Opinions – DDRN

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. 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. Klitgård is an Associate Professor at the University of Copenhagen, whose research examines language, culture, and the ways ideas circulate across societies. Dr. Klitgård is also the director of the Satire Research Network. 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. Klitgård why satire seems to provoke such strong reactions.

Dr. 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 differently.^[1] 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. 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 have maybe read my latest article, you could probably tell that one of my favourite topics to discuss is colonialism. My second favourite topic to discuss is racism.

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. 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. 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. Leader of the Christian Democratic Party, within a country that claims to be secular. Not a joke.

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. AHA!

Moving on…

Dr. 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. Klitgård, all my assumptions about satire have been crushed. I thought satire was about humour, turns 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.

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

DDRN Podcast Launch: Beneath Bias

Iraide Arcos Fabrega — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 11:53:07 +0000

What’s Beneath Bias?

Beneath Bias is a podcast focused on discussing current global challenges using news and current topics as a starting point for broader discussions. True to its name, it delves beneath dominant Western narratives and media biases to reveal debates that affect young people’s lives worldwide and in Denmark. It seeks to engage young people alienated from the current global system and to empower them to take ownership of their journey to becoming an “innovator”. This series of 17 episodes combines personal stories, conversations with researchers, hosts from diverse backgrounds and interaction with the audience.

Together, these elements will create a setting for informed debates to flourish, amplifying youth scientific voices. The objective of the overall podcast project is to inspire listeners to critically reflect on how each challenge connects to their practices and to motivate them to act as individuals and collectively. This is a podcast made by young people for young people.

Which topics are going to be discussed in the episodes?

The themes of Beneath Bias focus on the human condition and its intersections with technology, consumption, politics… highlighting how everyday life connects to the global challenges hindering sustainable development. The podcast is guided by three integrated perspectives: global development issues in relation to the UN Sustainable Development Goals, human rights principles, and the interests and experiences of young people in technical fields. Together, these frameworks ensure each episode engages with timely and relatable topics of our target group while maintaining a strong developmental focus.

Themes will include the societal implications of AI, sustainability and environmental pressures, international conflicts and security, human rights violations, and discrimination related to gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation. All these topics will be addressed in a way that encourages critical reflection and empowers young audiences to take part in positive change.

And who’s behind Beneath Bias?

This project stems from the ideas and ambitions of a great number of young people with an interest in global development and the drive to bring positive change in society. Powered by DDRN and funded by CISU, Beneath Bias has been developed and refined over the course of almost a year during which a team of 5 youth discussed the format, the target audience, the topics for discussion and much more. This project development team was formed by Nilüfer Khudaykulov, Michelle Bade, Yiling Lyu, Samuel Sannoh, and Iraide Arcos, with the support of Arne Wangel, editor in chief of DDRN and many other interns and volunteers in the organisation.

Our current podcast team is formed by Helena Flockhart and Iraide Arcos as project coordinators; Eva Karakaxa as social media manager; and Samuel Sannoh, Marianna Nikolopoulou and Bustomi Syadzili as hosts and co-hosts. Altogether, make sure Beneath Bias connects with its audience and sparks informed debates on global challenges.

The first of the 17 episodes was released on Monday, 13 April 2026, and the series is expected to finish by November 2026. If you want to know more about us and our work, do not hesitate to follow us on our social media platforms and stay tuned for more insightful episodes!! linktr.ee/beneath.bias

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 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.

List of references

One Century of Arctic Governance: Cooperation, Sustainability, and Emerging Geopolitical Strains

Florin-Madalin Nicu — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 14:00:01 +0000

The Arctic region has increasingly gained prominence as an area of global strategic, environmental, and socio-economic importance. Given its already fragile ecosystems, diverse Indigenous cultures, minerals, and other valuable, unexploited natural resources, the Arctic has become a central focus of international governance efforts. Arctic policy encompasses the strategies, agreements, and institutional frameworks developed by the eight Arctic states, namely Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Iceland, Canada, Russia, and the United States, in collaboration with international organizations and non-governmental actors, to regulate and manage the region.

Throughout the past century, the Arctic has experienced progressive landmark treaties, national policy strategies that acted as various environmental awareness policies, scientific assessments for further conservation, and advocacy reports that have influenced the evolution of Arctic governance and the bonding role of the region to serve as a point of convergence among various great powers as well. These documents reflect shifting global priorities, including territorial administration, resource utilization, environmental preservation, and the recognition of Indigenous rights. This paper examines key policy milestones from early twentieth-century agreements to contemporary cooperative frameworks. Particular attention is given to three interconnected themes that have shaped Arctic governance: environmental protection, Indigenous rights, and economic development. Collectively, these themes demonstrate the transformation of the Arctic from a geographically remote and politically contested region into an important arena for international cooperation and sustainable governance.

