Opinions

Sudan was teetering on the edge of crisis long before open war erupted in April 2023. Decades of authoritarian rule under Omar al-Bashir resulted in a fragile economy, fragmented security forces, and entrenched paramilitary structures.

Following the coup that overthrew al-Bashir in 2019, a fragile civilian-military transitional arrangement failed to unite competing factions. Political instability, localised rebellions, and a simmering rivalry between the Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) and the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) – the successor to the Popular Defence Forces, government-backed militia known as the Janjaweed who committed war crimes in Darfur in the early 2000s – escalated into full-blown conflict.

By mid-2023, Sudan was effectively split into contested zones, with major urban centres, such as Khartoum and Omdurman, transformed into battlefields, and millions of civilians displaced internally or forced across borders as refugees.

Although geographically removed, the European Union played a consequential role in these developments. For nearly a decade, it pursued a strategy of “externalising” migration control, directing aid, training, and equipment to African states ostensibly to reduce irregular migration towards Europe.

In Sudan, this approach produced unintended and devastating consequences that the EU is yet to be held accountable for. Funding initially justified under “migration management” and “capacity building” intersected with opaque arms flows, Gulf intermediaries, and weak oversight. European money and materiel, intended to stabilise populations and impose border forces to buffer the migratory ambitions of Africans, may have indirectly reinforced the very actors now perpetrating war crimes in Sudan.

Between 2014 and 2018, the EU channelled more than 200 million euros ($232m at the current exchange rate) into Sudan via the EU Emergency Trust Fund for Africa (EUTF) and the Better Migration Management (BMM) initiative.

These programmes formally aimed to strengthen migration control, border security and anti-trafficking enforcement. In reality, they entrenched cooperation between the EU and Sudan’s security structures, including units that effectively merged into the RSF.

As early as 2017, the Enough Project, an advocacy group focused on conflict, corruption and human rights, published a report titled Border Control from Hell, warning that “the gravest concern about the EU’s new partnership with Sudan is that the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), one of the most abusive paramilitary groups in the country, stands to benefit from EU funding” and that “the equipment that enables identification and registration of migrants will also reinforce the surveillance capabilities of a Sudanese government that has violently suppressed Sudanese citizens for the past 28 years”.

Two years later, the EU had to suspend several migration-control activities in Sudan because there was a risk that resources could be “diverted for repressive aims”, according to an EU official document cited by German news outlet Deutsche Welle.

And yet, a factsheet titled What the EU really does in Sudan, published on the bloc’s website in 2018, claimed: “The EU does not provide any financial support to the Government of Sudan … The Rapid Support Forces of the Sudanese military do not benefit directly or indirectly from EU funding.”

All this raises an important question: If the EU knew of the risk of diversion, why did it still invest hundreds of millions into a context where control over the end use of training, equipment and funds was manifestly weak?

What is worse is that the EU’s role was not limited to supplying funds that could be misappropriated. It also provided weapons, albeit indirectly.

As the conflict deepened, investigators started uncovering foreign-manufactured weapons and ammunition circulating widely among the RSF and the SAF. Verified imagery, open-source analysis and serial number tracing have revealed European-manufactured systems on Sudan’s battlefields. In November 2024, Amnesty International released an investigation disclosing that Nimr Ajban armoured personnel carriers (APCs) were equipped with French-made Galix defensive systems. Amnesty’s analysts verified images and videos from multiple Sudanese locations and concluded that, if deployed in Darfur, their use would breach the longstanding United Nations arms embargo on the region.

In April, investigations by France24 and the Reuters news agency traced 81mm mortar shells found in an RSF convoy in North Darfur back to Bulgaria. The markings on this ammunition matched mortar bombs manufactured by a Bulgarian firm and exported legally to the United Arab Emirates in 2019. The Bulgarian government had not authorised the re-export of the shells from the UAE to Sudan.

In October, The Guardian reported that British military equipment, including small-arms target systems and engines for APCs, had been used by the RSF in Sudan, and they may have been supplied by the UAE.

Taken together, these findings illustrate a pattern: European-made arms and weapons systems, legally exported to third countries, have subsequently been diverted into Sudan’s conflict, despite embargoes and supposed safeguards.

Although the UAE denies it plays any role in the conflict, its position as an intermediary hub for re-exported weaponry has been repeatedly documented. Still, European suppliers, bound by end-user agreements and export-control frameworks, share responsibility for ensuring compliance.

Under the United Kingdom and EU regulations, governments must deny or revoke licences when there is a clear risk of diversion to conflict zones or human rights abusers. The use of European-made arms and weapons systems in Sudan, therefore, demands a rigorous reassessment of post-shipment monitoring and enforcement.

Despite this, European and British governments have continued to issue new export licences to potential violators, including the UAE. Recent reporting by Middle East Eye shows that the UK approved roughly $227m in military exports to the UAE between April and June this year, even after being informed that Emirati-supplied equipment had reached the RSF.

European countries are by far not an exception in failing to ensure that their weapons are not diverted to war zones under embargo.

My own country, South Africa, has also faced criticism over the lack of control over its arms shipments. In the mid-2010s, the National Conventional Arms Control Committee (NCACC) faced international and domestic scrutiny after South African-manufactured weapons and ammunition were reportedly used by Saudi and Emirati forces in Yemen.

As a result, in 2019, the NCACC delayed or withheld export approvals, especially for “the most lethal” items, amid disputes over updated inspection clauses and human rights concerns. The South African authorities demanded that they be granted access to facilities in importer countries to ensure compliance with the end-user agreement – something the UAE and Saudi Arabia, along with several other countries, refused to provide. By 2022, previously withheld consignments were eventually cleared under renegotiated terms.

Today, evidence suggests that South African weapons may have been diverted to Sudan as well. Investigators and open-source analysts claim to have identified munitions consistent with South African manufacture in Sudan.

The South African case illustrates that even when there is political will to ensure compliance with the end-user agreements for arms sales, enforcement can be challenging. And yet, it is a necessary and crucial part of peacebuilding efforts.

If democratic governments wish to reclaim credibility, end-use monitoring must be enforceable, not a bureaucratic concession. The NCACC in Pretoria and export control authorities in Brussels, Sofia, Paris and London must publish transparent audits of past licences, investigate credible diversion cases, and suspend new approvals where risk remains unmitigated.

In parallel, the EU must ensure migration management funding cannot be coopted by armed actors.

Without such measures, Europe’s migration policy and South Africa’s defence trade risk complicity in a grim paradox: initiatives justified in the name of security that foster insecurity.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

It has been more than a month and a half since a ceasefire was concluded in Gaza. As part of the deal, 600 trucks were supposed to cross daily into the Strip carrying food, medicine, tents, fuel and other basic necessities.

We have grown used to official statements talking about hundreds of trucks crossing the border every day. Photos are released, crossings are documented carefully, and announcements are made with celebration.

“4,200 trucks carrying humanitarian goods are entering Gaza weekly, since the start of the ceasefire. 70% of trucks that entered carried food … Over 16,600 trucks of food entered Gaza since the start of the ceasefire. Over 370,000 tons of food,” claims a November 26 update from the Israeli occupation authorities.

One would think the Palestinians in Gaza are the most well-fed people in the world.

To many of us, it is not clear how Israel counts the “trucks of food”, as there are indeed many commercial trucks allowed in that carry food of low nutritional value, like chocolate bars and biscuits, or food that is too expensive, like frozen chicken for $25 a kilo or a tray of eggs for $30.

Humanitarian organisations also seem to doubt the official count. According to the World Food Programme, only half of required food aid is entering Gaza. According to Palestinian relief agencies, only a quarter of necessary aid is actually allowed to go in.

