Pro-Palestine activists interrupted an army recruitment event during German Armed Forces Day. They climbed onto a tank and unfurled a banner reading ‘Genocide with German weapons’ and named Rheinmetall, a key arms supplier to Israel’s military.
Published On 6 Jun 20266 Jun 2026
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In April, I accompanied a friend on a visit to villages in Daikundi province, central Afghanistan. The purpose of the trip was to speak to farmer beneficiaries of a project that an NGO operating in the agriculture sector had carried out and to follow up on its impact. The week I spent travelling with him was quite eye-opening regarding the state of the non-profit sector in the country.
The project in question provided zero-energy storage houses to preserve harvests, such as fruit and vegetables, in rural areas. On the surface, the idea was promising: provide farmers with storage space so they could sell their produce over a few months.
However, the farmers we spoke to in several villages showed us heaps of apples decaying beneath the trees. They complained that the storage houses had space for the apples of only two to three families in the entire village.
In another village, we saw frustration with another project from a different NGO. That organisation had bought imported seeds for various vegetables and distributed them among farmers. Staff members provided training, conducted weeks of workshops on cultivation methods and techniques, and regularly monitored the crops.
The local participants invested significant time, energy, land, and water in the project. But the harvest they got from these imported seeds was very little and of poor quality. Despite the enormous amount of money spent by the NGO on surveying, training, logistics, transportation, and staff salaries, the vegetables for each family amounted to about 450 Afghans (roughly $7). There was no accountability for the farmers’ losses.
Such stories are common across rural communities in Afghanistan. While aid organisations publish reports of their achievements, many beneficiaries gain little from poorly designed projects that fail to address the real challenges they face. The cost of these projects is extremely high, but the output is often too little.
Since the Taliban took over Kabul and the US-led coalition withdrew from the country, humanitarian aid and funding in Afghanistan have dramatically collapsed. The struggle to secure funds, however, has not led to better efficiency, accountability, and transparency among the NGOs still operating in Afghanistan.
This is not a recent phenomenon. Between 2001 and 2021, Afghanistan became the poster child for corruption, embezzlement, and waste of foreign aid. One US journalist described it as “the $148 bn failure”.
According to the Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction (SIGAR), set up by the United States to investigate fraud with US funds, between $26bn and $29bn was lost due to embezzlement or wasteful spending. This was just funding provided by the US government; there is no estimate for how much was wasted from other donors.
While much of the foreign funds went to the security sector, a significant amount went to the non-profit sphere, where waste was also widespread. Millions, if not billions, worth of projects became a missed opportunity to improve the lives of Afghans, especially in rural areas. This is a legacy that persists to this day.
This situation is not unique to Afghanistan. The development sector across the world is known for waste and inefficiency. In the Afghan context, that is exacerbated by the lack of control and difficulty of ground work.
Many foreign NGOs do not directly implement their projects; instead, they work through implementing partners (IPs), which themselves outsource implementation to subcontractors. This extended chain of actors means that often there is a lack of proper quality control and supervision, and there is motivation to carry out lower-quality work in order to increase profit.
Furthermore, the primary concern of IPs is securing funding. So they often present project proposals that look great on paper but do not necessarily have a substantial impact on the circumstances of the local population or address their most urgent needs.
Finally, there is a lot of waste in remuneration, especially when it comes to international staff. Foreign employees often have salaries as high as $10,000–20,000 for doing work that a local hire can do for much less.
It is clear that amid global cuts to donor funding, the development sector is struggling. This should be a moment of change. In Afghanistan, where the need of the local population is enormous while available financing is shrinking, NGOs can take this change into their own hands.
The simplest first step NGOs can take is to employ qualified locals to plan and lead projects. They would know the local culture, realities, and actual needs of communities, as well as market prices and field conditions. They can help not only optimise project costs but also ensure that they actually have a real, measurable impact.
In addition, NGOs should avoid having an extended chain of IPs and subcontractors. They should also regularly collect feedback from local communities and field workers directly in order to evaluate project effectiveness during implementation in order to avoid repeating the same mistakes.
Projects are more likely to produce sustainable results if NGOs invest in addressing pressing nationwide challenges, such as unemployment, infrastructure, and market access.
