid,” he says quietly. “Every night, all of us at home get scared from the noises on the street. We don’t know where to run.”
My neighbor sighs, extends her hand and strokes the boy’s cheek. He hugs her, squeezing himself tightly against her waist. I remain paralyzed by a hazy, icy sense of anguish. I want to say the right thing, offer him some kind of comfort, say something that not only could ward off fear but protect him from the reality that we adults suffer. But, of course, I can’t— perhaps there is nothing I can say—so I just remain very quiet, out of frustration and helplessness.
Inside the elevator, three neighbors watch us silently as we ascend. Among the murmurs of courteous greetings someone starts to talk about what they read on social media about the targeted attacks in certain areas in our neighborhood that have joined the protests, about violence on the streets, night shootings in different parts of Caracas. I look at the boy, hiding his head in his mother’s body. His small hands tense against her clothing, his body stiff. His mother sighs and wraps her arms around him. But there is no way to protect yourself from information, from the tension, the asphyxiating climate of a country in crisis like ours.
I watched this boy grow up. I heard his baby cries at night, and stumbled upon him taking his first steps in the hallway of my building. His family is part of the everyday backdrop of my life, of sporadic encounters here and there. Suddenly, I think that in his five years of life, he hasn’t known anything other than the distress that fills every space of our daily lives. That he’s suffered impoverishment, persistent fear, the burden of overwhelming fear everywhere. A broken, wounded generation. Uncertainty as the only answer to the future.
When the doors open, the mother takes the boy into her arms and I see them walk down the partially lit hallway. The boy looks over his mother’s shoulder at me, his eyes sad, his cheeks tense. His mother kisses his head, whispers something to him—perhaps the very thing that didn’t occur to me to say to calm him down—and they walk down the street, their heads down, their bodies rigid. And I stand there thinking about everything we have lost, in all those silent spaces, devastated and grief-stricken, in a country full of scars.
I walk down the street looking at the people that pass me. Everyone has the boy’s burdened look, the one that I should have, except that I no longer care. In the last few weeks we’ve suffered the rigors of the nocturnal crackdown our neighborhood endures, the constant fear of what could happen during attacks by strangers on motorcycles or on foot. Inexplicable explosions, the rush of stray bullets—all have become habitual. Suddenly, violence has permeated everything—part of small habits and the perception of normalcy. I find myself overwhelmed by the mere idea of the resignation it symbolizes, and yet the reality that prevails when you convince yourself that you should continue, that you need to find a certain sense of normalcy. What? I asked myself, somewhat violently. What type of normalcy can you find in this country right now?
There are no answers, of course, for something like this. I think about it when I get in line to buy a bit of bread, when I walk down the street trying to get around burnt garbage in which you can still smell the residue of tear gas. When I stop in front of the stone walls surrounding some of the buildings on the public square and make out a line of burnt holes smelling of gunpowder. As I brush over them with my fingers, I’m filled with disgust, terror. A kind of indefinite bitterness that has a lot to do with uncertainty. The awareness of living in a country where, in all likelihood, there is a bullet with your name on it.
The afternoon is peaceful. The street has the same look about it as it had during the almost 20 years that I have gazed at it through the window of my studio. There is an air of calm and deceptive tranquility, with blossoming trees stirring in the wind and the sporadic sound of traffic. And it amazes me that it is so easy to disguise the obvious, the rawness of what we’re going through. That veneer of fragmented and incomprehensible normalcy.
A military officer crosses the street carrying his regulation weapon across his chest. In the distance, it looks threatening, with the case and chest guard clearly visible. I see him circle the square, advance, stop at a corner. He rests his gun on the ground, standing still. A few minutes later, two more officers join him. And the seemingly ordinary street transforms into something else. Into a tacit threat, but one that is impossible to ignore. There is something allegorical in that image, in the fact that the police state is everywhere, a visible fragment between all conceptions of the daily routine.
When I was ten years old, perhaps a bit younger, I saw a tankette for the first time, that enormous military vehicle that has become part of the urban landscape in Venezuela when protests escalate. The first coup had just taken place and my street was being guarded by military personnel who terrified me with their uniforms, their clearly visible weapons, their aggressive air. But the most vivid memory I have of that time is the colossal silhouette of the tank that blocked off the street in front of my school. A metal hulk, looking old and dangerous. An impossible creature whose presence I could neither explain nor justify. I stood at its side, my bag on my shoulder, holding my grandmother’s hand nervously, not knowing why its form, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, terrified me so much. I still didn’t know what that incongruous object was really doing to everything I knew, but the fear was real and close.
I grew up in a country surrounded by a general state of suspicion, protected by militarism, sunken and crushed under an olive green boot. As I look at a group of officials standing in the sun, uncomfortable and a little restless, it occurs to me that I don’t remember a time when violence was not part of my life, when I didn’t live in fear of being attacked by those who seeking to seize or maintain power. And I think about that girl I was, who easily—and with worrying speed—got used to the tank in the street, the armed military on the every corner, the perception of repression as part of everything in everyday life. What provokes perennial, silent violence in a child? That persistent vision of aggression as part of your identity, of everything you are and aspire to be?
Not long ago, I told a friend that I have been scared for so long that I don’t know how to shake the feeling. Or rather, how to cope with that combination of bitterness, fatigue, and fear that continues unabated. It is everywhere, in every bit of daily life, in the useless attempts at maintaining sanity, calm. Or just hope. Fear is part of every notion I have about this country, the way I live, the way I want to live.
The group of military officers walk to the corner and disappear beneath the trees. But even though they are no longer visible, the entire street seems tainted and contaminated by this violence that throbs at the heart of everything. When I close the window my hands shake. And the fear is there yet again, because it can’t be any other way. Because Venezuela is reflected in all the little things that remind us of the fracture, the cracks, the pain.
When I look out into the hallway to throw out the trash, my little neighbor is there. He is playing on the stairs, jumping from side to side. He throws the ball, catches it, throws it again. The rhythmic sound is almost relaxing. It makes me think of innocent times, painful because they are incomprehensible to me right now.
His mother watches him from the stairs. I sit next to her. She sighs and looks at me with sad, tired eyes identical to her son’s.
“Sometimes I play movies, music, and TV shows for him at full volume so that he won’t be able to hear the tear gas bombs. I lock him in, the windows closed and the spaces blocked with cloth soaked in bicarbonate. But. . . that’s not enough. How can this be?”
The boy takes the ball and runs upstairs, faking a feint. I hear him narrate an imaginary game, laughing out loud. And I feel a strange, persistent, inexplicable pain. His mother shakes her head, squeezes her hands until her knuckles turn white. Her distress is so immediate and apparent that it becomes mine as well. I understand it with total clarity.
“We’re trying to leave the country, but we don’t have the money. We’re stuck here.” She sighs, her cheeks tight, her eyes dry. A suffering so slow it has deformed her countenance. “And it doesn’t hurt us, his father and I. We can manage all this mess. But him…”
The boy runs down again and throws me the ball. I hold it clumsily with my hands open. He waves his arms and encourages me to throw it again. “We’re going to lose the game”, he yells. “Throw it to me now!” When I do, he messes around, aiming a bit, and returns to his little and fragile world that comforts him. His mother tilts her head, rubs her eyes with the palm of her hand.
“We have to find ways to survive,” she murmurs. “But beyond that, how do you prevent all of this from fucking up your future?”
I think of this phrase as I lie on my bed, listening to the sounds of the street, attentive to the explosions in the distance, the sound of what could be stray bullets here and there.
Has violence destroyed my future? That slow, endless trickle in this country that causes such deep wounds? A pain so old that I cannot do anything but think that perhaps it is irreparable. The thought makes my body tense, it makes me feel pain. I gasp as my head sinks into the pillow. And suddenly, everything around me becomes uncertainty. Uncertainty in the midst of the tense silence of the night, and the echo of explosions that seem to get closer and louder with every passing night.

author: Aglaia Berlutti


text:
How Not to Have Six Horrible Months in Uganda · Global Voices
Rosebell Kagumire

