Poverty

At the transit camp in Islam Qala in western Afghanistan, Fatima steps out of the bus into the blazing heat and an uncertain future. She is one of 10,000 people who has arrived from Iran that day and one of 800,000 who has arrived over the last six months. She hurries her three children to an empty spot, slumps onto the dusty ground, and shelters her family with bed sheets. When asked where she goes from here, she says a brother might take them in in her home town.

The IFRC supports the Afghan Red Crescent Society to provide hot food and healthcare at the camp. UN agencies provide some cash. But within a day, it’s time to leave. Bus drivers call out the names of Afghan cities and towns. Fatima lugs her cases towards a bus to Owbeh, in Herat province. Her three children trail behind her. She explains that she learned carpet weaving in Iran, but wasn’t allowed to bring any materials or instruments with her. How can she start from scratch without money, she asks. And who would buy her carpets in her village anyway? They have nothing. Not even to eat.

The departure from Iran has been traumatic, but her real challenges start now. When she arrives in her hometown, there will be no jobs in the public sector for her. Men will be reluctant to hire her because of the rules and regulations associated with employing women. Her one chance to cope will be to get her own enterprise going. For that, she’ll need start-up capital. She may also need assistance from her brother to access markets. It will be a struggle, but increasing numbers of Afghan women are rising to this challenge. Fatima could, too. If only she could get access to credit.

But will anyone in her community be able to buy her products? Like most Afghans, her neighbours will largely depend on agriculture, which will depend on irrigation and rain. In much of Herat province, and across the country, irrigation is becoming impossible because of drought. Rivers are dust. Underground water sources are drying up. With no possibility to farm, men are pouring into the cities in search of daily labour, only to find the battle for water is raging there, too. Mercy Corps has claimed that half of the boreholes in Kabul have dried out and the city could run out of accessible groundwater in five years. This trajectory could be slowed down or reversed, but only with major investment in water conservation, rain vats, storage dams, and check dams. Just the sort of investment that Afghanistan is struggling to raise.

If Fatima can earn a little money and live close to water, then she can focus on her children’s schooling. Her daughter will have to attend a madrassa. This will be a significant downgrade from her education in Iran. But if she’s lucky, it will be one of the many madrassas that are already introducing more varied subjects and offering classes until 12th grade. If she’s resourceful and can invest some funds, there may be other options too, including vocational training and online courses. The restrictions she will have to navigate are extreme, but not new. They reflect a long-running struggle between cities and the countryside, between desires for self-realisation and deeply rooted patriarchy. Foreign aid may help by quietly creating multiple and flexible opportunities to exchange and learn, while recognising that the ideological battles are for the Afghans themselves and will take time. Some organisations are trying to do this, but not to scale.

It will take a lot of luck for Fatima to get investment in her social enterprise, to access clean drinking water and to get an education for her children. The alternative is grim, and sadly, much more likely. Like most new arrivals, she will probably be destitute within weeks. She won’t access the rare opportunities for business support. Lack of water will empty the villages around her. If she stays put, her health will fail. Medical care will be too far to reach or too expensive. She may be forced to marry her daughter off early and nudge her boys away from school into some cheap, daily labour. This is what is happening across the country. If she can, to avoid such a terrible fate, she will try to get back to Iran.

Can foreign aid play a role in supporting Fatima and the millions like her? Despite all the reservations, humanitarian funding has been generous in the last four years. More than $7bn has been spent on assistance. Enough to have helped tens of thousands of women to start small businesses. Enough to have irrigated farms, deepened bore holes and stored water across the country. Enough to have created thousands of alternative learning options for children. Humanitarian agencies have tried to assist in all these areas, but the demand for emergency relief has taken the bulk of the funds, and many donors have been reticent to invest in anything longer term for fear of appearing to legitimise those in power.

The need for a new approach is compelling. There is less money available now due to aid cuts, but what little is left can still be invested into locally led strategies for livelihoods, water infrastructure, health and learning. This may give people like Fatima a spark of hope in their futures. This is what IFRC will focus on, as much as its resources allow.