Improving efficiency and effectiveness would not only ensure Afghan beneficiaries get better services and help, but it would also make organisations more competitive for the dwindling pool of funding. This is the only way to salvage the NGO sector not only in Afghanistan but in the rest of the world.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
Recent arguments advocating for the international recognition of an integral part of Somalia called Somaliland rest on a series of assumptions that deserve closer scrutiny. While proponents portray Somaliland as a unified, stable, and strategically indispensable state deserving immediate recognition, the realities on the ground tell a far more complicated story.
The first and most fundamental misconception is that the former British Somaliland Protectorate exists today as a coherent political entity. It does not.
The territory that briefly gained independence in June 1960 ceased to exist when it voluntarily united with the Trust Territory of Somalia to form the Somali Republic. More importantly, the geographic and political boundaries claimed by today’s Somaliland administration are neither uncontested nor uniformly accepted by the populations living within them.
Over the past two years, the eastern regions of Sool, Sanaag, and parts of Cayn (SSC) have demonstrated precisely this reality. Following prolonged conflict and popular mobilisation, local communities overwhelmingly rejected rule from Hargeisa and established the North Eastern administration, which has since aligned itself with the Federal Government of Somalia. The people of these regions have made clear that they do not share Somaliland’s secessionist project and instead seek their future within a federal Somali state alongside the vast majority of the Somali people. This development alone undermines the central claim that Somaliland represents a unified political community exercising uncontested authority over the territory it claims.
In the west of the Somaliland region, growing political movements in Awdal have increasingly questioned Hargeisa’s perceived monopoly over political and economic decision-making. Calls for a distinct regional administration have gained momentum, reflecting longstanding grievances regarding political representation, economic development, and governance. These dynamics suggest that the future political map of northwestern Somalia is far more fluid than some advocates of recognition acknowledge.
Recognition advocates frequently point to Somaliland’s stability. Yet, stability cannot be measured solely by the existence of institutions or periodic elections. Genuine stability requires political inclusion, territorial legitimacy, and social consensus. None of these conditions currently exists within the Somali territory of Somaliland.
The reality is that the Somaliland secessionist project faces significant internal opposition. Political disagreements, clan-based tensions, territorial disputes, and competing visions of governance remain unresolved. International recognition cannot erase these challenges. Indeed, it risks intensifying them by encouraging zero-sum political calculations among communities that already feel excluded from decision-making processes.
Equally problematic is the argument that Somaliland’s recognition should be driven primarily by geopolitical competition in the Red Sea. The Horn of Africa should not become another arena where local political disputes are transformed into instruments of broader regional rivalries. Moreover, the attempts to frame Somaliland as a strategic asset in competition with Iran, the Houthis, China, or other global actors overlook a basic reality: sustainable security arrangements cannot be built on unresolved sovereignty disputes.
History offers numerous examples of external powers pursuing short-term strategic gains only to discover that local realities ultimately prevail. Durable partnerships emerge from political legitimacy and regional consensus, not from efforts to bypass internationally recognised states.
Recent developments surrounding Israel’s engagement in the region further illustrate this danger. Rather than producing greater cohesion, external involvement has generated new political tensions and heightened anxieties among local communities concerned about militarisation, foreign influence, and the future direction of regional governance.
The disingenuous assumption that foreign recognition of the Somaliland part of Somalia automatically translates into stability is not supported by any evidence. Moreover, recognition of Somaliland would not simply affect Somalia, as it would carry implications far beyond the Horn of Africa.
The African Union has consistently maintained its commitment to preserving inherited borders and resolving disputes through dialogue. This principle has been essential in preventing countless territorial conflicts across the continent. Creating exceptions without a broad regional consensus risks opening debates that many African states have spent decades working to contain.
The path to lasting peace and stability in Somalia, like in most post-conflict states, lies not in fragmentation but in reconciliation, dialogue, and constitutional settlement among Somalis themselves. Significant progress has already been made through federal institutions, expanding political participation, and locally driven governance arrangements. While challenges remain, they are best addressed through inclusive internal political processes rather than externally imposed outcomes in line with international law.
The Somali government remains committed to dialogue, reconciliation, and constitutional processes that allow all Somali communities to participate in shaping the country’s future. Sustainable peace and stability globally and, specifically, in the Horn of Africa at this most challenging time in human history will be achieved not through fragmentation, but inclusive political solutions that strengthen cooperation, legitimacy, and national unity.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
The recently signed agreement is unlikely to advance the country's long-term national interests.