We are not allowed to be complex, like any other society.” Downtown Kampala by evening. PHOTO by Zahara Abdul, used with permission.
Every now and then we are forced to have this conversation. A conversation that many who reside in parts of the so-called Global South can relate to.
Usually, it's a story about someone's adventure in one of the countries with all these “beautiful people” and exotic landscapes. For me, there's a signifier that alerts me to these stories. It happens when I log on to Facebook and see a post shared by a friend with just the word “Eh!” accompanying it. In Uganda, this one little sound can encapsulate the entirety of someone's feelings about something. So when I saw this “Eh!” response to a recent story carried by the Canadian newspaper The Globe and Mail, I just had to click.
The piece, headlined  My travels in Uganda, like life, were not as perfect as the pictures, is by a young woman who comes to Uganda to intern at a microfinance initiative and ends up experiencing six months of horror—which teaches her the lesson that the world is not full of nice people.
Leaving aside the notion that social media images aren't necessarily a full reflection of people's lives, this “special dispatch” by a certain Justina Li “discovered” mostly the savage side of life in Kampala. Her account includes a robbery, a bus driver who leaves with her money and fake friendships of all kinds. She feels personally targeted as a result of her skin colour, and writes about the discrimination she experiences as a result. While it's true that all these things happen in Uganda—as in other parts of the of the world—Ms. Li narrates these anecdotes with a twist of melodrama which The Globe and Mail apparently thinks makes good fodder for their audience.
The writer then travels to Rwanda and writes of experiencing fear at the border, without qualifying where her fear comes from. You would be forgiven for thinking the Uganda-Rwanda border and Ms. Li's fear of being detained there is a scene from Trump’s America or most of Fortress Europe. Nowhere in her narrative does she interrogate where her fears might come from, especially as one rarely hear of arrests of travellers at the border.
Binyavanga Wainaina long ago reminded folks that when writing about Africa, you shouldn't forget to mention beautiful landscapes and beautiful children. And Ms. Li's article fulfils this requirement well, with mention of “an incredible jungle trek and a beautiful sunset.”
Screenshot from Justina Li's article in the Globe and Mail.
She later writes, however, that she “ached to belong. I stuck out like a sore thumb in the local community.” An extraordinary statement, if you ask me. It assumes that one can come from Canada, hit the road in Uganda and voilà, you “belong”. She recounts her attempts at “belonging”, such as wearing a local dress and getting an “African hair” style, but is surprised that those things don't give her enough street cred to confer a sense of belonging—something that takes time, a lot of hard work, understanding and compromises in many cases, in addition to a degree of comfort in your own skin.
“I went to a new country, believing that the majority of people in the world were trustworthy, with good intentions. I left, defeated,” writes Ms. Li. Sorry about that, but you travelled thousands of miles to another country to do an internship at a microfinance initiative where 77 percent of the population are below the age of 30 and face over 22 percent youth unemployment. In fact, for those between 15-24, the unemployment rate is at 83%. Have you thought about why that internship was given to you, and not to one of the thousands of Ugandan youths looking for such opportunities?
Throughout the article, questions kept coming to me. Did Ms. Li ever stop to think that the people around her might grapple with preoccupations similar to her own? Did she ever ask what she herself brought to the place? Why did she expect us to serve her on a silver platter with opportunities and knowledge? Did she evaluate her own place in the context, like why a “voluntourist” like her was sent to gain skills in a part of the world where over 2,000 others who could use the same opportunity do not? Wouldn't a little research about the place have helped? And was there no one you worked with whose name you could remember? Perhaps a lady who served you the lunches you said you ate alone? Someone who welcomed you to the microfinance office in your first days? Was there no act of kindness shown to you in your whole time in Uganda that is worth mentioning? Or perhaps now you get to be one of the Africa specialists we see popping up all around us due to your “good understanding of other cultures” gained during your brief stint in the “motherland”?
To help you answer these questions, I urge you to take a look at the post “Your White Savior Complex is detrimental to my development” by TMS Ruge. Ruge says his nickname is “Educated Angry African”, and I guess I am one too. You are operating within this complex regardless of your ethnicity. Yes, you had a horrible time, but I suggest you take a hard look at The Reductive Seduction of Other People’s Problems by Courtney Martin to understand why.
Ms. Li's piece ends on a familiar note. After laying out her run-ins with nasty Ugandans, she concludes her post with this sentence: “Uganda is a beautiful country with beautiful people with incredible stories who gave me so many opportunities.” Yet the article never talked about any of these “beautiful people”, nor their incredible stories. And apart from being “beautiful”—which is an all too common cover-up used by outsiders who would rather avoid talking about the realities—we are never allowed to be other things. We are not allowed to be complex, like any other society. Isn't a view of a people that veers between beautiful, on the one hand, and fraudulent, on the other, detrimental to the development you claim to have come here to work on? One hopes Ms. Li will ponder on that.

author: Rosebell Kagumire


text:
Russia’s Biggest Social Network Now Allows Political Ads, But Not For Everyone · Global Voices
RuNet Echo

Photo: Pixabay
Vkontakte, Russia’s most popular social network, has lifted a ban on political advertisements, albeit with strict limitations that are likely to benefit the country’s political establishment.
According to the website TJournal, political analyst Dmitry Kovalev recently noticed the policy change. In a Facebook post on Monday, Kovalev drew attention to new rules posted on Vkontakte, which state that the website’s ban on political advertising shall not apply to campaign materials in the Russian Federation.”
Even when it comes to campaigning in Russia, however, Vkontakte enforces several restrictions, and they work against anyone on the outside of the country’s formal politics. According to the new rules, Vkontakte will only sell ad space to political candidates officially registered with Russia’s Central Election Commission (barring unofficial candidates, like Alexey Navalny in the 2018 presidential race), registered political parties (barring opposition groups denied registration by the government), and social organizations whose members are registered electoral candidates.
Outside these confines, Vkontakte expressly bans “any advertisements of a political nature,” including ads by political publications, state deputies’ websites, “political actors,” state officials, and protesters, as well as any ads disseminating “opinions about political events.”
Vkontakte told TJournal that its current rules on political advertisements have actually been in place since last September, but the company refused to say which candidates placed campaign ads on its website in Russia’s parliamentary elections last fall.
Kovalev speculated on Facebook that allowing political advertising on Vkontakte and Odnoklassniki, Russia’s two biggest social networks, both owned by Mail.ru, could create the country’s “largest regulator of domestic politics.”

author: RuNet Echo


text:
Tens of Thousands in Croatia Decry Government Failure to Reform the Education Sector · Global Voices
Filip Stojanovski

