Peace, justice and strong institutions – DDRN

Revisiting the Law of War under Climate Stress: The Case of Yemen

Sofia Kiryttopoulou — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:30:07 +0000

The Law of War, formally known as International Humanitarian Law (IHL), was developed to regulate violence during armed conflict by limiting unnecessary suffering and protecting civilian populations. According to the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), IHL governs both the conduct of hostilities and the protection of persons who are not or are no longer participating in conflict. Its legal framework is built around principles such as distinction, proportionality, and military necessity, all intended to strike a balance between humanitarian protection and military objectives.

Yet the Law of War emerged in a period when environmental degradation, climate stress, and ecological collapse were not understood as defining conditions of insecurity. The major instruments of modern IHL, including the Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols, were designed around assumptions that the humanitarian effects of military operations could largely be assessed through direct, immediate, and geographically bounded harm. Civilian suffering was conceived primarily in relation to casualties, physical destruction, and the immediate reverberations of military attacks rather than through long-term interactions with pre-existing environmental vulnerability.

Today, however, armed conflicts increasingly unfold in climate-stressed settings characterized by water scarcity, environmental degradation, food insecurity, and weakened infrastructure. In these contexts, military operations that may appear legally proportionate in isolation can generate cascading humanitarian effects far beyond what traditional legal analysis anticipates. Damage to a power grid, fuel depot, water pump, or port may not simply produce temporary disruption; it may accelerate systemic collapse where ecological resilience is already dangerously low.

This article argues that while IHL remains formally equipped to protect civilians during armed conflict, it contains a structural blind spot when applied to climate-vulnerable environments. Using Yemen as a primary case study, the article examines how acute water scarcity and environmental fragility interact with wartime destruction to magnify civilian harm. Yemen serves as a compelling proof of concept because it combines one of the world’s most severe pre-existing water crises with prolonged conflict and repeated attacks on essential infrastructure, making visible the limitations of a legal framework that tends to evaluate harm discretely rather than cumulatively.

The Legal Framework & Its Environmental Blind Spot

International Humanitarian Law is not entirely silent on environmental protection during armed conflict. It contains provisions aimed at limiting damage to both the natural environment and infrastructure indispensable to civilian survival. Under Article 54 of Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions, parties to a conflict are prohibited from attacking objects essential for civilian survival, including drinking water installations, irrigation systems, and agricultural areas. Additional protections appear in Articles 35 and 55 of Additional Protocol I, which prohibit methods of warfare expected to cause widespread, long-term, and severe damage to the natural environment.

At first glance, these provisions suggest that IHL already possesses tools capable of addressing environmentally mediated harm. Water infrastructure, food systems, and ecological resources are formally recognized as legally relevant objects of protection. Yet these rules were largely drafted with exceptional environmental destruction in mind—such as scorched-earth tactics, toxic contamination, or large-scale ecological devastation—rather than chronic environmental fragility.

This creates an important legal gap in climate-vulnerable conflict settings. Existing protections tend to focus on the legality of specific attacks and visible environmental destruction, but they struggle to account for the interaction between military operations and pre-existing ecological stress. In countries already facing water depletion, drought, or infrastructural weakness, damage that appears limited in military terms may trigger disproportionate humanitarian consequences through cascading system failures.

Moreover, IHL provides little guidance on how environmental vulnerability should influence proportionality assessments. While the destruction of a water pump, port, or fuel depot may not independently constitute unlawful environmental damage, its consequences may become catastrophic where civilian survival depends on already fragile systems. The law therefore recognizes environmental harm, but it remains comparatively underdeveloped in addressing environmental fragility as a condition that magnifies civilian suffering.

The Case of Yemen: Anatomy of a Climate-Stressed Conflict

The armed conflict in Yemen, particularly following the 2015 intervention by the Saudi-led coalition against the Houthi movement, illustrates how climate vulnerability can transform the effects of otherwise legally assessable military actions into systemic humanitarian collapse. The significance of the Yemeni case lies not only in the scale of destruction, but in the fact that many of the actions contributing to humanitarian harm are not clearly prohibited under existing international humanitarian law when assessed in isolation.

Under the existing law of armed conflict, certain categories of infrastructure may lawfully be targeted if they qualify as military objectives. Dual-use infrastructure, such as ports, roads, fuel depots, and electricity networks, can be attacked when they contribute effectively to military operations and when their destruction satisfies the requirements of proportionality and military necessity. Even where civilian harm occurs, such attacks are not automatically unlawful if the expected incidental damage is not considered “excessive” in relation to the anticipated military advantage.

This doctrinal structure is central to understanding Yemen. For example, the port of Hudaydah has been repeatedly affected by military operations and restrictions during the conflict. Under IHL analysis, the port may be treated as a legitimate military objective due to its role in logistics and supply chains. Similarly, disruptions to fuel import routes or transport infrastructure may be assessed as lawful if they are tied to military necessity. The law does not prohibit such actions per se; rather, it regulates them through proportionality calculations conducted at the level of individual attacks.

However, Yemen demonstrates how this legal structure produces a critical blind spot when applied in a climate-stressed environment. Even when strikes or blockades are arguably lawful under distinction and proportionality, their downstream effects are magnified by environmental fragility. Yemen’s water system, for instance, is heavily dependent on diesel-powered pumps due to the absence of resilient public infrastructure. As a result, disruptions to fuel imports, whether through damage to infrastructure or restrictions on supply, can indirectly disable access to clean water across entire regions.

According to UNICEF Yemen WASH reports, millions of people have faced severely reduced access to safe drinking water during the conflict, largely due to the breakdown of interconnected systems rather than the destruction of water sources alone. Yet under traditional IHL analysis, these outcomes are difficult to fully integrate into proportionality assessments because the legal test focuses on the expected harm of a specific attack, rather than the cumulative impact on an already fragile environmental system.

The same dynamic is visible in the collapse of sanitation infrastructure and the spread of waterborne disease. According to the World Health Organization Yemen crisis reports, deterioration in water and sanitation systems contributed significantly to large-scale cholera outbreaks. However, these humanitarian consequences emerge not from a single unlawful act, but from the aggregation of multiple disruptions that, taken individually, may fall within the scope of lawful military conduct.

Yemen therefore exposes a structural limitation in how international humanitarian law operates in practice. The law does not necessarily fail to regulate individual acts of warfare; rather, it struggles to account for how environmentally fragile systems convert legally assessable military actions into cascading humanitarian crises.

The “Cumulative Harm” Problem

A key limitation in International Humanitarian Law becomes visible when looking at how harm is assessed in practice. The principle of proportionality is applied on a strike-by-strike basis, asking whether expected civilian harm from a specific attack is excessive compared to the military advantage. This means each incident is judged in isolation.

The problem is that humanitarian harm does not accumulate in isolated units. In conflicts like Yemen, repeated disruption of ports, fuel supplies, and electricity networks gradually breaks down interdependent systems such as water access, sanitation, and food distribution. Individually, each action may be considered proportionate or not clearly unlawful under IHL. Taken together, however, they can produce widespread humanitarian collapse.

This gap becomes sharper in climate-stressed environments. Where water scarcity and weak infrastructure already exist, even limited or repeated disruptions can have outsized effects. Yet proportionality does not formally require decision-makers to assess how environmental fragility will amplify harm over time.

As a result, IHL can legally evaluate each step correctly while still missing the overall pattern of cumulative destruction. The law captures isolated harm well, but struggles to account for system-wide collapse produced through repeated lawful actions in fragile environments.

Comparative Perspectives and Conclusion

The dynamics observed in Yemen are not unique. Similar interactions between conflict and environmental fragility can be seen in other climate-stressed regions where civilian survival depends on vulnerable infrastructure systems.

In the Lake Chad Basin, armed conflict involving non-state armed groups has unfolded alongside severe environmental degradation and shrinking water resources. As in Yemen, civilian livelihoods depend heavily on fragile ecological systems, particularly access to water and arable land. According to the United Nations Environment Programme, environmental stress in the region has significantly intensified humanitarian vulnerability in the context of armed conflict.

A similar pattern is visible in Somalia, where prolonged conflict intersects with recurring droughts and weak infrastructure. In such contexts, disruption to transport routes, water access, or fuel supply can quickly escalate into widespread food insecurity and displacement, even when individual acts of violence are not necessarily unlawful under international humanitarian law.

These comparative examples reinforce the central insight of this article: the legal framework of international humanitarian law is not absent or ineffective, but it is often analytically under-equipped to account for how environmental fragility reshapes the consequences of armed conflict.

This does not require abandoning the structure of IHL. Instead, it suggests the need for a more dynamic interpretive approach to existing principles—particularly proportionality—that better reflects cumulative harm and environmental vulnerability as part of the assessment of civilian impact.

Yemen therefore does not stand as an exception to the law of war, but as a stress test of its assumptions. It shows that in climate-vulnerable conflict zones, the legality of individual acts may no longer fully capture the humanitarian reality they collectively produce.

Sofia Kiryttopoulou is a BA student of Balkan, Slavic, and Oriental Studies, University of Macedonia, and a DDRN Intern.

Lost in Translation: How Language Shapes Opportunity in Morocco

Manar Sadkou — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:29:02 +0000

All over the world, success in science is often seen as the result of talent and hard work. But for many Moroccan students, the challenge begins long before they encounter complex equations or laboratory experiments. It begins with language.

Located at the crossroads of Africa, Europe, and the Arab world, Morocco is marked by deep linguistic and cultural diversity. Most Moroccans grow up speaking Darija, the Moroccan dialect, or Amazigh, the Indigenous language of North Africa. Yet the language of schooling is Standard Arabic, a formal variety rarely used in everyday life, before students are expected to switch again to French for science subjects such as physics, biology, and mathematics.

For many students, this constant linguistic shift is more than an inconvenience; it is a barrier to learning. Understanding scientific concepts becomes not just a matter of grasping the material, but also of navigating the language in which it’s taught.

This challenge is also not experienced equally. Students from affluent families are more likely to attend private or French schools where the language is taught intensively from an early age, giving them a clear advantage when scientific subjects transition into French. Meanwhile, students in the public system, who make up the majority, are often left to navigate this shift with far less preparation. For some, the difficulty is enough to push them away from scientific fields altogether.

As a result, success in science can depend as much on socioeconomic background as on ability. This raises an important question: who benefits from this system, and why does it persist?

To answer that, it helps to look at how Morocco’s linguistic landscape was shaped in the first place.

How Colonialism Reshaped Moroccan Education

The prominence of French today can be traced back to the colonial period, when Morocco became a French protectorate in 1912, and the French language was institutionalized across key sectors. In a recent study published in Languages, researchers Brahim Chakrani (Michigan State University), Adam Ziad (Florida Atlantic University), and Abdenbi Lachkar (University of Montpellier Paul Valery) argue that the education system introduced during this period was designed to divide Moroccan society along socioeconomic and ethnolinguistic lines, reinforcing French cultural influence in the country.

