Gender Equity

Sheinbaum calls for nationwide review of sexual harassment laws, as attack shines light on Mexico’s poor record on women’s safety.

Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum has called for sexual harassment to be made a crime nationwide after being groped on the street while greeting supporters near the presidential palace in Mexico City.

Sheinbaum, 63, said on Wednesday that she had pressed charges against the man and would review nationwide legislation on sexual harassment following the attack by a drunk man who put his arm around her shoulder, and with the other hand touched her hip and chest, while attempting to kiss her neck.

Mexico’s first woman president removed the man’s hands before a member of her staff stepped between them. The president’s security detail did not appear to be nearby at the moment of the attack, which was caught on camera.

The man was later arrested.

“My thinking is: If I don’t file a complaint, what becomes of other Mexican women? If this happens to the president, what will happen to all the women in our country?” Sheinbaum told her regular morning news conference on Wednesday.

In a post on social media, the president said the attack was “something that many women experience in the country and in the world”.

Presenté una denuncia por el episodio de acoso que viví ayer en la Ciudad de México. Debe quedar claro que, más allá de ser presidenta, esto es algo que viven muchas mujeres en el país y en el mundo; nadie puede vulnerar nuestro cuerpo y espacio personal.

Revisaremos la… pic.twitter.com/jcs6FweI6q

— Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo (@Claudiashein) November 5, 2025

Translation: I filed a complaint for the harassment episode that I experienced yesterday in Mexico City. It must be clear that, beyond being president, this is something that many women experience in the country and in the world; no one can violate our body and personal space. We will review the legislation so that this crime is punishable in all 32 states.

Sheinbaum explained that the incident occurred when she and her team had decided to walk from the National Palace to the Education Ministry to save time. She said they could walk the route in five minutes, rather than taking a 20-minute car ride.

She also called on states across Mexico to look at their laws and procedures to make it easier for women to report such assaults and said Mexicans needed to hear a “loud and clear, no, women’s personal space must not be violated”.

Mexico’s 32 states and Mexico City, which is a federal entity, all have their own criminal codes, and not all states consider sexual harassment a crime.

“It should be a criminal offence, and we are going to launch a campaign,” Sheinbaum said, adding that she had suffered similar attacks in her youth.

The incident has put the focus on Mexico’s troubling record on women’s safety, with sexual harassment commonplace and rights groups warning of a femicide crisis, and the United Nations reporting that an average of 10 women are murdered every day in the country.

About 70 percent of Mexican women aged 15 and over will also experience at least one incident of sexual harassment in their lives, according to the UN.

The attack also focused criticism on Sheinbaum’s security detail and on her insistence on maintaining a degree of intimacy with the public, despite Mexican politicians regularly being a target of cartel violence.

But Sheinbaum dismissed any suggestion that she would increase her security or change how she interacts with people following the incident.

At nationwide rallies in September to mark her first year in power, the president allowed supporters to embrace her and take selfies.

Growing up in Rawalpindi, a city adjacent to Pakistan’s capital Islamabad, Mahnoor Omer remembers the shame and anxiety she felt in school when she had periods. Going to the toilet with a sanitary pad was an act of stealth, like trying to cover up a crime.

“I used to hide my pad up my sleeve like I was taking narcotics to the bathroom,” says Omer, who comes from a middle-class family – her father a businessman and her mother a homemaker. “If someone talked about it, teachers would put you down.” A classmate once told her that her mother considered pads “a waste of money”.

“That’s when it hit me,” says Omer. “If middle-class families think this way, imagine how out of reach these products are for others.”

Now 25, Omer has gone from cautious schoolgirl to national centrestage in a battle that could reshape menstrual hygiene in Pakistan, a country where critics say economics is compounding social stigma to punish women – simply for being women.

In September, Omer, a lawyer, petitioned the Lahore High Court, challenging what she and many others say is effectively a “period tax” imposed by Pakistan on its more than 100 million women.

Pakistani governments have, under the Sales Tax Act of 1990, long charged an 18 percent sales tax on locally manufactured sanitary pads and a customs tax of 25 percent on imported ones, as well as on raw materials needed to make them. Add on other local taxes, and UNICEF Pakistan says that these pads are often effectively taxed at about 40 percent.

Omer’s petition argues that these taxes – which specifically affect women – are discriminatory, and violate a series of constitutional provisions that guarantee equality and dignity, elimination of exploitation and the promotion of social justice.

In a country where menstruation is already a taboo subject in most families, Omer and other lawyers and activists supporting the petition say that the taxes make it even harder for most Pakistani women to access sanitary products. A standard pack of commercially branded sanitary pads in Pakistan currently costs about 450 rupees ($1.60) for 10 pieces. In a country with a per capita income of $120 a month, that’s the cost of a meal of rotis and dal for a low-income family of four. Cut the cost by 40 percent – the taxes – and the calculations become less loaded against sanitary pads.

At the moment, only 12 percent of Pakistani women use commercially produced sanitary pads, according to a 2024 study by UNICEF and the WaterAid nonprofit. The rest improvise using cloth or other materials, and often do not even have access to clean water to wash themselves.

“If this petition goes forward, it’s going to make pads affordable,” says Hira Amjad, the founder and executive director of Dastak Foundation, a Pakistani nonprofit whose work is focused on promoting gender equality and combating violence against women.

And that, say lawyers and activists, could serve as a spark for broader social change.

The court docket describes the case as Mahnoor Omer against senior officials of the government of Pakistan. But that’s not what it feels like to Omer.

“It feels like women versus Pakistan.”

‘It’s not shameful’

Bushra Mahnoor, founder of Mahwari Justice, a Pakistani student-led organisation whose name translates to “menstrual justice”, realised early just how much of a struggle it could be to access sanitary pads.

Mahnoor – no relation to Omer – grew up in Attock, a city in the northwestern part of Pakistan’s Punjab province, with four sisters. “Every month, I had to check if there were enough pads. If my period came when one of my sisters had hers too,” finding a pad was a challenge, she says.

The struggle continued in school, where, as was the case with Omer, periods were associated with shame. A teacher once made one of her classmates stand for two entire lectures because her white uniform was stained. “That was dehumanising,” she says.

Mahnoor was 10 when she had her first period. “I didn’t know how to use a pad. I stuck it upside down; the sticky side touched my skin. It was painful. No one tells you how to manage it.”

She says that shame was never hers alone, but it’s part of a silence which starts at home and accompanies girls into adulthood. A study on menstrual health in Pakistan shows that eight out of 10 girls feel embarrassed or uncomfortable when talking about periods, and two out of three girls report never having received information about menstruation before it began. The findings, published in the Frontiers in Public Health journal in 2023, link this silence to poor hygiene, social exclusion and missed school days.

In 2022, when floods devastated Pakistan, Mahnoor began Mahwari Justice to ensure that relief camps did not overlook the menstrual needs of women. “We began distributing pads and later realised there’s so much more to be done,” she says. Her organisation has distributed more than 100,000 period kits – each containing pads, soap, underwear, detergent and painkillers – and created rap songs and comics to normalise conversations about menstruation. “When you say the word ‘mahwari’ out loud, you’re teaching people it’s not shameful,” she says. “It’s just life.”

The same floods also influenced Amjad, the Dastak Foundation founder, though her nonprofit has been around for a decade now. Its work now also includes distributing period kits during natural disasters.

But the social stigma associated with menstruation is also closely tied to economics in the ways in which its impact plays out for Pakistani women, suggests Amjad.

“In most households, it’s the men who make financial decisions,” she says. “Even if the woman is bringing the money, she’s giving it to the man, and he is deciding where that money needs to go.”