June 1, 2017 protest in Zagreb, Croatia. Photo by NGO Zelena Akcija (Green Action), CC BY-NC.
Despite the rains on June 1, 2017, over 20,000 protesters marched through the center of Zagreb demanding educational reforms in Croatia. Around 10,000 more protested in the bigger cities of Split, Rijeka, Zadar, Poreč, Karlovac, Osijek and Slavonski Brod.
The protests were organized by the GOOD Initiative which advocates the inclusion of civic upbringing (Građanski odgoj i obrazovanje) in the educational system. The initiative is composed of 45 nongovernmental organizations which have been working together since 2008.
The protest was a repeat of the massive gathering in 2016 when 50,000 Croatians demanded the implementation of educational reforms. This year's protest highlighted the failure of the government to address the urgent demands of the protesting citizens.
Aside from revising the curriculum, some of the additional demands this year include the democratization of the school system by enabling the participation of educators in policymaking and the adoption of a clear evaluation guide for teachers’ work.
The main message of the protests was that the authorities must implement substantial reforms in the curriculum based on the input of educational practitioners, instead of relying on the recommendations of powerful partisan groups which have little expertise on managing schools.
Protesters carried signs reading “You failed the citizens,” “Enough is enough!” and “Educational reform is a [matter of] public interest!”
‘It's not called clerical but curricular reform’ #Croatia #hrvatskamozebolje #hrvatskamorabolje #politikaHR pic.twitter.com/xT3ZY9quhA
— Enola Knezevic (@rhelune) June 1, 2017
The current Croatian government, which came into power in October 2016, is dominated by the conservative center-right party Croatian Democratic Union (HDZ), which has close ties with the Catholic Church.
Some of the protesters carried banners decrying the influence of the Catholic Church on the public education system such as “It's not called clerical, but curricular reform” and “Opus Dei, Go Away.”
#HrvatskaMoraBolje #JerHrvatska #Osijek #reforme pic.twitter.com/qpv3T3BHT7
— Mihailo (@m_delx) June 1, 2017
Tweet: #CroatiaMustDoBetter #BecauseCroatia #Osijek #reforms
Photo: “We don't want patriarchal upbringing and education”; “Put religious education in driving schools”; “Put sexual education in schools”.
Protesters also blame the bad situation in the education sector for the massive brain drain experienced in Croatia. Some carried signs reading “We would like to go to the Moon, not to Ireland.” The Ireland reference is related to the fact that a large number of people with higher education, IT experts in particular, have immigrated to Ireland.
Another concrete demand of the protests was the resignation of the minister of education and science, who had been involved in a plagiarism scandal. The prime minister had already rejected this demand.
Ministar #copypaste još nije dao ostavku… #hrvatskamorabolje #hrvatskamozebolje pic.twitter.com/Uw8w8QAtlc
— Marija Kukić (@Marija89K) June 2, 2017
The copy-paste minister has still not resigned. #CroatiaMustDoBetter #CroatiaCanDoBetter
Protesters also demanded the resignation of Dijana Vican, the chair of the expert commission for the implementation of the Education, Science and Technology Strategy.
The protesters accused the public official of failing to protect the educational system from partisan groups which have been imposing policy reforms that allegedly ran counter to the principles of the constitution.
Croatian Minister of Education and Science Pavo Barišić denied the allegation that expert group selected by the government is composed of conservatives who would prevent the introduction of reforms in the education sector. He added that the members were chosen by merit in a transparent manner.
During the day of the protest, a talk show program in the public broadcasting company Croatian Radiotelevision invited prominent conservative academics who criticized Boris Jokić, the former official in charge of overseeing the implementation of educational reforms. Two members of the Croatian Academy of Science and Arts called the protests manipulative and shameful, the reforms a fiasco, and accused Jokić of “wanting to teach children that God doesn't exist.”
Journalist Zrinka Pavlić commented that their behavior was a perfect example of the tragic state of public debate about the educational reform issue. Instead of discussing how to improve schooling in Croatia, “loud ideological apologists only care about spreading value judgments that would discredit those who disagree with them.”
An earlier version of this post misidentified Zrinka Pavlić as Bojan Stilin.

author: Filip Stojanovski


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A Storytelling Initiative Aims to Preserve Urban Linguistic Diversity · Global Voices
Gwenaelle Lefeuvre

Storytelling, by Flickr user Daniele Rossi, under licence CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Can there be a way to connect with someone, here and now, despite a language barrier? For Steven Bird and Robyn Perry, founders of the Treasure Language Storytelling (TLS) initiative, storytelling in original languages is a possible answer.
Global Voices recently reported about another initiative led by Steven Bird, the Untranslatable blog. Here though, the focus of TLS is not on the written but on the spoken word, and is an effort to preserve and celebrate the linguistic diversity of large cities. Indeed, in urban areas such as Melbourne and Darwin, Australia, or Oakland in the United States, where TLS has held events since 2015, small and not-so-small languages are often at risk of not being passed on to the children born there. For the project's creators:
The mass extinction of the world's languages can be avoided if we create cities that embrace diversity – safe spaces where inhabitants do not need to forget who they are in order to belong.
While “listening is often connected to understanding”, these events aim instead to “listen to appreciate, to feel, to connect”. In this format, storytellers first tell their stories in their own language and then translate or explain them in English. Although the participants are not professional storytellers, their commitment and their acting engage the audience and provoke laughter and emotion, as if the language was not a barrier anymore.
For example, the video below is a traditional story from Burkina Faso told in the Dafing language. During the question session, the storyteller, Rassidatou Konate, also has an opportunity to explain her country's storytelling customs.
In another event, John Nyamusara tells the story of the hare and the baboon in the Shona language of Zimbabwe:
After explaining the meaning of his tale, John Nyamusara is asked “What is it like to speak to an audience that is not understanding your language?” With a large smile, he shares his feeling of inclusiveness:
“They were listening! They were attentive… They were with me!”
You can watch stories told in Tagalog, Chochenyo, Ewe and many other languages on the Vimeo and YouTube channels of the parent Aikuma project.
While Treasure Language Storytelling events have taken place in three cities so far, the organisers hope to expand, and anyone inspired by the project can get in touch with TLS to organise their own storytelling performance.

author: Gwenaelle Lefeuvre


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Ethnic and Political Violence Continue to Stain Burundi · Global Voices
Abdoulaye Bah

