NGOs

Many people resorting to eating leaves and animal feed to survive in North Darfur and South Kordofan states.

Millions of people in Sudan are surviving on just one meal a day, as the country’s food crisis deepens and threatens to spread, according to a report published by a group of nongovernmental organisations (NGOs).

“Sudan’s war between the Sudanese army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces, which enters its third year on Wednesday, has caused widespread hunger and displaced millions of people amid one of the world’s largest humanitarian crises,” a report by Action Against Hunger, CARE International, International Rescue Committee, Mercy Corps, and the Norwegian Refugee Council said on Monday.

“Nearly three years of conflict, marked by violence, displacement and siege tactics, have systematically eroded Sudan’s food system – field by field, road by road, market by market – producing mass hunger,” it added.

The report highlighted that millions of families can only access one meal a day in the two states worst hit by the conflict – North Darfur and South Kordofan.

“Often, they miss meals for entire days,” the report said, adding that many people have resorted to eating leaves and animal feed to survive.

The NGOs said communal kitchens set up to collectively prepare and share meals are struggling to stretch the scarce food available as resources dwindle.

It added that the crisis is being compounded by a worsening economic crisis and climate change.

Government denies famine

In April 2023, a war erupted between the Sudanese army and the paramilitary Rapid Support Forces (RSF), unleashing a wave of violence that has led to one of the world’s worst man-made humanitarian crises, with more than 12 million forced from their homes, and more than 33 million people in need of humanitarian aid.

More than 40,000 people have been killed over the past three years, according to the United Nations. Aid groups say the actual death toll could be many times higher.

Some 61.7 percent of Sudan’s population – 28.9 million people – is facing acute food shortages, according to the 2026 Humanitarian Needs and Response Plan.

The army-aligned Sudanese government denies the existence of famine, while the RSF denies responsibility for such conditions in areas under its control.

The UN has reported widespread atrocities and waves of ethnically charged violence. In November, the global hunger monitor confirmed, for the first time, famine conditions in el-Fasher and Kadugli.

In February, the UN-backed Integrated Food Security Phase Classification found that famine thresholds for acute malnutrition have been surpassed in Um Baru, where the rate of acutely malnourished children aged below five years was nearly double the famine threshold, and Kernoi.

The report, based on interviews with farmers, traders, and humanitarian actors in Sudan, details how the war in Sudan is driving communities towards famine conditions – due to disruptions to farming as well as the use of starvation as a weapon of war – including deliberate destruction of farms and markets.

Women and girls have been disproportionately affected, as they face a high risk of rape and harassment when going to the fields, visiting markets, or collecting water, the report said.

Female-headed households are three times more likely to experience food shortages than male-headed households, it added.

Why are many Latin American countries shutting down nonprofit organizations? Amnesty International claims it has the answer: in every case, it’s part of a drive to restrict human rights and “tear up the social fabric.”

Amnesty’s new 95-page report (in Spanish, with an English summary), criticizes governments across the political spectrum for attacking what it calls “civil society organizations.” But Amnesty ignores the history of many such organizations and therefore why governments might be justified in closing them.

Here we focus on the report’s deficiencies in relation to Nicaragua, Venezuela (two NGOs interviewed in each) and Cuba (none).

Data-light analysis supports preconceived conclusions

Amnesty’s report is strikingly thin. Unlike many other Amnesty investigations, this one provides scarce case studies or incidents, almost no statistics, few named victims or affected organizations, and little discussion of specific crackdowns. In most cases, substantive content about a particular country is assumed to apply to all countries.

Amnesty conducted interviews with only 15 non-governmental organizations (NGOs) across six countries: Nicaragua, Venezuela, Paraguay, Peru, El Salvador and Ecuador. Its analysis extended to two more, Guatemala and Cuba, where no interviews took place. Yet the six countries alone have around 40,000 NGOs between them, making Amnesty’s sample minuscule. In none of the countries did Amnesty do any direct fieldwork.

Amnesty did not consult with any government sources or individuals close to governments, resulting in a one-sided narrative. According to Amnesty, the issues “should not be interpreted as… differentiation between the countries analyzed.” Thus, countries as politically different as Ecuador and Nicaragua are painted with the same brush.

