Art and Humanities – DDRN

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

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

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

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

A gap in humor studies

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

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

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

Humor as cultural resistance in Palestine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

List of references

Do Ethnic Chinese Malaysians Actually Speak Chinese?

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

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

Linguistic Overview

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

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

Historical and Social Frameworks

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

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

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

New Generations VS Old Generation?

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

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

Conclusion

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

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

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

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

List of references

Development Studies in Flux: A field in crisis or in transformation?

Iraide Arcos Fabrega — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 22:06:23 +0000

What is happening to Development Studies? Once conceived as a multidisciplinary field with its own identity, it increasingly resembles a space where researchers hold “double loyalties”: they belong to traditional disciplines but conduct research on development. In Sweden, this trend is especially stark. “Out of more than 100 PhD programmes in Sweden of relevance for development, none were trained purely within Development Studies,” says Professor Fredrik Söderbaum.

Söderbaum is a professor of Peace and Development Research at the School of Global Studies, University of Gothenburg. In 2021, he initiated a debate as chair of a roundtable session entitled “Development Thinking in Flux – Continuity and/or Change” at the DevRes Conference on Advancing Sustainable Transformation, organised by the Swedish Development Research Network (SweDev). The discussion centred on how “development research” should be defined and where the field is heading.

Four years later, we speak with Söderbaum to revisit those questions and explore the insights shaping the future of Development Studies. In this article, we examine the multiple dimensions of the field, the tensions that define it and the evolving process of decolonising research. We ask: how has the field evolved in recent years, and what might its future look like?

Development studies as a multidimensional (and fragmented) field

A key feature of the current status of Development Studies is the ongoing internal fragmentation. The scholar Andy Sumner describes this reality as ‘unity in diversity’, suggesting that the field can no longer be understood as a homogeneous body of knowledge, but rather as a space divided by at least four major schools of thought. These differ significantly in how they define ‘development’, whether it can be considered a universal process, and what the role of academic knowledge should be in the face of global inequalities. Rather than offering a synthesis, Sumner aims to make these differences visible and encourage dialogue between them.

For Fredrik Söderbaum, this fragmentation is reflected very concretely in academic practice. Most researchers in development do not identify exclusively with Development Studies, but maintain what he calls ‘dual loyalties’: they belong to other established disciplines, such as economics, political science, sociology or peace studies, and approach development issues from these perspectives. In this scenario, Development Studies functions less as an autonomous discipline and more as a meeting place for diverse approaches.

This situation has fed a persistent tension between disciplinary and interdisciplinary approaches. For years, this debate was framed in almost exclusive terms. However, Söderbaum points out that researchers have begun to accept that both perspectives must coexist. Disciplinary specialisation provides methodological rigour and academic recognition, while interdisciplinary approaches allow for a holistic view of complex processes that cannot be reduced to a single dimension, whether it is economic, political, or social.

The case of Sweden illustrates these tensions well. According to Söderbaum, Development Studies are currently institutionally weak: there is little specific funding, few dedicated academic spaces, and no PhD programmes exclusively identified with the field. These weaknesses are reinforced by the sudden funding scrap in the field due to the current government’s action, which has been remarkable considering the substantial funding that Development research previously received. This situation contrasts with the United Kingdom, where Development Studies continue to be the subject of active debate and have more consolidated institutional structures.

From a critical perspective, it can be argued that Development Studies, at least in Sweden, have become a ‘field without a home.’ Too disciplinary, they risk losing sight of the big picture; too interdisciplinary, their academic rigour may be called into question. The challenge, as Söderbaum suggests, is not to resolve this tension, but to learn to live with it.

“Global South”: A key concept on debate

The concept of the Global South, central to Development Studies, is the subject of ongoing debate. For Fredrik Söderbaum, one of the main difficulties lies in the reality that the term defines. In its most widespread version, the Global South is defined as a geographical category that groups together low-income countries. This interpretation, he warns, is simplistic and obscures the diversity of political, economic and social trajectories that exist between and within these countries.

In contrast to this view, other approaches understand the Global South as a relational category, linked to structural inequalities rather than territorial boundaries. From this perspective, the ‘South’ is not limited to certain countries but can also be found in impoverished regions and communities of developed economies. Söderbaum recognises the analytical value of this interpretation, but points out that, taken to the extreme, it can blur the concept to the point where it becomes difficult to operationalise in empirical research.

This conceptual ambiguity is not an isolated problem, but a reflection of the broader tensions running through Development Studies. When the fundamental categories of the field become unstable, comparing cases, formulating diagnoses, or designing coherent interventions also becomes more complex.

These discussions inevitably open the door to another central debate: who produces knowledge about development and from what perspectives, a question that lies at the heart of efforts to decolonise research.

Decolonising research: despite progress, it remains a utopian ideal

According to Fredrik Söderbaum, the process of decolonising research can be understood in terms of two core dimensions. The first is representation: who produces knowledge about development and from where. The second is perspectives: which theoretical frameworks, concepts and ways of understanding development are considered.

In recent years, progress has been made on both fronts, especially in terms of representation. The presence of researchers from the Global South in international academic debates has increased, and there is greater critical awareness of the extractive dynamics that have historically marked the production of knowledge in this field. The debate on decolonisation is now open and visible and has contributed to questioning assumptions that were previously taken for granted.

Nevertheless, limitations remain profound. Söderbaum points out that many researchers from the Global South continue to pursue their careers at universities in the Global North, which reproduces structural inequalities in access to resources, funding, and academic recognition. Regional differences are marked: while in parts of Asia, such as China, knowledge production has grown significantly, in Africa, changes are slower, and no substantial transformation is expected in the short term.