Early Foundations of the Arctic Policy

The Svalbard Treaty should be regarded as one of the main attempts to establish Arctic policies, as this treaty not only changed the perception of various actors over the Svalbard region, which previously was regarded as a no man’s land, but it also attributed to Norway full control of the region with the condition of preserving the region as it is relevant for the Arctic. Initially, the Svalbard Treaty was signed by 8 most relevant countries in the region and outside of it at the given time, which include: the USA, the UK, India, Denmark, France, Italy, Japan, Norway, the Netherlands, and Sweden. Relevant articles that enshrine the extent to which Norway is entitled to ownership, to engage in different activities, and what kind of responsibilities the state should bear throughout their proceedings, under the quality of Norway being the inheritor of these lands, are stipulated in articles 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8. The article 9 and 10 can be regarded as cornerstones for turning the region into an economic, non-militarized, and environmentally protected zone meant to be accessible, firstly to all great and regional actors for cooperative purposes and then for others who would be interested in being involved. The article 10 also introduced the possibility for Russia to join at any given time after the moment of ratification, proving flexibility and integration to multilateral commitments from the signatory majority of that time.

Later, in 1970, the Arctic witnessed further individual commitments meant to protect the Arctic. The Arctic Waters Pollution Prevention Act represents a foundational instrument in the development of modern Arctic governance and has significantly influenced subsequent regional cooperation mechanisms, including agreements negotiated under the Arctic Council. By establishing stringent pollution prevention and regulation standards, and other norms that enforce a direct liability over the subjects to which these provisions were applicable, the Act anticipated key principles later embedded in Arctic Council frameworks, particularly the emphasis on environmental protection, emergency response coordination, and sustainable maritime activity (https://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/a-12/fulltext.html).

The Act’s precautionary regulatory approach contributed to the normative development of cooperative environmental governance reflected in the 2011 Arctic Council Agreement on Cooperation on Aeronautical and Maritime Search and Rescue, the 2013 Agreement on Marine Oil Pollution Preparedness and Response, and the 2017 Agreement on Enhancing International Arctic Scientific Cooperation. These agreements collectively reinforce state responsibility for multilateral engagement and commitment, which also included environmental risk management and cross-border emergency coordination, all of which align with the regulatory philosophy established by the Canadian legislation.

Moreover, the Act helped legitimize expanded coastal state jurisdiction in ice-covered waters, a principle later codified in international law and reinforced through Arctic Council policy coordination. As a result, the legislation served as an early model demonstrating how national environmental regulation could shape regional governance norms and facilitate multilateral cooperation in the Arctic.

By the late 1980s, shifting geopolitical conditions created new opportunities for Arctic cooperation, particularly on transboundary environmental issues. A decisive turning point occurred in 1987 when Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev delivered the Murmansk Speech, proposing the Arctic as a zone of peace and advocating expanded cooperation in environmental protection and scientific research. This initiative directly encouraged Finland to promote multilateral environmental governance in the region.

These efforts culminated in the 1991 Rovaniemi Declaration and the establishment of the Arctic Environmental Protection Strategy (AEPS), adopted by the eight Arctic states. Although non-binding, the AEPS created the first structured framework for circumpolar environmental cooperation. It identified key environmental threats, emphasized shared responsibility for ecosystem protection, and formally incorporated Indigenous participation through observer and later Permanent Participant roles. The creation of specialized working groups institutionalized scientific monitoring and policy coordination, establishing operational mechanisms for regional governance.

The AEPS provided both the political momentum and institutional architecture necessary for the creation of the Arctic Council in 1996 through the Ottawa Declaration. Building on AEPS structures, the Council expanded cooperation beyond environmental protection to include sustainable development, resource management, and Indigenous knowledge integration. Collectively, these initiatives transformed ad hoc diplomatic engagement into a formalized governance system, positioning the Arctic Council as the central forum for multilateral Arctic cooperation.

Growing geopolitical tensions have strained Arctic cooperation. Following Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, collaboration within the Arctic Council was largely suspended, weakening cooperation in all sectors, including environmental and Indigenous governance mechanisms that previously defined Arctic stability. Although limited technical cooperation has resumed, diplomatic coordination remains restricted, while increasing military activity threatens long-standing environmental monitoring and emergency response frameworks.

Recent developments within the Kingdom of Denmark and Greenland demonstrate both risks and opportunities. Denmark’s 2025 Arctic Council chairmanship stresses international law and cooperative governance, while Greenland’s updated foreign and security strategy seeks stronger Indigenous and regional representation in Arctic decision-making.