If the moral case for that is not compelling enough, it is worth reflecting that on the current trajectory, the historic repatriation to Afghanistan taking place this year is likely to be a prelude to a much bigger exodus in the years to come. It would be far wiser to invest now and give people a chance to thrive in their home country than to invest much more in refugee camps and anti-trafficking work in the near future.

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

Joypurhat/Dhaka, Bangladesh, and New Delhi/Kolkata, India – Under the mild afternoon sun, 45-year-old Safiruddin sits outside his incomplete brick-walled house in Baiguni village of Kalai Upazila in Bangladesh, nursing a dull ache in his side.

In the summer of 2024, he sold his kidney in India for 3.5 lakh taka ($2,900), hoping to lift his family out of poverty and build a house for his three children – two daughters, aged five and seven, and an older 10-year-old son. That money is long gone, the house remains unfinished, and the pain in his body is a constant reminder of the price he paid.

He now toils as a daily labourer in a cold storage facility, as his health deteriorates – the constant pain and fatigue make it hard for him to carry out even routine tasks.

“I gave my kidney so my family could have a better life. I did everything for my wife and children,” he said.

At the time, it didn’t seem like a dangerous choice. The brokers who approached him made it sound simple – an opportunity rather than a risk. He was sceptical initially, but desperation eventually won over his doubts.

The brokers took him to India on a medical visa, with all arrangements – flights, documents, and hospital formalities – handled entirely by them. Once in India, although he travelled on his original Bangladeshi passport, other documents, such as certificates falsely showing a familial relationship with the intended recipient of his kidney, were forged.

His identity was altered, and his kidney was transplanted into an unknown recipient whom he had never met. “I don’t know who got my kidney. They [the brokers] didn’t tell me anything,” Safiruddin said.

By law, organ donations in India are only permitted between close relatives or with special government approval, but traffickers manipulate everything – family trees, hospital records, even DNA tests – to bypass regulations.

“Typically, the seller’s name is changed, and a notary certificate – stamped by a lawyer – is produced to falsely establish a familial relationship with the recipient. Forged national IDs support the claim, making it appear as though the donor is a relative, such as a sister, daughter, or another family member, donating an organ out of compassion,” said Monir Moniruzzaman, a Michigan State University professor and a member of the World Health Organization’s Task Force on Organ Transplantation, who is researching organ trafficking in South Asia.

Safiruddin’s story isn’t unique. Kidney donations are so common in his village of Baiguni, that locals know the community of less than 6,000 people as the “village of one kidney”. The Kalai Upazila region that Baiguni belongs to is the hotspot for the kidney trade industry: A 2023 study published in the British Medical Journal Global Health publication estimated one in 35 adults in the region has sold a kidney.

Kalai Upazila is one of Bangladesh’s poorest regions. Most donors are men in their early 30s lured by the promise of quick money. According to the study, 83 percent of those surveyed cited poverty as the main reason for selling a kidney, while others pointed to loan repayments, drug addiction or gambling.

Safiruddin said that the brokers – who had taken his passport – never returned it. He didn’t even get the medicines he had been prescribed after the surgery. “They [the brokers] took everything.”

Brokers often confiscate passports and medical prescriptions after the surgery, erasing any trail of the transplant and leaving donors without proof of the procedure or access to follow-up care.

The kidneys are sold to wealthy recipients in Bangladesh or India, many of whom seek to bypass long wait times and the strict regulations of legal transplants. In India, for example, only about 13,600 kidney transplants were performed in 2023 – compared with an estimated 200,000 patients who develop end-stage kidney disease annually.

Al Jazeera spoke with more than a dozen kidney donors in Bangladesh, all of whom shared similar stories of being driven to sell their kidneys due to financial hardship. The trade is driven by a simple yet brutal equation: Poverty creates the supply, while long wait times, a massive shortage of legal donors, the willingness of wealthy patients to pay for quick transplants and a weak enforcement system ensure that the demand never ceases.