Hundreds of thousands of people have fled Burundi since the crisis began in 2015. Copyright: EU/ECHO/Anouk Delafortrie. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
Two years into the crisis that has been tearing Burundi apart, the situation in the country remains grim.
Adama Dieng, the United Nations special adviser for the prevention of genocide, wrote a letter to the UN Security Council in March 2017 warning of the risk of “mass” violence. And in the same month, UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Zeid Ra'ad Al Hussein addressed global human rights issues, expressing particular worry over Burundi:
In Burundi, I am concerned that the democratic space has now been virtually extinguished. Grave human rights violations and abuses by security forces and the Imbonerakure militia continue to be reported, including increasing allegations of enforced disappearances, torture and mass arbitrary arrests [of opposition members]…Following the release of the report by the UN Independent Investigation on Burundi in September 2016, the Government of Burundi suspended its cooperation with my Office in Burundi pending ongoing review of our MOU.
The crisis began after President Pierre Nkurunziza made the controversial decision to seek a third term in office, “a move deemed illegal by the opposition as well as members of his own party,” explains Radio France Internationale:
Et elle a déjà fait des morts, de 500 (ONU) à quelque 2000 personnes tuées selon les ONG, des centaines de portés disparus et poussé quelque 400 000 personnes à l’exil.
There have been deadly consequences. Some 500 to 2,000 people have been killed, according to the UN and some NGOs, hundreds have been reported missing, and nearly 400,000 people have been exiled.
Nkurunziza’s re-election bid had a devastating impact on the trust between the administration and the population, immediately triggering several protests. The protesters claimed that a third term is a violation of the country's constitution which says no president can be elected more than twice.
Furthermore,  Nkurunziza also stated that he will do away with the 2005 Arusha accords, a peace agreement created to implement a power-sharing deal for political institutions and to integrate the various rebel groups into the state military, using an ethnic quota system to ensure more balanced representation. Those two issues provoked instant mass demonstrations, clashes with the polices, and the flight of large numbers of ethnic groups. The exodus was triggered by the permanent threat posed by Nkurunziza's youth wing, the Imbonerakure, who are implicated in political violence targeting opposition members.
According to the Radio France Internationale article, the government rejects these accounts despite the overwhelming amount of evidence, claiming they are part of a political agenda and an international plot to oust the current leadership.
However, a video that circulated on the internet in April 2017 features young members of the Imbonerakure singing slogans that encourage raping Tutsi women. The ruling party and the  Imbonerakure are ethnically composed in majority of Hutus. The other major ethnic group in the country is the Tutsis, whose tense relationship with the Hutus are at the origin of past conflicts in Rwanda and Congo.
On April 4, 2017, a blogger for the local news site Yaga, Spageon Ngabo, appealed for them to stop such behavior and focus on other challenges:
Quand l’Onu vous a taxés d’être une milice du parti au pouvoir, vous l’avez réfuté,  clamant haut et fort que vous êtes « des partisans de la démocratie, épris de paix, fortement attachés à la République et animés d’un esprit de tolérance,  victimes d’une campagne de diabolisation et de médisance »(nldr) . Sur ce, je voudrais de tout mon cœur croire que cette vidéo n’est que pur montage, car malgré tout, vous êtes mes frères et aux yeux du monde, l’image que vous donnez  affecte tous les jeunes du Burundi. Si je voulais vous prendre au mot, je vous demanderais pourquoi vous vous efforcez de donner raison à tous ces colons impérialistes qui nous traitent de sauvages.
Chers imbonerakure, le Burundi est un grand chantier, et les défis qui pourraient nous inspirer des chansons guerrières ne manquent pas: notre petit pays a une population estimée à 11,1 millions d’habitants dont 70% des jeunes pour  une superficie de 27 834 km². Nous avons un PIB par habitant de 315 $ avec un taux de croissance  de – 2,4 % en 2015 et un chômage qui va croissant. Nous sommes  parmi les pays les plus corrompus au monde, le deuxième pays le plus malheureux au monde d’après les Nations Unies, le troisième plus pauvre aussi en 2016.
When the UN accused you of being a militant wing of the ruling party, you denied it, claiming loudly that you were “peace-loving proponents of democracy with strong ties to the Republic and inspired by tolerance, victims of a campaign of demonization and slander.” I hope with all my heart that this video is purely for show because despite everything, you are still my brothers and in the eyes of the world, the image you project affects every young person in Burundi. If I were to take you at your word, I would ask you why you insist on providing ammunition to the imperialist colonists that call us savages.
My dear Imbonerakure friends, Burundi is a grand work in progress with no shortage of challenges worthy of battle cries. Our small country measures 27,830 sq km and has an estimated population of 11.1 million people, approximately 66% of whom are under 25 years of age. We have a GDP of $800 per person with a real growth rate of -4.9% in 2015 along with unemployment that is sure to grow. We are one of the most corrupt countries in the world and, according to the UN, the second unhappiest nation on the planet. In 2016, the IMF named Burundi the third poorest country in the world.
On their French-language website, the ruling party CNDD-FDD declared that such actions ran counter to their ideals.
Various organizations have been sounding the alarm on the situation in Burundi. In its World Report 2017, Human Rights Watch called attention to the ethnically motivated exactions made by the Imbonerakure throughout 2016:
Des membres des Imbonerakure et des policiers, parfois armés de fusils, de bâtons ou de couteaux, ont violé des femmes dont des parents de sexe masculin étaient considérés comme des opposants au gouvernement. Dans certains cas, les Imbonerakure ont menacé ou agressé le parent de sexe masculin avant de violer la femme. Ces femmes ont souvent continué de subir des menaces suite au viol.
Des Imbonerakure et des policiers ont violé des femmes qui tentaient de passer en Tanzanie, apparemment pour les dissuader de quitter le Burundi.
Des Imbonerakure ont mis en place des barrages routiers et des postes de contrôle dans certaines provinces. Ils ont extorqué de l’argent aux passants et les ont harcelés, et, alors qu’ils ne disposent d’aucune autorité en la matière, ont arrêté des personnes qu’ils soupçonnaient d’être liées à l’opposition. Ils ont également fait du porte à porte pour extorquer de l’argent aux habitants.
Members of the Imbonerakure and police, sometimes armed with guns, sticks or knives, raped women whose male family members were perceived government opponents. In some cases, Imbonerakure threatened or attacked the male relative before raping the woman. Women often continued to receive threats after being raped.
Imbonerakure and police raped women who attempted to cross into Tanzania, apparently to deter them from leaving Burundi.
Imbonerakure set up roadblocks and check points in some provinces. They extorted money, harassed passersby, and, despite having no powers of arrest, arrested people they suspected of having links to the opposition. They also went door to door, extorting money from residents.
Upon returning from a joint mission, the Worldwide Human Rights Movement (FIDH) and its Burundi counterpart announced that they had witnessed crimes that may fall under the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court (ICC):
De retour d’une mission d’enquête menée au mois de mars 2016 au Burundi, la FIDH et ITEKA, son organisation membre au Burundi, avaient indiqué le 14 avril que “la nature des crimes constatés par la mission de la FIDH relèvent de la compétence de la Cour pénale internationale” et appelé la Procureure à « décider [de] l’ouverture à tout le moins d’un examen préliminaire sur la situation au Burundi qui est un État partie au statut de la CPI ».Nos organisations se félicitent d’une telle décision et espèrent que, au regard de la gravité des crimes commis et de l’absence de justice au niveau national, la CPI ouvrira rapidement une enquête sur les très graves crimes commis au Burundi.
Upon their return from a fact-finding mission to Burundi in March 2016, FIDH and its Burundi member organisation ITEKA reported on 14 April that “the nature of the crimes witnessed by the FIDH delegation could very well fall under the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court” and called upon the Chief Prosecutor to “immediately open a preliminary examination of the situation in Burundi, which is state party to the ICC”. Our organisations appreciate this decision and hope that, considering the seriousness of the crimes committed and the absence of a national judiciary, the ICC will, without delay, open an investigation into the very grave crimes committed in Burundi.
ICC prosecutor Fatou Bensouda announced on April 25, 2016 that the ICC will conduct a preliminary examination of the events in Burundi since 2015. In an article on the French-language website, sentinelle-droit-international.fr, Gabin Eyenga explained the process.
Un examen préliminaire est un processus par lequel les renseignements disponibles sur une situation sont examinés afin de déterminer en toute connaissance de cause s’il existe une base raisonnable pour ouvrir une enquête au regard des critères posés pas le Statut de Rome. Cet examen « ne constitue en aucun cas une enquête, » Il la précède et la conditionne plutôt. Cette décision du Procureur de la Cour pénale internationale fait suite à la situation humanitaire au Burundi qualifiée de « très préoccupante en matière de droit humain » par le Sous secrétaire général des Nations Unies au Droit de l’homme, M. Ivan Simonovic.
… A l’issue de l’examen préliminaire de la situation au Burundi le Procureur rédigera des conclusions ou un rapport dans lequel on trouvera une première qualification juridique des crimes allégués relevant de la compétence de la Cour. Cet examen se fera sur la base des faits et des renseignements fournis à son Bureau. Il pourra également, conformément aux dispositions de l’article 15 paragraphe 2 du Statut de Rome,
A preliminary examination is a process in which all available information regarding a situation is examined in order to determine, in full knowledge of all evidence, if there is a reasonable basis for initiating an investigation according to the criteria set forth by the Rome Statute. This examination does not constitute in any way an investigation, but rather precedes and sets conditions for an investigation. The ICC Prosecutor has made this decision following the qualification of Burundi's humanitarian situation by the UN Assistant Secretary-General for Human Rights, Ivan Simonovic, as “worrisome.”
Once the preliminary examination of the Burundi situation is finished, the ICC prosecutor will draft her conclusions or a report on the legal classification of the alleged crimes that fall within the court's jurisdiction. The examination will be based on information provided to the ICC.
However, in October 2016 Burundi left the ICC. Jean Marie Ntahimpera expressed his disappointment in an article published by Yaga:
Je suis de ceux qui pensent que quitter la CPI est une mauvaise décision, qui ne fait que consacrer l’impunité des criminels puissants que les juridictions locales n’osent pas juger.
Mais ce que je regrette le plus, c’est que cette décision est taillée sur mesure. Le pouvoir de Bujumbura se dit : “Il faut tout faire pour nous protéger”.  En effet, il est dans une situation difficile. Contesté à l’intérieur, accusé de violations massives des droits de l’homme, acculé par les sanctions internationales, il est en mal de légitimité. Si la CPI se met à faire des enquêtes ou à lancer des mandats d’arrêt, ce sera un signe de culpabilité, même si, en théorie, la présomption d’innocence doit primer.  Laisser la CPI enquêter affaiblira encore plus la légitimité du gouvernement.
Mais nos dirigeants oublient l’essentiel : l’avenir. Une maxime très populaire dit qu’un homme politique pense à la prochaine élection, alors qu’un leader pense à la prochaine génération. Pour moi, si le pouvoir de Bujumbura pensait à la prochaine génération, il ne quitterait pas la CPI. Il est possible que dans 5 ou 10 ans ceux qui sont au pouvoir n’y soient plus, qu’ils soient remplacés par un autre pouvoir, beaucoup plus arbitraire peut-être (ce n’est pas mon vœu). A ce moment-là, ceux qui décident aujourd’hui de quitter la CPI, leurs enfants, seront peut-être les premiers à crier pour que cette cour vienne les protéger. Mais ce sera trop tard.
I am among those who think leaving the ICC is a bad decision, one that only reinforces the impunity of powerful criminals that local jurisdictions are afraid to pursue.
But, what I dislike even more is that this decision is situation-specific. The government in Bujumbura is thinking, “We must do everything to protect ourselves.” In short, they are in a difficult situation. Challenged from within, accused of massive human rights violations, burdened with international sanctions, the legitimacy of Burundi's leadership is in doubt. If the ICC launches an investigation or issues arrest warrants, the Burundi government will look guilty, even if, theoretically, the presumption of innocence should prevail. Allowing the ICC to investigate will further weaken the legitimacy of the government.
Our leaders are not thinking about the future. A popular expression says that while a politician thinks about the next election, a leader thinks about the next generation. In my opinion, if the Burundi government was thinking about the next generation, it would not leave the ICC. In five or 10 years, those in power now may be gone, replaced by others, perhaps much more autocratic (something I don't wish to see). Those who have decided to leave the ICC today may, one day, see their grandchildren calling for this court's protection. But, it will be too late.
Despite these tragic events, President Nkurunziza claimed, in a December 2016 public conference, that he could not refuse to seek another term if his people demanded it of him.