From this approach, decolonisation appears to be a morally desirable goal, but one that is difficult to achieve fully. Without institutional reforms that modify the structures of funding, publication and academic evaluation, there is a risk that the debate will remain at a symbolic level.

Regarding the perspectives, the issue becomes more complex. Decolonial perspectives exist both in North and South, and they both remain weaker than mainstream. Whereas in the North, they appear to be stronger, they are often appropriated by mainstream actors and not always aligned with development problems and agents in the Global South. In the South, a division is clear: while for some, decolonising perspectives are a priority, for others, it has no importance at all.

A field in crisis or in transformation?

Development Studies is not facing a crisis of relevance, but rather a crisis of identity. Far from disappearing, the field continues to generate research, attract scholars and drive fundamental debates on inequality, power relations and social transformation. However, it does so from a fragmented position, marked by conceptual, institutional and epistemological tensions.

As both Andy Sumner’s proposed framework and Fredrik Söderbaum’s reflections show, this fragmentation is not necessarily a weakness. Rather, it can be understood as the result of a field that resists simplifying complex realities. Development Studies is the only field which, at least potentially, addresses development in a holistic manner. The challenge is not to restore a lost unity, but to create spaces for dialogue between different approaches, diverse disciplines, and unequally represented voices.

In a global context marked by multiple conflicts, abandoning development research is not an option. The task, as Söderbaum suggests, is to continue doing development studies, and it is essential to do so from a critical, conscious, and open approach to diversity.

Here, it is also appropriate to add that this weakness has been reinforced by the fact that the current government suddenly scrapped all funding for development research in Sweden—a field that has previously received rather substantial funding.

Iraide Arcos Fabrega is a Graduate in Political Science with a minor in Environmental Governance. DDRN CORRESPONDENT

As the World Falls Apart, Social Media Brings PeopleTogether

Yiling Lyu — Sun, 01 Feb 2026 22:04:39 +0000

How the TikTok Ban Sparked an Unexpected Digital Migration from the U.S. to China

In January 2025, growing political debate in the United States over a possible ban on TikTok triggered strong reactions among many American users. Given TikTok’s scale, with approximately 1.9 billion users worldwide and around 170 million monthly active users in the United States, the platform had become deeply embedded in everyday digital life. In response, some users moved to Rednote (Xiaohongshu), a social media app widely used in China for sharing everyday experiences, advice, and personal stories. This move was widely discussed online as a form of protest against perceived government interference in personal media choices. Many of these users referred to themselves as “TikTok refugees,” a label that quickly circulated across platforms and media coverage. Although the proposed ban was delayed several times and no official decision had been made until now, the uncertainty alone was enough to encourage people to experiment with new digital spaces. This episode offers a useful starting point for understanding how social media can bring ordinary users from different countries into contact, even during periods of political tension.

When Downloading Rednote Became a Trend

Although many Chinese netizens questioned whether the term “refugee” was appropriate, it nevertheless became a widely used buzzword in 2025. In the days following the announcement of a possible TikTok ban, Rednote rose to the top of the U.S. App Store download rankings and soon reached leading positions in more than seventy other countries. Much of this visibility was amplified by overseas Chinese users, who shared screenshots of local App Store rankings from different countries, highlighting Rednote’s rapid rise to the top. This wave of participation was often driven by curiosity or by a desire to follow what was perceived as an emerging American-led trend. Notably, this wave of participation unfolded alongside ongoing criticism of the United States and its domestic politics, the coexistence of criticism and imitation points to a broader pattern: even as the United States is frequently contested, it continues to occupy a central position in global digital culture, shaping platform dynamics far beyond its borders.

This dynamic also challenges the common assumption that China is digitally isolated, an image often repeated in Western media narratives. In practice, Chinese users have access to extensive information networks of their own. Although platforms such as Twitter (now X) or Instagram are not widely used within China, users actively rely on domestic platforms such as WeChat, Douyin (the domestic version of TikTok), Weibo, and Xiaohongshu, as well as on connections with overseas Chinese communities, to stay informed about global events. Through these channels, international trends are quickly noticed, discussed, and shared.

The widespread circulation of App Store screenshots by overseas Chinese users illustrates how global platform shifts become visible within China, even without direct reliance on Western social media. This suggests that information flows into China through multiple social and social routes, allowing users to engage with global developments in ways that are often overlooked.

What Happened After People Joined? Greetings Across Oceans

From early 2025 to the present, the hashtag #TikTokRefugee on Rednote has accumulated over 4.59 billion views, showing that interest in this cross-border encounter did not disappear after the initial wave. Among the most widely shared moments was a simple post by an American father, who uploaded a photo of himself and his child and added only a short greetings. The comment with the most likes came from a Chinese family who replied to an almost identical heartwarming family photo with a simple ‘Hi!’. This quiet exchange, built around everyday. family life rather than politics or performance, moved millions of viewers, many of whom described feeling unexpectedly emotional.

These small gestures of recognition, became a powerful reminder that direct, human contact had been rare for a long time. For many users on both sides, this was not just curiosity but a first real glimpse into each other’s ordinary lives.

When Everyday Life Became a Reality Check

As these interactions continued, conversations gradually moved from greetings to everyday life. Informal comparisons emerged around work, housing, healthcare, and education, with tuition fees drawing particular attention. American usersthat annual undergraduate tuition can range from roughly $25,000 to $45,000, and with living expenses total costs often reach $35,000–$68,000, placing many under long-term student loan pressure. These figures surprised many Chinese users, who had assumed U.S. education was both accessible and affordable.