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Suggestions that criticism of the State of Israel is anti-Semitic in Australia risk hardwiring a dangerous confusion. Questioning the behaviour of a foreign state is not the same as denigrating or attacking a people who may have links with that state. The State of Israel is represented by its embassy in Canberra, not by the Jewish community in our cities and suburbs.
But the knee-jerk reaction to the attack on a Jewish celebration in Sydney is solidifying that confusion. On December 14, 2025, as Jewish families gathered near Sydney’s Bondi Beach to celebrate Hanukkah, two gunmen opened fire, killing 15 people and injuring many others in one of the worst attacks in Australia’s history. In response, the federal government set up a Royal Commission on Antisemitism and Social Cohesion, led by former High Court justice Virginia Bell. On April 30, 2026, the commission delivered its interim report, raising serious concerns about how we define anti-Semitism.
The commission has adopted the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) working definition of anti-Semitism. The IHRA offers examples that include criticism of Israel as evidence of anti-Semitism. But such a broad definition collapses critical commentary on Israel’s policy in Gaza, its treatment of Palestinians in the West Bank and Israeli officials’ dehumanising comments about Palestinians into a racist attack on Australia’s Jews. How does that make sense to anyone?
This is not an abstract question. The blurring of these categories acts as a brake on public debate. It narrows the range of permissible language used to describe Israel’s conduct in Gaza, where Australians have watched entire neighbourhoods destroyed and tens of thousands of civilians killed.
The official line from governments in relation to Israel is that Israel has a “right to exist” and an obligation to defend its citizens, which appears to give Israel carte blanche to decimate the entire Gaza Strip and kill tens of thousands of Palestinians. But no other state enjoys this exceptional treatment. No other state can do what it wishes simply because it has a “right to exist”. Australia has that right, but that right has never shielded governments in Canberra from fierce criticism, whether over First Nations dispossession, offshore detention or climate inaction. When Prime Minister Kevin Rudd apologised to the Stolen Generations in 2008 for the wrongs past governments had done to Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people, Australia’s legitimacy as a state was not under threat. Rudd was reflecting the public mood by distancing his government from the policies of the past. It was not seen as challenging Australia’s right to exist.
Yet in debates about Israel, the invocation of the “right to exist” and anti-Semitism operates as a conversation stopper. It closes the door to a frank discussion about the State of Israel and its behaviour. We cannot talk about occupation, apartheid and war crimes because that is anti-Semitic. This is a troubling precedent that insulates Israel from moral and political accountability.
The commission was established in response to a real and deeply upsetting surge in anti-Semitic violence. But its framework could cast suspicion on genuine inquiry into the behaviour of Israel. It entrenches a form of exceptionalism that actually weakens Australia’s democratic norms.
A liberal society must be able to draw a clear line: hatred, discrimination or violence against Jews is anti-Semitic and unacceptable; criticism of a foreign government is not.
There is also a cost to Jewish Australians when that line is blurred. Public debate routinely treats “the Jewish community” as a single, pro-Israel bloc, represented by a handful of bodies. This is simply not true. Many Australian Jews are alarmed to see the destruction of Gaza in their name. Some have mobilised against Israel’s actions.
To assume unanimous Jewish support for Israeli actions is to deny Jewish Australians their agency. Worse, it risks casting Jewish dissenters as inauthentic. If the policy settings shaped by this commission casts such voices as anti-Semitic, they will be erased twice over: excluded from the definition of the community and penalised for speakingup. This is silencing dissent, masquerading as protection.
If public institutions reinforce the idea that criticism of Israel is criticism of Jews, they risk feeding anti-Semitism.
Images of Gaza’s destruction on the news have galvanised global public opinion. Many young Australians have marched for an end to Israeli policies and freedom for Palestine. The message that such protests against Israel are anti-Semitic could not be any more counter-productive and harmful for Australian democracy. That will only breed resentment against the Australian political system for ignoring what everyone sees on their TV screens, and, dangerously, feed the very anti-Semitic narratives the commission should be challenging. Those who already hold anti-Semitic views will feel confirmed in their belief that Jews act collectively through Israel. The commission cannot afford to fall into this trap.