And if the cost of women’s health feels too high, that’s often compromised. “[With] the inflated prices due to the tax, there is no conversation in many houses about whether we should buy pads,” she says. “It’s an expense they cannot afford organically.”

According to the 2023 study in the Frontiers in Public Health, over half of Pakistani women are not able to afford sanitary pads.

If the taxes are removed, and menstrual hygiene becomes more affordable, the benefits will extend beyond health, says Amjad.

School attendance rates for girls could improve, she said. Currently, more than half of Pakistan’s girls in the five to 16 age group are not in school, according to the United Nations. “We will have stress-free women. We will have happier and healthier women.”

‘Feeling of justice’

Omer says her interest in women’s and minority rights began early. “What inspired me was just seeing the blatant mistreatment every day,” she says. “The economic, physical, and verbal exploitation that women face, whether it’s on the streets, in the media, or inside homes, never sat right with me.”

She credits her mother for making her grow up to be an empathetic and understanding person.

After completing school, she worked as a gender and criminal justice consultant at Crossroads Consultants, a Pakistan-based firm that collaborates with NGOs and development partners on gender and criminal justice reform. At the age of 19, she also volunteered at Aurat March, an annual women’s rights movement and protest held across Pakistan on International Women’s Day – it’s a commitment she has kept up since then.

Her first step into activism came at 16, when she and her friends started putting together “dignity kits”, small care packages for women in low-income neighbourhoods of Islamabad. “We would raise funds with bake sales or use our own money,” she recalls.

The money she was able to raise enabled her to distribute about 300 dignity kits that she and her friends made themselves. They each contained pads, underwear, pain medication and wipes. But she wanted to do more.

She got a chance when she started working at the Supreme Court in early 2025, first as a law clerk. She’s currently pursuing postgraduate studies in gender, peace and security at the London School of Economics and says that she will go back to Pakistan to resume her practice after she graduates.

She became friends with fellow lawyer Ahsan Jehangir Khan, who specialises in taxation and constitutional law. The plan to challenge the “period tax” emerged from their conversations.

“He pushed me to file this petition and try to get justice instead of just sitting around.”

Khan, who is a co-petitioner in the case, says that fighting the taxes is about more than accessibility and affordability of sanitary pads – it’s about justice. “It’s a tax on a biological function,” he says.

Tax policies in Pakistan, he says, are written by “a privileged elite, mostly men who have never had to think about what this tax means for ordinary women”. The constitution, he adds, “is very clear that you cannot have anything discriminatory against any gender whatsoever”.

To Amjad, the Dastak Foundation founder, the fight for menstrual hygiene is closely tied to her other passion – the struggle against climate change. The extreme weather-related crisis, such as floods, that Pakistan has faced in recent times, she says, hit women particularly hard.

She remembers the trauma many women she worked with after the 2022 floods described to her. “Imagine that you are living in a tent and you have mahwari [menstruation] for the first time,” she says. “You are not mentally prepared for it. You are running for your life. You don’t have access to safety or security. That trauma is a trauma for life.”

As temperatures rise on average, women will need to change sanitary pads more frequently during their periods – and a lack of adequate access will prove an even bigger problem, Amjad warns. She supports the withdrawal of taxes on sanitary pads – but only those made from cotton, not plastic ones that “take thousands of years to decompose”.

Amjad is also campaigning for paid menstruation leave. “I have come across women who were fired because they had pain during periods and couldn’t work,” she says. “When you are menstruating, one part of your brain is on menstruation. You can’t really focus properly.”

Meanwhile, opponents of the taxes are hoping that Omer’s petition will pressure the Pakistani government to follow other nations such as India, Nepal and the United Kingdom that have abolished their period taxes.

Taking on that mantle against the government’s policies didn’t come easily to Omer. Her parents, she says, were nervous at first about their daughter going to court against the government. “They said it’s never a good idea to take on the state,” she says.

Now, they’re proud of her, she says. “They understand why this matters.”

To her, the case is not just a legal fight. “When I think of this case, the picture that comes to mind … It’s not a courtroom, it’s a feeling of justice,” she says. “It makes me feel a sense of pride to be able to do this and take this step without fear.”

Melbourne, Australia – Lee Little recalls the phone call with her daughter in December 2017; it was just minutes before Alicia was killed.

“I spoke to her 15 minutes before she died,” Little told Al Jazeera.

“I asked her, was she OK? Did you want us to come up to pick you up? And she said, ‘No, I’ve got my car. I’m right, Mum, everything’s packed.’”

Alicia Little was on the verge of finally leaving an abusive four-and-a-half-year relationship.

Not only had Alicia rung her mother, but she had also called the police emergency hotline for assistance, as her fiance Charles Evans fell into a drunken rage.

Alicia knew what to expect from her partner: extreme violence.

Evans had a history of abuse towards Alicia, with her mother recounting to Al Jazeera the first time it occurred.

“The first time he actually bashed her, she was on the phone to me. And the next minute, I heard him come across and try to grab her phone,” Little said.

“I heard her say, ‘Get your hands off my throat. I can’t breathe.’ And the next minute, you hear him say, ‘You’re better off dead.’”

Little told how she had taken photos of her daughter’s terrible injuries.

“She had broken ribs. She had a broken cheekbone, broken jaw, black eyes, and where he’d had her around the throat, you could see his finger marks. It was a bruise, and where he’d give her a kick, and right down the side, you could see his foot marks.”

Like many abusive relationships, a pattern would emerge, whereby Alicia would leave temporarily, only to return after Evans promised to change his behaviour.

“This went on and off for the four and a half years,” Little said.

“He’d bash her, she’d come home, and then she’d say to me, ‘Mum, he’s told me that he’s gone and got help.’”

Yet the violence only escalated.

On the night Alicia decided to leave for good, Evans drove his four-wheel-drive at her, pinning her between the front of the vehicle and a water tank.

Alicia Little, aged 41 and a mother of two boys, died within minutes before the police she had called could arrive.

As she lay drawing her final breaths, security camera footage would later show her killer drinking beer at the local pub, where he drove to after running Alicia down.

Evans was arrested, and after initially being charged with murder, had his charges downgraded to dangerous driving causing death and failing to render assistance after a motor vehicle accident.

He would walk free from jail after only two years and eight months.

The statistics

Alicia Little is just one of the many women in Australia killed every year, in what activists such as The Red Heart Campaign’s Sherele Moody are saying is so prevalent that it amounts to a “femicide”: the targeted killing of women by men.

According to government data, one woman was killed in Australia every eight days on average between 2023-2024.

Moody, who documents the killings, contests those statistics, telling Al Jazeera they do not represent the true scale of deadly attacks on women in the country.

Government data records “domestic homicide”; women killed resulting in a conviction of murder or manslaughter.

As in the case of Alicia Little, the lesser charges her killer was convicted on related to motoring offences and do not amount to a domestic homicide under government reporting and are not reflected in the statistics.

“One of the key weapons that perpetrators use against women in Australia is vehicles,” Moody told Al Jazeera.

“They almost always get charged with dangerous driving, causing death. That is not a homicide charge. It doesn’t get counted despite it being a domestic violence act, an act of domestic violence perpetrated by a partner,” Moody said.

“The government underrepresents the epidemic of violence. And in the end, the numbers that they’re using influence their policy. It influences their funding decisions. It influences how they speak to us as a community about violence against women,” she said.

Moody said that between January 2024 and June this year, she had documented 136 killings of women; many – like Alicia Little – by their partners. “Ninety-six percent of the deaths I record are perpetrated by men.”

“Around 60 percent of the deaths are the result of domestic and family violence,” she said.