Before French colonization, Morocco had a traditional education system centered around Quranic schools, which focused on religious texts and where Standard Arabic was the main language of instruction. Students who excelled would go on to pursue advanced studies, either at the University of al-Qarawiyyin in Fez, often considered the oldest university in the world, or abroad.

With the arrival of the French protectorate, the education system was reorganized along segregated lines, with separate schools for Europeans, Muslim Moroccans, Jewish Moroccans, and Amazigh communities. French-language schools were largely reserved for European settlers and a small Moroccan elite, while access to advanced education for the broader population remained limited.

This segregated system helped establish French as the language of modernity, and it increasingly came to be viewed as superior to Arabic. This outcome was no accident. Language was a central tool through which the colonial administration structured access to education and opportunity. Through its school system, it cultivated a French-educated elite loyal to the French language and culture, while the majority of the population remained excluded from advanced learning. At the same time, the system restricted social mobility, keeping positions of power within a small, privileged group.

The Moroccan nationalist movement strongly opposed French influence and responded by establishing Al Madaris Al Hurra (the “Free Schools”), where Arabic was the sole language of instruction. However, these schools reached only a small segment of the population and, therefore, had a limited impact on the broader education system.

The Unfulfilled Promise of Arabization

After independence in 1956, Morocco attempted to reclaim its education system, but the legacy of French colonialism proved difficult to undo. Although the policy of Arabization aimed to replace French with Standard Arabic as the language of instruction, French remained firmly embedded in higher education, private schooling, and the job market.

Arabization faced major obstacles. Many teachers had themselves been trained in French and struggled to teach scientific subjects in Standard Arabic, while educational materials and scientific research in Arabic remained limited. At the same time, French-speaking elites continued to promote French as the language of higher education and economic opportunity.

Some critics, however, argue that these problems were not caused by the language itself. Instead, they attribute the policy’s shortcomings to limited political commitment, insufficient funding, and outdated teaching methods.

Regardless of the explanation, the result was a system in which French consolidated its position as the language of science, while Arabic was largely confined to the humanities.

Several decades later, Morocco began to reverse its Arabization policy, reintroducing French as the language of instruction in science subjects at the secondary level. This move further marginalized Arabic and created a lasting disconnect within the education system. Students who had been taught primarily in Arabic were suddenly expected to master complex scientific concepts in French, often without adequate preparation.

That disconnect continues to shape Moroccan classrooms today. Students from privileged backgrounds, who are more likely to have strong French proficiency, are better equipped to succeed in science. Others, particularly those in the public system, face an additional linguistic barrier that can limit their academic performance and narrow their future opportunities.

I saw this dynamic firsthand. I was educated in a private school and benefited from early exposure to French. My parents were not wealthy, but they were acutely aware of how language shapes opportunity in Morocco. They made significant sacrifices to ensure that my sister and I would master not just one, but multiple languages, through school and additional language courses, because they understood it as our most reliable path to success.

I was able to enroll in the Baccalauréat International Option Français (International Baccalaureate French Option), introduced in 2017. Despite its name, it was not really an “option” in my school; it was the default track, and no Arabic alternative was offered. The preparation that made this possible, however, is something many students in the public system simply do not have access to.

Recent figures from Morocco’s Higher Council of Education highlight the scale of the divide. By the end of middle school, only 9% of public school students were found to have a satisfactory level in French, compared to 62% in private schools. The same report found major gaps across all core subjects, including mathematics, physics, and life sciences.

Researchers Brahim Chakrani, Adam Ziad, and Abdenbi Lachkar view this divide as part of a broader form of French neocolonial influence that continues to sustain the dominance of the French language long after independence.

France’s Lasting Influence

France’s influence over its former colonies has long outlasted formal independence. Across much of Africa, political sovereignty did not fully sever economic and institutional ties. Many countries continue to rely on France for investment, infrastructure, and trade, relationships that echo colonial-era ties. The CFA franc system, used by several former French colonies in West and Central Africa, is often cited as one example of this enduring dependency, even though Morocco is not part of it.

According to Brahim Chakrani, Adam Ziad, and Abdenbi Lachkar, language has remained one of France’s most effective tools of influence. Through the ideology of La Francophonie Plurielle, France presents itself as a defender of linguistic diversity while French continues to dominate key domains such as education, administration, and economic life in former colonies.

This influence is also sustained through education. French-language schools and institutions help produce elites who remain closely connected to French systems and interests. For instance, in Morocco, former education ministers Said Amzazi and Chakib Benmoussa, both francophone technocrats, played major roles in reversing Arabization and restoring French as the language of instruction for scientific subjects.

Financial partnerships further reinforce this dynamic. A recent example is a €130 million loan aimed at strengthening French-language instruction in Moroccan secondary schools.

There is also a strategic reason behind these efforts. By 2050, nearly 90% of the world’s French speakers are expected to live in Africa, making the continent central to France’s global influence.

Language, Class, and Opportunity

Building on this, Chakrani, Ziad, and Lachkar argue that the promotion of French in key sectors is not only about maintaining external influence; it also shapes internal power dynamics within Morocco. It has become a way for the affluent class to maintain and reinforce its position while limiting social mobility. Scholars often describe this as elite closure: a process through which access to key resources is controlled in order to preserve advantage. In this case, the resource is language.

The researchers found that several conditions for this dynamic are clearly present. French holds greater social and economic value than Arabic in many contexts and dominates key domains such as science, business, and diplomacy. “Those who do not have command of French are considered illiterate,” Hamid El Otmani, talent and training lead at the Confederation of Moroccan Employers, told Reuters.

At the same time, advanced proficiency in French is far more accessible to students from privileged backgrounds, particularly those who can afford private or French-language schooling.

As a result, access to quality education and high-paying jobs remains closely tied to French fluency, reinforcing existing inequalities. A 2025 survey by the Sunergia research group found that 43% of higher-income earners reported being fluent in French, compared to just 6% of lower-income Moroccans.

Meanwhile, efforts to shift toward other global languages, such as English, can face resistance from those who benefit from the current system, as such changes risk disrupting established pathways to power.

A Generation Lost in Translation

The effects of this system extend beyond education and employment. They are also visible in everyday communication, particularly among younger generations.

Among many young Moroccans, conversations move fluidly between Darija, French, and English, sometimes within the same sentence. On one level, this multilingualism can seem adaptive, even cosmopolitan. But it also reflects a deeper uncertainty around language itself.

I often find myself unable to fully express an idea in Darija without switching to French or English to fill the gaps. Speaking to someone who does not understand those languages can suddenly make communication feel difficult in what is supposed to be my own mother tongue. In many ways, Morocco’s multilingual education system can leave students caught between languages, without ever fully mastering any of them.

This raises broader questions about the future of education in Morocco and the role language should play within it. A more equitable system would not require students to overcome multiple linguistic barriers simply to access knowledge or pursue scientific fields. Instead, it would build learning around the languages most familiar to students, particularly Arabic and Amazigh, while still treating multilingualism as an important skill rather than a prerequisite for opportunity.

Foreign languages undeniably remain valuable in an interconnected world. But in Morocco, proficiency in French often functions less as an academic asset than as a gatekeeper to education, employment, and social mobility. The challenge is not whether Moroccans should learn foreign languages, but whether mastery of a colonial language should continue to determine who gets to succeed in their own country.

As Morocco increasingly opens itself to English in business, technology, and higher education, the debate over language policy is also beginning to shift. For many young Moroccans, the question is no longer simply whether French should dominate public life, but whether the country’s education system should continue to revolve around it at all.

References:

Chakrani, B., Ziad, A., & Lachkar, A. (2025). Paradoxes of language policy in Morocco: Deconstructing the ideology of language alternation and the resurgence of French in STEM instruction. Languages, 10(6), 135. https://doi.org/10.3390/languages10060135

Manar Sadkou is a Bachelor student in Globalization, Governance, and Law at Karlshochschule International University, and a DDRN Intern.

Youth at the Table: How Young Advocates Engage with Climate Diplomacy

Sofia Kiryttopoulou — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:25:01 +0000

Climate change is often discussed through science, emissions targets, and environmental disasters. Yet behind global climate action lies another, less visible process: climate diplomacy. Broadly, climate diplomacy refers to the negotiations and cooperation between countries aimed at addressing climate change through international agreements, policy commitments, and collective action.

As climate decisions shape the future of younger generations, youth participation in these discussions has become increasingly important. While many associate youth climate engagement with protests and activism, young people are also participating in policy consultations, advocacy networks, educational initiatives, and climate diplomacy forums.

To better understand what youth engagement in climate diplomacy looks like in practice, I spoke with the hosts of Young, Loud and Green, Natalia Vradi, and Ioanna Giakoumopoulou, two young women from Greece who are actively involved in climate advocacy. Through conversations with climate experts, researchers, and youth leaders, the podcast explores climate diplomacy, sustainability, and civic participation, while making these discussions more accessible to younger audiences.

How Two Young Researchers Found Their Path into Climate Diplomacy

Both interviewees described their entry into climate-related work as closely linked to their academic experiences, but also to the people and environments that shaped their interest in the subject.

Natalia Vradi studied Political Science and Public Administration before completing a master’s degree in Southeastern European Studies. She explained that her interest in climate diplomacy was first sparked during her undergraduate studies, when she attended a course taught by a relatively young professor specializing in the topic. She emphasized that the professor’s age and teaching style made a significant difference in how engaging and accessible the subject felt, particularly because climate diplomacy is often perceived as distant or overly technical. This early exposure helped her recognize climate change not only as an environmental issue, but as a political and diplomatic process shaped through negotiation and international cooperation.

Ioanna studied International Relations with History and also holds a master’s degree in Southeastern European Studies. Her engagement with climate-related work developed more gradually through her broader interest in youth participation, civic engagement, and what it means for young people to be actively involved in political and social processes. Interestingly, she also noted that her deeper involvement in climate diplomacy was influenced through her collaboration and connection with Natalia, highlighting how peer networks and shared academic environments can play a key role in shaping professional pathways.

Taken together, their experiences underline the importance of accessible education and relatable mentorship in climate-related fields. Having educators and peers who are close in age or who actively engage with the subject in an approachable way can significantly lower the barrier to entry for complex topics such as climate diplomacy, making them feel more tangible and relevant to younger students.

What youth participation in climate diplomacy looks like

When asked what youth engagement in climate diplomacy looks like in practice, the hosts said that, unfortunately, it is still largely associated with protests and street activism. They noted that while movements such as Fridays for Future have played a crucial role in raising global awareness of the climate crisis, protest remains the most visible and accessible form of engagement for many young people.

At the same time, they explained that youth participation is not limited to activism in the streets. Other forms do exist, including policy consultations, youth delegations at international conferences, participation in climate forums, research contributions, and engagement through youth-led networks and educational initiatives. However, they emphasized that these forms of participation are often less visible and do not necessarily translate into real influence within formal decision-making processes.