Maintaining Arctic cooperation is therefore essential. Preserving multilateral governance safeguards fragile ecosystems, supports Indigenous communities, and prevents geopolitical escalation in a region critical to global climate stability.

The weakening or potential collapse of the Arctic Council would directly affect SDGs 13, 14, 15, and 17, undermining the scientific cooperation and coordination over a wide range of activities, including climate monitoring and biodiversity protection. The Council supports projects funded by millions annually, including over 40 initiatives financed by Canada alone. The European Union has also committed significant resources, including €15 million for Arctic observation systems and broader climate research programs worth €93.5 billion.

The future effectiveness of European climate and sustainability policies may therefore depend on whether multilateral Arctic governance can adapt to geopolitical tensions while maintaining scientific and environmental collaboration. Assessing the opinion and vision of field experts is imperative to analyze how IGOs and other high-level officials should steer their policies for preventing isolation and drawbacks in the related domains of activity that have the Arctic region as the core subject of political, social, cultural, environmental, and economic interest.

Florin-Madalin Nicu is a student of the BACHELOR’S PROGRAM OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS at Eurasian National University “L.N. Gumilyov”, Kazakhstan

What is the Relationship between Neutrality and Safety in Humanitarian Contexts?

Jakub Machart — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 22:04:04 +0000

Humanitarian and development aid, provided and funded by wealthy countries such as Denmark, are central elements of the process of development. Denmark is a champion in per capita expenditure dedicated to official development assistance (ODA), ranking 4th worldwide with 0.71% of its Gross National Income (GNI) spent on ODA. At the same time, globally, humanitarian space is shrinking, and organisations active within the field are facing increasingly more precarious conditions, with direct impacts on their staff located in countries receiving aid. 2024 became the deadliest year on record for humanitarian aid workers, and 2025 is set to top this record once statistics are concluded. The biggest Danish NGO Danish Refugee Council alone has mourned the loss of 4 partners and 2 staff members in Gaza and Ukraine last year.

We often hear that the humanitarian space is shrinking, but we rarely directly link this to the loss of lives in the contexts of provision of humanitarian aid. There are mechanisms in place to ensure safety of humanitarian workers, however, they only have limited efficiency. The humanitarian principles of independence, impartiality, neutrality and humanity, that a large number of international NGOs subscribe to, are in place to ensure not only efficiency and morality of humanitarian work, but also to increase the safety of aid workers in precarious contexts. The humanitarian principles are not simply a moral compass guiding humanitarian action, they are powerful enablers of provision of humanitarian aid; neutrality in conflict areas ensures access to affected populations, and independence from political and other agendas helps ensure trust with all parties. According to the ICRC, they are pragmatic tools more than anything.

Research from 2012 confirms that if humanitarian organisations are perceived as neutral and impartial, the risk of attacks or kidnappings of their staff decreases. The topics of neutrality and impartiality, and consequently of safety and security in the aid sector thus remain essential. Guth and Messerschmidt, authors of 2025 Thesis on Managing Risk and Security: How Humanitarian Organisations adapt in conflict zones, published at Lund University recently sat down with DDRN for an interview.

In their thesis, based on interviews with workers in the humanitarian sector, they identified two overarching themes related to safety: understanding of contextual factors, and politicisation of aid. Neutrality is one of core humanitarian principles, and apart from ensuring efficiency, it also extends to support safety for humanitarian workers from being targeted. Guth remarks that when it comes to neutrality, it is much more about perception, than reality: “I feel that it really depends on how people perceive you. Even if your actions are neutral, the context in which you operate might not see them that way. For example, if you treat civilians and military personnel equally, some may still perceive your organisation as political because you are engaging with both sides. I think it comes down to a question of definition. MSF, for instance, says we are neutral because every human being is equal in our eyes and everyone can receive help. Others might argue, however, that this is not neutrality, because you are still, in a way, choosing a side. This framing is very challenging for organizations, because it shows that, in practice, it is extremely difficult to act truly neutral.” This is an extremely important notion, as neutrality is not an inherent attribute, but rather a fragile, negotiated perception that has to be advocated for, and maintained, in order to achieve acceptance through neutrality.

For organisations not to be targeted during a conflict, an important, though context-dependent, element is visibility. Many aid agencies choose to mark their vehicles and facilities to signal their role as aid providers, or notify conflicting parties about their planned movements, hoping that clear identification will be respected. Such measures can enhance safety when armed actors comply with international humanitarian law (IHL), but in some cases, visibility can also exacerbate the risks. Under IHL, all parties to an armed conflict must distinguish between civilians, including humanitarian personnel, and combatants, and must not intentionally target humanitarian workers. Attacks on such personnel can constitute serious violations of IHL. Yet acceptance and visibility are only one part of the equation; Respect for the law is the other. In today’s conflict environments, adherence to IHL is inconsistent, and organisations cannot rely on their protected status. Although risks are inherent, recently, we have seen increasing instances of both state and non-state actors targeting aid workers.