Meanwhile, Chinese users described their own expenses, noting that tuition at public universities in China is typically around ¥5,000–¥10,000 ($700–$1,400) per year. For many Chinese users, especially those who had never traveled abroad, these firsthand exchanges complicated the long-held image of American life as uniformly comfortable and prosperous. At the same time, American users expressed surprise at the relative affordability of daily life in Chinese cities and certain social services.

Such comparisons frequently provoke not heated debate, but quiet reflection. They reveal how distance and imagination profoundly shape perceptions of foreign societies, while everyday dialogue can swiftly alter these entrenched notions.

What is Remaining now?

Nearly a year later, are these “TikTok refugees” still on Rednote? Most have since left, while a smaller number remain active. Yet the importance of this episode lies less in how long users stayed than in the lingering effects it left behind. As a long-time Rednote user, I witnessed this process firsthand. In the earliest days of the migration, the platform lacked even basic translation functions, reflecting its orientation toward a largely domestic audience. Within a short period, Rednote introduced updates to support cross-language communication, including translation tools and English subtitles for uploaded videos. At the same time, many Chinese users and influencers began adding English subtitles to their own content on their own initiative, making an effort to communicate with new international viewers.

For a brief period, the platform took on a distinctly festive atmosphere, as users from different countries interacted closely and shared details of everyday life. These encounters had lasting effects, especially for Chinese and American users who had never traveled abroad. Ordinary posts about work, housing, family life, and personal finances revealed realities that differed from long-standing assumptions about life in other countries. Rather than reinforcing stereotypes, these exchanges introduced a more grounded understanding of foreign lives, showing how brief moments of everyday interaction can quietly reshape perceptions long after the initial excitement has faded.

Do you still remember the families I mentioned earlier in this article? Guess what? They met each other in Shanghai just recently! Seeing them together, sharing smiles and greetings across continents, was a simple yet profound reminder of what ordinary people can achieve when given a chance to connect. Moments like this, born out of curiosity, small gestures, and everyday interactions, show that even when the world feels divided, human connections can bridge gaps that politics or geography cannot. If the world could hold more moments like this, I think we would love it even more.

The following link is an interview about a 58-year-old Mary Jo from the United States became a so-called “TikTok refugee” when the platform faced a potential ban. She joined a Chinese social media platform and shared her first experience communicating in Chinese, moved to tears by the warm responses from local users. This unexpected encounter marked a turning point in her life. https://web.facebook.com/watch/?v=824507233741102

Yiling Lyu is a Master of Arts student at University of Copenhagen with a Major in African Studies, and a DDRN intern.

Humor Can Help the Climate Crisis? You Must be Joking!

Nilüfer Khudaykulov — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 15:22:57 +0000

We have spent decades finding technical solutions for the climate crisis. Yet, emissions have kept rising, and climate policies fall behind the cultural, political and social behaviors, unabling to provide sufficient responses. Our shared aspirations might be bold, yet our efforts fall far short of what is required. If we are to come together in a display of collective heroism to save the planet, we need to ask: what can unite us to try? It might be the laughter.

Massih Zekavat has been an Alexander von Humboldt postdoctoral fellow at Europa-Universität Flensburg in Germany and a researcher at the University of Groningen, Netherlands. He has spent years researching the integration of humor and satire in the climate discourse.

According to Zekavat, humor could be an effective tactical and rhetorical tool that can bridge intention and action, build a shared culture, and help hold different actors accountable for real change.

Despite the seriousness of the threat of the climate change, actions like changing consumption patterns or challenging polluters have not been completely achieved. People often feel powerless, overwhelmed, or guilty, especially when the scale of change requires ‘individual responsibility’ and rests on the shoulders of ordinary citizens alone.

Massih’s work pushes environmental psychology beyond models that focus on individuals and toward a systematic, culturally informed approach. He argues that humor has a unique power for collective mobilization: “If you want something to cohere people together, to create a community, if you need collective action that goes beyond holding a sign on your own in a city square, humor might help.”

Humor can offer a psychological bridge. Climate communication usually makes people feel scared or desperate. However, humor and satire let us confront uncomfortable truths together and confront those in positions of power and influence, in a world where companies and policymakers have greater impact than average citizens.

Parrhesia is of Greek origin. It means speaking truth to power, candidly and frankly. In the past, there were always some parrhesiastes, particularly in Athenian democracy, who spoke truth to the king without fear of repercussions, often jokingly and by playing the jester.

“It is a situation where somebody who is less powerful talks back to power, somebody who is more powerful, and tells them the truth. Like when I address Frans Timmerman, saying, ‘hey, what you’re doing is messing things up. Instead of trying to make people change, why don’t you do something about Shell? Or when I confront Shell, Tata, Amazon, or Elon Musk.’ So, this is one of the functions of satire. Satire has been traditionally associated with speaking truth to power… It is one of those discourses that facilitates expression when there is an imbalance of power in a conversation.” Zekavat adds.

“There is no symmetry in the power relationship between individuals and corporations or policy makers… You need a rhetorical device that facilitates bridging this power asymmetry… satire could be more effective than any other form of language.” Zekavat says. Humor and satire have given a level of protection to those without power for centuries. We need to laugh, and in laughing, we refuse to be silenced.

The laughter we overlooked

When Zekavat shifted his humor-focused research from politics to environmental issues in 2018, he found little scholarly attention to the role of humor. Many people were either sceptical of the climate crisis or unconvinced that humor could contribute to climate action.

One of the reasons that humor is sidelined is the assumption that it trivializes the crisis. “The main concern is that the climate crisis is something very serious. Humor is not serious. So if you treat climate crisis humorously, you’re reducing the seriousness of the topic. But this is not necessarily the case.” Zekavat says.