And then only a fraction of that fraction actually reaches the displaced, the impoverished, the injured and the hungry. That is because much of the aid that does make it inside Gaza disappears into a “Bermuda triangle”.

The distance between the border and the displacement camps, where aid should be distributed, looks short on the map, but in reality, it is the longest distance politically and security-wise.

Yes, many trucks that go through never reach the families that need the supplies the most.

People hear about trucks, yet see no humanitarian packages. They hear about tonnes of flour, but they see no bread. They watch videos of trucks entering the Strip, but they never seen them come to their camps or neighbourhoods. It feels as if the aid enters Gaza only to vanish into thin air.

Recently, talk about the missing aid has grown louder in the streets, especially as basic food items have suddenly appeared in local markets while still carrying labels that say: “Humanitarian Aid Not for Sale”. I have seen cans of chicken meat with this label being sold for $15 apiece.

Even when aid parcels reach the needy, they are often lacking in promised items. For example, my family received a food parcel that was supposed to contain rice, lentils, and six bottles of cooking oil, but when we opened it, there was no rice or lentils, only three bottles of cooking oil.

This is not simply a matter of corruption. After two years of genocidal war, governance in Gaza has collapsed, its institutions systematically targeted by the Israeli army. There is no unified authority, and there is no force able to provide public order and security.

According to the UN mechanism for aid monitoring, from May 19 to November 29, 8035 aid trucks made it to their destinations inside Gaza; 7,127 were “intercepted” either “peacefully” or “forcefully”.

The Israeli army sets restrictions on the roads that trucks can take, often forcing them to take routes that are full of danger. Some roads cannot be used without coordination with powerful local families or neighbourhood committees, others are controlled by armed groups. All this makes a trip of a few dozen kilometres a very fragile process that is easy to disrupt. This is how aid disappears into Gaza’s “Bermuda triangle”.

International organisations are also unable to enforce security. They cannot accompany trucks because of the danger, cannot supervise unloading in real time, and do not have enough staff to track every shipment. Their dependence on local committees and volunteers means they rely on a system full of gaps that different parties quickly take advantage of.

Amid all this, one big question remains: Who truly benefits from the disappearance of aid?

There are the merchants looking for quick profit. There are the local armed groups seeking a source of cash. And there is, of course, the occupation and its allies who want to continue using hunger as a tool of political pressure. All of them are benefitting from the pain of ordinary Palestinians.

The problem here is that attention to what is happening in Gaza has diminished since the ceasefire. The global public feels reassured that the genocide is over, and it is no longer asking why aid is not reaching the Palestinian people.

Meanwhile, within policy and political circles, the disappearance of aid is being normalised, as if it were a natural outcome of conflict. But it is not; it is an engineered crisis meant as yet another kind of collective punishment for the Palestinian people.

As the world chooses yet again to turn a blind eye, it is not only trucks that are vanishing into Gaza’s “Bermuda triangle”, it is also the strength of Palestinians to keep going.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

Ever since Donald Trump declared that he could end the war in Ukraine “within 24 hours”, much of the world has been waiting to see whether he could force Moscow and Kyiv into a settlement. Millions of views and scrolls, miles of news feeds and mountains of forecasts have been burned on that question.

Trump fed this expectation by insisting that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy was running out of options and would eventually have to accept his deal. In reality, the opposite is true. It is Trump who has no leverage. He can threaten Nicolas Maduro with potential military action in or around Venezuela, but he has no influence over Vladimir Putin. Any sanctions harsh enough to damage Russia would also hit the wider Western economy, and there is not a single leader in the West willing to saw off the branch they are sitting on.

Armed intervention is even more implausible. From the first days of the full-scale invasion, NATO decided to support Ukraine with weapons and training while avoiding steps that could trigger a direct NATO–Russia war. That position has not changed.

As a result, Ukraine has been left in a position where, with or without sufficient support from its allies, it is in effect fighting Russia alone. All talk of peace or a ceasefire has proved to be a bluff, a way for Vladimir Putin to buy time and regroup. Putin’s strategy relies on outlasting not only Ukraine’s army but also the patience and political unity of its allies. The United States has now circulated a revised version of its peace framework, softening some of the most contentious points after consultations with Kyiv and several European governments. Yet the Kremlin continues to demand major territorial concessions and the withdrawal of Ukrainian forces. Without this, Russia says it will not halt its advance. Ukraine, for its part, maintains that it will not surrender territory.

Once it became clear that the diplomatic track offered no breakthrough, the United States all but halted arms deliveries to Ukraine. Officials blamed the federal government shutdown, although the real cause was unlikely to be a shortage of movers at the Pentagon. Either way, American military assistance has dwindled to a trickle, consisting mostly of supplies approved under the Biden administration. At his confirmation hearing before the Senate Armed Services Committee, Defense Secretary-designate Austin Dahmer said: “I’m not aware of any pause in [US military] aid to Ukraine.” It sounded less like a serious assessment and more like an admission of ignorance. Every Ukrainian soldier can feel the consequences of the sharp reduction in American weapons. Every resident of Kyiv and other cities can feel the shortage of air defence systems.

Europe has not filled the gap. The European Union’s defence industry and joint-procurement schemes have produced many promises but little real money. A few billion euros have been formally committed and far less has been delivered. Member states prefer to rearm themselves first and Ukraine second, although their own programmes are moving slowly. The EU remains divided between governments willing to take greater risks to support Kyiv and others that fear provoking Russia or weakening their own budgets. Brussels is now pushing a plan to use frozen Russian assets to back a loan of up to 140 billion euros ($162bn) for Ukraine, which could support Kyiv’s budget and defence spending over the next two years. Several key member states that host most of those reserves remain cautious, and without unanimity, the plan may stall.

This leaves Ukraine expanding its own production and fighting with whatever arrives and whatever is not siphoned off by corrupt figures such as Tymur Mindich, who is under investigation in a major procurement case. For now, Ukraine can slow the enemy at enormous cost, but this is nowhere near enough to win.

The army is under-supplied. The government has failed to sustain motivation or mobilise the country; in fact, it has achieved the opposite. Men are fighting their fourth year of war, while women cannot wait indefinitely. Divorces are rising, exhaustion is deepening, and morale is collapsing. Prosecutors have opened more than 255,000 cases for unauthorised absence and more than 56,000 for desertion since 2022. In the first 10 months of 2025 alone, they registered around 162,500 AWOL cases and 21,600 desertion cases. Other reports suggest that more than 21,000 troops left the army in October, which is the highest monthly figure so far. Social injustice is widening.

Demographically, the picture is equally bleak. Ukraine’s population has fallen from more than 50 million at independence to about 31 million in territory controlled by Kyiv as of early 2025. Births remain below deaths and fertility rates have dropped to about one child per woman.

Against this backdrop, Ukraine is left with three strategic options.

The first option is to accept Putin’s terms. This would mean capitulating, losing political face and giving up territory, but it would preserve a Ukrainian state. It would also lock the country into long-term vulnerability.

The second option is a radical overhaul of Ukraine’s political and military leadership. This would involve rebuilding mobilisation, restructuring the command system and re-engineering the war effort from the ground up. Ukraine cannot fight a long war with institutions that were designed for peacetime politics and rotational deployments.

The third option is to change nothing and maintain the status quo. Ukraine would continue launching precision strikes on Russian oil infrastructure in the hope of grinding down the Kremlin’s economy and waiting for Putin to die. This is an illusion. If such strikes could not break a smaller Ukraine, they will not break a country many times larger in economic, territorial and demographic terms. Damage will be inflicted, but nowhere near enough to force Russia to stop.