To the credit of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) and the Special Broadcasting Service (SBS), they have avoided the conflation of Israel and Jewish people and have not adopted the IHRA definition. The interim commission report has not embraced the most heavy-handed proposals in circulation; there is no rush to ban protest slogans or criminalise political expression. There is room for optimism that the commission can still address the issue in its final report.
Here are the standards it needs to uphold to protect social cohesion in Australia:
First, an unambiguous distinction between anti-Semitism and criticism of Israel. Second, a recognition of the diversity of Jewish opinion, including among those who oppose Israel’s actions, and the inclusion of those voices in efforts to combat anti-Semitism. Third, a defence of political space for Palestinians and their allies to describe their experiences of occupation, dispossession and siege in their own terms, while rejecting any dehumanising or racist language about Jewish people.
Anti-Semitism in Australia is a threat to the Jewish community (regardless of political views) and the very foundation of our social cohesion. But seeking to address the scourge of anti-Semitism by conflating critical views of the State of Israel with hatred of Jews will only make matters worse. Such approach will suppress debate, limit freedom of speech and inquiry that has already led to self-censorship at our universities and entrench the very confusion that sustains anti-Semitism.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
Somalia is entering one of the most dangerous moments in its recent history without an agreed path towards elections or a political transition. United States and United Kingdom-led talks between the government and the opposition collapsed on May 15, the date on which President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s original four-year term was due to expire, leaving the legitimacy of key federal institutions under serious strain.
Justin Davis, the US chargé d’affaires to Somalia, and the UK’s ambassador, Charles King, had been trying to persuade political leaders from both sides to reach an agreement on a political transition roadmap. Their failure leaves the country without an agreed way forward at the worst possible time.
Since 2008, Somalia has frequently been ranked as one of the world’s most fragile states. Under President Mohamud’s leadership, the country is now facing a political deadlock that threatens its survival. This crisis is unfolding amid insecurity, humanitarian distress, economic fragility, widespread corruption and shifting geopolitical rivalries.
At the heart of the crisis is the contested nature of the Somali state itself. Somaliland seeks independence, while Puntland and Jubbaland have broken ties with the Federal Government. Al-Shabab controls significant parts of the country and key roads. The Federal Government and at least three Federal Member States are also operating beyond their mandates. The scheduled electoral calendar has lapsed without a vote: parliament’s four-year mandate expired in April 2026, and the president’s term ran out a month later, yet no agreed roadmap for elections or political transition exists to replace them.
In a controversial process, the government unilaterally changed the constitution, passed an electoral law viewed by its opponents as self-serving, and established an election commission they reject as one-sided. Over the past four years, executive, legislative and judicial powers have become increasingly concentrated in the hands of President Mohamud.
Somalia’s national opposition, along with Puntland and Jubbaland, has characterised the government’s actions as a power grab and rejected them. They argue that the 2012 constitution, which reflects Somalia’s political settlement, remains the law of the land. As a result, Somalia is now caught between two competing claims to constitutional legitimacy. For its part, the government maintains that it is advancing a democratic goal long sought for Somalia, a move from indirect, clan-mediated selection to one-person, one-vote elections, and that the constitutional amendments extending the presidential term from four to five years were lawfully approved by parliament.
Universal suffrage and party-based politics remain a distant aspiration for Somalis. Acknowledging this reality, both the government and the opposition continue to accept the clan-based power-sharing system. However, they disagree on how members of parliament representing clans should be selected at the state and federal levels. The government seeks a one-year term extension and proposes an electoral system for clan representatives that critics say would help it maintain its hold on power. The opposition, by contrast, advocates an improved indirect election process through which clans would choose their representatives.
This political rupture is unfolding in a country already facing severe security and governance challenges. Although security in the capital has improved, widespread violence persists, particularly in south-central Somalia. According to the ACLED database, national fatalities reached a record high in 2025, and al-Shabab is responsible for the large majority of conflict deaths recorded over the past two decades. During the current administration’s four years in office, the same data points to tens of thousands of deaths nationwide, primarily concentrated in Banadir, Lower Shabelle, Lower Jubba and Hiran.
The crisis is also taking place against a worsening humanitarian and economic backdrop. Despite the arrival of rains across the country, humanitarian agencies warn that millions of Somalis are food insecure. International humanitarian efforts are struggling to raise funds to assist those affected by poverty, displacement and conflict. Foreign aid has been declining since the Trump administration dismantled USAID in 2025, while Somalia’s domestic revenue-to-GDP ratio remains in the low single digits. Concerns over the viability and affordability of the state have led many to look towards a resource-based economy, particularly as Turkiye expands its involvement in Somalia’s oil and fisheries sectors.