When asked about this gap between participation and influence, they pointed to what is often described as “youth washing.” They said that institutions frequently highlight the presence of young people in conferences, consultations, or advisory spaces as proof of inclusivity. However, in many cases, this presence does not necessarily lead to meaningful involvement in shaping decisions.

As they explained, the core issue lies in the difference between being included in a space and having actual decision-making power within it. While youth participation is increasingly acknowledged in principle, it does not always result in concrete policy impact.

Barriers to meaningful participation

Several structural barriers were identified as limiting young people’s ability to engage effectively in climate diplomacy.

Funding was highlighted as one of the most significant obstacles. Much youth participation depends on unpaid or voluntary work, which excludes those without financial support or flexibility. Age was also discussed as a persistent barrier, with younger participants often not being taken as seriously in formal institutional settings.

More broadly, the interviewees pointed to a lack of clear mechanisms through which youth contributions are translated into policy outcomes. Even when young people are consulted, their recommendations are not always reflected in final decisions.

Youth Networks Beyond Borders

When asked whether they could point to examples of youth-led initiatives that have had a tangible impact in climate spaces, the hosts referred to a discussion they had in one of their episodes from their podcast. In the episode, they spoke with Michael Kakande, a United Nations Climate Change COP Impact Maker and the Founder and Chairperson of Resilient40 (R40), a Pan-African and diaspora youth-led network focused on climate resilience, adaptation, and climate justice across Africa.

They described Resilient40 as a network that brings together young professionals from across the African continent and diaspora to amplify youth voices that are often underrepresented in global climate discussions. According to the interviewees, its work is particularly focused on ensuring that African perspectives are meaningfully included in international climate negotiations, especially in key policy areas such as climate finance, adaptation strategies, and loss and damage.

In their view, initiatives like Resilient40 illustrate that youth engagement in climate diplomacy is not confined to local activism or awareness campaigns. Instead, it increasingly takes the form of structured, cross-border collaboration that connects young people across regions and institutional contexts.

They added that this reflects a broader trend in climate advocacy: youth participation is becoming more global and interconnected, shaped by networks that operate across both the Global North and Global South. Rather than acting in isolation, young climate advocates are increasingly engaging in transnational spaces where knowledge, strategies, and political demands are exchanged and amplified across borders.

Misconceptions About Youth in Climate Governance

The interviewees addressed a recurring misconception about youth participation in climate governance: the assumption that young people lack the expertise, experience, or technical knowledge necessary to contribute meaningfully to policy discussions. They firmly challenged this notion, arguing that many youth-led initiatives comprise highly informed participants who actively engage with complex areas like climate diplomacy, negotiation processes, and international frameworks. In their experience, young leaders are often deeply embedded in research, advocacy, and policy-oriented debates, making them well-versed in both the scientific and political dimensions of climate change.

To combat this skepticism, they use their podcast to directly showcase the sophisticated capability of the youth movement. The podcast highlights the sophisticated professionalism of the youth movement, featuring, as Ioanna noted, “fantastic guests, who are so involved in this and so passionate and well educated.” By centering these conversations, the podcast proves that young climate actors are highly informed, serious leaders who deserve a seat at the table.

This effort to shift the narrative extends to the Youth Climate Diplomacy Forum itself. Ioanna highlighted that the Forum delivers “top-tier conferences and content” entirely produced by individuals “under the age of 35,” showcasing the undeniable professionalism and active engagement within the youth climate movement.

Ultimately,the interviewees stressed that the issue is not a lack of competence among young people, but rather a structural tendency to undervalue their contributions. Even when youth are present in formal settings, their input is not always treated with the same seriousness as that of older or more established actors, creating a gap between participation and recognition.

A Source of Hope: The Next Generation of Climate Engagement

When asked whether the future of youth climate advocacy and diplomacy offers genuine hope or if the movement is destined to stagnate, the interviewees pointed directly to the surging momentum of grassroots engagement.

For them, hope is not an abstract concept, but something visible in the sheer volume and sincerity of the young people getting involved. They noted that the next generation of advocates is not merely “showing up for the pictures,” but is driven by a deep, authentic interest in systemic change. There is an undeniable strength in numbers, evidenced by the rapid growth of youth organizations and the massive turnout at local initiatives.

This momentum is particularly vibrant on a local scale. In Athens alone, a booming ecosystem of youth-led solidarity initiatives has emerged. From youth-run magazines and massive tree-planting events to beach cleanups and climate-conscious fashion swaps, the sheer variety of active projects offers a daily dose of optimism. Social media has played a vital role in this expansion, making it easier than ever for young people to discover a clothing swap one day and a coastal cleanup the next.

Ultimately, they agreed that climate engagement has grown exponentially over the past few years, largely because the crisis itself has become impossible to ignore. As they poignantly noted, it is both a blessing and a curse: while the severity of the crisis forces people to action, the reality of climate change is now as simple and undeniable as opening a window and looking outside. Yet, in the face of that reality, the rapid proliferation of new, youth-led initiatives remains their greatest source of hope.

From Presence to Power

Youth engagement in climate governance has evolved far beyond the boundaries of traditional street protest, turning into a highly strategic and professionalized movement. Through the experiences and insights shared in this interview, it is clear that despite facing steep structural barriers like funding limitations and the persistent threat of “youth washing,” young advocates are operating with a sophisticated level of technical expertise and cross-border solidarity. The sheer momentum of these grassroots initiatives shows that the next generation is no longer just asking for a seat at the table; they are actively reshaping the dialogue. In the face of an escalating crisis, their deeply informed engagement provides a vital reminder that meaningful climate action is impossible without recognizing youth not just as observers, but as essential partners in driving real policy change.

*Special thanks to Natalia Vradi and Ioanna Giakoumopoulou for sharing their time, experiences, and vital insights into the future of youth climate diplomacy.

Sofia Kiryttopoulou is studying for a Bachelor’s Degree in Balkan, Slavic and Oriental Studies. Specialization: Politics and Law, at University of Macedonia, Thessaloniki, Greece.

So apparently, Satire is not All Sh*ts and Giggles!

Maya Rakha — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:23:07 +0000

Let’s go back to my family home, around 15 years ago. Imagine that my family and I are all waiting impatiently for the person that was then considered to be a legend, the one and only Bassem Youssef. This heart-surgeon turned political satirist was our only comfort during uncertain times. You see, growing up in Egypt means you have to learn a couple of things about what to say, and more importantly, what not to say. Especially in regards to the political scene. You get told this all your life, and suddenly there is this guy making jokes and bashing out every single politician there is. Crazy man! What was even crazier was how right he was.

And funny. But most importantly, right. He took common issues that people were not able to publicly speak about, spoke about them on national television, and with full confidence. As much as I would love to make it seem as

though I fully understood what he was saying at the time, I can’t. I was in fact 10 years old, and thought that the guy was funny.

I asked my parents about how come people are unable to speak up about what bothers them within the political sphere, but this guy was able to say whatever he wanted *as a joke.*

That is when I found out about satire. (Which I also did not fully understand at the time, but I digress). I learned that satire was a form of humour used to expose hypocrisy, contradictions, and absurdity. Or, as I would later learn from Dr. Ida Klitgård (don’t worry, she will be introduced in the next paragraph), a way of shifting our focus to notice the underlying truth.

Which can only mean one thing: satire may be funny, but its impact reaches far beyond a quick laugh. From exposing political hypocrisy to influencing public opinion, satire has long occupied a unique space between entertainment and dissent. To better understand its role in contemporary politics, or more so our daily lives, I had the honour to virtually interview Dr. Ida Klitgård. Dr. Ida Klitgård is an Associate Professor at Roskilde University, in Denmark, whose research examines language, culture, and the ways ideas circulate across societies. Dr. Ida Klitgård is also the Principal Investigator of the SatiReNet. Which means she is probably funny. And definitely very smart.

Back to my 10-year-old self, I didn’t really understand why the people in power were so scared of a guy telling jokes. Surely being president, minister, or whatever title people have comes with enough confidence to survive being the butt of a joke. But I guess not. So I asked Dr. Ida Klitgård why satire seems to provoke such strong reactions.

Dr. Ida Klitgård connected this to what is known as the “alienation effect,” a concept that essentially means creating enough distance from something familiar so that we are able to see it differently1. Which sounds very academic. Until you realise that Bassem Youssef built an entire career around it. Egyptians had already seen the politicians he was mocking. They had heard the speeches. They had watched the interviews. Nothing he showed his audience was new. Yet somehow, by placing those clips inside a comedy show, they looked completely different. Not because people were incapable of noticing contradictions before, but because once somebody points them out publicly, they become much harder to ignore.

So you know that joke that goes “what do you call a politician with half a brain? Gifted!” ? Well, you get the point.

What surprised me most during my conversation with Dr. Ida Klitgård, however, was not her explanation of why satire is powerful. It was rather her observation that people in power have started using the same tools themselves. Traditionally, satire worked in one direction. The jester mocked the king. The comedian mocked the politician. The people mocked those making decisions on their behalf. Nature was fine. But unfortunately not anymore. This tool is just not as satisfying anymore. Where is the need for a joke to expose ridiculousness, when people are exposing themselves already? Why do they need to take this from us as well? As Dr. Ida Klitgård pointed out, politicians now make memes. Governments publish provocative videos. Public figures say outrageous things and then hide behind “it was just a joke” when they face criticism.

SO unfair!

But to this, Dr. Ida Klitgård opened my eyes again. The belief that satire should “punch up” at power rather than “punch down” at marginalised groups is not correct. Apparently, satire does not lose its legitimacy when it targets the “vulnerable” rather than the “powerful.” To illustrate this point, Dr. Ida Klitgård pointed to the Danish playwright Ludvig Holberg. In works such as Jeppe på Bjerget, Holberg often mocked ordinary people rather than those in power.

From a “modern” perspective, this might look like “punching down.” However, Klitgård argued that Holberg’s intention was to expose what he saw as superstition and poor reasoning, ultimately encouraging change through education.

I don’t want to get into my views of education and what it means to have a good or bad education, as this opens the door massively to arguments that I’m not ready to have. What struck me about Dr. Ida Klitgård’s answer was not necessarily that I agreed with it. It was that it forced me to rethink something I had always assumed was true. Growing up with Bassem Youssef, I had subconsciously placed satire on the side of the “good guys.” Satire challenged power, exposed hypocrisy. It comforted people when politics became absurd. In my mind, it was an inherently rebellious concept. But unfortunately, life is not that simple.