While much focus is on women’s safety in public spaces – for example, walking home alone at night – Moody said the least safe place for a woman is actually in her own home.

“The reality is that if you’re going to be killed, whether you’re a man or woman or a child, you’re going to be killed by someone you know,” she said.

Data shows that only about 10 percent of female victims are killed by strangers, deaths often sensationally covered by the media and prompting public debate about women’s safety.

“Yes, stranger killings do happen, and when they do, they get a lot of focus and a lot of attention, and it lulls people into a false sense of security about who is perpetrating the violence,” Moody said.

Male violence in Australia

Patty Kinnersly, CEO of Our Watch, a national task force to prevent violence against women, said attacks on women are the “most extreme outcome of broader patterns of gendered violence and inequality”.

“When we refer to the gendered drivers of violence, we are talking about the social conditions and power imbalances that create the environment where this violence occurs,” Kinnersly said.

“These include condoning or excusing violence against women, men’s control of decision-making, rigid gender stereotypes and dominant forms of masculinity, and male peer relations that promote aggression and disrespect towards women,” she said.

“Addressing the gendered drivers is vital because violence against women is not random; it reflects deeply entrenched inequalities and norms in society. If we do not address these root causes, we cannot achieve long-term prevention,” she added.

Patterns of male violence are deeply rooted in Australia’s colonial history, in which men are told they need to be physically and mentally tough, normalising male aggression, write authors Alana Piper and Ana Stevenson.

“For much of the 19th century, men far outnumbered women within the European population of the Australian colonies. This produced a culture that prized hyper-masculinity as a national ideal,” they write.

Colonial male aggression also resulted in extreme violence perpetrated on Indigenous women during the frontier times, through rape and massacres.

Misogyny and racism were also promoted in Australia’s parliament during the 20th century, as legislators crafted assimilationist laws aimed at controlling the lives of Indigenous women and removing their children as part of what has become known as the “Stolen Generations”.

Up to a third of Indigenous children were removed from their families as part of a suite of government policies between 1910 and 1970, resulting in widespread cultural genocide and intergenerational social, economic and health disparities.

This legacy of colonial racism and discrimination continues to play out in vast socioeconomic inequalities experienced by Indigenous people in the present day, including violence against women, activists say.

Recent government data shows that Indigenous women are 34 times more likely to be hospitalised due to violence than non-Indigenous women in Australia and six times more likely to die as a result of family violence.

“Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women are among the most at-risk groups for family violence and intimate partner homicide in Australia,” First Nations Advocates Against Family Violence (FNAAFV) Chief Executive Officer Kerry Staines told Al Jazeera.

“These disproportionately high rates are the result of historical injustice and ongoing systemic failure,” Staines said, including forced displacement of Indigenous communities, child removals and the breakdown of family structures.

“Many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities have been affected by multigenerational trauma caused by institutional abuse, incarceration and marginalisation. When trauma is left unaddressed, and support services are inadequate or culturally unsafe, the risk of violence, including within relationships, increases,” she said.

Indigenous women are also the fastest-growing prison cohort in Australia.

On any given night, four out of 10 women in prison are Indigenous women, despite making up only 2.5 per cent of the adult female population.

Staines said there is a nexus between domestic violence and incarceration.

“There is a clear and well-documented relationship between the hyper-incarceration of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples and the high rates of family violence experienced in our communities,” she said.

“The removal of parents and caregivers from families due to imprisonment increases the likelihood of child protection involvement, housing instability and intergenerational trauma, all of which are risk factors for both perpetration and victimisation of family violence.”

‘Toxic culture’

While Australia was one of the first Western countries to grant women voting rights, deeply rooted inequalities persisted through much of the 20th century, with women being excluded from much of public and civic life, including employment in the government sector and the ability to sit on juries, until the 1970s.

This exclusion from positions of authority – including the judicial system – allowed a culture of “victim blaming” to develop, particularly in instances of domestic abuse and sexual assault, activists say.

Rather than holding male perpetrators to account and addressing violence, focus remained on the actions of female victims: what they may have been wearing, where they had been, and prior sexual histories as a basis for apportioning blame to those who had suffered the consequences of gender-based violence.

Such was the case with Isla Bell, a 19-year-old woman from Melbourne, who police allege was beaten to death in October 2024.

Media reporting on Isla’s death focused largely on her personal life and provided graphic details about her death, while little attention was given to the two men who were charged with Isla’s alleged murder.

Isla’s mother, Justine Spokes, said the reporting “felt really abusive”.

“The way in which my daughter’s murder was reported on just highlights the pervasive toxic culture that is systemic in Australia,” said Spokes, describing a “victim-blaming narrative” around the killing of her daughter.

“It was written in a really biased way that felt really disrespectful, devaluing and dehumanising,” she said, adding that society had become desensitised to male violence against women in Australia.

“It’s just become so normalised, which I think is actually a sign of trauma, that we’re numb to it. It’s been pervasive for that long. If that’s the mainstream psyche in Australia, it’s just so dangerous,” she said.

“I really think that this pervasive, toxic, misogynistic culture, it’s definitely written into our law. It’s very colonial,” she added.

The Australian government, led by Prime Minister Anthony Albanese, has committed to the ambitious task of tackling violence against women within a generation.

A spokesperson from the Department of Social Services told Al Jazeera the government has invested 4 billion Australian dollars ($2.59bn) to deliver on the National Plan to End Violence Against Women and Children 2022-2032.

“The Australian Government acknowledges the significant levels of violence against women and children including intimate partner homicides,” the spokesperson said in a statement.

“Ending gender-based violence remains a national priority for the Australian Government. Our efforts to end gender based violence in one generation are not set-and-forget – we are rigorously tracking, measuring and assessing our efforts, and making change where we must,” the spokesperson added.

Yet for Lee Little, mother of Alicia Little who was killed in 2017, not enough is being done, and she does not feel justice was served in the case of her daughter, describing the killer’s light sentence as “gut-wrenching”.

Little is now petitioning for a national domestic violence database in a bid to hold perpetrators accountable and allow women to gain access to information regarding prior convictions.

“Our family would love a national database, because perpetrators, at this moment, anywhere in Australia, can do a crime in one state and move to another, and they’re not recognised” as offenders in their new location, she said.

Little said public transparency around prior convictions would protect women from entering into potentially abusive relationships in the first place.

Yet the Australian federal government has yet to implement such a database, in part due to the complexities of state jurisdictions.

The federal attorney-general’s office told Al Jazeera that “primary responsibility for family violence and criminal matters rests with the states and territories, with each managing their own law enforcement and justice systems”.

“Creation of a publicly accessible national register of perpetrators of family violence could only be implemented with the support of state and territory governments, who manage the requisite data and legislation.”

Despite the apparent intransigence in law, Little remains committed to calling out violence against women wherever she sees it.

“I’ve been to supermarkets where there’s been abuse in front of me, and I’ve stepped in,” she said.

“I will be a voice for Alicia and for a national database till my last breath,” she added.

On a recent evening in Senegal’s capital, Dakar, an imam named Ibrahima Diane explained to a group of men why they ought to be more involved in household chores.

“The prophet himself says that a man who does not help to support his wife and children is not a good Muslim,” said the 53-year-old, as he described bathing his baby and assisting his wife with other duties.

Some of the men chuckled, not entirely convinced, while others applauded.

Diane was participating in a “school for husbands”, a United Nations-backed initiative in which respected male community members learn about “positive masculinity” in relation to health and social issues, and promote these concepts within their communities.

In Senegal, as in many other West African countries with large rural or conservative populations, men often have the final say in major household decisions, including those related to health.