The cost of desperation

Josna Begum, 45, a widow from Binai village in Kalai Upazila, was struggling to raise her two daughters, 18 and 20 years old, after her husband died in 2012. She moved to Dhaka to work in a garment factory, where she met and married another man named Belal.

After their marriage, both Belal and Josna were lured by a broker into selling their kidneys in India in 2019.

“It was a mistake,” Josna said. She explained that the brokers first promised her five lakh taka (about $4,100), then raised the offer to seven lakh (around $5,700) to convince her. “But after the operation, all I got was three lakh [$2,500].”

Josna said she and Belal were taken to Rabindranath Tagore International Institute of Cardiac Sciences in Kolkata, the capital of India’s West Bengal state, where they underwent surgery. “We were taken by a bus through the Benapole border into India, where we were housed in a rented apartment near the hospital.”

To secure the transplant, the brokers fabricated documents claiming that she and the recipient were blood relatives. Like Safiruddin, she doesn’t know who received her kidney.

Despite repeated attempts, officials at Rabindranath Tagore International Institute of Cardiac Sciences have not responded to Al Jazeera’s request to comment on the case. Kolkata police have previously accused other brokers of facilitating illegal kidney transplants at the same hospital in 2017.

Josna said her passport and identification documents were handled entirely by the brokers. “I was OK with them taking away the prescriptions. But I asked for my passport. They never gave it back,” she said.

She stayed in India for nearly two months before returning to Bangladesh – escorted by the brokers who had her passport, and still held out the promise of paying her what they had committed to.

The brokers had also promised support for her family and even jobs for her children, but after the initial payment and a few token payments on Eid, they cut off contact.

Soon after he was paid – also three lakh taka ($2,500) – for his transplant, Belal abandoned Josna, later marrying another woman. “My life was ruined,” she said.

Josna now suffers from chronic pain and struggles to afford medicines. “I can’t do any heavy work,” she said. “I have to survive, but I need medicine all the time.”

‘In front of this gang’s gun’

In some cases, victims have become perpetrators of the kidney scam, too.

Mohammad Sajal (name changed), was once a businessman in Dhaka selling household items like pressure cookers, plastic containers and blenders through Evaly, a flashy e-commerce platform that promised big returns. But when Evaly collapsed following a 2021 scam, so did his savings – and his livelihood.

Drowning in debt and under immense pressure to repay what he owed, he sold his kidney in 2022 at Venkateshwar Hospital in Delhi. But the promised 10 lakh taka ($8,200) never materialised. He received only 3.5 lakh taka ($2,900).

“They [the brokers] cheated me,” Sajal said. Venkateshwar Hospital has not responded to repeated requests from Al Jazeera for comment on the case.

There was only one way he could earn what he had thought he would get for his kidney, Sajal concluded at the time: by joining the brokers to dupe others. For months, he worked as a broker, arranging kidney transplants for several Bangladeshi donors in Indian hospitals. But after a financial dispute with his handlers, he left the trade, fearing for his life.

“I am now in front of this gang’s gun,” he said. The network he left behind operates with impunity, he said, stretching from Bangladeshi hospitals to the Indian medical system. “Everyone from the doctors to recipients to the brokers on both sides of borders are involved,” he said.

Now, Sajal works as a ride-share driver in Dhaka, trying to escape the past. But the scars, both physical and emotional, remain. “No one willingly gives a kidney out of hobby or desire,” he said. “It is a simple calculation: desperation leads to this.”

Acknowledging the cross-border kidney trafficking trade, Bangladesh police say they are cracking down on those involved. Assistant Inspector General Enamul Haque Sagor of Bangladesh Police said that, in addition to uniformed officers, undercover investigators have been deployed to track organ trafficking networks and gather intelligence.

“This issue is under our watch, and we are taking action as required,” he said.

Sagor said that police have arrested multiple individuals linked to organ trafficking syndicates, including brokers. “Many people get drawn into kidney sales through these networks, and we are working to catch them,” he added.