Judging by recent statements from Zelenskyy and several of his European partners, Ukraine has effectively committed itself to the third option. The question is how long this approach can be sustained. Even setting aside morale and exhaustion after four years of war, the financial outlook is bleak. Ukraine faces a vast budget deficit and public debt that is likely to exceed 100 percent of gross domestic product. Europe has failed to assemble the necessary funds, Belgium has not released frozen Russian assets and economic growth across much of the continent remains weak. Any significant increase in support would require political courage at a time when voters remain sensitive to the recent inflation surge. The EU is also unable to tie the United States to long-term commitments in the current political climate in Washington.

All this leads to an unavoidable conclusion. If Ukraine intends to survive as a state, it will eventually have to take the second path and undertake a radical restructuring of its political and military leadership. Once that moment arrives, Moscow’s terms will be harsher than they are now. The Russian ultimatum is likely to expand from claims on four regions to demands for eight, along with strict control mechanisms, demilitarisation and further concessions.

Radical change is needed immediately, before Ukraine’s strategic options narrow further and before its ability to resist collapses with them.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

On Saturday, the Reuters news agency published an exclusive report claiming that the United States is “poised to launch a new phase of Venezuela-related operations in the coming days”. The report cited four US officials who spoke on condition of anonymity. Two of the officials said covert operations would likely be the first step in this “new action” against Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro.

This was less than shocking news given that more than a month ago, US President Donald Trump himself announced that he had authorised the CIA to conduct covert operations in Venezuela – a rather unique approach since one does not normally broadcast actions that are supposed to be, um, secret.

Anyway, it’s no secret that the US has been overseeing a massive military build-up in the region with about 15,000 US troops currently stationed there under the guise of fighting “narcoterrorism”. Since early September, Trump has also presided over wanton extrajudicial executions in the Caribbean Sea, repeatedly ordering the bombing of what he claims are drug-trafficking boats.

In addition to violating both international and US law, the strikes have produced little to show for themselves beyond terrorising local fishermen.

To be sure, the US has never met a “war on drugs” it didn’t love, given the convenient opportunities the whole drug-war narrative offers for wreaking havoc worldwide, militarising the Western Hemisphere, criminalising poor Americans and all sorts of other good stuff.

Never mind that US financial institutions have for decades reaped profits from the international drug trade – or that “The CIA Drug Connection Is as Old as the Agency,” as an article on The New York Times website puts it.

It should come as no surprise by now that the president who campaigned on keeping the US out of wars and then promptly bombed Iran has now found another conflict in which to embroil the country. And as is par for the course in US imperial belligerence, the rationale for aggression against Venezuela doesn’t hold water.

For example, the Trump administration has strived to pin the blame for the fentanyl crisis in the US on Maduro. But there’s a slight problem – which is that Venezuela doesn’t even produce the synthetic opioid in question.

As NBC News and other hardly radical outlets have pointed out, Venezuelan drug cartels are focused on exporting cocaine to Europe, not fentanyl to the US.

Nevertheless, on November 13, US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth – pardon, US Secretary of War Pete Hegseth, as per administrative rebranding – took to X to assure his audience that the massive US military build-up off the Venezuelan coast is a mission that “defends our Homeland, removes narco-terrorists from our Hemisphere, and secures our Homeland from the drugs that are killing our people”.

This is the same administration, of course, that was just threatening to starve impoverished Americans by withholding essential food assistance, which suggests that the wellbeing of “our people” isn’t really of utmost concern.

Consider also the fact that Trump slashed federal funding for gun violence prevention programmes in a country where mass shootings have become a way of life. Obviously, massacres in elementary schools are “killing our people” in a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with Venezuela.

But it’s so much more fun to blame Maduro for everything, right?

Poverty itself is a major killer in America – as is the domestic pharmaceutical industry (speaking of opioids). However, none of these full-blown crises has merited a remotely gung-ho response from the valiant defenders of the Homeland.

Like his predecessor Hugo Chavez, Maduro has long been a thorn in the side of US empire – hence the current campaign to discredit him as a “narcoterrorist” and thereby set the stage for regime change. He also happens to be a pet target of Secretary of State Marco Rubio, who is seen as the main architect of Washington’s war plans in Venezuela. Potentially eyeing a presidential bid in three years, Rubio is seeking to curry favour with his Florida constituency, which includes fanatically right-wing members of the Venezuelan and Cuban diasporas.

According to the Reuters report on impending “Venezuela-related operations”, two of the US officials consulted told the news agency that “the options under consideration included attempting to overthrow Maduro”. If the plans succeeds, Rubio would join the lengthy roster of US politicians who have propagated deadly havoc abroad in the interest of political gains at home.

Meanwhile, The Washington Post reported on Saturday that the White House had “proposed an idea for US military planes to drop leaflets over Caracas in a psychological operation” to pressure Maduro.

Sounds like a page – or a leaflet – out of the old Israeli military playbook.

And as the Trump administration barrels on with its not-so-covert plans for Venezuela, such hemispheric recklessness will secure neither the US homeland nor anyone else’s.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

Militaries are major global polluters, yet they remain exempt from climate reporting, creating a blind spot that threatens the entire COP30 roadmap.

As COP30 negotiations in Belem enter their final stretch, there is hope that countries might finally agree on a roadmap to phase out fossil fuels — a breakthrough that is crucial if we are serious about keeping 1.5C alive. Yet even at this pivotal moment, one major highway is still missing from that roadmap that could undermine the progress made in Brazil: the carbon emissions of the military.

Under the Paris Agreement, governments are not required to report their militaries’ emissions, and most simply don’t. Recent analysis by the Military Emissions Gap project shows that what little data exists is patchy, inconsistent or missing entirely. This “military emissions gap” is the gulf between what governments disclose and the true scale of military pollution. The result is stark: militaries remain largely invisible in the Belem negotiations, creating a dangerous blind spot in global climate action.

The size of that blind spot is staggering. Militaries account for an estimated 5.5 percent of global emissions. This share is set to rise further as defence spending surges while the rest of society decarbonises. If militaries were a country, they would be the fifth-largest emitter on Earth, ahead of Russia with 5 percent. Yet only five countries follow the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change’s (UNFCCC) voluntary reporting guidelines for military emissions, and those cover fuel use alone. The reality is far broader: munitions production and disposal, waste management and fugitive emissions from refrigeration, air-conditioning, radar and electrical equipment are left out. And operations in international waters and airspace are not reported at all, leaving massive gaps in both climate accountability and action.

The military emissions gap widens further still when we consider the climate impact of armed conflicts. As if the horror and human suffering from fighting wars were not enough, wars also destroy ecosystems, leave a toxic legacy on lands for decades to follow, and result in significant CO2 emissions, including from the rebuilding following the destruction of buildings and infrastructure. But without any internationally agreed framework to measure conflict emissions, these additional emissions risk going unreported, meaning that we don’t know how much wars are setting back climate action.

But despite this, momentum for accountability is finally building. Nearly 100 organisations have signed the War on Climate initiative’s pledges ahead of COP30, and protesters and civil society groups in Belem are demanding the UNFCCC confront this long-ignored source of pollution. Policymakers are starting to shift, too. The European Union has taken steps towards more transparent reporting and decarbonisation in the defence sector, though this progress is now threatened by rapid rearmament. Combined with NATO’s new target for members to spend 5 percent of gross domestic product on militaries, these pledges could produce up to 200 million tonnes of CO2 and trigger as much as $298bn in climate damages annually, putting Europe’s own climate goals at risk.

International law reinforces the urgency and demand for accountability. The International Court of Justice’s recent landmark advisory opinion reminded states that they are obliged under climate treaties to assess, report and mitigate harms, including those caused by armed conflict and military activity. Ignoring these emissions doesn’t just undercount global warming; it masks the scale of the crisis and weakens the world’s ability to tackle its root causes.