Women may require their husbands’ permission for life-changing decisions, such as accessing family planning or other reproductive health services, as well as hospital deliveries or prenatal care.

After attending the school for husbands, Diane regularly delivers sermons during Friday prayers, in which he discusses issues around gender and reproductive health, from gender-based violence to combating stigma surrounding HIV.

“Many women appreciate my sermons,” he said. “They say their husbands’ behaviour has changed since attending them.” He added that some men have told him the sermons inspired them to become more caring husbands and fathers.

The programme was launched in Senegal in 2011, but in recent years has attracted the attention of the Ministry of Women, Family, Gender and Child Protection, which regards it as an effective strategy for combatting maternal and infant mortality.

“Without men’s involvement, attitudes towards maternal health will not change,” said Aida Diouf, a 54-year-old female health worker who collaborates with the programme. Many husbands prefer their wives not to be treated by male health workers, she explained.

Discussions for men have also focused on girls’ rights, equality, and the harmful effects of female genital mutilation.

The programme now operates at least 20 schools throughout Senegal, and more than 300 men have been trained.

In some communities, men who once enforced patriarchal norms now promote gender equality, a shift which has led to a reduction in the number of forced marriages and greater acceptance of family planning, according to Senegal’s Ministry of Gender.

Men join the groups after being recruited based on trust, leadership and commitment. Candidates must be married, respected locally, and supportive of women’s health and rights.

After training, the men serve as peer educators, visiting homes and hosting informal discussions.

Although maternal and infant deaths in Senegal have declined over the past decade, experts say there is still much progress to be made. The country recorded 237 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births in 2023, and 21 newborns out of every 1,000 died within their first month. The UN’s global target is to reduce maternal deaths to 70 per 100,000 live births and newborn deaths to under 12 per 1,000 by 2030.

A key problem is that many women have continued to give birth at home, said El Hadj Malick, one of the programme’s coordinators.

“By educating men about the importance of supporting their wives during pregnancy, taking them to hospital and helping with domestic work at home, you are protecting people’s health,” Malick said.

He noted that he still encounters difficulty in changing attitudes on some issues.

“But when we focus on women’s right to be healthy, it gives a human face to the concept and it becomes universal,” Malick said.

Marius Borg Hoiby faces up to 10 years in prison after being charged with 32 criminal offences, including rape.

The son of Norway’s crown princess has been charged with raping four women, domestic violence, assault and other crimes following a yearlong police investigation, according to prosecutors.

Marius Borg Hoiby, 28, son of Crown Princess Mette-Marit and stepson of the heir to the throne, Crown Prince Haakon, is expected to stand trial early next year and could face up to 10 years in prison if found guilty of the most serious charges, Oslo state attorney Sturla Henriksbo said on Monday.

Hoiby denies the most serious accusations against him but plans to plead guilty to some lesser charges in court when the trial starts, his lawyer Petar Sekulic told the Reuters news agency.

“He does not agree with the claims regarding rape and domestic violence,” Sekulic said of his client.

Hoiby was charged on Monday with 32 criminal offences, including one count of rape with sexual intercourse and three counts of rape without intercourse, some of which he filmed on his telephone, the prosecution said.

Henriksbo estimates the trial could begin in mid-January and take about six weeks.

Hoiby does not have a royal title and is outside the line of royal succession.

“It is up to the courts to hear this case and to reach a decision,” the royal palace said in a statement.

The prosecutor said Hoiby, as a member of the royal family, would not be treated “more lightly or more severely” than anyone else in similar circumstances.

Domestic abuse

Police in November last year held Hoiby in detention for one week as part of the investigation.

In August of last year, Hoiby was named as a suspect of physical assault against a woman with whom he had been in a relationship – the only victim identified by the prosecution, Nora Haukland.

“The violence consisted, among other things, of him repeatedly hitting her in the face, including with a clenched fist, choking her, kicking her and grabbing her hard,” the prosecutor said.

Hoiby, in a statement to the media at the time, admitted to causing bodily harm to the woman while he was under the influence of cocaine and alcohol and of damaging her apartment. He had stated then that he regretted his actions.

According to media reports, he spent time with gang members, Hells Angels bikers and members of Oslo’s Albanian mafia. In 2023, police contacted him to discuss his hangouts with “notorious criminals”.

It emerged last year that Hoiby had already been arrested in 2017 for using cocaine at a music festival.

On May 25, Olorato Mongale, a 30-year-old woman from South Africa, went on a date with a man she had recently met.

Less than two hours later, she was dead.

Her half-naked body was found by the roadside in Lombardy West, a suburb north of Johannesburg. It showed signs of severe trauma and bruising. Investigators concluded that she had been murdered elsewhere and dumped at the scene.

Her brutal and senseless killing led to a wave of grief and outrage on social media. Days later, a family spokesperson revealed that Mongale – a master’s student at the University of the Witwatersrand – had once worked as a journalist. She left the profession seven years ago due to the emotional toll of reporting on gender-based violence and femicide (GBVF).

Her family said Mongale had grown increasingly anxious about her own vulnerability to male violence. In particular, the 2017 murder of 22-year-old Karabo Mokoena haunted her. Mokoena was stabbed to death by her ex-boyfriend, Sandile Mantsoe, who then burned her body beyond recognition and buried the remains in open grassland in Lyndhurst – a suburb just kilometres from where Mongale’s body was found.

Despite her conscious efforts to avoid Mokoena’s fate, Mongale ultimately became what she had feared most: another name added to the long and growing list of South African women murdered by men.

At her funeral on June 1, her mother, Keabetswe Mongale, said her daughter had tried desperately to fight off her attacker.

“When I saw her at the government mortuary, I could see that my daughter fought. She fought until her nails broke,” she said.

Her devastating death serves as a stark reminder that women and girls across South Africa continue to face an existential threat from gender-based violence, despite years of government promises and reforms.

On May 24, 2024, President Cyril Ramaphosa signed into law a bill establishing the National Council on Gender-Based Violence and Femicide. The body is mandated to provide leadership and coordination in the fight against GBVF. While it appeared to be a step forward, it did not represent a transformative policy shift.

This is not the first such initiative. In 2012, then-Deputy President Kgalema Motlanthe launched the National Council Against Gender-Based Violence, with a similar mandate to coordinate national anti-GBV efforts.

More than a decade later, with yet another council in place, GBVF crimes continue.

In November 2023, the Human Sciences Research Council (HSRC) of South Africa released the country’s first national study on GBVF. It found that the persistence of gender-based violence is rooted in “deeply ingrained societal norms and structures that perpetuate male dominance and reinforce gender hierarchies … leading to female subordination, systemic inequalities, and violence against women”.

The destructive effect of entrenched patriarchy is undeniable. In South Africa, a woman is murdered every three hours. That is approximately 8 women a day. One study estimates that around 7.8 million women in the country have experienced physical or sexual violence.

While women of all races and backgrounds are affected, Black women face higher rates of GBVF – an enduring legacy of apartheid and its structural inequalities.

This crisis is not unique to South Africa. The terror faced by women and girls is a continent-wide phenomenon.

In November 2024, the United Nations published its report Femicides in 2023: Global Estimates of Intimate Partner/Family Member Femicides, revealing that Africa had the world’s highest rate of partner-related femicide that year.

Kenya stands out for its staggering figures.

Between September 2023 and December 2024, the country recorded more than 7,100 cases of sexual and gender-based violence. These included the murders of at least 100 women by male acquaintances, relatives, or intimate partners in just four months.

Among the victims was Rebecca Cheptegei, a Ugandan Olympian and mother of two, who competed in the marathon at the 2024 Paris Games. On September 5, 2024, she died in Eldoret, Kenya, from severe burns after her former partner doused her in petrol and set her alight during a domestic dispute. He himself later died in a hospital from his injuries.