author: Abdoulaye Bah


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In Ethiopia, Authorities’ Reshuffling of the Oromo Language Alphabet Touches a Nerve · Global Voices
Endalkachew Chala

Screenshot from animation shared by Girma Gemeda on his Facebook page.
Authorities in Oromia, Ethiopia’s largest state, have infuriated language experts and Oromo nationalists with their decision to re-arrange the order of the alphabet of the region’s language, Afan Oromo.
In multilingual and multiethnic Ethiopia, orthographic choices are complex linguistic and political decisions that have great socio-political consequences.
Among Ethiopia’s written languages, most write their language in either the Ge’ez or Ethiopic alphabet, known as “Fidel,” or the Roman alphabet. Afan Oromo officially adopted the Roman alphabet — in its usual order of ABCD and so on — after the current government come to power in 1991.
However, more than a quarter century later, the regional educational authorities of Oromia announced they were reshuffling the “Qubee Afan Oromo” (as the alphabet is called). The first seven letters are:
Screenshot from the news bulletin that announced the change of the alphabet on Oromia Broadcasting Services shows the first seven letters of the new order of the Alphabet shared by Girma Gutema.
Justifying the change, authorities blamed the old alphabet order as the reason why reading skills among primary school children in Oromia remain poor. They even cited a research to back up their claim.
There is, however, a problem with their argument. It was based on a misrepresentation of the findings of the research. In fact, the research, which was funded by US Agency for International Development (USAID) in 2010, revealed a broader problem of reading skills not only among Afan Oromo-speaking primary school students, but also students whose mother tongue was Amharic, Hararigna, Sidaamu Afoo, Somali and Tigrinya.
In the study, pedagogic and logistical difficulties were identified as factors for poor reading skills in Ethiopia’s six major regions. However, the order of alphabet was not cited as a factor for the dismal reality. In a post on the citizen journalism site OPride.com, one blogger agreed with the findings of the research but questioned the connection it had to the alphabet order, writing:
There is little disagreement on the core problem here: The education quality crisis in Ethiopia needs fixing. …. The disagreement here though is on the proposed solutions. This is underscored by a key question that everyone is asking: JUST HOW DOES REORDERING THE AFAAN OROMO ALPHABET IMPROVE READING AND LEARNING OUTCOMES?
The change actually took effect in 2016 and school textbooks already reflect the reshuffling, but it was done so quietly. So much so that the news of the letter order change only made it into Ethiopia’s political news cycle after government affiliate Oromia Broadcasting Service reported about it. Over last two years, a series of political events with far-reaching repercussions such as protests and internet outages has dominated the country's news cycle.
OMN special on the change of the Afan Oromo alphabet from June 5, 2017. Screenshot from programme shared by OMN TV's official Facebook page channel.
As soon as the change was reported, concerned Oromo intellectuals started raising questions.
For them, this is the latest attempt in a series of steps intended to diminish the cultural rights of the Oromo people, who have historically been marginalized in Ethiopia. On Facebook Awol Kassim Allo, wrote:
The casual change/disfiguring of the Alphabet of a language spoken by more than 40 million people without any debate and discussion is appalling. The excuse given to justify it – improving the ability of children to read at early stages of instruction – is lame and cannot stuck up to scrutiny. …This is yet another fraud perpetrated on the Oromo people and it must be rejected.
The circumstance of the change also stoked another fear: that the decision to alter the order of the letters might be a plot by people who were disgruntled when the Oromos opted to adopt the Roman alphabet over the Ge’ez alphabet in 1991.
What's up with this ‘new Qubee’ thing? Are they really planning to change this swift? A generation would relearn the newly introduced Qubee?
— Zelalem Kibret (@zelalemkibret) June 4, 2017
Prior to 1991, Afan Oromo was written in different alphabets. The first Oromo Bible was printed in Ge’ez letters in the 19th century. During the reign of emperor Haile Selassie (1930-1974), Afan Oromo was not a written language.
When Ethiopia’s military regime came to power in 1974, it decreed that all Ethiopian languages must be written exclusively in Ge’ez alphabet— a draconian policy intended to promote unity among Ethiopia’s diverse ethnic groups.
Parallel to the Ge’ez letters, however, Oromo language experts and Oromo nationalists were also using the Roman alphabet. Paul Baxter, a social anthropologist, wrote that the Roman alphabet was used to transcribe the Afan Oromo language among Kenyan Oromos in the 1940s.
Proponents of the Ge’ez alphabet believe that Ge’ez signifies the rich liturgic and literary tradition of Ethiopia. For them, preserving Ge’ez in the age of the Roman alphabet's domination is a sign of resistance to cultural globalization and a symbol of identity. Responding to Awol Kassim Allo’s post on Facebook, Abeba Teshale wrote:
Simple, structured, logical, Ethiopian, African, Amharic/Tigregna alphabet is there for any one interested to adopt. 26 vs 338 syllables! There is an alphabet for each sound and for the ones that don't have one, we could crate a symbole. Just a thought
For many Oromos, though, adopting the Roman alphabet is a matter of selecting an alphabet that best fits the Afan Oromo sound system.
According to academic Teferi Degeneh Bijiga, who wrote his doctoral dissertation on the topic of Afan Oromo writing system, complex historical, cultural and linguistic forces were at play when Oromo intellectuals decided to adopt the Roman alphabet in 1991.
Over the next few weeks, this issue will be front and center in Ethiopian politics, where the Ethiopian government is operating under a state of emergency because of the protests that began over land use as well as political and economic marginalization in Oromia in November 2015.

author: Endalkachew Chala


text:
Iranian Photographer Mehrdad Naraghi: “No Medium Can Ever Be ‘Finished’” · Global Voices
Omid Memarian