According to Messerschmidt, the question of whether to increase or reduce visibility “is really context and conflict dependent.” She notes that organisations first assess “what this kind of conflict is about and where the risk is coming from.” In Ukraine, for instance one organisation chose not to mark its vehicles at all because “it’s more safe” in a context where threats come directly from state actors. Guth similarly stresses that visibility is not inherently protective: at times it is beneficial to be recognised by civilians, yet in other situations “you need to just blend in completely.” Visible equipment can even undermine trust; “if you have a helmet and you’re more associated with the military, it can be dangerous,” she explains. Both researchers observed that every organisation they interviewed had grappled with this dilemma.

For Messerschmidt, the visibility question is inseparable from a broader erosion of international humanitarian law. Marking facilities and vehicles is meant to offer legal protection: an attack on a clearly marked site could be identified as a potential violation of international humanitarian law. But this protection only works if parties respect the law. As she puts it, organisations increasingly fear that “the law is not respected anyways,” and that even when accountability is technically possible, “no one really cares anymore.” This legal vacuum leaves humanitarian actors navigating visibility choices with no guarantee that either approach, being seen or staying hidden, will keep them safe. This distinction reflects the classic humanitarian security model of acceptance, protection and deterrence: humanitarian principles primarily enable acceptance, while IHL functions through legal deterrence and accountability. Without accountability, humanitarian principles function as risk-management tools rather than protections

Humanitarian actors’ ambivalence toward visibility also reflects a broader frustration with the absence of effective accountability mechanisms in the international system. As was noted during the interview, organisations can only mitigate risks up to a point. Beyond that, their safety ultimately depends on political actors and states that bear responsibility for upholding IHL. Yet, according to the researchers, many respondents stressed that violations are seldom followed by meaningful consequences, and that the international community selectively enforces IHL depending on the context. This uneven response not only undermines protection for civilians and aid workers, but also risks signalling to other conflict parties that attacks on humanitarian personnel will go unpunished.

Messerschmidt points out that under international humanitarian law, states are formally responsible for violations they commit, yet they are unlikely to hold themselves accountable. While other states or international bodies may impose sanctions or refer cases to international courts, she notes that such measures “rarely happen in practice.” For her, this gap between legal obligation and political enforcement lies at the heart of the problem: without consistent external accountability, humanitarian organisations are left to manage risks that ultimately stem from failures in the international system rather than from their own operational choices.

To conclude, humanitarian neutrality can only contribute to safety if it is both perceived and respected. Throughout the past year, neutrality has come under increasing strain due to the politicisation of aid and the persistent lack of accountability at the global level. It remains essential to humanitarian operations, but its ability to support safety depends less on organisational conduct than on the political and legal environments in which humanitarian actors operate.

Jakub Machart is a BSc. student in Development Studies at Lund University, Sweden, and is a DDRN intern.

Samuel Sannoh — Mon, 01 Dec 2025 11:01:56 +0000

November 13th, 2013. A day that changed the course of my life forever- good or bad, that is another interpretation for another day. A young skinny boy, neither full of hope nor despair, arrived at Copenhagen Airport after a long 9-hour journey from my hometown, Freetown, Sierra Leone.

As I stood there around a sea of people, confused, while at the same time in awe of this unfamiliar place, I saw my mum. I hadn’t seen her in 7 years. She walked towards me with my siblings, whom I had never met before. I didn’t know it then, but that moment was my first step into living between two worlds. Denmark was unfamiliar, cold, and quiet. Sierra Leone was warm, noisy and familiar. I had to navigate and find myself between these two worlds. I discovered lessons that extend far beyond that of just my own personal story in the process.

At that time, I didn’t think of this move as part of a global challenge. I was just a teenager trying to learn Danish, fit in with classmates, and understand why people here seemed quieter, more reserved, and less likely to strike up a conversation with strangers. No one tells you the difficulty of navigating two worlds all at once, while also trying to preserve your cultural identity without losing yourself in the process. But in hindsight, my experience of migration, identity, and belonging was itself a reflection of global issues. I was learning in real time what it meant to live between two cultures, to balance two perspectives, leaving everything behind to start afresh, while also trying to find a voice that could speak across them.