The Kenyan government later recognised GBVF as the most pressing security challenge facing the country — a belated but crucial move.

On May 26, Kenya’s National Gender and Equality Commission noted that the surge in GBVF crimes was driven by “a complex interplay of cultural, social, economic, and legal factors”. Patriarchal traditions continue to fuel inequality and legitimise violence, while harmful practices such as forced marriage, female genital mutilation (FGM), and dowry-related violence further endanger women’s lives. Economic hardship and women’s financial dependence only deepen their vulnerability.

Across the continent, we are witnessing a dangerous resurgence of archaic patriarchal norms.

The COVID-19 lockdowns in 2020 further exposed the scale of the crisis. Since then, countless behavioural change campaigns have been launched, but they have largely failed.

This is no surprise.

According to Afrobarometer data from November 2023, nearly 48 percent of all Africans believe domestic violence is a private matter, not a criminal offence.

The uncomfortable truth is that many African men, regardless of education or economic status, do not prioritise the safety or rights of women and girls.

On International Women’s Day last year, South African rugby captain Siya Kolisi said it plainly: “Men are not doing enough.”

Indeed, many continue to uphold harmful customs such as child marriage and remain disengaged from efforts to protect women. Years of empty rhetoric have led to a growing body count.

It is time for African men to take full ownership of this crisis and commit to radical change.

They must reject cultural practices and ideals of manhood that dehumanise women. African cultures are not unchangeable, and patriarchy is not destiny. A new, egalitarian model of African masculinity must be nurtured — one based on dignity, equality, and nonviolence.

This cultural reorientation must begin in families and be sustained through schools, religious and traditional forums, and community life.

It must happen for Olarato Mongale. For Rebecca Cheptegei. For the thousands of others whose lives were stolen.

And most urgently, it must happen for the women and girls across Africa who live each day knowing that their greatest threat may come from the men closest to them.

There can be no just African future unless African manhood is transformed.

Millions of people around the world are unable to have the number of children they desire, and financial constraints, lack of quality healthcare and gender inequality are some of the barriers to reproductive choices, according to a UN report.

The UN Population Fund (UNFPA) unveiled its State of the World Population report on Tuesday, warning that a rising number of people are being denied the freedom to start families due to elevated living costs, wars and lack of suitable partners and not because they reject parenthood.

Roughly 40 percent of respondents cited economic barriers – such as the costs of raising children, job insecurity and expensive housing – as the main reason for having fewer children than they would like, according to the report based on an online survey conducted by the UN agency and YouGov.

Fertility rates have fallen to below 2.1 births per woman – the threshold needed for population stability without immigration – in more than half of all countries that took part in the survey.

On the flip side, life expectancy continues to grow across almost all regions of the world, according to the survey conducted in 14 countries that are home to one-third of the world’s population.

Right-wing nationalist governments, including in the United States and Hungary, are increasingly blaming falling fertility rates on a rejection of parenthood.

But the 2025 State of the World Population report found most people did indeed want children. The survey findings indicated that the world is not facing a crisis of falling birth rates but a crisis of reproductive agency.

How was the study conducted?

UNFPA surveyed 14,000 people from four countries in Europe, four in Asia, three in Africa and three in the Americas.

The study examined a mix of low-, middle- and high-income countries and those with low and high fertility rates.

They were picked to try to represent “a wide variety of countries with different cultural contexts, fertility rates and policy approaches”, according to the report’s editor, Rebecca Zerzan.

South Korea, which is included in the study, has the lowest fertility rate in the world. The report also looked at Nigeria, which has one of the highest birth rates in the world.

The other countries included, in order of population size, are India, the US, Indonesia, Brazil, Mexico, Germany, Thailand, South Africa, Italy, Morocco, Sweden and Hungary.

The survey is a pilot for research in 50 countries later this year.

When it comes to age groups within countries, the sample sizes in the initial survey are too small to make conclusions.

But some findings are clear.

What were the key findings from the report?

According to UNFPA, 39 percent of people said financial limitations prevented them from having a child.

Job insecurity and fear of the future – from climate change to war – were cited by 21 percent and 19 percent of respondents, respectively, for reasons to avoid reproducing.

Elsewhere, 13 percent of women and 8 percent of men pointed to the unequal division of domestic labour as a factor in having fewer children than desired.

Only 12 percent of people cited infertility or difficulty conceiving for not having the number of children they wanted.

That figure was higher in countries like Thailand (19 percent), the US (16 percent) and South Africa (15 percent).

In many cases, there were significant differences in responses depending on which country people were reporting from.

But for Natalia Kanem, executive director at UNFPA, a universal finding from the report is that “fertility rates are falling in large part because many feel unable to create the families they want.”

In South Korea, three in five respondents reported financial limitations as an obstacle to having children.

It was just 19 percent in Sweden, where both men and women are entitled to 480 days of paid parental leave per child, which may also be transferred to grandparents.

Still, birth rates in Sweden are among the lowest in the world.

Zerzan pointed out that one factor alone does not account for falling fertility rates.

“I fully agree with that,” said Arkadiusz Wisniowski, professor of social statistics and demography at the University of Manchester.

“The decision to have a child is complex. Yes, it’s about money. But it’s also about time and access to the right kind of childcare,” he told Al Jazeera.

What role can immigration play?

When deaths outpace births, that is an indication that fertility rates are falling. “That’s not currently true at the global level,” Wisniowski said. “But it is true for numerous countries around the world, especially wealthier nations.”

“And some governments are having to navigate the reality of falling birth rates against the backlash against immigration. Clearly, immigrants can fill labour market gaps, and there is evidence they contribute to economic growth,” he said.

“But it’s no panacea.”

What can governments do about this?

“We can see both the problem and solution clearly,” the UNFPA report noted. “The answer lies in reproductive agency, a person’s ability to make free and informed choices about sex, contraception and starting a family – if, when and with whom they want.”

UNFPA warns against simplistic and coercive responses to falling birth rates, such as baby bonuses or fertility targets, which are often ineffective and risk violating human rights.

“We also see that when people feel their reproductive choices are being steered, when policies are even just perceived as being too coercive, people react and they are less likely to have children,” Kanem said.

Instead, the UN body urged governments to expand choices by removing barriers to parenthood identified by their populations.

Its recommended actions included making parenthood more affordable through investments in housing, decent work, paid parental leave and access to comprehensive reproductive health services.

“The recommendations [in the report] are all good,” Wisniowski said. “They would all empower people to try and achieve their family-linked aspirations. But these comprehensive policies will come with a cost.”

For years, labour economists have warned that falling fertility poses a threat to future prosperity because it increases fiscal pressures due to ageing populations – when the number of pensioners in relation to workers rises.

“Governments may need to tax working people more or take on more debt to address the reality of fewer young people,” Wisniowski noted. “But fertility isn’t something that you can easily tinker with. We are facing considerable uncertainty.”

Amid the relentless clatter of machinery, Ravi Kumar Gupta feeds a roaring steel furnace with scrap, blown metal and molten iron. He carefully adds chemicals tailored to the type of steel being produced, adjusting fuel and airflow with precision to keep the furnace running smoothly.

As his shift ends about 4pm, he stops briefly at a roadside tea shop just outside the gates of the steel factory in Maharashtra state’s Tarapur Industrial Area. His safety helmet is still on, but his feet, instead of being shielded by boots, are in worn-out slippers – scant protection against the molten metal he works with. His eyes are bloodshot with exhaustion, and his green, full-sleeved shirt and faded, torn blue jeans are stained with grease and sweat.