Across the border, Indian law enforcement agencies, too, have cracked down on some medical professionals accused of involvement in kidney trafficking. In July 2024, the Delhi Police arrested Dr Vijaya Rajakumari, a 50-year-old kidney transplant surgeon associated with a Delhi hospital. Investigations revealed that between 2021 and 2023, Dr Rajakumari performed approximately 15 transplant surgeries on Bangladeshi patients at a private hospital, Indian officials said.

But experts say that these arrests are too sporadic to seriously dent the business model that underpins the kidney trade.

And experts say Indian authorities face competing pressures – upholding the law, but also promoting medical tourism, a sector that was worth $7.6bn in 2024. “Instead of enforcing ethical standards, the focus is on the economic advantages of the industry, allowing illegal transplants to continue,” said Moniruzzaman.

‘More transplants mean more revenue’

In India, the Transplantation of Human Organs Act (THOA) of 1994 regulates organ donations, permitting kidney transplants primarily between close relatives such as parents, siblings, children and spouses to prevent commercial exploitation. When the donor is not a near relative, the case must receive approval from a government-appointed body known as an authorisation committee to ensure the donation is altruistic and not financially motivated.

However, brokers involved in kidney trafficking circumvent these regulations by forging documents to establish fictitious familial relationships between donors and recipients. These fraudulent documents are then submitted to authorisation committees, which – far too often, say experts – approve the transplants.

Experts say the foundation of this illicit system lies in the ease with which brokers manipulate legal loopholes. “They fabricate national IDs and notary certificates to create fictitious family ties between donors and recipients. These papers can be made quickly and cheaply,” said Moniruzzaman.

With these falsified identities, transplants are performed under the pretence of legal donations between relatives.

In Dhaka, Shah Muhammad Tanvir Monsur, director general (consular) at Bangladesh’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, said that the country’s government officials had no role in the document fraud, and that they “duly followed” all legal procedures. He also denied any exchange of information between India and Bangladesh on cracking down on cross-border kidney trafficking.

Over in India, Amit Goel, deputy commissioner of police in Delhi, who has investigated several cases of kidney trafficking in the city, including that of Rajakumari, the doctor, said that hospital authorities often struggle to detect forged documents, allowing illegal transplants to proceed.

“In the cases I investigated, I found that the authorisation board approved those cases because they couldn’t identify the fake documents,” he said.

But Moniruzzaman pointed out that Indian hospitals also have a financial incentive to overlook discrepancies in documents.

“Hospitals turn a blind eye because organ donation [in general] is legal,” Moniruzzaman said. “More transplants mean more revenue. Even when cases of fraud surface, hospitals deny responsibility, insisting that documentation appears legitimate. This pattern allows the trade to continue unchecked,” he added.

Mizanur Rahman, a broker who operates across multiple districts in Bangladesh, said that traffickers often target individual doctors or members of hospital review committees, offering bribes to facilitate these transplants.​ “Usually, brokers in Bangladesh are in touch with their counterparts in India who set up these doctors for them,” Rahman told Al Jazeera. “These doctors often take a major chunk of the money involved.”

Dr Anil Kumar, director of the National Organ and Tissue Transplant Organisation (NOTTO) – India’s central body overseeing organ donation and transplant coordination – declined to comment on allegations of systemic discrepancies that have enabled rising cases of organ trafficking.

However, a former top official from NOTTO pointed out that hospitals often are up against not just brokers and seemingly willing donors with what appear to be legitimate documents, but also wealthier recipients. “If the hospital board is not convinced, recipients often take the matter to higher authorities or challenge the decision in court. So they [hospitals] also want to avoid legal hassles and proceed with transplants,” this official said, speaking on condition of anonymity.

Meanwhile, organ trafficking networks continue to adapt their strategies. When police or official scrutiny increases in one location, the trade simply moves elsewhere. “There is no single fixed hospital; the locations keep changing,” Moniruzzaman said. “When police conduct a raid, the hospital stops performing transplants.

“Brokers and their network – Bangladeshi and Indian brokers working together – coordinate to select new hospitals at different times.”

Porous borders and the fallout

For brokers and hospitals that are involved, there is big money at stake. Recipients often pay between $22,000 and $26,000 for a kidney.