While claiming to expose the real purpose of these laws, Amnesty fails to explain their political context, despite the widespread and documented use made of NGOs by the US to destabilize countries.

The authors emailed Amnesty with our key criticisms. In a lengthy response, Mariana Marques, Amnesty’s South America Researcher & Advisor, claimed that “the report intentionally prioritizes depth and comparability [between the chosen countries].” However, this is difficult to accept given that the report’s sweeping generalizations are mechanically applied to all six.

The authors also asked Amnesty if they had considered evidence that NGOs in Venezuela, Nicaragua and Cuba have indeed engaged in political activities – that would very likely be illegal in Western countries such as the US? Did they consider whether allegations that NGOs provoked political violence or other criminal activities might be true? In response, Ms. Marques wrote: “The report does not adjudicate case‑by‑case allegations about individual organizations.”

Nevertheless, the report apparently identified “selective enforcement” and “sanctions” that were “disproportionate.” But how could they reach an impartial judgment on the fairness of a government’s actions without considering whether the alleged infractions might have actually occurred?

Destabilization claims go unexamined

If governments justify their laws as efforts to halt foreign-funded destabilization, surely Amnesty should ask whether such claims have merit. Here are some examples that Amnesty might have considered:

• In Cuba, the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) spent $15.5 million from 2009 through 2012 running “civil society” programs aimed at secretly stirring up anti-government activism. Then in just one year (2020), the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) – a reported CIA cutout itself masquerading as an NGO even though it is largely funded by the US government – financed 40 civil-society projects in Cuba with sums up to $650,000. According to the Cuban government, these groups were directly involved in violent demonstrations that affected Cuba in July 2021.

• In Nicaragua, which suffered a major coup attempt in 2018, Global Americans reported that the NED was “laying the groundwork for insurrection” even as the violence was taking place. NED and other bodies bragged to Congress about their regime-change efforts, and the Council on Hemispheric Affairs described in detail how NGOs indoctrinated young Nicaraguans.

• In Venezuela, USAID corroborated the use of NGOs to further US regime-change activities; since 2017 it provided “more than $158 million in humanitarian aid in Venezuela” through questionably “impartial” organizations.

Well-substantiated examples of Washington’s huge investment, extending over many years, to create or infiltrate NGOs in the three countries and use them to provoke anti-government violence, were of no interest to Amnesty researchers.

Rather, the report focuses on restrictions on access to foreign funding, which allegedly have “chilling effects on legitimate human‑rights work.” Amnesty’s refusal to “map individual donors” prevents scrutiny about the purpose of Washington’s funding for NGOs, which are often framed in vague terms such as “promoting democracy” or “strengthening civic society.”

Had the researchers talked to actual NGOs doing humanitarian work, they might have heard testimony such as this one from Rita Di Matiatt with Master Mama, a Venezuelan NGO dedicated to offering support to breastfeeding mothers: “NGOs that conspire against the stability and rights of a nation or its citizens, as well as everything that does not comply with the norms and laws of a country must be held accountable.” Venezuelan National Assembly deputy Julio Chávez expressed concern about such NGO’s working “to generate destabilization.”

And, indeed, the current NED president, Damon Wilson, recently confirmed that Nicaragua, Cuba and Venezuela are his highest priorities in the region.

Comparison with other countries

Amnesty claims a “global” trend toward laws resembling Russia’s “foreign agents” legislation. However, a more relevant comparison is the US Foreign Agents Registration Act (FARA) which is really the model.

The US has some of the world’s strongest and most detailed regulatory powers governing NGOs. Indeed, the US typically closes around 44,000 nonprofits annually that fail to comply. This is not unusual. The Charity Commission in Britain closes around 4,000 nonprofits each year. New regulations have led to large-scale closures in India, Turkey, South Africa and elsewhere.

Washington’s foreign agents act is not unique: The Library of Congress has examples of 13 countries with similar legislation. In Britain, the government has consulted on the introduction of a “Foreign Influence Registration Scheme,” which is similar to FARA, as are regulations which apply in the European Union.

However, it does not suit Amnesty’s narrative to make comparisons with Western countries that might caste the laws in Cuba, Nicaragua and Venezuela in a different light.