Four years after migrating from Barabanki, a district in the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, Ravi earns $175 per month – $25 less than India’s monthly per capita income. And the paycheques are often delayed, arriving only between the 10th and 12th of each month.

Middlemen, who are either locals or longterm migrants posing as locals, supply labour to factories in Maharashtra, India’s industrial heartland. In return, the middlemen skim between $11 and $17 from each worker’s wages. In addition, $7 is deducted monthly from their pay for canteen food, which consists of limited portions of rice, dal and vegetables for lunch, as well as evening tea.

Asked why he continues to work at the steel factory, Ravi responds with resignation in his voice: “What else can I do?”

Giving up his job isn’t an option. His family – two young daughters in school, his wife and mother who work on their small plot of farmland, and his ailing father who is unable to work – depend on the $100 a month that he is able to send home. Climate change, he says, has “ruined farming”, the family’s traditional occupation.

“The rains don’t come when they should. The land no longer feeds us. And where are the jobs in our village? There’s nothing left. So, like the others, I left,” he says, his thick, calloused hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

Ravi is a cog in the wheel of the soaring dreams of the world’s fifth-largest economy. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has boldly spoken of making India a $5 trillion economy, up from $3.5 trillion in 2023.

But as Modi’s government woos global investors and assures them that it is easy today to do business in India, Ravi is among millions of workers whose stories of withheld wages, endless toil and coercion – telltale signs of forced labour, according to the United Nations’ International Labour Organization (ILO) – provide a haunting snapshot of the ugly underbelly of the country’s economy.

Farm to furnace

The Factories Act of 1948, which governs working conditions in steel mills like the one where Ravi works, mandates annual paid leave for workers who have been employed for 240 days or more in a year. However, workers like Ravi do not receive paid leave. Any day taken off is unpaid, regardless of the reason.

Like many others, Ravi is required to work all seven days a week, totalling 30 days a month, despite the fact that Sundays were officially declared a weekly holiday for all labourers in India as far back as 1890.

Workers in many Indian factories do not receive a salary slip detailing their earnings and deductions. This lack of transparency leaves them in the dark about how much money has been deducted – or why.

Worse still, if a worker is absent for three or four consecutive days, their entry card is deactivated. Upon returning, they are treated as a new employee. This reclassification affects their eligibility for important benefits such as the provident fund and end-of-service gratuity.

In many cases, workers are forced to rejoin under these unfair terms simply because their pending wages – either direct from the company or via the middlemen – have not been paid. Walking away would mean forfeiting their hard-earned money.

In addition to all this, Ravi confirms that neither he nor his colleagues, both in his company and in nearby factories within the industrial area, have received any written contracts outlining their job roles or employment benefits.

According to a 2025 study (PDF) published in the Indian Journal of Legal Review, many workers face exploitation through unfair contracts, wage theft and forced labour due to the absence of written agreements. These practices particularly affect more vulnerable groups like migrants, women and low-skilled workers, who often have limited access to legal recourse. Al Jazeera contacted the Maharashtra Labour Commissioner on May 20 seeking a response to concerns around forced labour in industries where workers like Ravi are employed, but has not received a reply.

There is also the absence of adequate safety gear: Ravi works near the furnace, where temperatures cross 50 degrees Celsius (122 degrees Fahrenheit). But workers aren’t provided with protective glass. “Neither the middlemen nor the employer gives us even the most basic safety gear,” he says.

Yet, helplessness wins.

“We know how dangerous it is. We know what we need to stay safe,” he says. “But what choice do we have?

“When you’re desperate, you have no choice but to adapt to these harsh, uncertain conditions,” he said.

‘If I get thrown out, what then?’

In the port town of Kakinada, along India’s Bay of Bengal coast – about 1,400km (870 miles) from where Ravi works – 47-year-old Sumitha Salomi earns even less than him.

A shrimp peeler, Sumitha has no formal job contract with the factory where she works. Like many others, she has been hired through a contractor – a woman from her own village. The factory, a heavily fortified facility that exports peeled vannamei shrimp to the United States, employs migrant workers from the neighbouring state of Odisha and other regions. The premises are tightly guarded, and access is strictly controlled.

But in the villages where the factory’s workers live, a common story emerges: None of them have written contracts. No one has social security or health benefits. The only work gear they have are gloves and caps – not for their safety, but to maintain hygiene standards for the exported shrimp.

India exported shrimp worth $2.7bn to the US in the 2023-24 fiscal year, according to official figures.

Sumitha explains that her pay depends on the weight of the shrimp she peels. “The only break we get is about 30 minutes for lunch. For women, even when we’re in severe menstrual pain, there’s no rest, no relief. We just keep working,” she says.

She earns about $4.50 a day. She knows the precarity of her job. Her wages are handed to her in cash, without any payslip, leaving her with no way to contest what she receives.

As a divorced mother, Sumitha carries the burden of multiple responsibilities. She’s still repaying loans she took for her elder daughter’s marriage, while also trying to keep her younger daughter in school. On top of that, she cares for her elderly widowed mother who needs cancer medication that costs about $10 a month.

But she does not question the factory bosses about her working conditions or the absence of a written contract. “I have a job – contract or no contract. That’s what matters,” she says, her voice stoic.

“There are no other jobs here in this village. If I start asking questions and get thrown out, what then?”

Unlike seasoned veteran Sumitha, 23-year-old Minnu Samay is still grappling with the harsh realities of her job in the seafood industry.

Minnu, a migrant worker from the eastern state of Odisha, is employed at a shrimp processing factory located within the high-security Krishnapatnam Port area in Nellore, about 500km (310 mile) south of Kakinada.

Migrant workers like Minnu are allowed to leave the factory just once a week for about three hours, mainly to buy essentials in Muthukur, a village 10km (6 miles) from the factory. As she hurries through the narrow market lanes, picking up sanitary pads and snacks during this brief window of freedom, she tells her story.

“I was 19 when I left home. Poverty forced me. My parents were deep in debt after marrying off my two sisters. It was hard to survive,” Minnu says. “So when we met an agent in our town, he arranged this job here.”

Slowly, she has learned while on the job, cutting and peeling shrimp. Minnu earns approximately $110 per month.

“We know we’re being exploited, our freedom is restricted, we have no health insurance or proper rights, and we’re constantly under surveillance,” she says. “But like many of my coworkers, we don’t have other options. We just adjust and keep going.”

Most overtime work is not paid, she said. “We’re watched by cameras every moment, trapped in what feels like an open prison,” she says.

On May 20, Al Jazeera sent queries to the Andhra Pradesh Labour Department, and on May 22, to the Indian Ministry of Labour, seeking responses to concerns over widespread forced labour in industries where workers like Sumitha and Minnu are employed. Kakinada and Nellore are in Andhra Pradesh state. Neither the Andhra Pradesh Labour Department nor the federal Indian Ministry of Labour has responded.

Labour rights experts say that these stories lay bare the urgent need for enforceable contracts, the abolition of exploitative hiring practices and initiatives to educate workers about their rights – vital measures to combat forced labour in India’s unorganised and semi-organised sectors.

On March 24, India’s federal Labour Minister Shobha Karandlaje told parliament that approximately 307 million unorganised workers (PDF), including migrant workers, were registered under an Indian government scheme.

But researchers say that the true scale of India’s unorganised workforce is likely even larger.

‘Concealed’ forced labour

Benoy Peter, executive director of the Centre for Migration and Inclusive Development (CMID), a civil society organisation based in the southern Indian state of Kerala, cited a document (PDF) from India’s National Sample Survey Organization, which said that the country’s total workforce is approximately 470 million in strength. Of this, about 80 million workers are in the organised sector, while the remaining 390 million – more than the entire population of the United States – are in the unorganised sector.