Utilizing humor for addressing environmental crisis is a newfangled concept, even for academics and activists. “Usually academics, particularly in the humanities, lag behind creative artists,” he notes. “Creative writers do something, and then it takes critics a decade to acknowledge it. There are comedy shows, cartoons, novels, and short stories out there that are humorous or satiric and deal with environmental crisis, but critics have not been engaging with them that much.”

In his book Satire, Humor, and Environmental Crises, published in 2023 by Routledge, he analyzes the influence of humor and satire in mainstream media, in such works as The Simpsons, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, and New Yorker Cartoons, to examine the relationship between humor and pro-environmental attitudes and collective behaviors.

He argues that climate communication needs a serious overhaul. Strategies proposed so far by policymakers and researchers tend to assume a “one-size-fits-all” audience. However, people do not respond to those environmental messages in the same way. Their behaviors and attitudes are heavily formed by cultural background, class, age, and their identities.

He proposes primarily to recognize and understand different groups, and then tailor the pro-environmental messages, such as narratives and multimodal texts, to where they stand. Effective climate discourse should speak to what people value, not what they are told to value.

This is where humor leads in. It is a gateway for an effective communication strategy to engage different groups and make messages more relatable. It also has the potential to assist individuals in coping with the psychological impact of a crisis, simultaneously reducing the gap between intention and action.

Detecting the target of the joke

When considering the root causes of these disasters, we usually encounter a huge gap in the damaged caused by companies and individuals. Zekavat states that the climate crisis is not something that is caused by an individual, nor can it be addressed by an individual. The scope of the crisis is much larger. “You cannot really compare my carbon footprint to that of the Pentagon or to that of Amazon… Me deciding not to use plastic straws is very different from the EU banning the use of plastic or disposable dishware”.

An Oxfam study found that the lifestyle of 50 of the world’s richest billionaires produces as much carbon dioxide as the average person would in 300 years, with them taking, on average, 184 private jets a year and spending 425 hours in the air. Additionally, the use of luxury yachts by them is equivalent to the level of carbon emission that an average person would produce in 860 years.

A new report also concluded that more than 70% of the world’s greenhouse gas emissions have been caused by only 100 companies since 1988. Most of these companies are supported by investments of billionaires, such as Shell, ExxonMobil, BP and Chevron.

Yet, policymakers often point at ordinary people to “do better”. Recycle more, use paper straws, and buy green products. This narrative, Zekavat argues, carries a colonial and classist tone, ignoring the agelong lifestyle of indigenous people and many other communities. “I’m not comfortable with this for many reasons. It has colonial and imperial presumptions. It has a hierarchical epistemology… it is usually: ‘I know what is best, you don’t know, so I tell you what to do.’”

It also distracts people from structural and systemic issues. “It disproportionately blames the individuals compared to institutions, politicians, or corporations. So what it essentially does is it facilitates the perpetuation of the status quo,” Zekavat says.

It is a vicious circle that we continuously find ourselves in, fighting for clean air to breathe and a land we can still call home before it sinks. This crisis is packaged and presented so well that we see ourselves as the culprits, striving to reduce our individual carbon footprint through guilt and despair. Meanwhile, a powerful group remains largely unnamed, the ones in tailored suits who hold high shares in fossil company stocks, just stepped off their third private flight in this week and will most probably take his spaceship to other planets when there is nothing left here.

Nilüfer Khudaykulov is a Master student in International Politics and Governance at Roskilde University, Denmark, and a DDRN intern.

Click to read the second part! The Emotional Path We Take for Climate Change

The Emotional Path We Take for Climate Change

Nilüfer Khudaykulov — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 15:21:32 +0000

Have you felt that we have failed to address environmental crises? If so, you may be experiencing anxiety or guilt feelings while you hunt for alternatives to flights for your dream trips. Or perhaps, you have stopped giving such importance to it, convinced there is little left you can do to save the planet.

This article continues our exploration from “Humor can help climate crisis? You must be joking!”. In this second part, we turn to insights from Massih Zekavat’s forthcoming second book, Leveraging Satire for Environmental Advocacy, discussed during an exclusive DDRN interview.

For years, climate advocacy has relied on a single powerful emotion: fear. Images of melting ice caps, raging fires, and flood disasters are intended to shock us into action. Yet this urgency does not seem to be effective. Zekavat argues that it has reached its emotional threshold and began to often produces paralysis, rather than mobilization.

This paralysis does not stem from ignorance; rather, it is partly rooted in an emotional paralysis. It means that despite knowing all about climate change, we feel powerless to mitigate it. In his second book, one of the points Zekavat sheds light on is the denialism and quietism through apocalyptic narratives. Through these narratives, we tend to have the illusion of living in the “end times” and denying ecological urgency as a coping mechanism. The missing link, he proclaims, is material engagement, and one way toward this is looking into the culture industry, where satire plays a pivotal role.

“The main psychological mechanism behind apocalyptic narratives is fear… and overexposure to fear can also lead to negative impacts on it. It can cause eco-anxiety, eco-distress, and essentially apathy…which might lead to political inaction and inertia.”

Apocalyptic narratives often portray the end of the world as it is distant, far away in time and place. When our daily lives appear normal, surrounded by trees and blue sky, people do not feel threatened, as the imagined end does not match the daily observations. Climate change, however, is not spatially or temporally distant; it is here now. The planet is indeed deteriorating, but not in the way we expected from myths or movies. “Instead of using apocalyptic narratives… we should use narratives that facilitate speaking power to truth for people whose voices have been silenced,” Zekavat says.