But donors get only a tiny fraction of this money. “The donors get three to five lakh taka [$2,500 to $4,000] usually,” said Mizanur Rahman, the broker. “The rest of the money is shared with brokers, officials who forge documents, and doctors if they are involved. Some money is also spent on donors while they live in India.”

In some cases, the deception runs even deeper: traffickers lure Bangladeshi nationals with promises of well-paying jobs in India, only to coerce them into kidney donations.

Victims, often desperate for work, are taken to hospitals under false pretences, where they undergo surgery without fully understanding the consequences. In September last year, for instance, a network of traffickers in India held many Bangladeshi job seekers captive, either forced or deceived them into organ transplants, and abandoned them with minimal compensation. Last year, police in Bangladesh arrested three traffickers in Dhaka who smuggled at least 10 people to New Delhi under the guise of employment, only to have them forced into kidney transplants.

“Some people knowingly sell their kidneys due to extreme poverty, but a significant number are deceived,” said Shariful Hasan, associate director of the Migration Programme at BRAC, formerly the Bangladesh Rural Advancement Committee, one of the world’s largest nongovernmental development organisations. “A rich patient in India needs a kidney, a middleman either finds a poor Bangladeshi donor or lures someone in the name of employment, and the cycle continues.”

Vasundhara Raghavan, CEO of the Kidney Warriors Foundation, a support group in India for patients with kidney diseases, said that a shortage of legal donors was a “major challenge” that drove the demand for trafficked organs.

“Desperate patients turn to illicit means, fuelling a system that preys on the poor.”

She acknowledged that India’s legal framework was aimed at preventing organ transplants from turning into an exploitative industry. But in reality, she said, the law had only pushed organ trade underground.

“If organ trade cannot be entirely eliminated, a more systematic and regulated approach should be considered. This could involve ensuring that donors undergo mandatory health screenings, receive postoperative medical support for a fixed period, and are provided with financial security for their future wellbeing,” Raghavan said.

Back in Kalai Upazila, Safiruddin nowadays spends most of his time at home, his movements slower, his strength visibly diminished. “I am not able to work properly,” he said.

He says there are nights when he lies awake, thinking of the promises the brokers made, and the dreams they shattered. He doesn’t know when, and if, he will be able to complete the construction of his house. He thought the surgery would bring his family a pot of cash to build a future. Instead, his children have been left with an ailing father – and he with a sense of betrayal that Safiruddin can’t shake off. “They took my kidney and vanished,” he said.

Reporting for this story was supported by a grant from Journalists for Transparency.

At least 50 world leaders gather in Seville to address global concerns, including hunger, climate change and healthcare.

The United Nations Conference on Financing Development has opened in the southern Spanish city of Seville, as member states are expected to discuss global inequality amid a significant financial loss following the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) funding cut.

The once-in-a-decade event will be held from Monday to Thursday, aiming to address pressing global concerns, including hunger, poverty, climate change, healthcare, and peace.

At least 50 world leaders gathered in Seville, including UN Secretary-General Antonio Guterres, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, French President Emmanuel Macron, and Kenyan President William Ruto.

More than 4,000 representatives from businesses, civil society and financial institutions are also participating in the fourth edition of the event.

But the group’s most significant player, the US, is snubbing the talks following President Donald Trump’s decision to slash funding shortly after taking office in January.

In March, US State Secretary Marco Rubio said the Trump administration had cancelled more than 80 percent of all the USAID programmes.

Moreover, Germany, the United Kingdom, and France are also making cuts to offset the increased spending on defence, being imposed by Trump on NATO members.

But the series of cuts to developmental aid is concerning, with global advocacy group Oxfam International saying the cuts to development aid were the largest since 1960.

The UN also puts the growing gap in annual development finance at $4 trillion.

‘Seville Commitment’

The conference organisers have said the key focus of the talks is restructuring finance for the 17 UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) adopted at the last meeting in 2015 and expected to be met by 2030.