Dr. Ida Klitgård’s point was not that satire should punch down. Rather, it was that satire itself has no built-in moral compass. It is a tool. The same mechanism that exposes a dictator can be used to ridicule immigrants. The same humour that empowers one group can humiliate another. Which is an uncomfortable thought. I wanted to make satire seem like some kind of friendly neighbourhood Spiderman! But satire is a double-edged sword. The question is not whether it is good or bad, for everything has good and bad. Rather, who is using it and what is their intention behind it.

Why can’t we have ONE thing?

Unfortunately, Dr. Ida Klitgård was not done ruining my simplistic understanding of satire (which I am very grateful for). As if discovering that satire is not inherently good or bad was not enough, there is also the matter of social media. Satire felt easy to identify. Political crisis. Someone made fun of it. Haha. Move on. But now everyone has a platform, the satirist, the politician, the conspiracy theorist, and even flat-earthers! But according to Dr. Ida Klitgård, this has fundamentally changed the role of satire. She explained that satire has become democratised.

Everybody can now participate in it. This has made satire both a gift and a weapon. On one hand, more people are able to challenge power and participate in public debate. On the other, those same tools can be used to spread hostility, ridicule, and division. I asked whether social media was helping “democracy” (whatever that is) or destroying it? Dr. Ida Klitgård’s answer was “yes.”

Anyway, let us go back to Bassem Youssef’s Al Bernameg for a second. In one episode, the show performed a song titled “After the Revolution, We Got a President.” On the surface, it was just another comedy sketch. Beneath that, it was a masterclass in what Dr. Ida Klitgård described as the “alienation effect.”

Youssef would begin every episode with a disclaimer insisting that the programme was fictional, comedic, and entirely disconnected from reality. Then, moments later, he would play actual clips from politicians and television presenters. The contrast was impossible to ignore: the “fictional” comedic programme was more honest than the news. Who knew that was possible?

Anyway, if you’ve read my latest article, you’ll know that colonialism is one of my recurring topics to write about and discuss. A close second is racism. I like to keep things cheerful. So the question “Satire can be used as a hidden tool for racism. Do you agree? Or is it all sh*ts and giggles?” arose.

The answer of Dr. Ida Klitgård really opened my eyes, as with the rise of the far right in Europe within the area where I live, it is sometimes hard to take a step back and think objectively whether something is serious or meant as a joke. According to Dr. Ida Klitgård, satire can absolutely be used as a tool for racism. “If someone believes that race, ethnicity, or migration represents a social problem, they may use satire to ridicule those groups in the name of ‘correcting’ what they perceive to be wrong.”

Which brings me to Friedrich Merz. In August 2025, the German Chancellor proudly announced that asylum applications had been reduced by 60% compared to the previous year. He then added that there was still a “problem” visible in the “cityscape” of German city centres and that the Interior Minister was therefore working to make deportations possible on a much larger scale.2

You might be asking yourself, what does the architecture and “cityscape” of a city have to do with deportation? You are on the right track…Anywho, I am not a comedian. Living in Germany has made that abundantly clear. But thankfully, here there is no need to come up with a joke. This is where satire becomes interesting. Not because it invents absurdities, but because it points to absurdities that already exist and asks the audience to sit with them for a little longer than is comfortable. My realisation was that I, apparently, am not pretty enough for Friedrich Merz or his “cityscape.”

What do immigrants have to do with this? What does the ugly city centre of Konstanz have to do with immigrants? FYI, Konstanz is very pretty… (see the picture). Moving on…

Dr. Ida Klitgård argued that satire is ultimately shaped by the values of the satirist. Anything can become an object of satire if the satirist believes it should be improved. The problem begins when satire loses its larger purpose and becomes bullying, mockery, or harassment. Which brings me to one final example. A Swiss political party once portrayed immigrants as black sheep and “indigenous” Swiss people as white sheep.3 Now, I am not entirely sure who approved that campaign. What I do know, though, is that Switzerland is famously proud of its black-nosed sheep.4 The line between political messaging, satire, and self-parody has suddenly become very difficult to identify. Which is precisely the problem.

So thanks to Dr. Ida Klitgård, all my assumptions about satire have been crushed. I thought satire was about humour, turn’s out it’s about truth. I thought it was there to challenge power, now those in power use it too (but don’t challenge themselves). I thought satire was OUR thing, turns out satire does not care who uses it.

I thought Bassem Youseff was funny. Turns out he is a big, scary man. Oh. LOL. Satire is not all sh*its and giggles.

“Creating Security,” by the Schweizer Volks Partei (the Swiss Peoples’ Party)

Maya Rakha has a Master’s Degree of Arts in International Security at University of Groningen and is a DDRN Correspondent

References

^[1] https://www.oed.com/dictionary/alienation_n?tab=factsheet#7119281

^[2] https://www.tagesschau.de/inland/innenpolitik/merz-stadtbild-migration-100.html

^[3] https://www.spiegel.de/fotostrecke/photo-gallery-black-sheep-white-sheep-and-the-swiss-campaign-fotostrecke-27311.html

^[4] https://www.parkdaleblacknose.co.nz/valais-blacknose-2

Power and Participation in Climate Negotiations : How Vulnerable States Engage with Climate Diplomacy

Sofia Kiryttopoulou — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:21:30 +0000

Climate diplomacy refers to the system of multilateral negotiations through which states coordinate responses to climate change. The principal institutional forum for this process is the UNFCCC, where governments negotiate mitigation commitments, climate finance, adaptation support, transparency frameworks, and mechanisms addressing loss and damage.

Although the UNFCCC operates formally on the principle of sovereign equality, the practical dynamics of negotiation are shaped by significant asymmetries in economic power, technical capacity, and historical responsibility for greenhouse gas emissions. These disparities influence bargaining power and agenda-setting capacity, producing a structure in which major emitters and advanced economies often exert greater influence over technical and procedural outcomes, while climate-vulnerable states bear disproportionate exposure to impacts.

This asymmetry is especially evident in the relationship between industrialized economies and highly vulnerable developing states. Many small island developing states and least developed countries contribute minimally to global emissions yet face acute and sometimes existential climate risks. Conversely, major emitters typically maintain larger diplomatic missions, deeper technical expertise, and greater institutional capacity to engage across the full breadth of negotiation streams.

Climate diplomacy therefore extends beyond emissions accounting into questions of distributive justice, responsibility, and global inequality. While all states participate formally on equal terms, their effective influence is strongly mediated by coalition-building, institutional capacity, and the ability to translate vulnerability into normative and political leverage.

Vulnerability and differential exposure to climate impacts

The significance of Small Island Developing States (SIDS), Least Developed Countries (LDCs), and other climate-vulnerable nations lies in the intensity of their exposure to climate impacts and the constraints on their adaptive capacity.

SIDS face heightened exposure to sea-level rise, coastal erosion, saltwater intrusion, and extreme weather events. In some cases, these risks extend to fundamental questions of territorial integrity, long-term habitability, and state continuity, raising unprecedented legal and governance challenges.

LDCs experience climate vulnerability through structural economic dependence on climate-sensitive sectors such as rain-fed agriculture and fisheries. Climate variability—including droughts, flooding, and shifting precipitation patterns—directly affects food security, livelihoods, and macroeconomic stability. Limited fiscal space and borrowing capacity further constrain recovery from climate shocks, often increasing reliance on external assistance.

Across parts of sub-Saharan Africa, climate risks such as desertification, water scarcity, heat stress, and extreme rainfall events interact with demographic pressures and infrastructural constraints. In regions such as the Sahel, states like Niger and Chad, recurrent drought conditions and land degradation contribute to compounding vulnerabilities affecting agricultural productivity and governance capacity.

Across these contexts, climate change operates as a “threat multiplier,” interacting with pre-existing structural vulnerabilities related to poverty, weak infrastructure, and constrained access to capital. As a result, climate negotiations for vulnerable states are frequently framed not only in environmental terms but also as issues of development, survival, and international equity.

Unequal capacity in climate negotiation

Despite formal legal equality among states, climate diplomacy exhibits persistent disparities in negotiating capacity.

A key constraint is delegation size and specialization. Smaller states often operate with limited diplomatic personnel who must cover multiple negotiation tracks simultaneously, restricting their ability to engage in parallel technical streams such as mitigation accounting, adaptation finance, and carbon market design. In contrast, major economies typically deploy larger, more specialized delegations that include experts in legal drafting, climate finance, and emissions modeling, enabling sustained engagement across simultaneous negotiation processes.

For example, states such as Nauru and the Cook Islands typically send around a dozen delegates or fewer, while countries like Eritrea are represented by only a handful of participants in some COP years.

By contrast, major emitters such as the United States regularly deploy well over 100 delegates, allowing them to cover multiple parallel negotiation streams simultaneously with specialized legal, technical, and finance teams.

It is important to note that small delegation size is not unique to vulnerable states—some smaller or wealthy countries (for example Ireland or other mid-sized European states) also send relatively limited teams. However, the key distinction is that vulnerable countries face far greater exposure to climate impacts and far fewer domestic resources, meaning limited delegation size translates directly into reduced negotiating capacity under existential stakes.

Financial constraints further limit participation. Regular attendance at COP meetings and intersessional negotiations requires resources that many vulnerable states lack, leading to dependence on external support and uneven continuity in negotiations. For example, small island developing states such as Tuvalu and Kiribati often rely on funding from UNFCCC support programmes to be able to maintain consistent presence at COP negotiations. Without this external assistance, these states would struggle to send even minimal delegations to annual conferences and preparatory sessions, which in turn weakens their ability to follow fast-moving negotiation texts and maintain continuity across multiple COP cycles.

Technical asymmetries also reinforce inequality. Climate negotiations increasingly rely on complex legal drafting, emissions accounting frameworks, and economic modeling. States with limited domestic technical infrastructure may depend on external expertise, which can constrain independent formulation of negotiating positions.

Finally, there is often a gap between negotiated commitments and implementation. Delivery of climate finance, technology transfer, and adaptation support frequently depends on donor priorities, institutional capacity, and domestic absorption constraints, leading to uneven realization of agreed outcomes.

Coalition-building and collective diplomacy

To offset structural disparities in capacity, vulnerable states engage in coalition-based diplomacy, pooling resources, expertise, and negotiating positions.

The Alliance of Small Island States represents low-lying island and coastal states facing acute climate risks. Despite limited economic weight, AOSIS has played an influential role in agenda-setting, particularly in advocating for the 1.5°C temperature goal and advancing recognition of loss and damage as a formal pillar of climate governance.

The Least Developed Countries Group represents a broad coalition of economically vulnerable states. It operates through internal division of labor across negotiation tracks, allowing members to specialize in specific technical areas and coordinate unified positions across complex negotiations.

The African Group of Negotiators provides regional coordination for African states, facilitating common positions on adaptation, finance, and implementation priorities.

The Climate Vulnerable Forum brings together states highly exposed to climate impacts, with a particular emphasis on climate finance and vulnerability-informed policy advocacy.