Satire enables us to illuminate the aspects of individual and collective behavior that environmental psychology overlooks, including the power dynamics ingrained in class, race, gender, and material inequality.

When coping becomes complicity

Climate policies, particularly within the European Green Deal, have long prioritised resilience, adaptation, and coping. Zekavat warns that this maintenance can preserve the status quo, rather than challenge it. “You are making sure that the status quo goes on… we can still dig up fossil fuels, still burn them, still make money out of that. And someone else will pay the price.”

That “someone else” is rarely the ones who benefit from fossil fuels. It is the communities in Africa, Middle East, or other countries already burdened by environmental injustice; it is the global majority. “This is essentially what resilience and coping come down to,” Zekavat remarks critically.

“We have empirical data that uncertainty emotions could be more effective, and shame is one of those emotions that could be induced by satire,” he explains. “Satire is again a very strong rhetorical means of creating shame and indignation.” He contends that what we need is not better coping, but an actual disruption. And holding the powerful to shame can spark real transformation.

Within or against nature: a story of ambitious Homo Sapiens

Anthropocene is described as the geological period in which human activity has become as dominant as much as other geological forces. It is a time when mountains can be destroyed not only by earthquakes but also by mining companies. The term is famously used by the literature to indicate the level of adverse impact of humans on the planet. However, it carries significant flaws.

Zekavat points out that the term blames Anthropos, targeting humanity as a single, unified entity. It ignores the staggering inequality of who caused the damage and who suffers from it. “It doesn’t really differentiate responsibility,” he argues. “The responsibility of Senegal, for example, as compared to the Netherlands, China, or the US – both in creating the climate crisis and in their capacity to address it – is not even comparable.”

The second flaw is that Anthropocene often reflects a colonial, imperial perspective. Much of climate fiction pictures New York or Florida being submerged in movies, yet “Pakistan was actually submerged. A third of this country was underwater two years ago in the summer, and nobody talks about that. It’s not even something that might happen in the future; it is something that actually happened. It is a part of the lived experience of those.”

This supposedly universal “we” in climate storytelling needs to be questioned. In response, Zekavat persuasively embraces using the concept of Chthulucene, allowing us to reconsider the interconnections between the species in nature. He states that the framing of words is essential, giving an example of the shift between ‘global warming’ to ‘climate change’, which incrementally eliminated sceptics and denialists. Anthropocene, however, still obscures responsibility.

Two major misconceptions in climate communication

Zekavat identifies two persistent misunderstandings in climate advocacy:

“If we inform people, they will change”

This assumption misrepresents how human behaviour works. Smokers, for example, are fully aware of the health hazards, but it does not help them change their behavior. Knowledge alone does not lead to action. Likewise, behavior can change without information, such as through propaganda or nudging, which is a term used to get people’s attention gently, by placing small bars of chocolate near the cashier in supermarkets, for instance. “If you want to change energy consumption behavior… change the architecture. People won’t even notice how their behaviour changed, but it will change.”

“one-size-fits-all”

As elaborated in his first book, Satire, Humor and Environmental Crises, climate campaigns must reflect the diversity of habits in different communities around the world, since environmental behaviors come with some degree of abstinence, giving up travel, meat, and convenience. As might be expected, not everyone has the same capacity for sacrifice.

Humor provides a solution to both of these misconceptions. It simultaneously engages audiences on cognitive and emotional levels, making it exceptionally potent. It is also very context-dependent, culturally specific, and deeply tied to who delivers the message and who is targeted. “It reaches the audience at two levels, cognitive, rational, and emotional. So it’s not just giving information cognitively. It’s not scientific writing. There’s also an emotional, visceral, affective, imaginative aspect to that,” Zekavat says.

It is important to underline that humor should not belittle the crisis; instead, it should belittle the deniers. “Instead of poking laughter at the climate crisis, you poke laughter at people who deny the existence of the climate crisis.” Zekavat cautiously reminds us that satire must be used responsibly, as it can reinforce prejudices or punch down on vulnerable groups if misdirected. However, if it is used wisely, it becomes a “moral weapon”, as he aptly describes.

“We must be more open to approaches and strategies that are not established. It doesn’t mean that if something is not as popular or as frequently seen as others, it doesn’t work. Maybe nobody has dared to try them.” Satire is one such overlooked approach, in alternative to apocalyptic narratives. He hopes that environmental campaigns will change their focus from targeting ordinary people to confronting political and corporate powers. “This is a systemic, political issue… not an individual opinion choice.” He concludes.

Our planet’s decline is slow and unjust, and it is driven by choices we can still change. Who we shame, who we comfort, and whose responsibility we point at matters.

Nilüfer Khudaykulov is a Master student in International Politics and Governance at Roskilde University, Denmark, and a DDRN intern.

Through Education and a Camera Lens: How Street Child Brings Quality Education for All to Life

Daniela Padilla — Thu, 13 Nov 2025 12:51:34 +0000

When the United Nations adopted the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, it set out 17 ambitious goals to tackle some of the world’s most urgent challenges. Among them, Goal 4 stands out as both simple and transformative: quality education for all. Behind that promise lies the conviction that education does more than teach literacy and numeracy, it breaks cycles of poverty, reduces inequality, and empowers people to live healthier, more sustainable lives.

As UNESCO has long emphasized, education is not just a right but a catalyst. With the right opportunities to learn, people can claim their voices, shape their futures, and build more peaceful societies. Within this framework, Global Development Education plays a critical role. According to UNICEF, this approach seeks to promote a vision of reality that is interconnected and global, fostering an understanding of shared challenges and encouraging active participation in building a more just, equitable, and sustainable world. It goes beyond the mere transmission of knowledge: it is about cultivating the skills, attitudes, and values needed to face global problems and create a better future.

