Amine Snoussi: Tunisia has become Europe’s coastguards

In an interview with aidóni, journalist Amine Snoussi denounces the authoritarian drifts of President Kaïs Saïed and his instrumentalization of the migration issue for political purposes. He sheds light on the opaque financing granted by Europe to Tunisia in exchange for outsourcing border management, which results in documented human rights violations by numerous organisations.

By Méline Laffabry (edited by Rogerio Simoes)

Since 2011 and the revolution that initiated the establishment of a representative democracy regime, Tunisia has benefited from substantial European funding, notably to support civil society and democracy. “Tunisia is living on a drip feed in terms of IMF loans and grants,”  says Amine Snoussi, a Tunisian journalist and author.

However, since the transition to an authoritarian regime in 2021, funding has been declining. “There are increasing difficulties in financially supporting Tunisia, as there is no longer an interest in saying that we support the only democracy in the Arab world. The regime’s solution has been to condition aid on stricter migration regulation.”

Amine Snoussi highlights the opacity surrounding the use of these funds. He points out the lack of control and transparency in the management of funds allocated to the Tunisian Ministry of the Interior, responsible for border management.

Financing controversial policies

Tunisia’s migration policy, under  President Kaïs Saïed, has hardened in recent years. “There has been  indeed a reality of anti-Black racism in Tunisia long before [the rise to power of Kaïs Saïed],” says Snoussi “It was a racism omnipresent among individuals, in administrative contexts, in the renewal of residence permits, in contexts of social violence, disdain. But it was not at the top of the State. And now, that’s what is different.”

In a speech on February 21, 2023, the Tunisian president declared that “hordes of illegal immigrants from sub-Saharan Africa” had arrived in Tunisia and were responsible for “violence, crimes, and unacceptable acts.” He added that it was an “abnormal” situation that was part of a criminal plan designed to “transform Tunisia’s demographic composition” and turn it “into an African state that no longer belongs to the Arab-Islamic world”. The speech was denounced by numerous international organisations and sparked a wave of violence in the country.

Accepting European funding for border control allows Kaïs Saïed to finance his own migration policy. “The idea is to prevent sub-Saharans from even coming to Tunisia. It’s to turn Tunisia into a hostile place for migrants, like Libya, so there isn’t even an attempt to pass through Tunisia to reach Europe,” says Snoussi.

European “diplomatic cynicism”

Amine Snoussi cites the example of police raids carried out in the summer of 2023. “We still need to contextualize what happened last summer. These are police officers coming to fetch Blacks from their homes, just because they are Black. They don’t know if they are irregular. They don’t check anything, they put them on buses and dump them in the desert. Without water, without anything.” 

The journalist points to what he considers lack of reaction outside the country. “There weren’t that many condemnations. There wasn’t that much criticism from European countries. There wasn’t concern. There wasn’t a questioning of relations.”

He denounces  what he sees as cynicism of European countries that finance Tunisia’s repressive migration policies and turn a blind eye to human rights violations. He points that European nations have already collaborated with authoritarian regimes in the past, in Tunisia and elsewhere.

“They just saw someone who was capable of doing the dirty work for them. Why do we accept to do business and finance illegal things? I don’t know, but it’s not new. In any case, under Ben Ali, for example, France, Europe, knew that the Ministry of the Interior was torturing people, imprisoning opponents, sometimes killing them. That didn’t prevent them from funding programs for the Tunisian police, in equipment, technology, etc.”

This has been happening with Europe’s relationship with Egypt, he says. “Europe knows very well that Egypt has a number of political opponents in prison that defy any competition. These are figures worthy of a medium-sized city in France. There is no political freedom. There is mistreatment of opponents. That doesn’t prevent France from making it its main ally in terms of arms sales, in terms of sharing diplomatic intelligence, sharing intelligence, etc. I think it’s more general. There is a diplomatic cynicism that has settled in. As long as it serves our interests, it’s not a big deal.”

“Transfer of sovereignty”

The current situation, amounting to an outsourcing of border management by Europe, is not just a transfer of financial means, according to Amine Snoussi. He says it is also, and above all, a transfer of responsibility.

“Outsourcing borders also makes borders them more difficult to access. It’s about training Tunisia to be more aggressive on its borders, to be more rigorous, and above all to have coastguards capable of ensuring that migrants end up in the water. [That these coastguards] are ready to do this to protect Europe from the arrival of migrants. This, in fact, is a transfer of sovereignty because de facto, politically, it is not up to [Tunisia] to manage Europe’s borders. And especially, it is a major problem for the rest of Africa.

“We find ourselves in a situation where one country agrees to play Europe’s coastguards on another continent, with neighbours turning a blind eye, and a whole system in place.”