Through these coalitions, vulnerable states increase their collective bargaining capacity, improve technical coordination, and enhance their ability to shape negotiation agendas. Their influence is most pronounced in norm-setting and agenda formation, particularly in areas such as temperature targets, adaptation framing, and loss and damage governance.

Influence under constraint

Small island developing states, least developed countries, African states, and broader climate-vulnerable coalitions occupy a structurally ambivalent position in global climate governance. They are among the least responsible for cumulative emissions yet among the most exposed to climate impacts.

Despite limited material power, these states have become important actors in shaping the normative and procedural direction of international climate negotiations. Through coalition-building and strategic use of vulnerability narratives, they have contributed to the elevation of the 1.5°C goal, the institutionalization of adaptation within the UNFCCC framework, and the formal recognition of loss and damage as a policy domain.

However, their influence remains uneven across different dimensions of governance. While vulnerable states are often effective in shaping discourse and negotiation agendas, they remain dependent on larger economies for finance, implementation capacity, and enforcement mechanisms. Climate diplomacy thus reflects a dual structure: increasing inclusion of vulnerable voices alongside persistent asymmetries in material power and delivery capacity.

In summary, climate diplomacy is not solely a technical domain of emissions accounting and economic negotiation, but also a contested political arena in which legitimacy, responsibility, and survival are continuously negotiated. Vulnerable states do not control the system, but they play a significant role in defining its normative objectives and moral architecture.

Sofia Kiryttopoulou is studying for a Bachelor’s Degree in Balkan, Slavic and Oriental Studies. Specialization: Politics and Law, at University of Macedonia | Thessaloniki, Greece.

The Greek Mirror: Democracy, Accountability and the Global Governance Gap

Maria Zapri — Mon, 03 Aug 2026 13:19:09 +0000

When democracy is invoked as a global ideal, its symbolic origins are often traced to Ancient Greece, a historical reference point for political equality and civic participation respecting the rule of law. In modern governance discourse these principles are embedded in constitutions and legal systems across the world. Yet the persistence of corruption and weak enforcement raises a critical question: to what extent do democratic systems deliver on their promises in practice?

Recent developments in Greece offer a compelling entry point into this question. Rather than treating Greece as an outlier, this article positions it as a mirror reflecting broader structural tensions between formal democratic compliance and substantive governance outcomes across both high income and developing contexts.

The Compliance Illusion in Democratic Systems

Contemporary governance assessments often prioritize institutional design: the presence of courts, regulatory bodies, anti-corruption agencies, and electoral mechanisms. By these metrics, Greece appears institutionally robust. As a member of the European Union, it operates within a dense framework of legal obligations, oversight mechanisms, and policy coordination.

However, the Greek case highlights what can be described as a compliance illusion: the coexistence of formal adherence to democratic norms with persistent deficiencies in enforcement and accountability. Laws exist, but their application is uneven. Oversight bodies are established, but their effectiveness is constrained. Judicial processes function but often at a pace or in a manner that undermines public trust. This distinction between de jure and de facto governance is well established in development research, yet Greece underscores how it remains insufficiently addressed even within consolidated democracies.

Crisis as a Lens: Institutional Failure Made Visible

A series of high-profile events in Greece has recently brought structural weaknesses in governance and accountability into sharper focus, particularly in relation to infrastructure safety, rule of law and press freedom.

One of the most consequential cases is the Tempi train disaster (28 February 2023), in which a passenger train and a freight train collided near Tempi in central Greece, resulting in the deaths of 57 people. The incident exposed long-standing deficiencies in Hellenic Train operations, OSE (Hellenic Railways Organization) infrastructure management, and the delayed implementation of the European Rail Traffic Management System (ERTMS). Subsequent investigations and parliamentary debates revealed systemic issues including under staffing, chronic under investment and fragmented responsibility between national authorities and private operators.

Public reactions to the disaster, widely documented across Greek and international media, including reporting by Kathimerini, To Vima, and BBC News, framed the event not as an accident in isolation but as the culmination of institutional neglect. Large scale protests in Athens and Thessaloniki reflected a broader perception that regulatory failure, rather than individual error, lay at the core of the tragedy.

The second major case is the Predator spyware scandal (2022–2023), involving allegations that government-linked actors used commercial spyware to surveil journalists, opposition politicians, and public officials. Investigations by outlets such as Inside Story, Reporters United, and Forensic Architecture collaborators in Greece, alongside reporting by The New York Times and Politico Europe, linked the use of Predator software to attempts to monitor communications of individuals including journalist Thanasis Koukakis and political figures such as Nikos Androulakis, leader of PASOK-KINAL and Member of the European Parliament.

The scandal also coincided with revelations that the National Intelligence Service (EYP) had legally surveilled journalists, prompting concerns about the effectiveness of institutional safeguards and parliamentary oversight. Journalists such as Stelios Kouloglou along with investigative teams at Reporters United, emphasized the broader implications of these practices for press freedom, transparency and democratic accountability.

Taken together, these cases are significant not only because of their immediate human and political impact but because of what followed: prolonged judicial processes, fragmented investigative outcomes and competing narratives between state institutions, opposition parties and independent media.

From a governance perspective, both the Tempi disaster and the Predator scandal reveal a recurring pattern: institutional failure is not always experienced as a sudden breakdown but as a gradual erosion of trust in regulatory capacity. Public discourse increasingly reflects the perception that the central issue is not the absence of formal rules but the absence of credible enforcement mechanisms and independent oversight.

Beyond these cases, Greece has also come under increased scrutiny at the European level through the work of the European Public Prosecutor’s Office (EPPO), led by Laura Codruța Kövesi. The EPPO has opened multiple investigations into alleged misuse of EU funds and financial irregularities, particularly in relation to agricultural subsidies and procurement systems. These investigations have sparked significant political debate within Greece and raised broader questions about the effectiveness of national oversight mechanisms in ensuring compliance with EU financial and rule-of-law standards.

Kövesi’s role is particularly significant because the EPPO represents one of the strongest supranational enforcement mechanisms within the European Union, with the mandate to investigate and prosecute crimes affecting the EU budget. In this context, the Greek cases under review have contributed to wider discussions about institutional accountability, administrative transparency and the capacity of national systems to effectively prevent and address financial misconduct.

Trust, Justice, and the Limits of Legalism

The erosion of trust in public institutions is a central consequence of this gap. Greece has long maintained a strong legal culture, with widespread recourse to judicial mechanisms. Yet increasing delays in court proceedings and perceptions of unequal treatment have weakened confidence in the justice system.

The result is a shift from reliance on formal institutions to a more ambivalent stance, in which legality is not necessarily equated with fairness. This reflects a broader challenge: when legal systems are perceived as inaccessible, slow, or biased, their legitimacy diminishes even if their formal structure remains intact.

Such dynamics are not unique to Greece. Across multiple contexts, trust in institutions has emerged as a key variable shaping governance outcomes, influencing everything from tax compliance to public service delivery.

From National Case to Global Pattern

Interpreting Greece as a mirror rather than an exception reveals important parallels with other regions. In parts of France and Serbia, concerns have similarly been raised regarding political influence over judicial processes and the uneven application of accountability mechanisms. These cases challenge the assumption that strong institutional frameworks automatically produce effective governance.

More strikingly, comparable dynamics are evident across many countries in Sub-Saharan Africa. Over the past decades, significant efforts—often supported by international donors—have been made to strengthen legal systems, enhance transparency and combat corruption. While these reforms have led to measurable improvements in some areas, their impact has frequently been constrained by limited enforcement capacity and entrenched political interests.

This suggests that the gap between formal institutions and practical outcomes is not a function of geography or income level, but of deeper structural factors.

The Political Economy of Enforcement

To understand why such gaps persist it is necessary to move beyond institutional design and consider political economy dynamics. Enforcement is not merely a technical process. It is inherently political. Where elites benefit from selective application of rules, there may be limited incentives to strengthen accountability mechanisms. In such contexts, institutions can serve dual purposes: signaling compliance to external actors while preserving flexibility internally.

This duality helps explain why reforms—whether driven by European integration processes or international development agendas—may result in institutional convergence without corresponding improvements in practice. The adoption of laws and frameworks can be relatively rapid while transforming enforcement cultures and power relations is considerably more complex.

Implications for Development Research and Policy

For the broader development community, the Greek case offers several key insights. First, it challenges the implicit dichotomy between “developed” and “developing” governance systems. The presence of institutional gaps within an EU member state underscores that governance challenges are not confined to the Global South. Second, it highlights the limitations of reform strategies focused primarily on institutional form. Legal transplants, anti-corruption frameworks, and oversight bodies are necessary components of governance but their effectiveness depends on enforcement, independence, and political support. Third, it reinforces the importance of accountability ecosystems. Civil society, investigative journalism, and supranational institutions can play critical roles in exposing and addressing governance failures. However their capacity to do so varies significantly across contexts and may itself be contested.

Rethinking Democracy Beyond Form

At a conceptual level, the persistence of the compliance illusion invites a reassessment of how democracy is evaluated. Traditional metrics such as the existence of elections or formal institutional structures capture important dimensions, but may overlook the quality of governance in practice.

This aligns with broader debates in political theory dating back to Plato, regarding the relationship between ideals and reality. While democratic systems are grounded in normative principles of equality and justice, their legitimacy ultimately depends on their ability to deliver tangible outcomes. If citizens perceive that laws are selectively applied or that accountability is inconsistent, the credibility of democratic institutions may erode even in formally stable systems.

Conclusion: From Greece to the World

Greece’s recent experience does not represent a failure of democracy per se, but rather a manifestation of a broader and more persistent challenge: aligning institutional form with institutional function. By viewing Greece as a mirror, we gain a clearer understanding of similar dynamics across diverse contexts, including those traditionally categorized within the Global South. The lesson for development research is not that democratic models are flawed, but that their implementation requires sustained attention to enforcement, incentives, and power structures.

Bridging the gap between theory and practice is not simply a legal or technical task, it is a political and societal one. Until this gap is addressed the risk remains that democracy will continue to function convincingly on paper, while falling short in practice.

Maria Zapri is a Law student with Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, Greece, and a DDRN INTERN.

Climate Change and the Risk of State Extinction: A Challenge for International Law

Sofia Kiryttopoulou — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 11:50:20 +0000

Climate change is usually discussed as an environmental or economic problem. For some countries, however, it represents a far more fundamental challenge: a threat to their continued existence as states. Rising sea levels, coastal erosion and environmental degradation are already affecting several low-lying island countries, particularly in the Pacific and Indian Oceans.

For states such as the Maldives, Tuvalu and Kiribati, climate change is not a distant scenario but a present reality. If sea levels continue to rise during the twenty-first century, parts of their territory may become uninhabitable or even disappear entirely. This possibility raises a primary legal question: what happens to a state if it loses its territory?