In this sense, Education for Sustainable Development and Global Citizenship (ESDGC) is not only an academic discipline but also a tool for social transformation. Conceived as a key process within international cooperation, it seeks to ensure meaningful citizen participation in development policies, grounded in solidarity, social justice, and human rights. Far from being isolated initiatives, ESDGC actions are part of broader, planned projects that reach diverse audiences across both the Global North and South. Supported by policymakers, institutions, and civil society, this approach helps close global gaps and unfolds in multiple spaces: from schools and universities to cultural venues, the media, and beyond.

Thus, ideas about education and empowerment are not confined to classrooms. They come to life in unexpected ways, sometimes through community initiatives, sometimes through creative expression, and sometimes, quite simply, through the lens of a camera.

FIFTEEN: A Global Exhibition Journey Reflecting Street Child’s Distinctive Approach

‘FIFTEEN: Through the Lens of the Next Generation’ embodies precisely this spirit of learning and empowerment beyond the classroom. Launched by Street Child to mark its 15th anniversary, the project placed cameras in the hands of 15-year-olds from Bangladesh, Nepal, Nigeria, Uganda, and Ukraine, inviting them to document their own worlds. From conflict zones and refugee camps to remote villages, their photographs capture what it means to be 15 in places where childhood is often shaped by uncertainty and resilience.

Street Child, founded in 2008, is one of the fastest-growing international NGOs working to ensure children are safe, in school, and learning. Present in more than 20 countries, it works to guarantee access to education and child protection in vulnerable communities across Asia, Africa, the Middle East, and Europe. Its teams focus especially on regions where the challenges are greatest and existing humanitarian support is not enough, reaching children who might otherwise be left behind.

What makes Street Child’s approach distinctive is its insistence on working hand in hand with local partners, co-designing solutions that are sustainable, culturally relevant, and aligned with community priorities. In this sense, FIFTEEN is more than an art project, it embodies the very essence of education for sustainable development. The workshops, led by local photographers, gave teenagers not only technical skills but also a platform to express themselves, to tell stories of family, friendship, loss, and hope. Each image is a lesson in resilience, a reminder that empowerment begins when young people are given the tools and trust to define their own narratives.

Human rights are a prerequisite for empowering people to make sustainable choices, and equally important is ensuring participation at every level, ultimately, it is about building genuine communities. And this is precisely what Street Child does. Community is not only the focus of its programs, it is also the foundation of how the organization itself operates. Street Child works as a community and with communities, strengthening and empowering them not only in the countries where programs are delivered but also in the places where its main offices are based across Europe.

Since its foundation, Street Child has built a global network of national entities (including Street Child Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and the Netherlands) that share common values and strive for lasting structural change. Through community empowerment, the organization develops holistic projects that combine educational support, psychosocial assistance, child protection, and livelihood strengthening. Thanks to this approach, Street Child has supported more than 1.5 million children to date.

It is in this same spirit of community that the FIFTEEN exhibition has traveled beyond the countries where the photographs were taken, finding new audiences in London, Barcelona, and Italy. Each stop reflects not only the global reach of the project but also the deep connections Street Child fosters between local realities and international awareness. In London and Barcelona, the exhibition proved to be a remarkable success. In London, home to the headquarters of Street Child’s global network, the exhibition was hosted at the Oxo Gallery in October 2023. It drew strong media coverage and attracted thousands of visitors. Inside, interactive stations invited visitors to donate in support of Street Child’s work or to write a note to their 15-year-old selves, an activity that helped them reconnect with that pivotal stage of life and empathize more deeply with the young photographers behind FIFTEEN.

In Barcelona, where Street Child Spain is based, the exhibition further encouraged a critical understanding of global challenges. From September to December 2024, FIFTEEN was displayed at the Mercè Sala Gallery, located inside Diagonal metro station, one of the city’s busiest transit hubs. The project benefited from both its central location and its free admission policy. In just the first 24 days, 2,322 visitors explored the exhibition, many of whom encountered it spontaneously while commuting.

FIFTEEN was also showcased in Rome, and a selection of its images was presented in Amsterdam as part of an art gallery program. In both cities, the project continued to inspire reflection and spark dialogue, highlighting universal values such as empathy, social justice, equity and respect for human rights.

Humanitarian Aid, Development and the Grand Bargain

Development cooperation, together with education for development and humanitarian aid, can form a powerful combination, a driver of opportunities for vulnerable communities. The FIFTEEN project is a vivid example of how these elements come together to create both awareness and impact.

Yet the humanitarian sector has faced criticism. As Professor Paul B. Spiegel, an expert in humanitarian emergencies, notes, much of the debate that arose in the 1990s centered on the disconnect between emergency relief and long-term development. Humanitarian action often operated under a “short-term and reactive” model, rather than supporting resilience and sustainability. Funding was frequently centralized in large international NGOs, leaving little room for local and national actors, which perpetuated top-down systems and limited empowerment for those closest to crises.In response to these concerns, the Grand Bargain was signed in 2016 by donor countries and major international actors, including UN agencies and the Red Cross. Its goal was to make humanitarian aid more efficient, predictable, and transparent by committing to good donorship, localization, and the transfer of power to local and national organizations. While the agreement has not yet transformed the system as much as expected and progress has been slower than many hoped, Jan Egeland, Secretary General of the Norwegian Refugee Council, reminds us: ‘Progress is slow, but sure.’