The UN International Labour Organization’s India Employment Report 2024 (PDF) supports Benoy’s observation, stating that low-quality jobs in the informal sector and informal employment are the dominant forms of work in India. The ILO report said that 90 percent of India’s workforce is “informally employed”.

And many of these workers are victims of forced or bonded labour. India ratified the ILO’s Forced Labour Convention 29 in 1954 and abolished bonded labour in 1975. Yet, according to the Walk Free Foundation, India has the highest estimated number of people living in modern slavery worldwide, with 11.05 million individuals (eight in every 1,000) affected.

The real numbers, again, are likely worse.

In 2016, the then Indian Labour Minister Bandaru Dattatreya informed Parliament that the country had an estimated 18.4 million bonded labourers, and that the government was working to release and rehabilitate them by 2030.

But in December 2021, when Indian parliamentarian Mohammad Jawed inquired (PDF) about this target in parliament, the government stated that only approximately 12,000 bonded labourers had been rescued and rehabilitated between 2016 and 2021.

The textile sector is among the worst offenders.

According to a parliamentary document from March this year, the southern Tamil Nadu state led textile and apparel exports, including handicrafts, with a value of $7.1bn. Gujarat, Modi’s home state, followed in second place, exporting $5.7bn worth of these goods.

Thivya Rakini, president of the Tamil Nadu Textile and Common Labour Union (TTCU), says that in a decade of visiting factories to work with garment workers, she has, in almost all instances, seen at least one – and often multiple – indicators of forced labour as defined by the ILO. Those indicators include intimidation, excessive overtime, withheld wages, sexual harassment, and physical violence, such as slapping or beating workers for failing to meet production targets.

India’s textiles industry has around 45 million workers, including 3.5 million handloom workers across the country.

“Forced labour in the textile industry is widespread and often concealed,” Thivya says. “It’s not a random occurrence. It stems directly from the business model of fashion brands. When brands pay suppliers low prices, demand large volumes on tight deadlines, and fail to ensure freedom of association or basic grievance mechanisms for workers, they create an environment ripe for forced labour.”

Women make up 60-80 percent of the garment workforce, she says.  “Many lack formal contracts, earn less than men for the same work, and face frequent violence and harassment,” she said. Many are from marginalised groups – Dalits, migrants or single mothers – making them even more vulnerable in a patriarchal society.

Other sectors are plagued by forced labour too. Transparentem, an independent, nonprofit organisation focused on uncovering and addressing human rights and environmental abuses in global supply chains, investigated 90 cotton farms in the central state of Madhya Pradesh from June 2022 to March 2023 and released its final report (PDF) in January 2025, uncovering child labour, forced labour and unsafe conditions: Children were handling pesticides without protection.

‘No choice but to tolerate exploitation’

Between 2019 and 2020, the Indian government consolidated 29 federal labour laws into four comprehensive codes. The stated aim of these reforms was to improve the ease of doing business while ensuring worker welfare. As part of this effort, the total number of compliance provisions was significantly reduced – from more than 1,200 to 479.

However, while many states have drafted rules needed to implement these codes, there has still not been a nationwide rollout of these laws.

Supporters of the new labour codes argue that they modernise outdated laws and provide greater legal clarity. Critics, however, particularly trade unions, warn that the reforms favour employers and dilute worker protections. One of the codes, for instance, makes it harder to register a workers union.

A union must now have a minimum of 10 percent of the workers or 100 workers, whichever is less, in an establishment to be members of a union, a significant rise from the earlier requirement of just seven workers under the Trade Unions Act, 1926.

Santosh Poonia from India Labour Line – a helpline initiative that supports workers, especially in the unorganised sector, by offering legal aid, mediation and counselling services – tells Al Jazeera that if workers are barred from forming unions, that would weaken their collective bargaining rights.

“Without these rights, they will have no choice but to tolerate exploitative working conditions,” he says.

To Sanjay Ghose, a senior labour law lawyer practising at the Indian Supreme Court, the problem runs deeper than the new consolidated codes.

“The real issue is the failure to implement these laws effectively, which leaves workers vulnerable,” he says.

Ghose warns that India’s stagnating job creation could compound the exploitation and forced labour among workers.

India’s top engineering schools, the Indian Institutes of Technology (IITs), have long prided themselves on how the world’s biggest banks, tech giants and other multinationals queue up at their gates each year to lure their graduates with massive pay packages.

Yet, the percentage of graduates from the IITs who secure jobs as they leave school has dropped sharply, by 10 percentage points, since 2021, when the Indian economy took a major hit from COVID-19 – a hit it hasn’t fully recovered from.

“Even graduates with high ranks from premier institutions like the IITs are struggling to secure job placements,” Ghose says. “With limited options available, job seekers are forced to accept whatever work they can find. This leads to exploitation, unfair working conditions, and, in some cases, forced labour.”

Pramod Kumar, a former United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) senior adviser, adds that weakened private investment and foreign direct investment (FDI) have made national growth largely dependent on government spending. Consequently, job opportunities are primarily limited to the informal sector, where unfair working conditions are prevalent, leading to exploitation and forced labour.

Private sector investment in India dropped to a three-year low of 11.2 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) in fiscal year 2024, down from the pre-COVID average of 11.8 percent (fiscal years 2016-2020), according to ratings firm India Ratings & Research. Additionally, FDI in India declined by 5.6 percent year-on-year to $10.9bn in the October-December quarter of the last fiscal year, driven by global economic uncertainties.

Against that economic backdrop, Poonia, from the India Labour Line, says he can’t see how the government plans to meet its ambitious target of rescuing 18 million bonded labourers in India. He said he expects the opposite.

“The situation is going to worsen when the ease of doing business is prioritised over human rights and workers’ rights.”

World Boxing says Algerian gold medallist must get genetic screening to compete in future events, including Olympics.

Algeria’s Olympic boxing champion Imane Khelif must undergo genetic sex screening in order to participate in upcoming events, the sport’s governing body said, as it introduced mandatory sex testing for all boxers in its competitions.

World Boxing announced the new policy on Friday and specifically mentioned Algeria’s Khelif, who won the women’s welterweight gold at the Paris Olympics last year and prompted a gender-eligibility row.

“Imane Khelif may not participate in the female category at … any World Boxing event until Imane Khelif undergoes genetic sex screening in accordance with World Boxing’s rules and testing procedures,” the organisation said in a statement.

“World Boxing has written to the Algerian Boxing Federation to inform it that Imane Khelif will not be allowed to participate in the female category at the Eindhoven Box Cup or any World Boxing event until Imane Khelif undergoes sex testing,” it added.

World Boxing is responsible for organising bouts at the 2028 Los Angeles Olympics, after being granted provisional recognition by the International Olympic Committee.

Under the new policy, all athletes above the age of 18 who want to participate in a World Boxing-owned or sanctioned competition will need to undergo a PCR, or polymerase chain reaction genetic test, to determine what sex they were at birth and their eligibility to compete.

The PCR test is a laboratory technique used to detect specific genetic material, in this case the SRY gene, that reveals the presence of the Y chromosome, which is an indicator of biological sex.

The test can be conducted by a nasal or mouth swab, or by taking a sample of saliva or blood.

National federations will be responsible for testing and will be required to confirm the sex of their athletes when entering them into World Boxing competitions by producing certification of their chromosomal sex, as determined by a PCR test.

Reuters news agency reported that Khelif could not be reached for comment, while the Algerian Boxing Federation did not immediately respond to questions about the development.