The gap between current emission-reduction plans and what is needed to stay below the 1.5C limit remains catastrophic. If COP30 negotiators agree on a roadmap for phasing out fossil fuels, what happens next will determine whether it delivers real progress or remains symbolic. No sector can be exempt from climate action, and military emissions cannot continue to remain hidden.

Mandatory reporting of all military emissions to the UNFCCC – from combat and training activities to the long-lasting climate damage inflicted on communities – is essential.  That data must form the baseline for urgent, science-aligned reductions, embedded in national climate plans, and consistent with the 1.5C limit.

Security cannot come at the cost of the climate. Tackling climate change is now essential to our collective safety and the survival of our planet.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

When US President Donald Trump declared that South Africa “should not even be” in the G20 and then took to Truth Social on November 7 to announce that no American official would attend this year’s summit in Johannesburg on account of a so-called “genocide” of white farmers in the country, I was not surprised. His outburst was not an exception but the latest expression of a long Western tradition of disciplining African sovereignty. Western leaders have long tried to shut down African agency through mischaracterisations, from branding Congolese nationalist Patrice Lumumba a “Soviet puppet” to calling anti-apartheid leader Nelson Mandela a “terrorist”, and Trump’s assault on South Africa falls squarely into that pattern.

As Africa pushes for a stronger voice in global governance, the Trump administration has intensified efforts to isolate Pretoria. South Africa’s growing diplomatic assertiveness, from BRICS expansion to climate finance negotiations, has challenged conservative assumptions that global leadership belongs exclusively to the West.

On February 7, Trump signed an executive order halting US aid to South Africa. He alleged that the government’s land expropriation policy discriminates against white farmers and amounts to uncompensated confiscation. Nothing could be further from the truth. South African law permits expropriation only through due process and compensation, with limited exceptions set out in the Constitution. Trump’s claims ignore this legal reality, revealing a deliberate preference for distortion over fact.

Soon after, the administration amplified its rollout of a refugee admissions policy that privileged Afrikaners, citing once again discredited claims of government persecution. What is clear is that Washington has deliberately heightened tensions with Pretoria, searching for any pretext to cast South Africa as an adversary. This selective compassion, extended only to white South Africans, exposes a racialised hierarchy of concern that has long shaped conservative engagement with the continent.

Yet, for months, South African officials have firmly rejected these claims, pointing to judicial rulings, official statistics, and constitutional safeguards that show no evidence of systematic persecution, let alone a “genocide” of white farmers. Indeed, as independent experts repeatedly confirmed, there is no credible evidence whatsoever to support the claim that white farmers in South Africa are being systematically targeted as part of a campaign of genocide. Their rebuttals highlight a basic imbalance: Pretoria is operating through verifiable data and institutional process, while Washington relies on exaggeration and ideological grievance.

At the same time, as host of this year’s G20 Summit, Pretoria is using the platform to champion a more cooperative and equitable global order. For South Africa, chairing the G20 is not only symbolic, but strategic, an attempt to expand the influence of countries long excluded from shaping the rules of global governance.

Trump’s G20 boycott embodies a transnational crusade shaped by Christian righteousness. Trump’s rhetoric reduces South Africa to a moral backdrop for American authority rather than recognising it as a sovereign partner with legitimate aspirations. The boycott also mirrors a wider effort to discredit multilateral institutions that dilute American exceptionalism.

This stance is rooted in a long evangelical-imperial tradition, one that fused theology with empire and cast Western dominance as divinely sanctioned. The belief that Africa required Western moral rescue emerged in the nineteenth century, when European missionaries declared it a Christian duty to civilise and redeem the continent. The wording has changed, but the logic endures, recasting African political agency as a civilisational error rather than a legitimate expression of sovereignty. This moralised paternalism did not disappear with decolonisation. It simply adapted, resurfacing whenever African nations assert themselves on the world stage.

American evangelical and conservative Christian networks wield significant influence inside the Republican Party. Their political and media ecosystem, featuring Fox News and the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN), routinely frames multilateral institutions, global aid, and international law as subordinate to American sovereignty and Christian civilisation. These networks shape not only rhetoric but policy, turning fringe narratives into foreign policy priorities.

They also amplify unproven claims of Christian persecution abroad, particularly in countries such as Nigeria and Ethiopia, to legitimise American political and military interference. Trump’s fixation with South Africa follows the same script: a fabricated crisis crafted to thrill, galvanise, and reassure a conservative Christian base. South Africa becomes another stage for this performance.

In this distorted narrative, South Africa is not a constitutional democracy acting through strong, independent courts and institutions. Instead, Africa’s most developed country is stripped of its standing and portrayed as a flawed civilisation in need of Western correction. For conservative Christian nationalists, African decision-making is not autonomous agency but a supervised privilege granted only when African decisions align with Western priorities.

By casting South Africa as illegitimate in the G20, invoking false claims of genocide and land seizures, and penalising Pretoria’s ICJ case with aid cuts, Trump asserts that only the West can define global legitimacy and moral authority, a worldview anchored in Christian-nationalist authority. Trump’s crusade is punishment, not principle, and it seeks to deter African autonomy itself.

On many occasions, I have walked the streets of Alexandra, a Johannesburg township shaped by apartheid’s spatial design, where inequality remains brutally vivid. Alexandra squeezes more than one million residents into barely 800 hectares (about 2,000 acres). A significant portion of its informal housing sits on the floodplain of the Jukskei River, where settlements crowd narrow pathways and fragile infrastructure. Here, the consequences of structural inequality are unmistakable, yet they vanish entirely within Trump’s constructed crisis.

These communities sit only a few kilometres from Sandton, a spacious, leafy, and affluent suburb that is home to some of the country’s most expensive properties. The vast and entrenched gulf between these adjacent lands is essentially a living symbol of the profound inequality Trump is willing to overlook and legitimise as a global norm, built on selective moral outrage and racialised indifference.

In Alexandra, the struggle for dignity, equality, and inclusion is not a religious American fantasy, but a practical quest for the rights that apartheid and wider global injustice sought to deny. Their struggle mirrors the wider global fight against structures that concentrate wealth and power in a few hands. They, too, deserve better.

This is the human condition Trump’s pseudo-morality refuses to acknowledge. This is why South Africa’s global leadership matters.

Earlier this year, South Africa’s President Cyril Ramaphosa commissioned a landmark G20 Global Inequality Report, chaired by Nobel-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz. It found that the world’s richest 1 percent have captured more than 40 percent of new wealth since 2000 and that more than 80 percent of humanity now lives in conditions the World Bank classifies as high inequality.

The Johannesburg G20 Summit seeks to reform multilateral development banks, such as the World Bank, to confront a global financial system that sidelines developing countries and perpetuates economic injustice. While South Africa turns to recognised multilateral tools such as the ICJ and G20 reform, the US has moved in the opposite direction.

Under Trump, Washington has sanctioned the International Criminal Court, abandoned key UN bodies, and rejected scrutiny from UN human rights experts, reflecting a Christian-nationalist doctrine that treats American power as inherently absolute and answerable to no one.

South Africa offers an alternative vision rooted in global cooperation, shared responsibility, equality, and adherence to international law, a vision that unsettles those invested in unilateral power. The US recasts decolonisation as sin, African equality as disruption, and American dominance as divinely ordained. Trump’s attacks reveal how deeply this worldview still shapes American foreign policy.

Yet the world has moved beyond colonial binaries. African self-determination can no longer be framed as immoral. Human rights are universal, and dignity belongs to us all.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

Earlier this week, a flight carrying 153 Palestinians from Gaza landed in South Africa without documentation. The passengers were stuck on the plane for 12 hours before the South African authorities, who claimed they had not been informed by Israelis about the deportation flight, allowed them to disembark on humanitarian grounds.