The Crisis of Traditional Statehood

International law has traditionally assumed that states are stable territorial entities. Under traditional international law, a state is defined by the criteria established in the 1933 Montevideo Convention: a permanent population, a defined territory, a government, and the capacity to enter into relations with other states. Modern legal theory further emphasizes independence and the effective exercise of authority over a specific geographic area.

The climate crisis challenges this assumption. International law has historically dealt with the disappearance or transformation of states in political contexts such as war, annexation or state succession. The idea that a state might disappear due to environmental change is largely absent from existing legal frameworks. If a state were to lose its entire territory, it is unclear whether it could continue to exist as a subject of international law.

Small Island Developing States at Risk

The states most exposed to this risk belong largely to the group of Small Island Developing States (SIDS), a coalition of island and coastal countries that face structural vulnerabilities due to their small land area, geographic isolation and strong dependence on coastal ecosystems. According to the United Nations Office of the High Representative for Least Developed Countries, Landlocked Developing Countries and Small Island Developing States, these states are among the most vulnerable to climate change despite contributing minimally to global greenhouse gas emissions.

Many SIDS consist of coral atolls or low-lying islands where the highest elevation is only a few meters above sea level. As a result, even relatively modest sea-level rise can lead to coastal erosion, saltwater intrusion into freshwater supplies and the loss of habitable land. These pressures are already affecting communities in the Pacific and Indian Oceans and are expected to intensify throughout the century.

Because their territory is so limited, SIDS often have few options for internal relocation. This makes them particularly vulnerable not only to environmental degradation but also to the legal uncertainties that may arise if territorial loss accelerates.

Survival Strategies for Vulnerable States

In response to these risks, governments and scholars have begun exploring a range of potential strategies aimed at ensuring the survival of states threatened by climate change. These strategies generally fall into three broad categories: territorial adaptation, population relocation and legal innovation.

Territorial Adaptation

One approach focuses on preserving habitable territory through large-scale adaptation projects. These measures include coastal defenses, land reclamation and the construction of artificial islands designed to withstand rising sea levels.

Some island governments have already invested heavily in such initiatives. In the Maldives, for example, extensive land reclamation has been used to expand and elevate artificial islands such as Hulhumalé, a reclaimed island developed as a climate-resilient urban hub and built roughly two meters above sea level to reduce flooding risks. Experimental floating infrastructure projects have also been proposed as potential long-term solutions.

While these engineering solutions may help maintain habitable land and delay environmental pressures, they require significant financial resources and technical capacity. For many vulnerable states, implementing such large-scale projects remains a major challenge.

Planned Relocation and Mobility

A second strategy focuses on the relocation of populations as environmental conditions gradually deteriorate. Relocation may take place within national territory where possible, but in some cases it may involve migration to other states through bilateral agreements.

Some governments have already begun exploring long-term relocation options. Kiribati, for instance, has pursued policies aimed at preparing its population for international mobility through education and labor migration programs, often described as a strategy of “migration with dignity.” These initiatives aim to ensure that mobility occurs gradually and voluntarily rather than as a sudden humanitarian crisis.

Although relocation strategies can help protect affected populations, they raise complex questions about citizenship, political identity and the continued functioning of state institutions.

Even when relocation is carefully planned, it exposes a critical gap in International Law: individuals forced to leave their homes due to climate-induced territorial loss currently lack clear legal protections, because they do not meet the criteria set by the 1951 Geneva Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. The Convention requires a “well-founded fear of being persecuted” on grounds such as race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion, a standard that neither environmental disasters nor rising sea levels satisfy. This is why the term “climate refugee” has no formal status in international law.

As a result, individuals displaced by the physical disappearance of their home states are denied the same legal protections or rights to asylum as political refugees, leaving their fate subject to the discretionary policies of host nations. This legal invisibility reflects a broader “crisis of identity” in the field: while the physical reality of displacement is undeniable, formal legal structures remain rooted in a pre-climate era, failing to provide a collective security framework for populations whose sovereign bond to their land has been severed by nature rather than politics.

Legal Continuity Without Territory

A third strategy involves the development of legal frameworks that would allow states to maintain their international legal personality even if their territory becomes uninhabitable.

Recent diplomatic initiatives suggest that such ideas are beginning to enter international practice. In 2023, Tuvalu signed the Falepili Union Treaty with Australia, which includes provisions recognizing the continuing statehood and sovereignty of Tuvalu despite the long-term risks posed by sea-level rise.

In parallel, scholars have proposed additional legal approaches, such as preserving existing maritime boundaries even if coastlines retreat. These discussions are closely linked to the interpretation of maritime rights under the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea, which governs the establishment of maritime zones.

Such proposals seek to ensure that vulnerable states retain control over their maritime resources and maintain their status within the international community even under changing environmental conditions.

Rethinking Statehood in the Age of Climate Change

None of these strategies alone provides a complete solution. Territorial adaptation may only delay environmental pressures, relocation raises difficult political and social questions, and legal innovations still require broader international recognition.

What the experience of vulnerable island states demonstrates is that climate change challenges some of the most basic assumptions on which the international legal system has historically been built. The traditional link between territory, population and sovereignty may no longer be as stable as previously assumed.

For this reason, the growing risk of climate-induced state extinction is not only a concern for a small group of island states. It represents a broader challenge for international law and the international community as a whole.

As sea levels continue to rise, the central question may not simply be whether certain territories will disappear, but whether international law can evolve quickly enough to ensure that the states and populations affected by these changes are not erased from the global order.

Sofia Kiryttopoulou is studying for a Bachelor’s Degree in Balkan, Slavic and Oriental Studies. Specialization: Politics and Law, at University of Macedonia | Thessaloniki, Greece.

Namokora: Revisiting a Forgotten Massacre in Northern Uganda

William Odinga Balikuddembe — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 15:51:26 +0000

In Uganda, it is now forty years since President Yoweri Museveni captured power, and he has ruled ever since. When his National Resistance Army (NRA) fought its way into power in January 1986, unease swept through Namokora — a remote community 500 kilometres north of Kampala and the birthplace of the ousted president, Tito Okello Lutwa. Seven months later, that unease turned to horror. A brutal massacre unfolded, claiming 68 lives. Bodies lay unburied for weeks as scavengers tore at the remains. Nearly four decades later, the cries for justice still echo unanswered.

Researchers at Gulu University are now revisiting the incident, documenting testimonies from survivors, witnesses and victims’ families as part of efforts to preserve the historical record and inform ongoing discussions about recognition, justice and reparations.

Testimonies

Seated outside the house where he lived as a young man in Guruguru village, Atanansio Oyet, now 61, recalls the experience vividly.

“On the morning of August 19, one soldier whispered that we were going to be killed. Soon after, the soldiers formed two lines from our detention room to a parked lorry, beating us with clubs, gun butts, and kicks as we ran and climbed aboard. You had to grab a hanging rope while those already inside pulled you up. As we left Namokora Centre, a woman at the back held her head in her hands. Suddenly, she jumped off and ran into the bush. Another man jumped too, but he fell badly and couldn’t move. Then a few others and I jumped. The soldiers in the escort car behind us opened fire, killing people — those running and those still in the lorry,” narrates Oyet.

Oyet was rounded up from his home on August 15 in what appeared to be a random operation. He was taken to a small church room in Namokora trading centre, where others from Namokora and neighbouring sub-counties were being detained. They were subjected to torture during interrogations about guns and soldiers from the toppled regime. When he eventually returned to his village, it was deserted. His family and neighbours were hiding on a hill known as Akara. They remained in hiding for three months, venturing cautiously back to their homes only to harvest food.

Uthant Okot was only 16 and a boarding student at Kitgum High School when the massacre occurred. His father, Yonah Yesalom Okot, was among those killed — despite being an NRA collaborator and the Resistance Council III (RCIII) chairman for Namokora Subcounty under the new regime.

Yonah had fled Uganda’s capital Kampala after the overthrow of Lutwa. Having lived in the city for many years, he spoke both Luganda and Swahili. This made him the first point of contact between the NRA — reportedly commanded by Captain Matovu, whose name suggests he is a Muganda — and the Acholi-speaking community of northern Uganda.

“The NRA soldiers arrived around April or May 1986,” recalls Okot. “Our people feared there would be retaliation. Many had fled — some to Southern Sudan — but the soldiers came with a friendly approach. They would even play football with the kids here.”

For months, the soldiers seemed friendly, and people returned from hiding. But in July, an ambush on NRA troops by remnants of Tito Okello’s Uganda National Liberation Army (UNLA) reportedly took place at a centre called Akilok in Namokora sub county. It shattered that fragile calm.

The massacre

“Once some NRA soldiers were killed in the ambush, everything changed. Between August 10 and 15, they began rounding up villagers from Namokora and nearby sub-counties. Whoever they saw was now considered a rebel. They went on a rampage — killing people, raping women, and destroying granaries. Those they arrested were packed into a small church room at Namokora Mission — men and women alike,” said Okot.

August 19 was a Tuesday, a market day in Namokora. People had come from surrounding sub-counties, including Orom, Omiya Anyima, Kitgum Matidi, Wol, Omiya Pachar, and Lagoro. Around 100 people were forced onto the lorry. This included those already detained in the church, as well as others who had just been rounded up. The massacre unfolded about 1 km from Namokora Centre, at a place called Wii Gweng, when some captives began jumping from the truck.

Twenty-eight people were killed at this spot. Among them was Okot’s father. Okot’s uncle, James Akena, who had been arrested with his brother, survived the massacre despite major injuries. After his escape, he lived in an abandoned house for two weeks before being rescued and taken to Kalongo Hospital in Agago District.

The smell of death hung over Namokora for weeks, until an Italian missionary priest, Fr. Tarsicio Pazzaglia, mobilised some people in the neighbourhood, collecting and burying the decomposing bodies in a mass grave, today marked with a monument. Other killings occurred away from this site, with some who had escaped the truck being pursued.

The long silence

What followed the massacre was even greater chaos, fuelled by the subsequent rebellions of Alice Lakwena’s Holy Spirit Movement and Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA). For two decades, northern Uganda was engulfed in violence — marked by more massacres, kidnappings, and the mass displacement of almost the entire Acholi population into internally displaced people’s camps. The memories of Namokora were buried under years of hardship, where mere survival became an achievement.

The quest for justice

But those memories resurfaced during the 2011 general elections, when one of the survivors aspiring for LCIII chairperson of Namokora Subcounty placed the massacre at the centre of his manifesto. Charles Onen was a boy when the killings happened. His uncle, Ben Nyeko, was killed, and his parents fled with him to Kalenga (then a subcounty, now a district).

“When I went into politics in 2011, the Namokora massacre was the main item on my agenda. I told people that if you elect me, I will make sure our people who were massacred get justice. They elected me,” said Onen.

Under Onen’s leadership, the survivors and relatives of the victims formed the Namokora United Relatives of the Massacred and Survivors Association (NURMSA), officially launching it in 2012. They unanimously elected Onen as their chairperson. Their main aim was to honour the dead and seek justice for what had happened — justice they primarily hoped would come in the form of compensation.