Organizations like Street Child demonstrate how local and national actors can take the lead in building sustainable change and resilient communities. This global vision takes concrete form in Spain, where Street Child Spain has firmly aligned its work with the Spanish Law on International Cooperation for Sustainable Development and Global Solidarity, promoted by AECID. Convinced that Education for Sustainable Development and Global Citizenship is essential, it seeks to ensure meaningful citizen engagement through cultivating critical thinking, and on encouraging active involvement in social change. For this reason, Street Child Spain, together with its global network, not only raises awareness but also creates spaces for social participation around the right to education, gender equity, and child protection.

Through projects like FIFTEEN, Street Child demonstrates that education is not confined to classrooms or textbooks, it thrives wherever young people are given tools, trust, and a voice. By combining artistic expression, community collaboration, and global awareness, Street Child empowers children and teenagers to tell their own stories, build resilience, and inspire change. In doing so, the organization embodies the very essence of Sustainable Development Goal 4: a world where every child can learn, grow, and thrive, no matter their circumstances.

Daniela Padilla has a M.Sc. International and Securiy Politics, Catholic University of Lille/ESPOL, France, and is a DDRN Intern

Between Hope and the Brink: The Role of Civil Society in Colombia and Chile as an Agent of Political Influence

Daniela Padilla — Wed, 12 Nov 2025 07:22:58 +0000

Most Latin American countries are considered democracies with relatively high political freedom. However, this does not mean they all share the same democratic quality. As the European Parliamentary Research Service highlights, Chile ranks among the “most free and democratic countries,” while Colombia, labeled a “flawed democracy” and “partly free”, does not appear in the top ten. Despite following different historical paths and facing distinct economic and social challenges, both countries share a crucial feature: relatively high levels of civic participation. This engagement has nurtured a multi-sectoral civil society that has driven some of the region’s most impactful organizations, movements, and policy proposals.

In Latin America, civil society often acts as a political counterweight, especially where institutions are fragile, exclusive, or repressive. In Colombia and Chile, confrontations between mobilized citizens and the state have yielded mixed results: some promising, others deeply frustrating. The dominant narrative of “democratic progress” warrants greater scrutiny. Increases in participation and consultative mechanisms do not guarantee a redistribution of power. Political pluralism remains limited by entrenched structures that privilege certain actors, territories, and discourses. In this context, the formal consolidation of democracy conceals an underlying crisis of representation.

This article critically analyzes Colombia and Chile through the lens of development, focusing on the achievements and limits of civil society as a political actor. It asks not only what has changed, but also what continues to resist transformation despite decades of civic mobilization.

Civil Society as a Political Actor

The term civil society is inherently ambiguous but generally refers to the sphere between the state and the private sector. It encompasses a diverse array of organizations—civic, religious, educational, issue-oriented, and non-governmental. For many scholars, like Jan Aart Scholte -an expert in governance challenges- civic activism is a crucial democratic asset. It addresses widening democratic deficits and, particularly in fragile or conflict-ridden states, helps provide essential services and promote reconciliation.

In both Colombia and Chile, civil society has persisted despite limited support, stigmatization, and at times, outright repression. Its impact is evident in two emblematic moments: Colombia’s 2016 peace plebiscite and Chile’s 2019 social uprising. Following the rejection of the 2016 plebiscite, Colombian civil society mobilized beyond the binary “yes”/ “no” divide, demanding renegotiation and continued dialogue with the FARC. This gave rise to 54 peace-related mobilizations (including marches, sit-ins, and artistic actions) and strengthened a culture of social leadership, especially among university students.

In Chile, protests initiated by high school students over fare hikes quickly escalated into mass mobilizations demanding systemic reform. Citizens voiced frustrations over inequality, inadequate public services, and the lingering legacy of dictatorship. One core demand was a new constitution, which led to a national referendum and the subsequent election of a leftist President. However, in both cases, civic momentum has not fully translated into structural change. In Colombia, inequality persists, security remains fragile, and peace negotiations with other armed groups have faltered. In Chile, despite early optimism, the new constitutional draft was ultimately rejected.

Colombian Civil Society: The Invisible Linchpin of Peace Building

Colombian civil society has long advocated for better public policies, transparency, and victims’ rights, especially where state institutions have fallen short. Over time, it has become a diverse and multi-sectoral actor that amplifies the voices of displaced people, women, Afro-Colombian and Indigenous groups, youth, and victims of violence.

According to the independent Colombian journal “Rutas del Conflicto”, during the peace process with the FARC, civil society, particularly human rights organizations, played a central role in pushing for negotiated solutions and post-conflict justice. A landmark example is the opening of Macro-Case 11 by the Special Jurisdiction for Peace (JEP) in July 2022. This case, the result of years of advocacy by women, LGBTQ+ individuals, and rights groups, seeks to investigate sexual and gender-based violence committed by all armed actors.

This success illustrates how civil society can shape institutional agendas when there is political will. Yet, serious challenges persist. Attacks on social leaders, activists, and organizations, especially in remote regions, continue unabated. The presence of armed groups and limited state protection further restrict meaningful participation, while many grassroots struggles remain invisible due to geographic and media marginalization.

Chilean Social Movements: Drivers of Limited Successes

Chile, often lauded for its democratic freedoms, saw those rights curtailed during the 2019 social uprising, when security forces responded to mass protests with widespread repression and human rights violations. Nonetheless, the movement endured and expanded. Sparked by student protests over fare hikes, it soon grew into a national call for deep structural change, targeting inequality, low wages, and weak public services. A central demand was the drafting of a new constitution to replace the one inherited from the Pinochet dictatorship.