The Palestinians on board had paid between $1,500 and $5,000 to a company called Al-Majd Europe to leave Gaza. The operation is run by a few Palestinians on the ground in coordination with the Israeli occupation authorities. At least two other such flights had already been made since June this year.

This is the latest scheme Israel is deploying to depopulate Gaza – a longstanding goal of its apartheid regime that goes back to the early 20th century.

Since the beginning of the Zionist movement, Palestinians have been perceived as a demographic obstacle to establishing a Jewish state. In the late 19th century, Theodor Herzl, one of the founding fathers of Zionism, wrote that the displacement of Arabs from Palestine must be part of the Zionist plan, suggesting that poor populations could be moved across borders and deprived of employment opportunities in a quiet and cautious manner.

In 1938, David Ben-Gurion, a key Zionist leader who would later become Israel’s first prime minister, made clear he supported forced “relocation” and saw nothing “immoral” in it. Part of this vision was carried out 10 years later during the Nakba of 1948, when more than 700,000 Palestinians were forced out of their homes in what Israeli historian Benny Morris has called “necessary” ethnic cleansing.

After 1948, Israel continued efforts to displace Palestinians. In the 1950s, tens of thousands of Palestinians and Palestinian Bedouins were forcibly transferred from the Naqab (Negev) desert to the Sinai Peninsula or Gaza, which was under Egyptian administration at that time.

After the June 1967 war, when Israel occupied Gaza, the West Bank and East Jerusalem, it adopted a strategy of what it called “voluntary migration”. The idea was to create harsh living conditions to pressure residents to leave, including demolishing homes and reducing employment opportunities.

In parallel, “emigration offices” were established in the refugee camps of Gaza to encourage people who have lost any hope of return to their homes to leave in exchange for money and travel arrangements. Israel also encouraged Palestinians to go work abroad, especially in the Gulf.  The price Palestinians had to pay for leaving was never being allowed to come back.

After October 7, 2023, Israel saw another chance to carry out its plan of ethnically cleansing Gaza – this time through genocide and forced expulsion. It thought it had the necessary international sympathy and diplomatic capital to carry out such an atrocity, as statements by various Israeli officials, such as ministers Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich, show. They even came up with the so-called “General’s Plan” to fully depopulate northern Gaza.

The new scheme for forcing Palestinians out of Gaza fits well into this historical pattern. What distinguishes it, however, is that Palestinians are made to pay for their own forced displacement and their desperation is exploited by Palestinian collaborators who seek to make easy profit. This, of course, is meant to further the financial depletion of the Palestinian population and create more internal fissures and tensions.

This scheme, like previous ones, also has the central feature of denying Palestinians return. None of the passengers on the plane received Israeli exit stamps on their passports, which was the reason the South African authorities struggled with the admission process. Having no legal record of leaving the Israeli-occupied territory of Gaza means these people are automatically classified as illegal migrants and have no possibility of returning.

It is important here to clarify why Israel is allowing these flights to take place while impeding the evacuation of ill and injured Palestinians and students accepted in foreign universities. These exits of patients and students would be legal, and they imply the right to return – something Israel does not want to allow.

That there are Palestinians willing to fall for this flight scheme is unsurprising. Two years of genocide have driven the people of Gaza to unimaginable desperation. There are that many Gaza residents who would willingly board those planes. And yet, Israel cannot fly us all to South Africa.

Through decades of Zionist occupation, Palestinians have persevered. Palestinian steadfastness in the face of wars, sieges, home raids, demolitions, land theft, and economic subjugation confirms that the Palestinian land is not merely a place to live, but a symbol of identity and history that people are not willing to give up.

In the past two years, Israel has destroyed the lives and homes of two million Palestinians. And even that has failed to kill the Palestinian spirit and drive to hold onto the Palestinian land. The Palestinians are not flying out; we are here to stay.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

The Trump administration is pushing an Israeli-crafted resolution at the UN Security Council (UNSC) this week aimed at eliminating the possibility of a State of Palestine. The resolution does three things. It establishes US political control over the Gaza Strip. It separates Gaza from the rest of Palestine. And it allows the US, and therefore Israel, to determine the timeline for Israel’s supposed withdrawal from Gaza, which would mean never.

This is imperialism masquerading as a peace process. In and of itself, it is no surprise. Israel runs US foreign policy in the Middle East. What is a surprise is that the US and Israel might just get away with this travesty unless the world speaks up with urgency and indignation.

The draft UNSC resolution would establish a US-UK-dominated Board of Peace, chaired by none other than President Donald Trump himself, and endowed with sweeping powers over Gaza’s governance, borders, reconstruction, and security. This resolution would sideline the State of Palestine and condition any transfer of authority to the Palestinians on the indulgence of the Board of Peace.

This would be an overt return to the British mandate of 100 years ago, with the only change being that the US would hold the mandate rather than the United Kingdom. If it were not so utterly tragic, it would be laughable. As Marx said, history repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. Yes, the proposal is a farce, yet Israel’s genocide is not. It is a tragedy of the first order.

Incredibly, according to the draft resolution, the Board of Peace would be granted sovereign powers in Gaza. Palestinian sovereignty is left to the discretion of the board, which alone would decide when Palestinians are “ready” to govern themselves – perhaps in another 100 years? Even military security is subordinated to the board, and the envisioned forces would answer not to the UNSC or to the Palestinian people, but to the board’s “strategic guidance”.

The US-Israel resolution is being put forward precisely because the rest of the world – other than Israel and the US – has woken up to two facts. First, Israel is committing genocide, a reality witnessed every day in Gaza and the occupied West Bank, where innocent Palestinians are murdered to the satisfaction of the Israeli military and illegal Israeli settlers in the West Bank. Second, Palestine is a state, albeit one whose sovereignty remains obstructed by the US, which uses its veto in the UNSC to block Palestine’s permanent UN membership. At the UN this past July and then again in September, the UN General Assembly voted overwhelmingly for Palestine’s statehood, a fact that put the Israel-US Zionist lobby into overdrive, resulting in the current draft resolution.

For Israel to accomplish its goal of Greater Israel, the US is pursuing a classic divide-and-conquer strategy, squeezing Arab and Islamic states with threats and inducements. When other countries resist the US-Israel demands, they are cut off from critical technologies, lose access to World Bank and IMF financing, and suffer Israeli bombing, even in countries with US military bases present. The US offers no real protection; rather, it orchestrates a protection racket, extracting concessions from countries wherever US leverage exists. This extortion will continue until the global community stands up to such tactics and insists upon genuine Palestinian sovereignty and US and Israeli adherence to international law.

Palestine remains the endless victim of US and Israeli manoeuvres. The results are not just devastating for Palestine, which has suffered an outright genocide, but for the Arab world and beyond. Israel and the US are currently at war, overtly or covertly, across the Horn of Africa (Libya, Sudan, Somalia), the eastern Mediterranean (Lebanon, Syria), the Gulf region (Yemen), and Western Asia (Iraq, Iran).

If the UNSC is to provide true security according to the UN Charter, it must not yield to US pressures and instead act decisively in line with international law. A resolution truly for peace should include four vital points. First, it should welcome the State of Palestine as a sovereign UN member state, with the US lifting its veto. Second, it should safeguard the territorial integrity of the State of Palestine and Israel, according to the 1967 borders. Third, it should establish a UNSC-mandated protection force drawn up from Muslim-majority states. Fourth, it should include the defunding and disarmament of all belligerent non-state entities, and it should ensure the mutual security of Israel and Palestine.