They drafted a constitution, compiled lists of victims and survivors, and set out to lobby and agitate for justice. They also began holding annual memorial prayers, the first on August 19, 2013, reportedly attended by more than 1,000 people.

Politics

What Onen had hoped would be a turning point instead deepened local political tensions. The massacre issue was swallowed by local political feuds, which Onen believes helped keep it invisible. In 2016, he chose not to seek re-election for the Namokora LC3 seat and also stepped down as NURMSA chair.

“That [NURMSA] was the beginning of real threats to my life. I met a lot of resistance from the district chair, Luka Nyeko, and the area Member of Parliament, Henry Okello Oryem. The only person who supported me was Beatrice Anyar, then Woman MP for Kitgum. During the memorial service, I told people: ‘I am making my will today. No one should take my body to my father’s home. Let my body be buried close to the victims.’”

Ironically, one of the people he accuses — Oryem — is the son of the late President Tito Okello, has ancestral roots in Namokora, and has served in the Museveni’s government since 2001. He currently holds the position of Minister of State for Foreign Affairs (International Cooperation).

“They intimidated me. They would use anonymous numbers to send threatening messages: ‘You are fighting the government. We shall deal with you.’ They organised to remove me from power. Even leaders from my own subcounty opposed me. Government programmes were withheld from me. Even Northern Uganda Social Action Fund 2 (NUSAF 2) support did not reach us. I had to take another step. I became very tired — every day was a fight. After I was removed [from the NURMSA Chair], the LC5 chair took over but died. His vice took over, and that one dropped the initiative.”

Efforts to reach Oryem were unsuccessful, as he did not respond to requests for an interview on the matter sent through his known telephone number.

The current push

The NURMSA mantle is now carried by Uthant Okot, who lost his father in the massacre but worked his way up to become the District Agriculture Officer for Kitgum. He was elected chairperson in 2023 during the annual memorial prayers, to serve a three-year term.

“We verified and updated the lists. We have 28 who died at the Wei Gweng site, 40 killed within the subcounties, and 31 survivors. We are now spreading our tentacles. We have taken the issue to the Chief Justice, Owiny-Dollo, whom we met in June 2024; to Lillian Aber [the current Woman MP for Kitgum and State Minister for Relief, Disaster Preparedness and Refugees]; and to the DISO and the RDC — they all know our issue. Even Nobert Mao [Minister of Justice and Constitutional Affairs] is now in the know,” says Okot.

Expert perspectives

Dr. Stella Laloyo Apecu, Chief of the Institute of Peace and Strategic Studies (IPSS) at Gulu University and Head of the Centre of Excellence in Transitional Justice and Refugee Studies, says the government’s failure to provide reparations for the Namokora massacre reflects a culture of impunity.

“This is one of the neglected transitional justice sites in the Acholi sub-region, just like Atiak and Mucwini. It was the NRA that caused their pain, and that same institution remains in power. It is also clear that what happened was payback because this was Tito Okello’s home area. Whatever happened was intentional — not a mistake. It was a clear act of revenge.

“Because it involved the ruling government, people even fear to tell their stories. The survivors are now elderly, and some have already died. The government needs to provide reparations. It has taken far too long,” she says.

Dr. Agatha Alidri, a Senior Lecturer in the Department of History at Gulu University, and one of the researchers documenting the testimonies, says the Namokora massacre reflects the broader challenges that have shaped Uganda’s post-colonial governments and their armies.

“At the centre of this is ethnicity. The massacre reflects Uganda’s deep-rooted north–south political divide. It highlights how ethnicity continues to shape both the armed forces and the state.

“The fact that it happened in the home of a former president speaks volumes. Innocent people were killed, and the government must remain accountable. The reality is that the NRM government, whose army committed the massacre, is still in power. It carries the responsibility to ensure healing,” she says.

Will justice come?

Onen, the man who initiated the push for accountability and compensation for Namokora victims and survivors, remains hopeful that the momentum built under NURMSA will eventually yield results.

“I have invested a lot in this cause at a personal level. We prepared a position paper on the victims, and I have made sure the documentation reaches all the relevant places. I am confident that one day this will bear fruit,” he says.

While Onen remains hopeful, whether justice will come may ultimately depend on the willingness of the Ugandan state to confront unresolved chapters of its own history. For the survivors of Namokora, the passage of time has not erased the memory of what happened — only the urgency of addressing it.

William Odinga Balikuddembe is a science journalist based in Kampala, Uganda, and the Chairman of Uganda Science Journalists’ Association (USJA).

Do Humor and War Go Together? What The Global South Can Teach Us

Manar Sadkou — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 14:39:47 +0000

“Buy one, get one free” usually sounds like a good deal. But in one small theatre in London, the offer comes with a twist: the free item is a burial shroud. The audience laughs, then hesitates, then laughs again.

This uneasy laughter is not accidental. It is exactly the reaction Palestinian writer Ahmed Masoud seeks to provoke, and it reflects a broader phenomenon that researchers are only beginning to take seriously: the role of humor in the Global South.

A gap in humor studies

In 2024, the European Journal of Humor Research dedicated a special issue to this topic, featuring contributions from scholars across Asia, Africa, and South America. The issue highlights a striking gap: despite its cultural significance, humor in the Global South remains largely underrepresented in academic research.

Although the term “Global South” is often understood geographically, the editorial “Humor and Conflict in the Global South” offers a broader definition. Authors Diego Hoefel, João Paulo Capelotti, and Rujuta Date argue that it refers not simply to location, but to communities that are politically, economically, or culturally marginalized due to histories of colonialism and global inequality.

These are precisely the contexts in which humor takes on heightened significance. The contributors to the special issue highlight its many roles: as satire used to challenge authoritarian politics in Zimbabwe, as dark comedy emerging from life under siege in Palestine, and even as a political tool in right-wing meme culture among supporters of Brazil’s former president Jair Bolsonaro. Taken together, these examples paint a clear picture: humor in the Global South is not peripheral; it is pervasive, political, and deeply embedded in everyday life.

Humor as cultural resistance in Palestine

One particularly striking example of this comes from the work of Natasha W. Vashisht, who examines how black comedy operates as a form of cultural resistance in Palestinian writer Ahmed Masoud’s play The Shroud Maker.

In her analysis, Vashisht argues that humor in the play does more than just entertain. Through Hajja Souad’s cynical voice, she argues that Masoud “confronts the desensitisation of violence against Palestinians,” reclaims control of the narrative, and invites “the audience to consider the harsh reality of Palestinian life in a more digestible way.”

This balance between humor and tragedy is central to the play. Hajja Souad, an elderly shroud maker living in Gaza, uses black comedy to make sense of a life shaped by loss and conflict. Her jokes are unsettling and often inappropriate, but they are deeply intentional. At one point, she remarks that the war is “good for business,” a line that is both shocking and darkly comic.

The joke lands because of its absurdity, but once the laughter fades, it leaves behind a sense of discomfort. Rather than diminishing the tragedy, Masoud’s use of dark humor draws the audience closer to it. It forces them to sit with the violence and pain faced by Palestinians, rather than turning away from it. Dr. Vashisht contends, “laughing in the face of adversity is invaluable in coping with trauma and making life more livable.”

Writer Ahmed Masoud shares this perspective. For him, humor is rooted in everyday life. “Humor is very, very important in our lives,” he explains. “It’s a way to console yourself… and to bring back your humanity.” Growing up under siege in Gaza, he describes humor as something that persists even in the most difficult circumstances. Rather than diminishing suffering, it allows people to endure it. In this sense, humor becomes both a coping mechanism and a form of resilience, insisting on humanity in situations that often strip it away.

He also notes that this sense of humor is shaped by the region. Being geographically and culturally close to Egypt, where comedy has long been central to film and theatre, meant growing up surrounded by it. Even if the style of humor varies, it becomes part of everyday life and something shared across households and generations. It’s a dynamic I found familiar myself, having grown up in a Moroccan household where Egyptian comedies, especially those of Adel Emam, were often playing in the background.

But for Masoud, humor is not only cultural. It is also deeply personal. In recent years, he has lost many family members, including his brother. Writing, he says, has become a way of processing that grief. And while his poetry leans toward raw emotion, humor remains central to his work in theatre, where it allows him to reach audiences differently. As Vashisht’s work shows, this is precisely what allows Masoud to offer “an alternative way of discussing violence and war beyond the dominant Western narrative that marginalises the Palestinian voice.”

In bringing Souad’s character to life, Masoud does something deliberate. He humanises Palestinians in a way that many narratives often fail to do. Hajja Souad is not simply a symbol of suffering. She is sharp, irreverent, flawed, and funny. “Telling the story… is resisting erasure,” he says, describing his work as a way of pushing back against narratives that reduce Palestinians to either victims or stereotypes. Instead, he presents them as complex individuals, shaped by trauma but not defined solely by it.

Beyond resistance: Humour, power, and the politics of representation

Masoud’s work is just one example of what is often overlooked in broader discussions of humor. As the editorial “Humor and Conflict in the Global South” clarifies, the issue is not a lack of humor but a lack of attention to it. Part of this may lie in the discomfort it creates because much of this humor forces audiences, particularly in the Global North, to confront realities they are often distanced from, whether geographically or politically.

Another part of this imbalance lies in the structures that shape whose voices are heard in the first place. As the editorial notes, humor studies remain heavily dominated by work from and about the Global North, leaving many perspectives from the Global South underrepresented. This reflects longer histories of colonialism and inequality that still shape how knowledge is produced today.

At the same time, humor in the Global South cannot be reduced to a single function. While it often operates as a form of resistance or coping, it can also take on more complex and, at times, troubling forms. As the special issue shows, humor is also present in right-wing meme culture, including among supporters of Jair Bolsonaro, who served as Brazil’s president from 2019 to 2023.

In his paper on political humor in Brazil, Viktor Chagas examines how memes circulated among Bolsonaro supporters function within this landscape. A former army captain and long-time congressman, Bolsonaro rose to power on a populist, anti-establishment platform and has been associated with strong nationalist and conservative positions. Over the course of his political career, he has drawn criticism for a number of public statements about women, LGBTQ+ individuals, and minority communities, as well as for his praise of Brazil’s former military dictatorship. His presidency was marked by significant political polarisation, controversies surrounding his handling of the COVID-19 pandemic, and international concern over rising deforestation in the Amazon.

Within this context, humor also becomes a powerful political tool. Circulating widely on platforms like WhatsApp and social media, memes supporting Bolsonaro often frame political debates in simplified, emotionally charged ways, turning complex issues into easily shareable jokes that reinforce “us versus them” narratives. In doing so, they do not just reflect political divisions but actively contribute to them.