Iranian fine art photographer Mehrdad Naragahi's photography is the visual embodiment of Gabriel García Márquez ‘s magical realism. “We can be anywhere in our dreams.” Photo untitled from “The Fairyland” series. Provided by Naraghi through his website and used with permission.
With millions posting photos online every day, some people believe that professional photography is in jeopardy. Iranian fine art photographer Mehrdad Naraghi is not one of them.
“The simplification of photography provides more chances for artists to use the medium to express themselves,” says Naraghi, whose project, “Japanese Gardens,” won Paris’ Musée du Quai Branly’s 2014 PHOTOQUAI Residencies Award.
But the ubiquitousness of digital technology does carry some dangers, notes Naraghi. “If a photographer is preoccupied with technique more than an internal search and a meaningful way to express him or herself, things become difficult,” Naraghi, who was born and raised in Tehran, told me in a recent interview in New York City.
From Naraghi's “The City” series. Shot of Tehran in 2014, his hometown. Naraghi describes it as such: My city is one ravaged by the storms, an unrecognizable city, with undefined inhabitants concealed within its greyness. Dazed and confused, with gaping mouths and struggling to breathe. Unscorned but for a smile at another’s misery. Neither breaths sighed return to be breathed nor are desires fulfilled; greyness overwhelms. My city is the endless rule of grey. Photos from Naraghi's website and used with permission.
With his blurring of geographical markers and dreamlike imagery, Naragahi's photography is the visual embodiment of Gabriel García Márquez ‘s magical realism. “We can be anywhere in our dreams,” he says.
Naraghi’s quiet, opaque images, often seen only through slivers of light, demand the viewer’s attention. The quick visual impact commonly expected of Western art is nowhere in his work, which invites the viewer to explore and wander slowly.
Naraghi’s photos have been exhibited in China, France, Iran, the Netherlands, the UAE, the US and the UK, and published in prominent art magazines and books, including Different Sames: New Perspectives in Iranian Contemporary Art, Connaissance des Arts (No 21) and La Photographie Iranienne, (Un regard Sur la Creation Contemporaine en Iran).
Excerpts from the interview follow:
One of the characteristics of your photos is their blurred geographical traces, to the point where it is unclear in which city or country the photographs were taken. Once geographical identifiers are lost, viewers face a global space. What should the viewer be looking for in this space?
The atmosphere of my work is dreamlike, and we don’t have any borders in dreams—we can be anywhere in our dreams. In order to create this atmosphere, I avoid using elements that have specific geographic markers.
Naraghi captures a silhouette in a indistinguishable New York. Photo from his Instagram feed.
Just as people outside Iran cannot tell my nationality only from my appearance, this is also true about my art. We live at a time when our differences are no longer as visible on the surface, but found in deeper layers, layers that are formed from history, collective memory and the political conditions of our individual geographies.
Your photographs have been exhibited in China, the Netherlands, Iran, the United Arab Emirates and France, and you are in the U.S. now. What differences have you observed in the way different audiences view your work?
I work in a realm that is shared by all human beings. In this respect, my work is similar to that of Andrei Tarkovsky, whose films depict a Russian location but have global audience; or Hayo Miyasaki, whose animations reflect Japan but have followers all over the world.
Perhaps the only border that can be defined is between Eastern and Western audiences. Subjects that are not based on rationalism or logic but instead rely more on intuition are more easily accepted by Eastern audiences, who have a different sensibility that allows time for study and reflection. Of course, this is a generalization—it is not possible to separate the two audiences with certainty. The only thing I can say with certainty is that audiences who are not dreamers relate less to my work.
I have also come to realize that as an artist from the Middle East, an artist who carries with him the memory of revolution and war, I feel closer to pain and am drawn to artwork that reflects this pain. This is something shared by many Iranian artists. Recently, after attending a Roger Waters concert in New York (he is a legend in Iran!), I realized that Iranians relate to his music on such a deep level because the issues he addresses, such as dictatorship, war and resistance, are a part of our daily lives, not an abstract or historical memory.
Naraghi captures an indistinguishable photo of Tehran's skyline under smog. From his “The City” collection. Photos from Naraghi's website and used with permission.
In a recent visit to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, I viewed works by Andy Warhol and Anselm Kiefer, and my identification with political upheaval was reinforced. I saw that as much as Warhol’s pop art is foreign to me, the pain and destruction in Kiefer’s works is familiar to me.
In the Fairyland collection we encounter a labyrinth-like atmosphere. Although the photos are of accessible subjects, the lines, colors, and objects do not allow the audience to move easily between the pieces. The viewer needs to linger and search for other layers. This is complex simplicity, like Japanese Haiku or Hafez poetry. Each time we approach it, we experience the piece differently. What kind of professional or artistic experiences led to this collection?
This collection (and my other collections) were not developed with a pre-defined plan. I see myself more as a member of my audience, than as a creator. When I am faced with questions about my work it often takes a long time before I find answers, and even then, they are tentative answers! In effect, I review my own works just as I would other artists’ works, and I ponder them. I can only say that in the formation of this collection, the secretive aspect of nature, as well as the collective depression of Iranians, played roles.
One of Naraghi's pieces from “The Fairyland” collection. Photos from Naraghi's website and used with permission.
In Zen teaching, it is said that “the sound of one hand clapping” exists. According to this teaching, the sound exists in the atmosphere and through clapping we only hear it. I believe that more than creating an art piece, the artist is just a transmitter, like a radio that makes the waves audible, but does not produce the sounds we hear.
In several of your photographic series there are very few humans present. Why is that?
I believe that the presence of humans—their clothing, facial expressions and even the way they stand, can completely affect and dominate the frame and dictate a direction to the audience which distances the work from the atmosphere I have in mind.
I also feel that when people get in front of a camera, they often start acting and become unnatural, and consequently the work becomes unnatural and cheapened, too. This problem pops up more in cinema and stage photography (a field which is of interest to many Iranian photographers these days). Film directors either use professional actors who are able to act naturally in front of a camera, or, like Abbas Kiarostami, obtain excellent acting out of non-actors.
Photographers such as Sally Mann or Emmet Gowin tend to photograph individuals who are very close to them, individuals who don’t feel like strangers around the camera; or, like Jeff Wall, they photograph arranged stagings in such a way that they appear natural, and both of these are very difficult to manage. Very few photographers have explored different things in this area.
As I am interested in the work of painters, I follow and photograph the subjects used in paintings, such as nature. Nevertheless I hope to work on humans and figures too someday, although it will be a difficult challenge.
In all five collections available on your website (Work, Home, Fairyland, Japanese Gardens and City), the imagery is reminiscent of the supernatural literary style ofmn writers such as Gabriel García Márquez, or the poetry of German writer Hermann. How much has your photography been influenced by prose writing and poetry?
Poetry, fiction, cinema and music that disconnects us from the world of reality even for a few moments have entirely affected and continue to affect my work. For me, poetry holds a special place. As an Iranian, I feel closer to the realm of poetry, as this is a distinctive aspect of Iranian culture, and one which runs through our daily lives.
When I talk about my interest in dreamlike spaces in art or literature, I am not talking about entirely imaginative and fantasy spaces, such as what we see in Harry Potter stories. Rather, I am talking about building a channel between reality and dreams, like in Haruki Murakami’s works, where the real and unreal worlds run in parallel, and meet at some points, but the reader does not recognize whether the events are unfolding in reality or in the imagination. It’s a pendulum-like motion between reality and imagination.
What limitations have you experienced in expressing yourself through photography? Have you ever been in a situation where you put your camera aside because you thought it could not do justice to the situation?
Photography is the most limited artistic medium for creating dream-like environments. As a painter or sculptor, you can create a piece 100% based on your imagination. But photography is based on reality; it documents, and you can never photograph “nothing”! On the other hand, this characteristic makes photography very interesting to me—putting the audience in limbo between reality and dream. Looking at my works, the audience knows that because these are photographs this space must have existed in real life, but due to lighting and color conditions, they don’t see anything reflective of reality in them. The audience is put in a position where the line between reality and dream is minimized.
To what extent are photography and the camera a means, and to what extent an end? Is it possible that someday you might choose forms of artistic expression other than photography?
The camera and photography are only a medium of expression for me. Due to my deep interest in paintings, I have always created photographs with a painterly quality, and this method is in contradiction with the realistic nature of photography. I also use photographic errors—some intentional, others not—to create the imagery and evoke the effects I am seeking.
Any form of artistic expression brings its own limitations, which are in contrast with the imagination’s lack of borders. An artist who possesses different skills can constantly create new artistic works and be freed from repetition. As Abbas Kiarostami said in an interview, “I never think about what my next film would be, because if an idea is suitable for the medium of cinema, I would make a film. Otherwise, I would either paint, photograph, or write poetry.”
In recent years, I have started experimenting with poetry, painting and film, and I hope I will be able to present works in these areas in the coming years.
New York is a seductive city for a photographer. Do you have any photography projects focused on New York? Have your experiences with the city and your relationships with its people and other photographers influenced your work?
New York has a unique character. My work here has become closer to documentary photography. New York is a city where reality has a solid presence and this constricts the atmosphere for poetic thinking and dreaming. The hardships of living in New York may be one of the reasons one is constantly faced with reality in this city and not allowed to daydream too much. I have only lived in this city for six months, but I hope to stay longer to develop a deeper experience with it. I publish my experiences with New York through daily postings of photographs and videos on my Instagram page.
From Mehrdad Naraghi's Instagram feed.
At a time when so many people have a high-quality cameras on their cell phones, and considering the democratization of photography and the existence of hundreds of millions of photographers, where do you see the role and place of fine art photography?
While the space has become more difficult and restricted for photographers, for many artists who use photography as their medium this has also made things easier. An artist always uses artistic media for expressing his personal views, and for this reason the simplification of photography provides more chances for artists to use the medium to express themselves. Conversely, if a photographer is preoccupied with technique and the medium of photography more than an internal search and a meaningful way to express him or herself, things become difficult.
In the past, the difficult part of photography lay in the utilization of a camera; now the difficult part has shifted to the editing and selection of photographs. With digital capabilities, you can have tens of frames from each scene, and with software capabilities you can make hundreds of changes to each frame. Under these circumstances, if the photographer does not know what he or she wants or is trying to express, they will be lost in a labyrinth of images.
Naraghi captures New York. From his Instagram.
This is not only limited to photography. It is now possible to make a cinematic film with a cell phone. With the reduction in the prices of 3D printers, it is also now easy to create sculptures. This happened to graphic designers years ago, when Photoshop brought graphic design tools to the masses. At the time, many graphic designers resisted computer graphics. But technological advancements create restrictions only for individuals who rely solely on technique for their creations. Some may believe the time for certain media such as photography or painting has ended, but this is true only for artists who have nothing else to say. No medium is ever “finished.” It is only an artist who can be finished.