The hard way

Being the new foreign student in Denmark at 13 wasn’t easy. At first, I often felt like the odd one out. The language was hard; the cultural codes were confusing, and everything seemed complicated. I recalled starting middle school two days after my arrival. Speaking up in class or joining social groups took courage I wasn’t sure I had. It wasn’t because I couldn’t or didn’t want to. I noticed my classmates were simply hesitant. One of the younger boys once told me, “We are just shy to speak English and afraid to say the wrong thing”. A concerned well well-received and well-understood concern from my point of view. I was probably an outlier-and in their world, I might have been the first person of my kind they had ever met. Mind you, we were all still very young, between 12 and 14. There were moments when I questioned if I could ever really belong. But I also realised something, i.e., every challenge I faced locally was connected to bigger global questions. Migration, integration, cultural diversity- these weren’t just topics for policy reports. They were my everyday life.

Years later, a friend once asked me, “Do you feel more Danish or more African- or Sierra Leonean?” The question caught me off guard. I realised I had never really thought about it in concrete terms. It sent me down a path of reflection: do my values, my way of thinking, or even how I carry myself align more with Danish customs or with African ones?

I used to believe that one of the greatest traits we, as Black people, often share is the ability to “code-switch”, to adapt depending on our surroundings. But when I looked closer, I noticed something deeper. Over the years, I had become more reserved, quieter, and individualistic- traits often associated with Danish culture. Yet I still carried within me the warmth, humour, and communal spirit that shaped my African upbringing.

Over time, I found tools to bridge the gap. Studying English A and Social Studies A in high school gave me a lens to connect local debates with international perspectives. Later, choosing International Studies and Global Development felt like a continuation. I wanted to understand not only my own journey but also how the world itself was connected- from global inequalities to the small, invisible ways those inequalities show up in daily life.

One of my turning points came in Oslo, during a podcast project. We were tasked with bringing people together around stories. At first, I thought: who would listen to me? But once the mic was on, I realised that humour, curiosity, and confidence could open doors across cultures. Suddenly, I wasn’t the international student struggling to fit in. I was someone creating space for dialogue, making others feel that their voices mattered, too.

These experiences taught me something I carry with me to this day. Global challenges are not only about policies and numbers. They are about people, about how we see each other, and how we create spaces where everyone feels included. For me, being between “two worlds” has become a strength rather than a weakness. It has allowed me to see how young people in Denmark, whether Danish-born or international, share many of the same concerns- the pressure to perform, the need to belong, the uncertainty of the future. Connecting these everyday concerns with broader global issues- whether climate change, inequality, or migration- is not just an academic exercise. It is a way of making global challenges real, personal and relatable.

A shared Challenge

Today, as I look back on my journey from Sierra Leone to Denmark, I see it as more than just a personal story. It reflects a truth that DDRN itself highlights: “global challenges are shared challenges”. The conversation we need to have about development, inclusion and sustainability cannot stay in policy circles or international institutions. They must happen where young people live their lives- in classrooms, online spaces, and yes, even in podcasts. When young people share their voices, they remind us that global development is not something distant. It is about the friendships that we form, the stereotypes we break and the courage we show in telling our stories.

Perhaps that is the true meaning of “living between two worlds”- embracing and learning to see beyond assumptions, including our own. Whether in migration, identity, or dialogue, we all carry biases-either consciously or unconsciously, that shape our perception of others. The true challenge or growth is not about denying its existence or trying to erase them, but rather to look beneath them- to find understanding, one story at a time. And maybe, that’s where young people mattered the most.

Anyone who moves between cultures- either through migration, exchange student, or education- will understand what I mean. We develop a kind of double perspective. We learn to read rooms differently, sense misunderstanding early, adjust, navigate, translate, etc. It isn’t always easy, but it becomes our invisible superpower.

In contemporary society, young people tend to navigate between identities, languages, and social worlds with fluency that the generation before us didn’t grow up with. That flexibility is not just personal- it’s a resource. A resource that can either be an opportunity or a curse. It helps us to spot the gaps where inclusion fails, to challenge stereotypes gently but firmly, and to build bridges simply by showing up with our full stories. And that can be said for some part of my story, which is filled with opportunities, the tools to share my stories, etc.

On the other hand, it can also be a burden. Living between two worlds, especially for someone as visible as me- recognisable with the bandana, the braids, the presence that has become part of my identity- comes with moments where I’ve felt the need to dim myself. There was a time when I stopped wearing the bandana just to “tone myself down” a bit, to make others more comfortable.