But with shrinking development aid, the goals of reaching the SDGs in five years, which include eliminating poverty and hunger, seem unlikely.

Earlier in June, talks in New York produced a common declaration, which will be signed in Seville, committing to the UN’s development goals of promoting gender equality and reforming international financial institutions.

Zambia’s permanent representative to the UN, Chola Milambo, said the document shows that the world can tackle the financial challenges in the way of achieving the development goals, “and that multilateralism can still work”.

However, Oxfam has condemned the document for lacking ambition and said “the interests of a very wealthy are put over those of everyone else”.

AS KING Canute found over a thousand years ago, it is quite difficult to stand on a beach and order the tide to recede. 

Today, it is equally difficult to make the argument that giving families cash is not always the best way of lifting them out of poverty. 

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This is especially true when one particular measure becomes the symbol of whether or not you’re on the right side of the debate about child poverty.

But as someone who now can afford the comforts of life, I constantly remind myself of my childhood.

The grinding poverty that I experienced when my father was killed
in a work accident when I was 12 – leaving my mother, who had serious health problems, to fight a long battle for minimal compensation.

Having only bread and dripping in the house was, by anyone’s standards, a hallmark of absolute poverty.

Why on earth would I question, therefore, the morality of reversing a Tory policy introduced eight years ago?

This restricts the additional supplement to universal credit – worth over £3,000 a child per year – to just two children. 

I should know, my friends tell me, that the easiest and quickest way of overcoming the growth in child poverty is to restore the £3.5 billion pounds it would cost to give this additional money for all the children in every family entitled to the credit.

It is true that the policy, introduced in 2017, failed its first test.

Women did not stop having more than two children even when they were strapped for cash. It is still unclear why. 

After all, many people have to make a calculation as to how many children they can afford.

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But one thing must be certain: namely, that if you give parents a relatively substantial additional amount of money for every child they have whilst entitled to benefits, they are likely to have more children.

Nigel Farage, leader of Reform UK, said as much last week. His argument for restoring the benefit to the third and subsequent children was precisely that we needed to persuade low- income families to have more children.

Surely having children that you cannot afford to feed is the legacy of a bygone era?

All those earning below £60,000 are entitled to the basic child benefit, so the argument is about just over £60 a week extra per child.

One difficulty in having a sensible debate about what really works in overcoming intergenerational poverty is the lack of reliable statistics.

Some people have claimed, over recent days, that over 50 per cent of children in Manchester and Birmingham live in poverty. 

I fear that such claims should be treated with scepticism.

Those struggling to make ends meet – sometimes having not just one but two jobs – who pay their taxes and national insurance and plan their lives around what can be afforded, have the right to question where their hard-earned wages go.

The simple and obvious truth is that child poverty springs from the lack of income of the adults who care for them.

Transforming their lives impacts directly on the children in their family.

There is a limit to how much money taxpayers are willing to hand over to pay for another family’s children. 

Helping them to help themselves is a different matter.

So, what would I do?

Firstly, I would ensure that families with a disabled youngster automatically have the entitlement restored.

This would self-evidently apply also to multiple births. 

In both cases, life is not only more difficult, it is also harder to get and keep a job.

I would come down like a ton of bricks on absent parents.

My mum was a single parent because she was widowed; many others are single in the sense that the other partner has walked away.

The Child Maintenance Service should step up efforts to identify and pursue absent parents who do not pay their fair share towards their child. 

We, the community, have a clear duty to support and assist those in need.

To help those where a helping hand will restore them to independence and self-reliance.

But there is an obligation on individuals as well as the State, and mutual help starts with individuals taking some responsibility for themselves.

Finally, if (and this is where I am in full agreement with colleagues campaigning to dramatically reduce child poverty) we make substantial sums of money available to overcome hardship, then a comprehensive approach to supporting the families must surely be the best way to achieve this.

As ever in politics there is a trade off. What you spend on handing over cash is not available to invest in public services: that is the reality.

Help from the moment a child is born, not just with childcare but with nurturing and child development.