Amnesty’s longstanding bias

Amnesty has a long history of bias against countries such as Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua. Ecuadorian-Canadian journalist Joe Emersberger documents how Amnesty minimizes the impact of US sanctions – illegal under international law – which target all three countries.

While Amnesty refused to recognize Nelson Mandella as a prisoner of conscious, because he failed to renounce violence in self-defense against the South African apartheid regime, Amnesty readily bestowed the honor on Leopoldo López, who fomented a number of violent coup attempts in Venezuela.

María Corina Machado is arguably Amnesty’s most lauded Venezuelan. Her legitimacy is based largely on her victory in an opposition primary. However, the contest was conducted by her personal NGO, Súmate, rather than the official Venezuelan electoral authority as is customary. This is relevant to NGO law, because Súmate received NED funds. Machado won that privately run primary by an incredible 92% landslide in a crowded field of eight candidates. When the runner-up, Carlos Prosperi, cried fraud, the ballots were destroyed to prevent an audit of the vote.

Camilo Mejia, a US military resistor and an Amnesty “prisoner of conscience,” published an open letter expressing his “unequivocal condemnation of Amnesty International with regards to the destabilizing role it has played in Nicaragua, my country of birth.”

Amnesty has long been accused of bias on an international scale. Journalist Alexander Rubinstein documented Amnesty’s collaboration with US and UK intelligence agencies dating back to the 1960s. Francis A. Boyle, human rights law professor and founding Amnesty board member, observed: “You will find a self-perpetuating clique of co-opted Elites who deliberately shape and direct the work of AI and AIUSA so as to either affirmatively support, or else not seriously undercut, the imperial, colonial, and genocidal policies of the United States, Britain, and Israel.”

NGOs and the “human rights industry”

Alfred de Zayas, former UN independent human rights expert, argues in The Human Rights Industry that there are few fields that are “as penetrated and corrupted by intelligence services” as NGOs. “The level of NGO interference in the internal affairs of states and their destabilizing impact on the constitutional order has become so prevalent that more and more countries have adopted… legislation to control this ‘invasion’ of foreign interests, or simply to ban them.”

While de Zayas recognizes Amnesty International when it does good work, he points out that in Latin America it ignores the struggle of sovereign nations “to shake off the yoke of US domination.” In a general comment that might apply specifically to Amnesty’s Tearing Up the Social Fabric, de Zayas condemns “entire reports… compiled from accounts of US-backed opposition groups.”

Nicaragua-based writer John Perry publishes in the London Review of Books, FAIR, CovertAction and elsewhere. Roger D. Harrisis with the Task Force on the Americas and the Venezuela Solidarity Network. Both authors are active with the Nicaragua Solidarity Coalition.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect those of the Venezuelanalysis editorial staff.

Changes in Venezuela are slow and imperfect, but they are happening. The question is not whether chavismo will attempt to produce results that benefit Venezuelans, because it has no alternative. The real question is how it will do so and who is on the playing field trying to shape those outcomes.

The reform of the Hydrocarbons Law, the enactment of the Amnesty Law, and the proposed reform of the Mining Law seem to indicate that the vehicle for implementing the institutional measures demanded by the United States is the National Assembly. A National Assembly that lacks legitimacy and does not represent the majority of the country’s political sectors.

Two weeks ago, Tareck William Saab resigned from his position as chief prosecutor, and Alfredo Ruiz resigned as ombudsman. Both had held those posts since August 2017 and had used the justice system against those who think differently. Following their resignations, the National Assembly confirmed Larry Devoe as acting head of the Public Prosecutor’s Office (Ministerio Público) and appointed Saab himself as acting ombudsman. While Saab’s resignation represented a step forward, appointing Saab as acting ombudsman was a direct violation of the Constitution. These dissonant signals only confirm that the Rodríguez leadership has no political will to move toward a democratic transition.

The process to appoint the heads of the Citizen Power branch has begun with the convening of the Evaluation Committee, and once again the academic world and civil society organizations have decided to participate. The nomination of Dr. Magaly Vásquez for chief prosecutor is a clear example and reflects the same logic that led human rights organizations to participate in the discussions around the Amnesty Law: when civil society comes together, it can take advantage of even minimal conditions to make itself heard and push decision-making toward, at the very least, more “palatable” outcomes.