Khelif said in March: “For me, I see myself as a girl, just like any other girl. I was born a girl, raised as a girl, and have lived my entire life as one.”

“I have competed in many tournaments, including the Tokyo Olympics and other major competitions, as well as four World Championships,” she said at the time.

“All of these took place before I started winning and earning titles. But once I began achieving success, the campaigns against me started.”

The 26-year-old is targeting a second gold medal at the 2028 Games in Los Angeles after her triumph in Paris.

Her Olympic success, along with that of Taiwan’s Lin Yu-ting, led to a raging gender eligibility debate in Paris, with high-profile figures such as United States President Donald Trump and Elon Musk weighing in.

In February, Trump signed an executive order banning transgender athletes from competing in women’s sports.

Khelif said she would not be intimidated by Trump as she is not transgender.

By contrast, about six out of 10 LGBTQ adults said gay and lesbian people are generally accepted in the US. 

A new poll by the Pew Research Centre has found that transgender people experience less social acceptance in the United States than those who are lesbian, gay or bisexual, according to LGBTQ adults.

About six out of 10 LGBTQ adult participants in the poll said there is “a great deal” or “a fair amount” of social acceptance in the US for gay and lesbian people, according to “The Experiences of LGBTQ Americans Today” report released on Thursday.

Only about one in 10 said the same for non-binary and transgender people — and about half said there was “not much” or no acceptance at all for transgender people.

The survey of 3,959 LGBTQ adults was conducted in January, after US President Donald Trump’s election, but just before his return to office when he set into motion a series of policies that question transgender people’s existence and their place in society.

On his first day in office, Trump signed an executive order calling on the government to recognise people as male or female based on the “biological truth” of their future cells at conception, rejecting evidence and scientific arguments that gender is a spectrum.

Since then, Trump has barred transgender women and girls from taking part in female sports competitions, pushed transgender service members from the military and tried to block federal funding for gender-affirming care for transgender people under age 19.

A poll conducted by the Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research in May found that about half of US adults approve of the way Trump is handling transgender issues.

Transgender people are less likely than gay or lesbian adults to say they are accepted by all their family members, according to the Pew poll. The majority of LGBTQ people said their siblings and friends accepted them, though the rates were slightly higher among gay or lesbian people.

About half of gay and lesbian people said their parents did, compared with about one-third of transgender people. Only about one in 10 transgender people reported feeling accepted by their extended family, compared with about three in 10 for gay or lesbian people.

According to the Pew poll, about two-thirds of LGBTQ adults said the landmark US Supreme Court ruling that legalised same-sex marriage nationally on June 26, 2015, increased acceptance of same-sex couples “a lot more” or “somewhat more”.

The Supreme Court is expected to rule in the coming weeks on whether Tennessee can enforce a ban on gender-affirming care for minors in what is seen as a major case for the transgender community.

Colombo, Sri Lanka — As a girl, when Srimathi Mallika Kaluarachchi would go to the cinema with her family, and a man on the screen would hit the character played by superstar Malini Fonseka, Kaluarachchi would cry.

Then she would turn to her father in desperation. “We used to scream at the screen, telling our father to save her,” Kaluarachchi, now 68, recalled. “That was how much we loved her.”

On Monday, Kaluarachchi joined thousands of fans in bidding a final goodbye to Fonseka, who died on May 24 at the age of 78 while receiving treatment in hospital. Neither Fonseka’s family nor the hospital has publicly revealed the nature of her illness. One of the country’s most popular actresses, Fonseka was widely regarded as the queen of Sri Lankan cinema.

She was cremated with full state honours, as fans dressed in the mourning colour of white flocked to Colombo’s Independence Square to catch a glimpse of her coffin before she was cremated. Songs from Fonseka’s films were played while a projector drone flew above the crowd, displaying a montage of scenes from across her career.

Describing Fonseka as “a true icon of Sri Lankan cinema whose grace and talent inspired generations”, Sri Lankan President Anura Kumara Dissanayake said that “her legacy will forever shine in our hearts and on our screens”.

A trailblazer

Fonseka, who starred in more than 140 films, had a career in Sinhala cinema spanning more than five decades.

“Whenever we saw her, we’d forget all the pain we had in our hearts,” said Kaluarachchi, wiping away tears. “Now, we know films aren’t real, but when we were children, we didn’t realise.”

Fonseka was special, Kaluarachchi said, because of the way she represented how everyday people experienced love and, often, the violence that comes with it for women in patriarchal societies.

Fonseka started her career as a stage actress before making her film debut with the 1968 film Punchi Baba.

Her popularity peaked in the 1970s and 1980s, as she collaborated with renowned directors, including Lester James Peries and Dharmasena Pathiraja.

Many of her most famous roles shared a common theme: the struggles of women in a male-dominated society. She played a wife murdered by her husband in the film Nidhanaya (1972), a college student in a complicated relationship in Thushara (1973), a village girl hounded by male attention in Eya Dan Loku Lamayek (1975), and a girl from a rural fishing village enticed by the big city lifestyle, in Bambaru Avith (1978).

This success continued into the 1980s, when she also expanded into directorial ventures, including in the films Sasara Chethana (1984) and Ahimsa (1987).

‘A bridge’ across generations

She also starred in the first Indian-Sri Lankan co-production Pilot Premnath in 1978, opposite legendary Indian Tamil actor Sivaji Ganesan.

“She never limited herself to one category. She was in commercial cinema and arthouse cinema,” said 27-year-old teacher Prabuddhika Kannagara. “She played a village girl, a young girl, a married woman, a mother, and even a grandmother. She represented women across all generations.”

Kannagara was one of the last mourners at the funeral, sitting and watching as sparks emanated from the white cloth tower in the square, specially erected for Fonseka’s cremation, according to Buddhist rituals.

She told Al Jazeera that Fonseka had acted as a “bridge” across various eras of cinema, from black-and-white to digital, and had remained a star not only for her mother’s generation, but also for her own.

Fonseka was a five-time Best Actress winner at Sri Lanka’s Presidential Film Awards. Her most recent win was in 2006 for her role in Ammawarune, a film she also directed. She also won international accolades at the Moscow International Film Festival and the New Delhi Film Festival.

She became Sri Lanka’s first female television drama director in the 1980s, a time when women’s participation behind the camera was unusual. Fonseka also had a short-lived foray into politics, serving as a member of Sri Lanka’s parliament from 2010 to 2015 under former President Mahinda Rajapaksa.

Film critic and journalist Anuradha Kodagoda told Al Jazeera that Fonseka was “rare and unique in Sri Lankan cinema” for the range of characters she played.

Petite and fair, with an oval face and soft features, Fonseka was a “pioneer” in representing working-class women onscreen, and “represented the beauty idol for Sri Lankan women”, said Kodagoda.

“She portrayed her characters very organically and authentically. That is the magic of it, I think,” Kodagoda said.

‘There will be no other queens’

Many mourners, some of whom travelled long distances to attend the funeral, recalled moments when they had met or spoken with Fonseka.

“She was a role model for us. We saw her as an example when we went to the cinema,” said 56-year-old jam factory worker Pushpa Hemalatha. “She wasn’t arrogant. We loved her when we were young.”

Fonseka’s final acting performance was in the 2024 music video Eya Wasanathaya Nowe, playing an elderly woman remembering her deceased husband.

Ivanka Peiris, an actress and musician who acted with her in the TV drama Hithuwakkara, told Al Jazeera that Fonseka was “very empowering” as a role model for women, and “everything” for younger actresses in the industry.

And, she said, Fonseka would never be replaced.

“She’s the queen. That’s it,” Peiris said. “There will be no other queens in Sri Lanka. She will be the first and the last.”

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