However, I realised I don’t have to shrink myself because ‘some’, not all, have created a mental image of who they think I am. I am not a threat to anyone-unless they choose to be one to me. Maybe that’s what “living between two worlds” really means: becoming more than a background character, turning our in-betweenness into contribution. If global challenges are truly shared challenges, then our lived experiences- our biases, our double perspectives, our ability to see more than one side- might be part of the solution. Changes rarely begin in institutions. It begins quietly, in how we as young people speak, listen, and create spaces where others- especially those who do not look like you or me- feel seen and heard.

Samuel Sannoh is a MSc Student in Global and Development Studies, Roskilde University, and a DDRN Intern.

Teaching Swedish Exceptionalism: An In-depth Look at Sweden’s Civic Orientation Programme

Adrian Ganic — Sat, 25 Oct 2025 12:48:39 +0000

The topic of migration has gained increased salience over the past decade, with anti-immigrant parties growing in popularity across the Global North, achieving significant electoral success. These movements have used their increased influence to push for stricter migration policies. Yet, despite migration inflows decreasing, they have not ceased. For example, over 4 million people migrated to countries in the European Union in 2023, and roughly 1.6 million to the United States.

Ample research exists on how to best assist recent migrants to settle into their new contexts. Civic orientation—educational classes designed to teach migrants about the host country’s values, laws, and social norms—is the primary tool used by states in the Global North to “integrate” migrants into the labour market and society. Civic education, moreover, can be used by the state to promote certain values and norms, creating a national identity. Historian Jeffrey Mirel, for instance, has found that civic education played a key part in redefining American identity during the early 20th century. Similar processes can be seen in other countries.

Simon Bauer, Assistant Professor in Swedish as a Second Language at Stockholm University, in March 2025, defended his PhD thesis, titled Locating, Constructing, and Disciplining Self and Other: A Discourse Ethnography of Civic Orientation. The thesis analyses the discursive constructions present in Sweden’s Civic Orientation for Newly Arrived Migrants programme. The programme has been active since 2010 and is offered to migrants who have recently obtained a residency permit.

Dr Bauer’s study was conducted as a multi-level ethnography, meaning it analyses civic education from multiple perspectives—through media narratives, policy documents and in-person interviews with students and civic communicators. DDRN recently interviewed Dr Bauer, discussing his thesis and how to improve Swedish civic education going forward.

How Civic Education in Sweden has Changed Over Time

Q: Why were you drawn to study civic orientation?

I’ve always been interested in ideas connected to identity and groups. I’ve previously looked at more explicitly political movements, at political Zionism and how that grew out of European nationalism, and at different Islamist groups looking to reestablish the caliphate after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Then I thought it was cool to get to look at Sweden, which is the country where I grew up, from a similar perspective—thinking about how Sweden actually presents itself, how Sweden is made into a nation.

To get to do that through a course such as civic orientation, where the state actually explicitly has to define what it is, because it’s telling people about “well, this is Sweden and this is how things are here”. I believe that it’s at the sort of boundaries between who we are and who they are—self and other—that we can really start to define different group settings and different ideas of community.

Q: Your PhD dissertation is of course on this topic. Could you tell me a little bit about it?

I could show, for example, how Swedish media discourse has gone from talking about democracy and human rights as universal values to more and more describing them as Swedish values. Within that context, it’s not so strange that, in the classroom, we see that when we talk about gender equality and human rights, or when teachers or civic communicators, as they’re called, talk about these topics, they’re talked about as Swedish values. There’s this general political understanding that’s been increasing over time that these [values] are fundamentally Swedish.

What Civic Education Tells us About the Swedish State

I think another interesting finding is the very disciplinary way in which civic orientation has been taught in the classes that we have observed, whereby Swedishness is assumed as the more—or as the most—scientific way of living. I didn’t expect to see it as strongly. We also see some of this in Swedish schools, where we teach children about, for example, food and health, which we also see in civic orientation—how much water you should drink, how many vitamins you should eat, and where to find them.

[These values] are taught to adults as sort of value-neutral, scientifically-based ideas, but it’s actually teaching people how to be Swedish. [Migrants’] previous experiences and knowledge are discussed, but used to understand why they’ve been wrong before and how they can now live in a better way as Swedes. But “Swedes” in this context is disguised as scientific.

There are cases [in civic education] where people are told that they should eat rye bread rather than white bread because rye bread is healthier. People were also told what foods to bring into work, that they should not bring smelly food boxes because that would annoy Swedish people. In one of the classes, women were told they had to do pelvic exercises as they got older to prevent urine leaking during menopause.

It’s also the system as a whole. The civic orientation classes are part of the wider establishment programme, only a small part of the Swedish migration regime. [Students] usually have a lot of other things that they also need to attend. Their time is quite tightly controlled. Part of it is also the state making people follow these very specific steps at a very specific rate and at a certain time. It’s about becoming complicit in the system and getting used to what it’s like living in Swedish bureaucracy.