Will a future democratic government treat the Amnesty Law as illegitimate? Will the hydrocarbon contracts signed by the interim government of Delcy Rodríguez be recognized?

In this process, as in the legislative debates mentioned earlier, there is an absence: the representation of all the country’s political actors. This absence (which includes a large portion of the opposition) is not simply an act of selfishness. On the contrary, their position is rooted in values and principles that prevent them from recognizing any legitimacy in the National Assembly. That stance deserves respect and admiration. However, it is worth asking whether that inflexible position is preventing them from becoming involved in processes that are producing real consequences for real people, inside and outside the country.

We know that these steps are not gestures of democratization. They appear instead to be targeted concessions designed to manage external pressure and preserve power. But achieving the appointment of a credible chief prosecutor or ombudsman could, even if only gradually, begin to rebuild a degree of institutional independence.

This leads me to ask those in the opposition who still remain on the sidelines: if we do not recognize these processes from their origin, what happens to their results when an eventual political change arrives? Will a future democratic government treat the Amnesty Law as illegitimate? Will the hydrocarbon contracts signed by the interim government of Delcy Rodríguez be recognized? Will the institutional reforms that may emerge within the framework of the path outlined by the US be rejected? These questions arise when one notices the absence of the main political figures, or when their presence remains limited to criticism.

These are not rhetorical or ill-intentioned questions. Nor is this about abandoning principles. Rather, it is about recognizing that civil society organizations need backing, especially from political parties and movements. As was demonstrated on July 28, 2024, when society’s desire for change translates into participation and is channeled by political parties, it becomes an overwhelming movement with the potential to materialize that will for change.

At the same time, we must be realistic: the response of opposition leaders cannot be unconditional recognition of the National Assembly. Structurally, it remains an instrument of authoritarian control. What can materialize, however, is support for civil society in the processes in which it is already participating. These expressions of support do not seek to legitimize lawmakers elected under questionable circumstances. Rather, they seek to recognize the work and struggle of the intermediary organizations that are fighting to open spaces for institutional life.

Turning this transition into a Venezuelan process requires Venezuelan actors to claim leadership over the institutional processes now unfolding.

A clear example of support could be the one mentioned earlier. The process to appoint the heads of Poder Ciudadano should not be rejected from the outset. Instead, those who have chosen to submit their candidacies before the National Assembly’s Evaluation Committee—and who possess the necessary technical and civic credentials—should receive public support, while their names are circulated in the public arena. Put more plainly: make noise about it. Doing so would increase the cost for the regime, in the eyes of the Trump administration, of selecting individuals who are the complete opposite: people without technical qualifications or chosen solely for political loyalty.

Choosing to support participation from an external position carries implications that become clearer with every issue appearing on the legislative agenda. The reform of the Mining Law presented this week, for example, cannot follow the path taken by the Hydrocarbons Law, which was approved without consultation, transparency or the participation of those who will bear its costs.

Venezuelan scholars, environmental organizations, and Indigenous communities must be sitting at the table in the discussions on the mining law. And the opposition, if it truly aspires to represent Venezuelans and not simply oppose the regime, could present its own reform proposals to the organizations that decide to participate in the process. In this way, participation would be effectively “outsourced.” The direct actors are not recognized, but the work of leading institutions is acknowledged.

What is at stake is more than a specific law or appointment. January 3 set in motion a process of transition in Venezuela that we hope will reach a safe harbor and conclude with free elections. But we cannot forget that there is also a risk that these changes will become little more than a negotiation between the US and remnants of chavismo. Turning this transition into a Venezuelan process requires Venezuelan actors to claim leadership over the institutional processes now unfolding. On one side, civil society must act as the principal driver. On the other, the opposition must decide whether it will remain on the margins or become an active ally.

Transitions are never perfect, because in most cases the preexisting institutions are not trustworthy. Yet decisions made within those institutions tend to be more durable than the circumstances that gave rise to them. Participating in a flawed process does not mean surrendering one’s principles. Refusing to acknowledge the reality of the moment, by contrast, allows others to shape what will become the legal and institutional architecture of the transition. And possibly, the political landscape of the coming decades.