In response, a multi-party agreement in 2021 led to the election of a Constitutional Convention with strong civil society participation. The convention achieved notable milestones, such as gender parity and Indigenous representation—an example of inclusive democratic innovation. However, the momentum faltered. In the 2022 national referendum, nearly 62% of voters rejected the proposed constitution. While civic activism helped bring the process into being, it could not secure its approval.

Analysts cite several factors: lack of sustained political support, an aggressive media campaign framing the draft as radical, and societal resistance to reforms such as legal abortion, gender parity, and Indigenous autonomy. More broadly, the defeat exposed a cultural and symbolic divide. Without widespread civic education or a unifying national narrative, even robust mobilization can fail to consolidate change. The Chilean case underscores that beyond institutional access; civil society must also contest the terrain of cultural legitimacy.

Toward Critical Development: Civil Society and Resistance from the Margins

The cases of Colombia and Chile illustrate that a strong, independent civil society is essential to democratic life—but not sufficient for deep, structural transformation. Despite its central role in shaping policies and demanding justice, civil society still operates within institutional frameworks largely controlled by entrenched political and economic elites. Milestones such as Colombia’s Macro-Case 11, Chile’s constitutional process, and the election of reformist leaders reflect significant civic influence. Yet, without sustained protection for activists and mechanisms for real power redistribution, these victories remain fragile.

In both countries, the most transformative forces often emerge from the margins—led by Indigenous women, youth, rural communities, and LGBTQ+ collectives- actors historically excluded from formal politics and dominant narratives. Their resistance has not only exposed systemic failures but also reimagined the boundaries of democratic participation. However, this “resistance from the margins” continues to be under-recognized, underfunded, and vulnerable.

A truly critical approach to development requires shifting the lens away from institutional performance or technocratic benchmarks toward the lived realities and political struggles of those challenging injustice on the ground. It means understanding democracy not just as a system of procedures, but as an ongoing contest over meaning, legitimacy, and inclusion. International cooperation must evolve accordingly. Rather than imposing depoliticized agendas, it must support political and ethical alliances that respect local autonomy and align with grassroots visions of justice. Civil society needs more than financial aid; it needs committed accompaniment across the full spectrum of struggle: from protest to policy, from mobilization to institutional change.

In short, civil society in Colombia and Chile has been a crucial force for denouncing inequality, expanding participation, and envisioning alternative futures. But its capacity to transform the system remains constrained by the very structures it seeks to reform. Recognizing this tension is not a defeatist gesture, it is the starting point for imagining more honest, strategic, and radical forms of civic engagement.

Daniela Padilla has a M.Sc. International and Securiy Politics, Catholic University of Lille/ESPOL, France, and is a DDRN Intern

Join the Course in Science Journalism for Master students!

Arne Wangel — Fri, 24 Oct 2025 19:44:45 +0000

Time: Tuesdays 11 November, 18 November, 2 December, 9 December – from 5pm to 7pm. Place: Danish Union of Journalists – Media & Communication Gammel Strand 50 (Meeting Room), Copenhagen K., Metro: Gammel Strand Language: English Fee of participation: DKK 100

Are you a master’s student or a recent graduate with a passion for research, storytelling, and science journalism? Would you like to communicate significant science stories, e.g. based on your own Master thesis work? Do you want to gain experience while earning an official certification? Then this might be exactly what you’re looking for.

Join us for an engaging series of four science journalism sessions designed for curious minds who want to bridge the two worlds of research and communication. Led by experienced journalists, the sessions take a practical, hands-on approach, guiding you through different stages of the editorial process, from preparing a strong pitch and writing your first draft to framing your story in a way that connects with your audience.

By the end of the course, you’ll receive a certificate of completion, as well as a one-year membership in the Science Journalism Association of Denmark. This membership gives you access to a vibrant community of professionals, networking events, and editorial workshops, offering you opportunities to connect with peers, editors, and media organizations active in science communication.

Seats are limited (max. 50), so don’t wait too long to secure your spot! Deadline is 11 Nov. noon. Refreshments are served.

Join us and discover how to turn your curiosity and research insights into compelling stories that make a difference.

Click here to register!

Payment of Participation Fee: Transfer DKK 100 by MobilePay 55279 or via bank transfer Reg.nr. 1551 Account no. 0008249970

COURSE PROGRAMME

1^st session – Tuesday 11 November 2025, 5-7pm:

Speaker: Peter Hyldgård, Head of Communications, The Royal Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters. Co-author and editor of the book “Share your research: a hands-on guide to successful science communication” Topic: The basics of science journalism – identifying the strong stories in academic research.

2nd session – Tuesday 18 November 2025, 5-7pm:

Speaker: Aslak Gottlieb, Consultant on media habits of youth and pathways to professional newsrooms. Topic: Beyond news fatigue of youth and the classical news values: Practicing the alternative Copenhagen Criteria defined by youth.

3nd session – Tuesday 2 December 2025, 5-7pm

Speaker: Gunver Lystbæk Vestergård, Science journalist, Weekendavisen, writing on physics, astronomy, space travel and the history of sciences: Live report from World Congress of Science Journalism in Pretoria, South Africa – “Science journalism and social justice: Journalism that builds understanding and resilience”. Key take home messages from the World Congress.

Speaker: Lise Josefsen Hermann, Freelance Science journalist. Topic: How to report on science in Global South – my experiences in the field, currently for the CISU communication project: The climate crisis connects youth in Latin America and youth in Denmark.

4th session – Tuesday 9 December 2025, 5-7pm:

Speaker: Anders Høeg Lammers, Researchers’ editor, Videnskab.dk Topic: Connecting researchers with the readers. How to make an impact with your science journalism in a non-academic language

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