Q: What do you think are some consequences, negative and positive, of the system you’ve described?

I think one of the positive things about civic orientation that Sweden has done very well, but which is at risk of being taken away due to recent suggestions, is that it has been given in migrants’ first language. Civic orientation classes can be a great place for people to ask questions about everyday things. I think [civic orientation], when it works well and people attend, can also be a great way for the Swedish state to inform people against disinformation campaigns, for example.

But I do think, on the other hand, that when you also tell people about what to eat, what to drink, and how to do specific things. In some of the classes, students were given an exact hour when they had to put their children to bed. When there are also many things like this, then people just think, “Why are we learning about this?”.

When students are given information they think is obvious or not relevant, the risk is that the things that are actually important or helpful, like: In Sweden, it is illegal to hit children, it is illegal to abuse your wife, or your husband for that matter. When this important knowledge is given alongside a lot of strange information, these things might also be seen as less important. I think the state is doing itself a disservice by trying to talk about these things under the same breath.

Q: Does this tie into the more nationalist outlook in civic orientation today, into the process of universal ideas being framed as Swedish?

I think it does. The need for these courses, firstly, shows that the state thinks this is such important information that everyone needs to know it. There are now further suggestions and proposals to have testing both for permanent residency and for citizenship, based on both Swedish language skills and civic information and knowledge. So, what’s taught in these courses will determine whether someone can stay safely in Sweden or not.

So this becomes another step in enforcing this boundary that I was talking about between who we are in the Swedish state and who you are outside it, and what you need to know and do to step into this community.

“It shouldn’t be seen as easy”

Q: Do you have any thoughts on how to reform civic orientation in Sweden?

It’s always hard with specific ideas. I am also not sure I’m the one who should say exactly what to do. But I do think that the idea of dialogue that’s been prominent in Swedish civic orientation, at least in the policy documents, is good and should be encouraged.

I think that what’s been lacking more is more training for the communicators, because what the state is trying to do here is extremely hard. This is something that there are decades of research in many different disciplines—education, linguistics, and political science on how to do. It’s not just something that you can throw someone into and expect them to do very well.

Yes, some very conservative people migrate to Sweden. Some people migrate to Sweden exactly because they’re very progressive and they’re persecuted. So, to really see that the people in the classroom are actually people. Facilitating this kind of open dialogue is extremely hard, but I think [civic education] is an extremely hard thing to do, and it should be seen as that. It shouldn’t be seen as easy.

Adrian Ganic is a M.Sc., THE LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS AND POLITICAL SCIENCE and a DDRN CORRESPONDENT

Decolonizing Development: The Role of Anthropology in Rethinking Humanitarian Aid

Federica Gatti — Fri, 30 May 2025 10:08:19 +0000

Challenging the Development Paradigm

For decades, international development efforts have been predominantly conceptualized and led by institutions based in the Global North. While these initiatives are often framed as benevolent endeavors aimed at alleviating poverty and improving living conditions in the Global South, they frequently reinforce existing power imbalances by imposing top-down models that marginalize local knowledge, ignore historical contexts, and limit community agency.

Anthropology, as a discipline fundamentally concerned with understanding human behavior within specific cultural contexts, offers powerful tools to challenge and dismantle these dynamics. Through its ethnographic methods and commitment to cultural relativism, anthropology enables development practitioners to engage more ethically and effectively with the communities they aim to support.

A landmark critique of traditional development discourse comes from anthropologist James Ferguson, whose influential book The Anti-Politics Machine (1990) examines World Bank programs in Lesotho during the 1980s. Ferguson argues that development discourse often functions to depoliticize inherently political issues, framing structural inequalities as technical problems in need of neutral solutions. This framing effectively silences local voices and erases the historical roots of underdevelopment, particularly those tied to colonialism and global capitalism.

For instance, Lesotho was portrayed in development documents as a remote, subsistence-based economy ripe for modernization. In reality, its economy was deeply linked with labor migration to South Africa, a fact that aid planners either overlooked or intentionally disregarded. The result was the implementation of aid projects that were not only irrelevant but often harmful, reinforcing state bureaucracies and external control mechanisms rather than empowering local communities.

Anthropologist Malighetti echoes Ferguson’s critique, emphasizing the symbolic use of quotation marks around the word “development” to underscore its constructed and often misleading nature. According to Malighetti, the very language of development can obscure the unequal power relations that underpin it, masking the interests of donors and international institutions behind a facade of neutrality.