Dedicated backing to gain skills and employment and to taper the
withdrawal of help so that it genuinely becomes worthwhile having and keeping a job. 

A contract between the taxpayer and the individual or household.
Government is about difficult choices, that is why Keir Starmer and his colleagues are agonising over what to do next.

Known for sweeping black-and-white photography that captured the natural world and marginalised communities, Brazilian photographer Sebastiao Salgado has passed away at age 81.

His death was confirmed on Friday by the nonprofit he and his wife Lelia Deluiz Wanick Salgado founded, the Instituto Terra.

“It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of Sebastiao Salgado, our founder, mentor and eternal source of inspiration,” the institute wrote in a statement.

“Sebastiao was much more than one of the greatest photographers of our time. Alongside his life partner, Lelia Deluiz Wanick Salgado, he sowed hope where there was devastation and brought to life the belief that environmental restoration is also a profound act of love for humanity.

“His lens revealed the world and its contradictions; his life, the power of transformative action.”

Salgado’s upbringing would prove to be the inspiration for some of his work. Born in 1944 in the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais, he saw one of the world’s most biodiverse ecosystems, the Atlantic Forest, recede from the land he grew up on, as the result of development.

He and his wife spent part of the last decades of their life working to restore the forest and protect it from further threats.

But Salgado was best known for his epic photography, which captured the exploitation of both the environment and people. His pictures were marked by their depth and texture, each black-and-white frame a multilayered world of tension and struggle.

In one recent photography collection, entitled Exodus, he portrayed populations across the world taking on migrations big and small. One shot showed a crowded boat packed with migrants and asylum seekers crossing the Mediterranean Sea. Another showed refugees in Zaire balancing buckets and jugs above their heads, as they trekked to retrieve water for their camp.

Salgado himself was no stranger to fleeing hardship. A trained economist, he and his wife left Brazil in 1969, near the start of a nearly two-decade-long military dictatorship.

By 1973, he had begun to dedicate himself to photography full time. After working several years with France-based photography agencies, he joined the cooperative Magnum Photos, where he would become one of its most celebrated artists.

His work would draw him back to Brazil in the late 1980s, where he would embark on one of his most famous projects: photographing the backbreaking conditions at the Serra Pelada gold mine, near the mouth of the Amazon River.

Through his lens, global audiences saw thousands of men climbing rickety wooden ladders out of the crater they were carving. Sweat made their clothes cling to their skin. Heavy bundles were slung over their backs. And the mountainside around them was jagged with the ridges they had chipped away at.

“He had shot the story in his own time, spending his own money,” his agent Neil Burgess wrote in the British Journal of Photography.

Burgess explained that Salgado “spent around four weeks living and working alongside the mass of humanity that had flooded in, hoping to strike it rich” at the gold mine.

“Salgado had used a complex palette of techniques and approaches: landscape, portraiture, still life, decisive moments and general views,” Burgess said in his essay.

“He had captured images in the midst of violence and danger, and others at sensitive moments of quiet and reflection. It was a romantic, narrative work that engaged with its immediacy, but had not a drop of sentimentality. It was astonishing, an epic poem in photographic form.”

When photos from the series were published in The Sunday Times Magazine, Burgess said the reaction was so great that his phone would not stop ringing.

Critics, however, accused Salgado during his career of glamourising poverty, with some calling his style an “aesthetic of misery”.

But Salgado pushed back on that assessment in a 2024 interview with The Guardian. “Why should the poor world be uglier than the rich world? The light here is the same as there. The dignity here is the same as there.”

In 2014, one of his sons, Juliano Ribeiro Salgado, partnered with the German filmmaker Wim Wenders to film a documentary about Salgado’s life, called The Salt of the Earth.

One of his last major photography collections was Amazonia, which captured the Amazon rainforest and its people. While some viewers criticised his depiction of Indigenous peoples in the series, Salgado defended his work as a vision of the region’s vitality.

“To show this pristine place, I photograph Amazonia alive, not the dead Amazonia,” he told The Guardian in 2021, after the collection’s release.