author: Omid Memarian


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Myanmar Journalists Unite Against Online Defamation Law · Global Voices
Mong Palatino

Image from the Facebook page of ‘Protection for Journalists Committee’ – Myanmar
More than 100 journalists in Myanmar gathered on June 6, 2017 in Yangon, the country’s capital, to plan their campaign against Section 66(d) of Myanmar's Telecommunications Law.
The law was passed in 2013 when Myanmar was still ruled by a military-backed government. It has 86 sections but the most infamous part of the law is Section 66(d) which refers to online defamation. Army officials often used this section to charge activists, journalists, and their other critics with defamation.
Section 66(d) states that whoever uses a “telecommunication network to extort, threaten, obstruct, defame, disturb, inappropriately influence, or intimidate” can be “punished with imprisonment for a term extending to a maximum of three years, and shall be liable to fine or both.”
For many activists and journalists, the wording of this provision is vague and it can be narrowly interpreted to accuse anyone of defaming another person.
When the National League for Democracy (NLD) overwhelmingly defeated the military-backed party in the 2015 election, many hoped it would usher a new era of democratic reforms in Myanmar. Indeed, the new government released hundreds of political prisoners and it revived the peace process with ethnic armed groups. But many of the laws passed during the junta era remained in effect, including the Telecommunications Law.
Since 2016 when the new government assumed power, 61 defamation cases have been filed under Section 66(d). Out of these 61 cases, 14 involve journalists who have been charged and are awaiting trial. To the surprise of many, NLD officials were among those who endorsed the use of Section 66(d) against online critics.
The most recent arrest related to an alleged violation of the law involved an editor and a satirist who mocked the military’s peace efforts.
Worried about the continued rise of Section 66(d)-related cases, the 100 journalists who met in Yangon formed the ‘Protection for Journalists Committee’ and elected 21 committee members who will lead the campaign to amend the Telecommunications Law. The committee has three objectives:
a) To amend and abolish the laws that oppressed media freedom, such as article 66(d) and other unjust laws;
b) Government, military and other institutions must drop immediately the charges under 66(d);
c) To achieve these demands, the committee will work hand-in-hand with civil society groups, and citizens.
The group is initiating a campaign encouraging journalists to wear a white armband with a printed message of ‘Freedom of Press’ during the court hearing of journalists charged with defamation.
Some of the journalists who established the ‘Protection for Journalists Committee’ in Myanmar. Source: Facebook
In an open letter, Kyaw Zwa Moe, editor of The Irrawaddy’s English edition news website, asked state counselor and NLD leader Aung San Suu Kyi about the government’s inaction over the petition to remove Section 66(d):
Many people believe that the previous government, run by ex-generals, created such a legal mechanism to be able to sue those who stood against their administration.
What surprises me is why the NLD government or its Parliaments have let its members and supporters apply this controversial law created by the previous government against individuals today. Even high-ranking officials of the NLD administration and the party have turned to 66(d), rather than more standard defamation charges described in penal codes.
Myanmar Information Development Organization director Htike Htike Aung pointed out that the law is being abused and needs to be revised:
The main objective of this law is to promote development of the country and the upgrading of technology and also to protect the customers. But we have not seen yet any tangible protection given to the people so far. So in this Telecommunication Law we need to review the entire law, not only the section 66(d).
The Myanmar government has yet to issue a response to the demand of the journalists.

author: Mong Palatino


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Trinidadian Muslim Woman Sets the Record Straight After Men Hijack a Conversation on the Hijab · Global Voices
Flora Thomas

Women wearing hijabs in Bandung, Indonesia. Photo by Haifeez, CC BY 2.0.
One of Trinidad and Tobago's most popular and irreverent newspaper columnists was fired shortly after a relatively unpopular Muslim hardliner criticised a piece he penned about the “economics” of the hijab, or head covering worn by some Muslim women.
It is unclear if the two events are related. But the conversation quickly turned to one between two outspoken men with strong opinions on how women should dress in public.
Kevin Baldeosingh wrote the column after a single mother, who happened to be Muslim, was denied a job at The National Maintenance Training and Security Company Limited (a state enterprise known by its acronym, MTS), ostensibly because she was wearing a hijab. “The economic approach holds that human beings are rational agents, meaning that people seek to attain their goals using the most effective means available in order to maximise their self-interest,” Baldeosingh wrote. He went on to ask why — after the woman explained that she was seeking employment in order to support her two children — she didn't simply remove her hijab in order to get the job:
Applying the economics perspective, the answer would be that she believes she benefits more from wearing the hijab than she would from compromising her religious identity in order to earn money.
That line didn't go down too well with Umar Abdulah, the leader of a small organisation called the Islamic Front. He complained to Trinidad's local daily Guardian newspaper (where Baldeosingh's column ran), arguing that this was tantamount to asserting that “all women should strip themselves and compromise their true worth in order to get a job in this country. This is synonymous with prostitution.”
Islamic Front's Abdullah, who called for the sacking of both Baldeosingh and two members of the screening committee at MTS, is a controversial figure in Trinidad and Tobago. Abdullah has a reputation as a Muslim hardliner and a fierce critic of US policy; most of the 6% of Trinidad's population that identifies with being Muslim, doesn't feel that he speaks for them. Though Abdullah says he has turned over a new leaf in life, he wrote a newsletter supporting Osama bin Laden thirteen years ago and is still actively monitored by Trinidad special intelligence.
In his own defense, Baldeosingh countered, “The entire column makes the point that, rather than being a symbol of repression, Muslim women who choose to wear the hijab do so for cogent and rational reasons. It appears that Mr Umar Abdulah either does not understand this, or is pretending to not understand it.”
Nevertheless, Baldeosingh was subsequently fired, though it cannot be confirmed whether it was as a direct result of the “Hijabnomics” column. However, his termination compounded the effect of men hijacking the conversation. What should really have been about a Muslim woman's experience turned into — for the most part — a debate about free speech.
However, one Muslim woman, Alana Abdool, wrote a letter to the editor of the popular news site Wired868, which suspected that “somewhere in the midst of this dust-up in a telephone booth remains a topic that has not been properly addressed at all.” Abdool artfully redirected the narrative in one fell swoop:
Clearly, Muslim women—hijabis or not—can think for themselves. Evidently, Aisha Sabur didn’t feel she wanted to remove her hijab. Is Abdullah suggesting that she has that right but does not have the right to do the opposite? Does he believe that hijabis’ understanding of the concept of hijab is either fundamentally very weak or non-existent?
If not, why did he feel the need to make the statement at all?
If a woman chooses to remove her hijab or chooses not to wear it at all because it doesn’t align with her understanding or her beliefs, does that make exposing herself “prostitution?” If she doesn’t believe in wearing the hijab, is it prostitution because people like Abdullah believe in the necessity of wearing the hijab?
In a separate post, she deconstructed why Baldeosingh may have focused on the erasure of nuances of the Muslim identity:
In his and the Guardian Editor’s all-consuming desire to ensure that his message would reach the Islamists who are his real target—reckless of insensitivity and eschewing subtlety—a decision was taken to publish this piece on the Eid holiday.
We, the right thinking, law-abiding Muslims, need to be introspective and critical at the same time as we engage Kevin Baldeosingh and others of his ilk in dialogue with a view to making them understand that, in matters concerning the social and political aspects of our religion, we, the pure, authentic Muslims, are capable of intellectual autonomy.
If we, the right-thinking, law-abiding Muslims, cannot through our behaviour, through our scholarship and through our relations with non-Muslims express what Islam really is, then the Islamists will define it for us.
She also talked about the “significant differences” in what actually constitutes a hijab:
As a child, I saw Muslim women walking into different masajid with shawls loosely draped over their heads, sometimes slipping back to reveal half their heads. This ‘halfway hijab’ would, depending on the masjid you entered, see you getting the cold shoulder.
And there were also those women who either wore lipstick or wore a shade of lipstick that was a tad too bright or wore bangles that jingled or wore nails that suggested that they may have had them manicured. All such women ran the risk of finding themselves consigned to the dreaded category of ‘feminist hijabi’.
And there was yet another group who, most notoriously, dared to walk into the masjid hall wearing no hijab at all. This group is nowadays small enough to be considered non-existent but the segregation of and discrimination against the ‘lesser hijabs’ is alive.
As a hijab wearer herself, Abdool's observations were quite astute:
Now that I have put on the hijab, what I find particularly interesting are the statements of non-Muslims about what constitutes proper hijab. My impression is that they are heavily influenced by their familiarity with the now more widely propagated description of the ‘greater hijabs’.
There has to be alignment, they stress, between your inner conviction, belief and understanding and the individual external display of your interpretation of hijab. In other words, it’s all or nothing; if you can’t do it properly, then don’t do it at all.
But that still leaves intact the mystery of Abdullah’s thinking. According to him, since there can be no independence of inner intention and outward expression and since the locus of protection of all things immodest is the hijab, then the slightest departure from modesty constitutes prostitution.
So I am left to wonder what specific observations Abdullah has made that lead him to believe that inadequacies in hijab provoke the categorization of prostitution.
And I feel compelled to ask this question: What would be the ‘greatest hijab'?
That question, according to Abdool, should be for every Muslim woman to decide for herself, rather than having her voice — and experience — appropriated by men.