Despite these critiques, many development agencies have historically continued to implement policies based on simplified, one-size-fits-all models. By treating underdevelopment as a purely technical failure they have consistently overlooked the historical, political, and cultural underpinnings of inequality. Ferguson argues that such programs ultimately serve to expand bureaucratic and donor influence rather than to foster meaningful change.

Anthropological perspectives serve as a counterbalance to these dominant narratives by reframing development not as a linear process of modernization, but as a contested, culturally embedded practice. Rather than viewing communities as passive recipients of aid, anthropology centers on lived experience, local worldviews, and social relations. Ethnographic fieldwork enables anthropologists to engage directly with communities, uncovering how people define their own needs and aspirations—often in ways that contradict external assumptions.

This approach reveals the limitations of universal development models that attempt to apply standardized solutions without regard for local complexities. Anthropology advocates instead for a plurality of knowledge systems, recognizing that no single framework can adequately address the diversity of human experiences.

Towards Community-Led Alternatives

Beyond critique, anthropology also offers practical frameworks for crafting more inclusive, community-centered development interventions. Participatory methods—such as Participatory Rural Appraisal (PRA), community mapping, and storytelling—empower local populations to articulate their own priorities and co-create solutions that reflect their values and aspirations.

One compelling example is the Barefoot College in Rajasthan, India. Founded in 1972 by social activist Bunker Roy, this grassroots organization trains rural women—many of whom are illiterate or have limited formal education—to become solar engineers, water testers, educators, and health workers. These women then return to their communities with practical skills that bring renewable energy and essential services to villages often overlooked by conventional aid projects.

The Barefoot College turns traditional notions of expertise on their head. Instead of relying on foreign consultants or technocrats, it places trust in local capacities and fosters a model of development rooted in empowerment, sustainability, and cultural respect. It also challenges gender norms by investing in women’s leadership and decision-making. Graduates of the program return home not only with technical knowledge but also with a renewed sense of dignity and agency, catalyzing long-term, community-driven transformation.

Indigenous Philosophies and Alternative Futures

Anthropology also draws attention to indigenous philosophies that offer powerful alternatives to Western-centric development frameworks. One such example is the concept of Buen Vivir (“good living”), rooted in Andean cosmologies. Unlike traditional development models focused on GDP growth and material accumulation, Buen Vivir emphasizes harmony with nature, collective well-being, and spiritual balance.

Institutionalized in the constitutions of Bolivia and Ecuador, Buen Vivir serves as a radical critique of capitalist development, inviting us to rethink what constitutes a good life. It shifts the emphasis from profit to sustainability, from individual gain to communal health. Anthropologists engaging with such worldviews help surface the multiple ways people imagine progress—ways that are often obscured or devalued in mainstream discourse.

These examples collectively call for a reassessment of what we mean by “progress.” When development is narrowly defined through economic indicators or technological benchmarks, it tends to erase the diversity of human experience and de-legitimize other ways of knowing. Anthropology resists this erasure by championing epistemic plurality, asserting that multiple forms of knowledge—including oral traditions, indigenous cosmologies, and experiential learning—deserve equal recognition and respect.

This approach aligns with broader efforts to decolonize development, which not only involve addressing material inequalities but also challenging hierarchies in knowledge production and representation.

Some humanitarian organizations have begun to incorporate anthropological insights into their work. For instance, Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) has collaborated with anthropologists to navigate cultural sensitivities in healthcare delivery. In settings where biomedical practices may clash with local beliefs, anthropologists act as cultural mediators, facilitating more respectful and effective interactions between aid workers and local populations.

These interdisciplinary partnerships demonstrate how anthropology can enhance both the ethical and practical dimensions of humanitarian aid. By embedding cultural understanding into program design, humanitarian responses become not only more inclusive but also more impactful.

Moreover, anthropology promotes reflexivity—the ability to critically examine one’s own assumptions, positionality, and influence. Development practitioners trained in anthropological thinking are better equipped to interrogate their roles, challenge the legitimacy of external expertise, and foster genuinely collaborative relationships with communities.

In conclusion, anthropology plays a vital role in challenging dominant development paradigms and envisioning alternative futures. By centering local voices, historical consciousness, and cultural diversity, the discipline offers tools for designing development interventions that are not only more effective but also more just.

Decolonizing development involves more than tweaking policy; it requires a fundamental rethinking of how we define progress, how we exercise power, and how we value knowledge. As global inequalities persist and the climate crisis deepens, the insights offered by anthropology are more relevant than ever. They remind us that truly sustainable development begins not with prescriptions, but with listening, respect, and a commitment to shared humanity.

Federica Gatti is MA STUDENT ANTHROPOLOGY, UNIVERSITY OF MILAN – BICOCCA, DDRN INTERN