Corruption has further weakened public trust in state institutions. According to the Corruption Perceptions Index, Somalia has consistently ranked among the most corrupt countries in the world over the past decade. Widespread corruption has undermined almost every aspect of governance. The government’s approach to land management has deepened these concerns, with critics accusing it of forcibly evicting people who occupied public lands during the war and selling some of these lands to merchants without due process. Many citizens with legal documents from previous governments have also lost their homes.
These domestic pressures are being sharpened by regional and global rivalries. Somalia is struggling to navigate intensifying competition in the Horn of Africa, the Gulf of Aden, the Red Sea and the western Indian Ocean. Its divided political class is managing these challenges not as a cohesive state, but through regions, clans and rival political blocs. Different groups have aligned themselves with various regional powers and neighbouring countries.
Regional players, including Turkiye, Saudi Arabia, Israel, the United Arab Emirates, Iran and Egypt, are increasingly active in the Horn of Africa. Israel became the first country to officially recognise Somaliland late last year, intensifying competition among rival regional powers and drawing further attention to Somalia and Somaliland amid the region’s shifting geopolitics.
The political, security, economic and humanitarian pressures have also had serious implications for civic space. The government has been accused of silencing dissent by jailing journalists and civic activists. The opposition is now calling for demonstrations, while the government is openly discouraging public participation.
Somalia stands at a critical juncture. Timely intervention by the international community could help redirect the country away from violence and political fragmentation. In the past, traditional donors, mainly the US, the European Union and the UK, helped facilitate Somalia’s last five political transitions, in 2004, 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2022.
The American and British diplomats in Mogadishu made important efforts to bring the parties together and facilitate dialogue, although these efforts came late. A final push may now require more direct involvement from Washington and London, as well as engagement with non-traditional Gulf donors. Turkiye has also expressed interest in contributing to mediation efforts. This should be welcomed, as Ankara has influence with political actors in both the government and the opposition.
The international community should first pressure the government to negotiate a political roadmap in good faith, with a focus on a workable and timely election process. Villa Somalia should also stop using state institutions, including security forces, the aviation agency and international assistance, as tools in the political dispute.
At the same time, the opposition should be encouraged to engage constructively with the government and avoid initiating a parallel process that could lead to the formation of an alternative government. Most importantly, the international community should impose targeted sanctions on political spoilers who use extrajudicial means to destabilise the country.
Beyond the immediate political impasse, there is also a pressing need for genuine national dialogue and reconciliation. Previous peace processes in Djibouti and Kenya involved a wider range of actors in peacebuilding and helped establish the Third Republic. One lesson from those processes is that institutions built by people who have not fully reconciled cannot last. Somalis have never had the opportunity to engage in a serious and inclusive national dialogue. They need an open forum, genuine reconciliation and state institutions they collectively own.
Somalia is on the brink of political disintegration, but it remains at the prevention stage. That is precisely why the broader international community must act now, as it has in the past. There is still time to guide Somalia away from a self-destructive path and safeguard decades of investment in state-building and peacebuilding.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.
It has been more than four years since Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, expanding its occupation of Ukrainian lands, which started in 2014. In the chaos and violence of the first months of the invasion, families were separated, and childcare institutions were cut off from the control of the central authorities in Kyiv. As a result, the occupation forces forcibly transferred more than 20,000 Ukrainian children to Russia.
Russian officials claimed that they did not abduct Ukrainian children, but “saved” them through humanitarian evacuations. However, international investigations have since found that many such transfers were unlawful under international humanitarian law. In many documented cases, transfers were carried out without the consent of the living parent or legal guardians of the child.
International humanitarian law prohibits all forcible transfers and deportations of protected people from occupied territory, except for evacuations strictly required to ensure the population’s safety. Even then, evacuation must happen within occupied territory, be temporary, preserve family unity and return evacuees home as soon as hostilities cease.
Today, the lives of thousands of Ukrainian children are devastated by this forcible transfer. Instead of abiding by international legal obligations and returning them to their homeland, Russia has transformed the issue into yet another bargaining chip against the Ukrainian people.