As news of Salgado’s death spread on Friday, artists and public figures offered their remembrances of the photographer and his work. Among the mourners was Luis Inacio Lula da Silva, Brazil’s president, who offered a tribute on social media.

“His discontent with the fact that the world is so unequal and his obstinate talent in portraying the reality of the oppressed always served as a wake-up call for the conscience of all humanity,” Lula wrote.

“Salgado did not only use his eyes and his camera to portray people: He also used the fullness of his soul and his heart. For this very reason, his work will continue to be a cry for solidarity. And a reminder that we are all equal in our diversity.”

Public spending cuts across six African countries have resulted in the incomes of health and education workers falling by up to 50 percent in five years, leaving them struggling to make ends meet, according to international NGO ActionAid.

The Human Cost of Public Sector Cuts in Africa report published on Tuesday found that 97 percent of the healthcare workers it surveyed in Ethiopia, Ghana, Kenya, Liberia, Malawi and Nigeria could not cover their basic needs like food and rent with their wages.

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) is to blame for these countries’ failing public systems, the report said, as the agency advises governments to significantly cut public spending to pay back foreign debt. As the debt crisis rapidly worsens across the Global South, more than three-quarters of all low-income countries in the world are spending more on debt servicing than healthcare.

“The debt crisis and the IMF’s insistence on cuts to public services in favour of foreign debt repayments have severely hindered investments in healthcare and education across Africa. For example, in 2024, Nigeria allocated only 4% of its national revenue to health, while a staggering 20.1% went toward repaying foreign debt,” said ActionAid Nigeria’s Country Director Andrew Mamedu.

The report highlighted how insufficient budgets in the healthcare system had resulted in chronic shortages and a decline in the quality of service.

Women also appear to be disproportionally affected.

“In the past month, I have witnessed four women giving birth at home due to unaffordable hospital fees. The community is forced to seek vaccines and immunisation in private hospitals since they are not available in public hospitals. Our [local] health services are limited in terms of catering for pregnant and lactating women,” said a healthcare worker from Kenya, who  ActionAid identified only as Maria.

Medicines for malaria – which remains a leading cause of death across the African continent, especially in young children and pregnant women – are now 10 times more expensive at private facilities, the NGO said. Millions don’t have access to lifesaving healthcare due to long travel distances, rising fees and a medical workforce shortage.

“Malaria is an epidemic in our area [because medication is now beyond the reach of many]. Five years ago, we could buy [antimalarial medication] for 50 birrs ($0.4), but now it costs more than 500 birr ($4) in private health centres,” a community member from Muyakela Kebele in Ethiopia, identified only as Marym, told ActionAid.

‘Delivering quality education is nearly impossible’

The situation is equally dire in education, as budget cuts have led to failing public education systems crippled by rising costs, a shortage of learning materials and overcrowded classrooms.

Teachers report being overwhelmed by overcrowded classrooms, with some having to manage more than 200 students. In addition, about 87 percent of teachers said they lacked basic classroom materials, with 73 percent saying they paid for the materials themselves.

Meanwhile, teachers’ wages have been gradually falling, with 84 percent reporting a 10-15 percent drop in their income over the past five years.

“I often struggle to put enough food on the table,” said a teacher from Liberia, identified as Kasor.

Four of the six countries included in the report are spending less than the recommended one-fifth of their national budget on education, according to the UNESCO Institute for Statistics.

“I now believe teaching is the least valued profession. With over 200 students in my class and inadequate teaching and learning materials, delivering quality education is nearly impossible,” said a primary school teacher in Malawi’s Rumphi District, identified as Maluwa.

Action Aid said its report shows that the consequences of IMF-endorsed policies are far-reaching. Healthcare workers and educators are severely limited in the work they can do, which has direct consequences on the quality of services they can provide, it said.

“The debt crisis and drive for austerity is amplified for countries in the Global South and low-income countries, especially due to an unfair global economic system held in place by outdated institutions, such as the IMF,” said Roos Saalbrink, the global economic justice lead at ActionAid International. “This means the burden of debt falls on those most marginalised – once again. This must end.”