The two-state solution is about true peace, not about the politicide and genocide of Palestine, or the continued attacks by militants on Israel. It is time for both Palestinians and Israelis to be safe, and for the US and Israel to give up the cruel delusion of permanently ruling over the Palestinian people.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

When e-commerce company Jumia wanted to go public in 2019, Africa’s most celebrated start-up didn’t list in Lagos, Nairobi, Kigali or Johannesburg. It went to New York instead. That tells you everything about Africa’s start-up problem: It’s not a money problem; it’s an exit problem.

African entrepreneurs can build world-class businesses, but investors hesitate because they cannot see how or when they will get their money back. Initial public offerings (IPOs) remain extremely rare, and most exits take the form of trade sales – often unpredictable and slow to clear. Our stock exchanges offer little comfort either with liquidity outside the largest firms still limited.

Start-ups here can remain “start-ups” for decades with no clear path to maturity.

By contrast, Silicon Valley hums along because everyone knows the playbook: build fast, scale up and within five to seven years either list on an exchange or get acquired. Investors know they will not be stuck forever. That certainty, not just the capital, drives the flow of billions.

If Africa wants its tech ecosystems to thrive, we need a parallel play alongside any new funds. Yes, let’s mobilise sovereign wealth, pensions, banks and guarantees. But equally, let’s change the rules of the game. Let’s build an exit clarity framework that gives investors confidence.

That means fast-track “growth IPO lanes” on our exchanges with lighter costs and simpler disclosures. It means standardised merger templates that guarantee regulatory reviews within clear time limits.

It means regulated secondary markets where early investors and employees can sell shares before an IPO.

It means modernising employee stock ownership rules so talent can build wealth too.

And it means creating anchor-exit facilities where big domestic players like South Africa’s Public Investments Corporation or IDC commit to buy into IPOs with risk-sharing from development partners.

The evidence shows why these matter. More than 80 percent of startup funding in Africa comes from abroad. African unicorns are overwhelmingly funded by foreign venture capital, with several having foreign co-founders or being incorporated outside the continent. This means exits and wealth creation largely flow offshore. When global shocks hit, whether interest rate hikes in Washington or political turmoil in Europe, our ventures shake.

On the Johannesburg Stock Exchange, small-cap boards make up only a sliver of daily trading activity, underscoring how limited liquidity is outside the blue chips.

In Kenya, the Growth Enterprise Market Segment, set up to serve fast-growing firms, has struggled to gain traction with only five companies currently listed as of 2024 – more than a decade after its 2013 launch.

To be sure, there are those who will argue that exits already exist: Trade sales are happening, holding periods in Africa are shorter than in many markets and capital is trickling in regardless.

That is true, but partial. Trade sales can be an option, but they are often unpredictable. Regulatory approvals take time, and deal terms are not always transparent enough for investors to build them confidently into their models.

This is not a system that inspires confidence from our own pension funds or sovereign wealth managers.

The response, then, is not to simply wait for more money to arrive but to fix the structures that govern its movement. If we could walk into investor meetings and say, “Here’s the pipeline of companies. Here’s the capital vehicle, and here is a clear five-year exit pathway,” we could shift the conversation entirely.

We could make African innovation not only attractive to foreign investors but also bankable for African ones. South Africa is uniquely positioned to lead this change. It has deep capital markets, capable regulators and institutional pools of capital looking for new growth opportunities.

The ask is not just to invest in start-ups but to invest in a new rulebook that makes exits real. If we succeed, we will have built more than another fund. We will have built a system that recycles African savings into African innovation, creating African wealth.

For too long, the debate has been framed around scarcity of money. But the truth is less about scarcity and more about certainty. Investors do not only chase returns. They chase predictable exits. Without exits, funds hesitate. With exits, funds multiply.

So, yes, let us mobilise capital and launch new funds. But let us also do the harder, braver thing: change the rules, not just the money. That is how we ensure our unicorns aren’t built on foreign capital alone. That is how we give our own savers and pensioners a stake in Africa’s growth.

And that is how we finally write a new playbook under which African innovation, African capital and African ownership all run on the same page because, in the end, the real lesson of Jumia is not that Africa cannot produce billion-dollar start-ups. It is that until we change the rules of exit, we risk exporting the wealth that should be owned and grown at home.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

This week, Democratic Socialist Zohran Mamdani made history by becoming the first Muslim mayor of New York City. His road to victory was anything but smooth. After he secured a historic win in the mayoral primary, he faced a landslide of attacks from across the political spectrum. In the months that followed, the hateful rhetoric from right-wing provocateurs, social media personalities, and even his three opponents mushroomed.

Republican candidate Curtis Sliwa claimed that Mamdani supports “global jihad”; independent candidate and former New York governor Andrew Cuomo agreed with a comment that Mamdani would celebrate “another 9/11”; and outgoing NYC mayor, Eric Adams, who dropped out and endorsed Cuomo, suggested that a Mamdani mayorship would turn New York into Europe, where “Islamic extremists … are destroying communities.”

Sadly, as researchers of anti-Muslim bias, and Muslim individuals who came of age in a post-9/11 America, we know attacks of this nature – on someone’s character or fitness for a job because of their religious background or national origin – aren’t entirely unexpected. We know that Islamophobia spikes not after a violent act, but rather during election campaigns and political events, when anti-Muslim rhetoric is used as a political tactic to garner support for a specific candidate or policy.

Worryingly, these attacks also reflect a general trend of rising Islamophobia, which our research has recently uncovered. The latest edition of the Institute for Social Policy and Understanding’s (ISPU) American Muslim Poll, which contains our Islamophobia Index, released on October 21, reveals that in the last three years, Islamophobia has sharply risen in the US, across almost all demographic groups.

Among the general population in the US, on our 1 to 100 scale, the index increased from a score of 25 in 2022 to a score of 33 in 2025. This jump was most pronounced among white Evangelicals, whose score increased from 30 to 45 between 2022 and 2025, and Catholics, whose score increased from 28 to 40 during the same period. Protestants also saw a rise of 7 points, from 23 in 2022 to 30 in 2025. Jews had an Islamophobia score of 17 in 2022, the lowest of any group that year, which increased only slightly to 19 in 2025, the same score as Muslims in 2025. The only group that did not change since 2022 is the non-affiliated.

Undoubtedly, the weaponisation of Islamophobia by high-profile individuals is a major driver of this worrying trend. And it can lead to devastating outcomes for Muslims: From job loss and inability to freely worship, to religious-based bullying of Muslim children in public schools and discrimination in public settings, to even physical violence. Simply put, dangerous rhetoric can have dangerous consequences.

Much of this Islamophobic rhetoric relies on five common stereotypes about Muslims, which we used in putting together our index: That they condone violence, discriminate against women, are hostile to the US, are less civilised, and are complicit in acts of violence committed by Muslims elsewhere. We then surveyed a nationally representative sample, including 2,486 Americans, to identify the extent to which they believed in these tropes.

More Americans are embracing these stereotypes about Muslims, even though they are easily disproved.

For example, despite popular media portrayals of Muslims as more prone to violence or as being complicit in violence perpetrated by Muslims elsewhere in the world, ISPU research shows American Muslims overwhelmingly reject violence. They are more likely than the general public to reject violence carried out by the military against civilians and are as likely to reject individual actors targeting civilians.

The popular stereotype that Muslim communities discriminate against their women also does not hold water. The fact is that Muslim women face more racial and religious discrimination than they do gender discrimination, which all women, Muslim or not, report at equal levels in the United States. The vast majority (99 percent) of Muslim women who wear hijab say they do so out of personal devotion and choice – not coercion. And Muslim women report that their faith is a source of pride and happiness.

Our research also disproves the belief that most Muslims living in the US are hostile to the country. We have found that Muslims with strong religious identities are more likely than those with weaker ones to hold a strong American identity. It also shows that Muslims participate in public life from the local to the national level through civic engagement, working with neighbours to solve community problems, and contributing during times of national crises like the COVID-19 pandemic and the Flint water crisis.