But Ukraine refuses to abandon its children. For the past four years, there have been intense efforts from families, NGOs and the Ukrainian government to bring them back.
Take the case of Lesya (the name has been changed to protect her identity), whose testimony was recorded by The Reckoning Project— a global team of journalists and lawyers documenting and publicising atrocities committed in the war. Lesya was 15 years old when Russian forces occupied her village in the Kherson region in 2022. When the occupation authorities imposed a mandatory evacuation, she was put on a truck with more than 30 other children and was sent to a rehabilitation centre in Feodosia, Crimea. A woman accompanying the children told her that her mother would join her shortly.
At the facility, Lesya and other Ukrainian children were subjected to a strict routine, forced to do chores and study in Russian, using Russian textbooks. They were kept under surveillance indoors most of the time in a building with windows that could not be opened. Two days a week, the children underwent military training.
Eventually, a relative located her, and with the help of Save Ukraine, a Ukrainian NGO facilitating children’s return, her mother managed to bring her back.
But Lesya’s case is the exception rather than the rule. More than 2,000 Ukrainian children have been brought back thanks to efforts by NGOs, the government and foreign mediators.
Pressure through international institutions has also been pursued, but that has not accelerated the process of return.
In March 2023, the International Criminal Court issued warrants of arrest for Russian President Vladimir Putin and Commissioner for Children’s Rights Maria Lvova-Belova for the unlawful deportation and transfer of Ukrainian children.
In July 2025, the European Court of Human Rights, in Ukraine and the Netherlands v Russia, found Russia responsible for a number of human rights violations, including the organised removal of children. The court also required Russia to cooperate in establishing a mechanism to find and safely return children.
In March this year, the United Nations Independent International Commission of Inquiry on Ukraine concluded that Russia’s deportation and forcible transfer of Ukrainian children amount to crimes against humanity. The report identifies the removal of Ukrainian children as a part of a well-planned and systematically executed policy, conceived at the highest level.
On May 11, the European Union sanctioned 16 individuals and seven entities, while the United Kingdom sanctioned 29 individuals and entities responsible for the deportation, forced transfer, forced assimilation, indoctrination, militarisation and unlawful adoption of Ukrainian children. Overall, the EU has sanctioned more than 130 people and organisations for these actions. The United States, Canada, Australia, Japan, Switzerland and several other countries have introduced similar measures.
The lack of progress on this issue has driven families to desperation. Some have tried to bring their children back on their own or through often-daring missions by Save Ukraine and five other Ukrainian NGOs.
There should be no need for these risky missions. Under international humanitarian law, Russia is obligated to identify and register Ukrainian children in their care, facilitate family reunification, and permit access to neutral actors assisting Ukrainian children.
As negotiations for the end of the war have stalled and other global events have displaced Ukraine from global headlines, we urgently need to put the issue of the abducted Ukrainian children back in the spotlight.
There are several areas in which existing efforts can expand.
First, a comprehensive tracing mechanism needs to be established and financed to track abducted Ukrainian children and prevent their disappearance into dispersed care and adoption systems.
Second, ongoing legal efforts to hold to account Russian officials involved in the abduction should be intensified. This means coordinated prosecutions in states where the universal jurisdiction principle can be applied, as well as joint investigation strategies supported by Eurojust, the EU’s judicial hub. Ukraine’s partners should support its judicial processes launched against Russian officials and cooperate where needed, including through extraditions where legally applicable and other lawful transfer mechanisms. While justice may be slow, the prospect of accountability can have a deterrent effect.
Third, states can and should fully implement sanctions, trade restrictions and other obligations they assumed but did not consistently observe in practice. The sanctions regime on Russia has severely hurt its economy, but it has also seen continuous evasion. A strict implementation can help put more pressure on the regime in Moscow.
While stories of family reunions are heartening, they are just a drop in a bucket compared with the number of children who continue to be separated from their families and absorbed into a system of indoctrination and militarisation.
We must not allow the issue of returning Ukrainian children to be yet another negotiating chip for Moscow. It cannot be put on hold because negotiations have stalled or because other priorities have captured the world’s attention.
Four years is a long time in a child’s life. Each passing day further erodes their national identity and deepens the pain of separation, as they grow up in a hostile environment. There is no principle more universal than the belief that children belong with their parents and loved ones, and Ukrainian children deserve this basic human right today, not at some point in the future.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.