author: Flora Thomas


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A Mozambican Politician Who Was Imprisoned for Corruption Returns to His Post After Release · Global Voices
Dércio Tsandzana

Diodino Cambaza presided over the administrative council of Mozambique's Airports between 2005 and 2008. Photo: Gustavo Sugahara/Flickr, CC BY 2.0
Mozambicans reacted indignantly to a corruption case involving a senior government figure who, after finishing half a prison term, returned to work for the state in the same institution where the case happened.
The case concerns Diodino Cambaza, who was detained in 2008 and found guilty in 2010 along with four others of misusing 54 million meticais (880,000 dollars) of public funds in the Mozambique's Airports company. Cambaza presided over the company's administrative council between 2005 and 2008.
Cambaza was sentenced to 22 years in prison, but was freed in 2016 for good behaviour. He immediately sought his reinstatement in the company, which was made official on 19 April.
According to an announcement by Mozambique's Public Prosecutors Office, which judged the request, there is no impediment to Cambaza returning to his old post because the company did not hold a disciplinary process after his prison term. However, various citizens did not take kindly to the news.
The Centre of Public Integrity (CIP), a local institution which advocates public transparency, condemned in an interview with Deutsche Welle the company’s decision to reemploy him:
[The reemployment of Diodino Cambaza] represents a reversal for the efforts in the fight against corruption, lack of transparency and even in the efforts of justice, the CIP says. What we note is that the company should have taken disciplinary procedures against the offender. But it seems that the company stayed silent, and did not implement the appropriate disciplinary procedure for the application of due functions.
Egídio Vaz, a significant voice on Mozambican social media, also rejected this attitude and considered the case “sickening”:
If Cambaza was a competent person, he would be a consultant, after being sentenced and completing half the term. He would give paid lectures and motivational speeches, he would provide consultancy and reform with a reserved image. But because he is incompetent, he accepted being reemployed by the company that he helped to damage. So, it is clear: what Cambaza really likes is being paid for his silence. Sickening!
Bitone Viage, a young Mozambican political science in Brazil, argued that Cambaza had no morals at all:
Cambaza Premiado por um Estado por ele Ofendido
Não estou em crer que se tenha premiado desta forma, alguém que um dia ofendeu gravemente o Estado. Cambaza não tem a moral para voltar a servir o Estado,*já teve uma oportunidade ímpar de servi-lo, mas este por sua vez apenas serviu-se do Estado. Cambaza usou o Estado como se dum cofre inesgotável se tratasse, e o próprio Estado se cansou deste senhor, sendo este por sua vez, intimado, julgado e por fim condenado à uma pena de prisão maior. Sinceramente falando não sei porquê este senhor foi premiado desta forma.
Cambaza rewarded by a state which he defrauded:
I do not believe that somebody should be rewarded like this, somebody who has at some point seriously offended the state. Cambaza does not have the morals to return to serve the state, *he already had a unique opportunity to serve it, but he, for his part, only served himself from the state. Cambaza used the state as if it was an inexhaustible money box, and the state became tired of this man, being in turn summoned, judged and finally sentenced to a heavy prison term. Sincerely speaking I do not know why this man was rewarded like this.
Francey Zeúte preferred to remember the first president of Mozambique, Samora Machel, to highlight that a thief’s place is in prison:
Lugar de ladrão é na cadeia
Samora Machel será eternamente lembrado pelos moçambicanos não apenas por ter sido o primeiro Presidente de Moçambique independente, mas também pelos seus discursos contundentes, incisivos e, diga-se de passagem, proféticos. Uma das suas mais célebres exposição oral foi quando afirmou peremptoriamente que “um ambicioso é capaz de tudo, de vender a Pátria só por causa da sua ambição, do seu interesse individual”. Samora disse ainda que “não sei se um ambicioso muda, mas a minha experiência prova que não, muda de táctica, mas não elimina a ambição. Um ambicioso é criminoso ao mesmo tempo”.
The place of a thief is in prison
Samora Machel will be eternally remembered by Mozambicans not only for having been the first president of independent Mozambique, but also for his powerful, incisive and, one could say, prophetic speeches. One of his most famous speeches was when he asserted peremptorily that “an ambitious person is capable of everything, of selling the homeland only because of their ambition, of their personal interest”. Samora said that “I do not know if somebody ambitious changes, but my own experience shows not, they change tactics, but do not eliminate the ambition. Somebody ambitious is criminal at the same time”.
On Twitter, the reactions also critical of the decision:
Cambaza foi condenado a 22anos de prisão , cumpriu 10 e saiu .E hoje a empresa que ele desviou fundos volta a contrata-lo#AssimVaiOMeuPais
— яαƒιк ? (@azmal_rafik) 12 mai 2017
Cambaza was sentenced to 22 years in prison, served 10 [sic] and came out. And today the company at which he misused funds renewed the contract
Emildo Sambo, of the newspaper @Verdade, remarked that crime appears to pay in Mozambique:
Realmente, em #Moçambique ser ladrão e vassalo da #Frelimo compensa. #Diodino Cambaza, condenando a pena maior, volta aos #Aeroportos de Moç
— Emildo Sambo (@EmildoSambo) 11 mai 2017
Actually, in Mozambique being a thief and a vassal of [ruling party] Frelimo pays. Diodino Cambaza, sentenced to the heaviest prison term, returned to Mozambique's Airports

author: Dércio Tsandzana