The trope that most Muslims living in the US are less “civilised” than other people has no factual basis, as well. The use of the “civilised/uncivilised” dichotomy strips individuals of their human dignity and separates people into a false, ethnocentric hierarchy on the basis of race or religion. Accusing a group of being less civilised than another is a frequently used dehumanising tactic. Dehumanisation, defined by Genocide Watch as when one group denies the humanity of the other group, is a step on the path to genocide.

We have seen all of these tropes activated in the past few weeks to launch Islamophobic attacks on Mamdani. We have also seen too many of our politicians and public figures use them comfortably in their public speech, placing an entire faith community in harm’s way. As Mamdani said in a speech addressing the Islamophobic attacks by his fellow candidates, “In an era of ever-diminishing bipartisanship, it seems that Islamophobia has emerged as one of the few areas of agreement.”

But Islamophobia isn’t just bad for Muslims – it undermines our democracy and constitutional freedoms. Research has linked belief in these anti-Muslim tropes to greater tolerance for anti-democratic policies. People who embrace Islamophobic beliefs are more likely to agree to limiting democratic freedoms when the country is under threat (suspending checks and balances, limiting freedom of the press), condone military and individual attacks on civilians (a war crime under the Geneva Convention), and approve of discriminatory policies targeting Muslims (banning Muslims, surveilling mosques, and even restricting the ability to vote).

Weaponising Islamophobia in political speech may be perceived as a winning strategy to rally support, but communities where it is deployed end up losing. That is why such practices must be challenged. Confronting and denouncing hate means preserving democracy and human dignity. Perhaps the election of Mamdani will signal a real shift away from this political strategy. As the mayor-elect said in his acceptance speech, “No more will New York be a city where you can traffic in Islamophobia and win an election.”

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

Imagine walking for days and nights to escape gunfire. You carry your child in your arms, guiding them through the darkness to avoid drone attacks. You have no food, no water, and nowhere safe to go.

This is the reality for families in Darfur and across Sudan, where civilians are being trapped, targeted, and terrorised as the country’s brutal war enters its third year. In el-Fasher and other parts of Darfur, entire communities have been besieged. Those who try to flee are attacked; those who remain face starvation, violence, and disease.

Behind these headlines are women and children who are suffering the most. Sexual violence is being used systematically to punish, to terrorise, and to destroy. Women and girls are abducted, forced to work for armed groups during the day, and then assaulted at night, often in front of others. Many survivors are children themselves. Some of the girls who have become pregnant through rape are so young and malnourished that they are unable to feed their babies.

Perpetrators no longer attempt to hide their crimes. Violence has become so widespread that recording or documenting cases can cost you your life. In Tawila, North Darfur, only one clinic run by Doctors Without Borders can provide care for rape survivors.

Boys are also being drawn into the conflict. Over the past 10 days, three trucks filled with children were reported heading towards Nyala, while in South Darfur, children are being armed and sent to fight. Families are disappearing without a trace.

Aid workers are also targeted. They are being kidnapped for ransom, assaulted, sometimes killed, and targeted because armed groups believe humanitarian organisations can pay. Many of those delivering aid are Sudanese women who risk their lives every day to bring food, water, and protection services to others.

Violence has also taken on an ethnic dimension. One displaced person told us, “I cannot go back, they will know by my skin colour which tribe I am from, and they will kill me.”

Sudan is now the world’s largest displacement crisis and one of its most severe humanitarian emergencies. More than 30 million people need urgent assistance. Fifteen million have been forced from their homes. Hunger and cholera are spreading fast. Clinics have been destroyed, schools are closed, and 13 million children are out of school, their education and futures slipping away.

Yet even amid this devastation, Sudanese women’s organisations are leading the response. They are running safe spaces, supporting survivors of violence, and keeping children learning where they can. They know their communities and continue their work despite constant danger. Their courage deserves not only recognition but also support.

The humanitarian response, however, remains catastrophically underfunded. Only about a quarter of what is needed has been received. Without immediate resources, millions will be left without food, medical care, or shelter as famine looms. Funding protection and psychosocial support for women and children is not optional. It is life-saving.

And this is not only a crisis of violence but also a crisis of indifference. Each day the world looks away, more lives are lost and more futures erased. The international community must support investigations into war crimes, including sexual violence, ethnic killings, and attacks on aid workers. Silence is not neutrality. Silence gives a blank cheque for horror to continue.

We must act now, urgently. Governments and donors must fully fund the humanitarian response and ensure access for those delivering aid. They must press all parties to immediately stop attacks on civilians, guarantee safe passage for those fleeing, and allow relief operations to reach those cut off by the fighting.

Humanitarian workers and grassroots organisations are risking their lives so that others might live. The world must match their courage with urgent action.

Above all, Sudan’s women and girls must be part of shaping peace. They are already leading by organising, sheltering, and rebuilding amid the chaos. Their courage offers a glimpse of the country Sudan could still become.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

And so another member of the old “war on terror” team has left the world. Dick Cheney, who served as the most powerful vice president in the history of the United States during the two-term administration of George W Bush (2001-2009), died on Monday at the age of 84.

According to a memorial statement issued by his family, Cheney was “a great and good man who taught his children and grandchildren to love our country, and to live lives of courage, honor, love, kindness, and fly fishing”.

And yet many inhabitants of the Earth will remember the late VP for rather less warm and fuzzy things than love and fly fishing. As the chief architect of the “global war on terror” – which was launched in 2001 and enabled the US to terrorise various locations worldwide under the guise of fighting “terrorists” – Cheney died with untold quantities of blood on his hands, particularly in Iraq.

In the run-up to the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, Cheney swore that the “Iraqi regime” had been “very busy enhancing its capabilities in the field of chemical and biological agents” and that the country had continued “to pursue the nuclear programme they began so many years ago”. Per the vice president’s hallucinations, this pursuit of weaponry was “for the purpose of inflicting death on a massive scale”.

As Foreign Policy magazine charmingly noted in its 2012 compilation of the “Top 100 Global Thinkers”, which included Cheney as well as numerous other characters with objectively dubious credentials in terms of thinking: “If scaring us silly were a religion, Dick Cheney would be its high priest.”

But Cheney’s fearmongering – and repeated lies concerning Iraq’s alleged weapons of mass destruction – worked like a charm in paving the way for the infliction of “death on a massive scale” in the country. It also paved the way for the lining of certain pockets, such as those associated with the US oil and engineering firm Halliburton, where Cheney himself served as CEO from 1995 until 2000 and which just happened to win $7bn in no-bid contracts in post-invasion Iraq.

Anyway, it was business as usual in the land of conflicts of interest and revolving doors.

Until his dying day, Cheney espoused a no-regrets approach to the illegal perpetration of mass slaughter and attendant suffering, telling CNN 12 years after the effective pulverisation of Iraq: “It was the right thing to do then. I believed it then, and I believe it now.” Never mind the hundreds of thousands of Iraqi deaths, the forcible displacement of millions, and the dousing of the country in toxic and radioactive munitions that will continue to impact Iraqi health basically for eternity.

Escalating cancer rates among the population have been attributed in part to the US military’s use of depleted uranium weapons, the traces of which “represent a formidable long-term environmental hazard as they will remain radioactive for more than 4.5 billion years”, as Al Jazeera has observed.

But, hey, I hear the fly fishing is great in Baghdad.

And the Iraq war is hardly Cheney’s only nonregret. In response to the 2014 CIA torture report on the US use of “enhanced interrogation techniques” such as rectal rehydration and waterboarding to extract information, Cheney stuck by his guns: “I would do it again in a minute.”