Together, these examples show that humor in the Global South is not secondary or niche; it is part of everyday life. It can help people cope, challenge power, or, in some cases, reinforce it.

And yet, as this special issue of the European Journal of Humor Research makes clear, it remains underrepresented in the very fields that seek to study it. In this contribution, what the authors hope for is a global shift in perspective, one that takes seriously the voices, histories, and lived experiences that shape humor outside of the Global North.

Masoud’s work also shows what is at stake. Through humor, he tells stories that might otherwise be overlooked, and does so on his own terms. Taking that work seriously, alongside the many other forms of humor emerging across the Global South, can help close the gap between what is studied and what is lived.

Manar Sadkou is a Bachelor student in Globalization, Governance, and Law at Karlshochschule International University, and a DDRN Intern.

List of references

Do Ethnic Chinese Malaysians Actually Speak Chinese?

Francesco Biancalana — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 14:26:15 +0000

Scholars often observed how less-dominant languages are being spoken less and less. As a result, the dominant varieties might take over, leading the world toward less multilingual societies and cultural losses. Are non-Mandarin Chinese varieties in Malaysia an analogous trend of monolingualism and cultural loss? When the British colonised Malaysia, they regarded the Malays as unskilled and unable to develop the colonial economy. Chinese and Indian immigrants were considered as labourers. These migrants brought along their community languages so that they were able to communicate and stay close to help one another. What is the current sociolinguistic situation of Malaysian Chinese communities?

Linguistic Overview

Malaysia is a federation in Southeast Asia composed of 13 states and 3 separately administered federal territories. Such vast territory is characterised by a distinct linguistic landscape, the three major ethnic groups are Malay, Chinese, and Indian. Diverse communities who gained independence from British rule in 1957. On top of that, other minority groups are further observed in everyday life such as Vietnamese, French, German, Nepali, Tagalog, Bahasa Indonesian, Korean, and Japanese. In 2020, Malaysian Chinese are the second-largest ethnic community with approximately 6.91 million members among Malaysian citizens, the so called “ethnic Chinese” or in some specific cases “Tang people” 唐人 tángrén. Identifying themselves as distinctive groups with a historical inheritance of identity, reflecting their own linguistic and cultural varieties, such as the people from the Chinese territories of Fujian, Hakka, Fuzhou, Guangxi, Xinghua, Fuqing and others. Although linguists classify Chinese language varieties as distinct languages, they are often referred to as dialects. Many of these varieties are mutually unintelligible, even among speakers within the same group. The Chinese varieties spoken by Malaysian Chinese communities include several subgroups of Min (i.e., Hokkien, Teochew, Xinghua, Hainan, Foochow), Hakka, and Yue (i.e., Cantonese).

The dominance of Mandarin among Chinese communities in Mainland China, Taiwan, Macao, Hong Kong, Singapore, and other regions has been widely reported and analysed; this article focuses on the case of Malaysia. Although some Chinese schools in various overseas communities still teach dialects. The current mainstream trend in international Chinese inheritance language teaching is to unify the use of Mandarin as the standard, the so called “Common Language” 普通话 pǔtōnghuà. With an increase in Mandarin Chinese literacy resulting from Chinese medium education, formal usage of dialects has decreased over the years and may only be used in rural churches for preaching and reading of religious texts. Chinese primary schools in Malaysia are often funded by Chinese associations and individuals, with support sometimes politically incentivised during elections by Chinese-based parties. Mandarin was introduced as the medium of instruction in the 1920s and is widely used in media, education, and increasingly among younger Malaysian Chinese. There are also newspapers, magazines, dramas, and films on television and in cinemas using Mandarin as the primary medium.

Historical and Social Frameworks

Under British rule, schools for locals and migrant children were divided according to the languages of instruction. As a result, the colonial government did little to promote national integration or foster a shared identity, and migrant communities largely remained in separate enclaves without a strong sense of belonging to the nation. The history of the racial conflicts in Malaysia began with the Chinese migrations in the 19th century and was exacerbated in 1957 after the independence from the United Kingdom. The colonial rule and the Japanese occupation let to a communist insurgency with fragile race relations. The selection of Malay, the language of the majority, as the national and official language, along with special privileges granted under the Malaysian Constitution (e.g., customary land rights) was perceived as racially biased. Consequently, the majoritarian party, United Malays National Organisation (i.e., UMNO), significantly lost parliamentary seats. While it still held a majority in Parliament, the Chinese-based opposition party claimed “victory”. As a result, the tensions between Malays and Chinese communities culminated in the 1969 racial riots. In response, Malaysian policymakers promoted Bahasa Malaysia as the national language and developed a national education system to foster cultural unity and to support the nation’s social and political development. During the 1970s and 1980s, this approach came to be known as the ‘One Language One Culture’ policy, because it promoted a single, unified national culture.

Social tensions declined in the 1990s with government support for the teaching of standardised ethnic languages as a school subject. Standardised ethnic languages, namely Mandarin for the Chinese and Tamil for the Indian, serve as the medium of instruction. The dominant socio-political influences decide the family language for communication rather than parents/grandparents. Likewise, studies have also shown that many Malay children are not speaking Malay community languages, while Indian children are not learning Telugu, Gujarati, Punjabi and Malayalam. Children who attend Chinese or Tamil medium primary schools often acquire an additional language, Mandarin or Tamil. However, Tamil medium private schools are largely absent, as the Tamil community often cannot afford this option. Consequently, many families choose not to pass on the ethnic language to children, prioritising standard languages instead.

As reported by several analysts and scholars, racial discrimination in Malaysia remains far from being resolved. Racism pervades multiple aspects of contemporary Malaysian society, including employment-related discrimination, education, economic policies, housing, and language policies. Systemic exclusion from meaningful employment opportunities contributes to income inequality, social marginalisation, and intergenerational disadvantage, in breach of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and key International Labour Organisation conventions. Research indicates that students who experience racial bias are likely to undergo trauma, leading to decreased confidence and motivation, eroding academic performance, and negatively affecting long-term social and economic mobility. Moreover, racism in the housing sector is characterised by a combination of prejudice and structural weaknesses in state and federal regulation and policy. Regarding language policy, discriminatory practices have been observed affecting Chinese minorities and non-Malay-speaking individuals within Malay communities. However, it is important to highlight that multilinguism in Malaysia is allowed and incentivised. Article 152 of the Federal Constitution states, “While Malay is the national language, the freedom to learn, use and develop the mother tongue of all communities is expressly guaranteed”. Additionally, documents such as UNESCO Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (2001) affirm the importance of cultural plurality and recognise that “All persons have therefore the right to express themselves and to create and disseminate their work in the language of their choice, and particularly in their mother tongue” (i.e., Article 5). Conversely, it has been reported how Standard Chinese is gradually taking on this role, even replacing Chinese dialects within the domestic domain.

New Generations VS Old Generation?

To determine the active use of a language, linguists analyse several sociolinguistic factors, one of the most significant being usage among young people, who can ensure the preservation of both the language and the corresponding culture. Several factors contribute to the ongoing language shift among Chinese Malaysians. A significant number of Chinese Malaysian parents send children to Chinese-medium primary schools, where Mandarin serves as the medium of instruction. However, few studies have examined how the younger generation perceives the importance of the relation between dialects and cultural heritage. At the same time, the dominance of major languages in most social and professional domains has reduced opportunities to use community languages. In the broader context, speaking Mandarin is advantageous because it allows individuals to claim membership within the Chinese community worldwide. In the past, membership in Chinese dialect groups in Malaysia was essential for survival and for business networks. Giving speakers access to cultural ideals, norms, and ways of thinking that collectively contribute to the community. However, heritage languages now have low instrumental value, compared to Mandarin. Therefore, younger generations increasingly perceive Mandarin as conveying higher social prestige due to wider versatility of the language. On another note, research suggests that younger Chinese Malaysians tend to feel more positively toward Malaysian Mandarin Chinese than toward the variety spoken in Mainland China. Indicating that the language and cultural preferences of young Malaysians may reflect a strong sense of local cultural identity rather than external influence.

Studies on older generations bring peculiar results. Not only are new generations giving up on community languages, but also parents and grandparents seem to be slowly shifting toward Mandarin. The findings indicate that participants used Chinese heritage languages in everyday lives, particularly in domestic domains, employment, religion, and friendship. However, there is a noticeable shift toward Mandarin, which is increasingly perceived and used as the primary medium of communication in analogous circumstances. Analysis of the interviews suggests that the main functional distinctions between these languages remain in communication with friends and with family members or peers of the same or older generations. Not only do middle-aged and older speakers rely on Mandarin when interacting with younger generations who cannot understand or speak Chinese heritage languages, but also with individuals from other Malaysian states who may not share the same heritage languages. This language shift is not driven by personal preference for Mandarin among middle-aged and older speakers. Rather, it reflects a pragmatic need to accommodate younger generations and others who do not speak Chinese heritage languages. Moreover, recent studies also investigated the reasons that led parents to shift to Mandarin. Exposure of children to the heritage language through having grandparents as carers and media was not effective for language maintenance. Some parents also believed that transmitting heritage languages was not considered useful. In other circumstances, children are responsible for ‘micro-language decisions’ at the family level. The choice of Mandarin and English was affirmed by the broader sociopolitical context, whereby proficiency in standard languages ensures access to educational and career opportunities.

Conclusion

It seems inevitable that Chinese heritage languages in Malaysia are going to vanish. However, these studies report that Mandarin, particularly the Malaysian variety, plays a fundamental role in Malaysian Chinese communities as a primary language in community events, everyday life, media, and the domestic domain. Is Malaysian Mandarin Chinese then a modern tool to build a sense of a common cultural identity that strengthens local culture rather than an obstacle to heritage preservation?

Francesco Biancalana is a Master student at University of Naples, Italy, and a DDRN intern

Only a limited number of schools incorporate the use of Chinese dialects, and not all schools in Malaysia offer heritage language education, particularly those outside National-Type Chinese Schools, where Mandarin is the main medium. This results in noticeable differences in parental expectations and teaching standards. As noted by Qian (2024:60), “Malay teachers and classmates dominate public schools, while Chinese teachers and classmates dominate private schools. Parents of the two types of schools have different expectations for their children’s future, with children in public schools having more chances of staying in Malaysia to further their education. In contrast, private school students are more likely to go abroad for further studies after high school.” Moreover, access to heritage languages education is uneven across communities. As highlighted in the article, “Tamil medium private schools are largely absent, as the Tamil community often cannot afford this option.” This aligns with Ting (2009:11.8), who reported that “that privately-supported Tamil schools do not exist since the Tamil community cannot afford this luxury.”

Mandarin has become increasingly important in the economic sphere. In contrast to the past “Chinese dialect groups in Malaysia was essential for survival and for business networks” (Ong, 2023:33), Mandarin is now widely used within Chinese communities
for business purposes, making it a valuable asset in the job market.