Nor is the “war on terror” the sole defining sadistic episode in the legacy of a man who was a fixture on the American political scene for decades. In December 1989, for example, the US military unleashed hell on the impoverished neighbourhood of El Chorrillo in Panama City, Panama, killing potentially several thousand civilians and earning El Chorrillo the nickname “Little Hiroshima”.

The US defence secretary presiding over the operation was none other than Cheney, this time under the leadership of George HW Bush, whose administration was eager to cure the American public of its post-Vietnam War aversion to military combat abroad with an excessive display of high-tech firepower and an easy “victory”. After the bout of devastation, during which many of El Chorrillo’s wooden shacks went up in flames along with their inhabitants, Cheney boasted that the deadly spectacle had “been the most surgical military operation of its size ever conducted”.

The “surgical” stunt in Panama was a test run for Operation Desert Storm against Iraq in 1991, which was also overseen by Cheney in his own sort of test run for the future infliction of mass death in the country.

Now Cheney is no more, joining his former comrades in war crimes Donald Rumsfeld and Colin Powell in the great beyond. In the wake of his demise, US news agencies and media outlets have restricted themselves to memorialising him as a “polarising” and “controversial” figure who, as The Associated Press diplomatically put it, “was proved wrong on point after point in the Iraq War, without losing the conviction he was essentially right”.

As usual, the corporate media can never bring themselves to call a spade a spade – or a war criminal a war criminal. But against the current backdrop of Israel’s US-backed genocide in the Gaza Strip and other global calamities, the loss of another mass murderer can hardly be considered bad news.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.

It has been two weeks since world leaders gathered in Sharm el-Sheikh and declared, once again, that the path to peace in the Middle East had been found. As with previous such declarations, the Palestinians, the people who must live that peace, were left out.

Today, Israel holds the fragile ceasefire hostage while the world is fixated on the search for the remaining bodies of its dead captives. There is no talk of the Palestinian right to search for and honour their own dead, to mourn publicly the loss.

The idea of reconstruction is dangled before the residents of Gaza. Those who call for it from abroad seem to envision just clearing rubble, pouring concrete, and rehabilitating infrastructure. There is no talk of rebuilding people – restoring their institutions, dignity, and sense of belonging.

But this is what Palestinians need. True reconstruction must focus on the people of Gaza and it must begin not with cement but with the restoration of classrooms and learning. It must begin with young people who have survived the unthinkable and still dare to dream. Without them – without Palestinian educators and students at the centre – no rebuilding effort can endure.

Reconstruction without exclusion

The plans for governance and reconstruction of Gaza currently circulating are excluding those Palestinians most affected by the genocide. Many aspects of these plans are designed to control rather than empower – to install new overseers instead of nurturing local leadership. They prioritise Israel’s security over Palestinian wellbeing and self-determination.

We have seen what such exclusion leads to in the Palestinian context: dependency, frustration and despair. As scholars who have worked for years alongside Palestinian academics and students, we have also seen the central role education plays in Palestinian society.

That is why we believe that reconstruction has to start with education, including higher education. And that process has to include and be led by the Palestinians themselves. Palestinian educators, academics and students have already demonstrated they have the strength to persevere and rebuild.

Gaza’s universities, for example, have been models of resilience. Even as their campuses were razed to the ground, professors and scholars continued to teach and research in makeshift shelters, tents, and public squares – sustaining international partnerships and giving purpose to the most vital part of society: young people.

In Gaza, universities are not only places of study; they are sanctuaries of thought, compassion, solidarity and continuity – the fragile infrastructure of imagination.

Without them, who will train the doctors, nurses, teachers, architects, lawyers, and engineers that Gaza needs? Who will provide safe spaces for dialogue, reflection, and decision-making – the foundations of any functioning society?

We know that there can be no viable future for Palestinians without strong educational and cultural institutions that rebuild confidence, restore dignity and sustain hope.

Solidarity, not paternalism

Over the past two years, something remarkable has happened. University campuses across the world – from the United States to South Africa, from Europe to Latin America – have become sites of moral awakening. Students and professors have stood together against the genocide in Gaza, demanding an end to the war and calling for justice and accountability. Their sit-ins, vigils and encampments have reminded us that universities are not only places of learning but crucibles of conscience.

This global uprising within education was not merely symbolic; it was a reassertion of what scholarship is about. When students risk disciplinary action to defend life and dignity, they remind us that knowledge divorced from humanity is meaningless.

The solidarity they have demonstrated must set the tone for how institutions of higher education approach engagement with and the rebuilding of Gaza’s universities.

The world’s universities must listen, collaborate and commit for the long term. They can build partnerships with Gaza’s institutions, share expertise, support research and help reconstruct the intellectual infrastructure of a society. Fellowships, joint projects, remote teaching and open digital resources are small steps that can make a vast difference.

Initiatives like those of Friends of Palestinian Universities (formally Fobzu), the University of Glasgow and HBKU’s summits, and the Qatar Foundation’s Education Above All already show what sustained cooperation can achieve. Now that spirit of solidarity must expand – grounded in respect and dignity and guided by Palestinian leaders.

The global academic community has a moral duty to stand with Gaza, but solidarity must not slide into paternalism. Reconstruction should not be a charitable gesture; it should be an act of justice.

The Palestinian higher education sector does not need a Western blueprint or a consultant’s template. It needs partnerships that listen and respond, that build capacity on Palestinian terms. It needs trusted relationships for the long term.

Research that saves lives

Reconstruction is never just technical; it is moral. A new political ecology must grow from within Gaza itself, shaped by experience rather than imported models. The slow, generational work of education is the only path that can lead out from the endless cycles of destruction.

The challenges ahead demand scientific, medical and legal ingenuity. For example, asbestos from destroyed buildings now contaminates Gaza’s air, threatening an epidemic of lung cancer. That danger alone requires urgent research collaboration and knowledge-sharing. It needs time to think and consider, conferences, meetings, exchanges of scholarships – the lifeblood of normal scholarly activity.

Then there is the chaos of property ownership and inheritance in a place that has been bulldozed by a genocidal army. Lawyers and social scientists will be needed to address this crisis and restore ownership, resolve disputes and document destruction for future justice.

There are also the myriad war crimes perpetrated against the Palestinian people. Forensic archaeologists, linguists, psychologists and journalists will help people process grief, preserve memory and articulate loss in their own words.

Every discipline has a role to play. Education ties them together, transforming knowledge into survival – and survival into hope.

Preserving memory

As Gaza tries to move on from the genocide, it must also have space to mourn and preserve memory, for peace without truth becomes amnesia. There can be no renewal without grief, no reconciliation without naming loss.

Every ruined home, every vanished family deserves to be documented, acknowledged and remembered as part of Gaza’s history, not erased in the name of expedience. Through this difficult process, new methodologies of care will inevitably come into being. The acts of remembering are a cornerstone of justice.

Education can help here, too – through literature, art, history, and faith – by giving form to sorrow and turning it into the soil from which resilience grows. Here, the fragile and devasted landscape of Gaza, the more-than-human-world can also be healed through education, and only then we will have on the land once again, “all that makes life worth living”, to use a verse from Palestinian poet Mahmoud Darwish.

Rebuilding Gaza will, of course, require cranes and engineers. But more than that, it will require teachers, students and scholars who know how to learn and how to practise skilfully. The work of peace begins not with cement mixers but with curiosity, compassion and courage.

Even amid the rubble, and the ashlaa’, the strewn body parts of the staff and students we have lost to the violence, Gaza’s universities remain alive. They are the keepers of its memory and the makers of its future – the proof that learning itself is an act of resistance, and that education is and must remain the first step towards sustainable peace.

The views expressed in this article are the authors’ own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.