Why would this system serve European interests? “I think there are quite a few liberals and people from the European political majority who say, come on, let’s move the problem away. Let’s put it in Tunisia,” says Snoussi. And like that, it won’t be visible anymore. The problem is that migrants exist, we see them. That’s what’s scary. When there is media coverage of SOS Méditerranée, of migrants dying at sea, etc., it’s problematic for Europe, it’s problematic for its image, problematic for the political credibility of the people leading it.  If we give the responsibility, and then we can blame the Tunisian state, Westerners win on both sides.”

 Amine Snoussi believes the  goal is to place responsibility on others. “Handing over responsibility for migration to private organisations, let’s not lie to ourselves about what that will lead to. We’ve seen it, even with organisations that are not private, like Frontex. The humanitarian catastrophe that is Frontex… I don’t think the objective is to be more discreet. I think the idea is not to assume responsibility.”

“Saying ‘it’s not us’ is always powerful when it comes to migration. Because in the Mediterranean, everyone is responsible. It’s not just the countries with a maritime border. It’s all of Europe that is responsible. Because they never wanted to harmonise the reception policy, they never wanted to relax visa conditions, etc. The idea is not to assume political responsibility. It’s to entrust this role to another institution and not be responsible for the deaths.”

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here.

“Migrants try to leave Tunisia as quickly as possible,” says local human rights activist

Romdhane Ben Amor, a committed activist and spokesperson for the human rights organisation FTDES , paints a turbulent and challenging picture of his country with respect of its treatment of foreigners fleeing conflict or poverty.

By Marina Vidal (edited by Rogerio Simoes)

The year was 2008. In Redeyef, the Tunisian South-Western town   Romdhane Ben Amor comes from, a social movement against the Ben Ali regime started to spring. Back then, the longtime dictator had been in power for two decades and the Tunisian Revolution was still an idea,  three years away from succeeding in ousting Ben Ali.

“The movement was repressed by the Tunisian state, the Ben Ali regime. Some young people died, and hundreds or more were imprisoned,” recalls the activist. “During that period, I was attending many events and I also started blogging. At one of  those events in 2008, I got to know the founding members of FTDES, who were there as activists, human rights defenders, trade unionists.”

In  the Tunisian Forum for Economic and Social Rights (FTDES), Romdhane found an ideological match, and it wasn’t long before they all started working together. “Then came the revolution, they set up the forum, and I was invited to join them as a member.”

Even though he initially worked on communication issues and protest movements, with time Romdhane became more and more interested in migration topics and started focusing his work on the country’s changing reality in terms of demography. “I am now continuing my studies as a demography researcher, and the reason I chose this topic is because of the way it intersects with the migration issue.”

But the migration topic in Tunisia is not an easy one to study or work with, even more so in recent times. In the 15 years  since Romdhane first started his activism, Tunisia has witnessed different scenarios in terms of migration, shifting from a country of origin to a land of passage.

 “The country has been transformed since 2020. A lot of factors have contributed to this transformation, and there have been many changes. There’s the external factor,  which is more to do with the dynamics of migration and European policies, which have led to the closing of the eastern route, or the route through Libya, and have indirectly pushed migrants to seek other routes like Tunisia,” he explains. “But there are also internal factors, linked to Tunisia’s political, economic, and social crisis.”

Being active on the field has showed Romdhane how Tunisians themselves are also directly influencing the situation. “Tunisians, of course, are also making a major contribution,  especially through the creation of these networks of smugglers. It’s an informal economy that has affected the most disadvantaged, the most marginalised people, that is to say, the border with Algeria, the border with Libya, and the rural areas. Even the Sfax region.” 

“There´s also the policy of President Kaïs Saied, who has created a climate of hatred against migrants. Migrants used to take the time they needed to prepare their migration plans, but Kaïs Saied’s actions have led thousands of them to try to leave Tunisia as quickly as possible, whatever the conditions.” Ever since the leader’s infamous speech in February 2023, in which he referred to the migrants’ situation as “unnatural” and made xenophobic and racist comments, navigating the terrain of migration advocacy has become increasingly arduous.

Fear of reprimand

During the day, Romdhane works as a primary school teacher, and at night, or any spare hour he gets, he contributes to FTDES’ work by reading, writing, attending meetings, or coordinating the different departments in the organisation. “With my other occupation, it was already hard for me to dedicate time to it, but things are starting to get difficult in Tunisia, to work on migration… Everything changed, especially after the president’s racist speech.”

As a spokesperson for FTDES, Romdhane used to be able to talk about social, civic, and environmental issues without fear of reprimand. Not anymore. “We were also critical of state policies, of the various governments, but we were never subjected to pressure or attacks. Things are different in Tunisia now.”

He says the collaboration between his country and the European Union is failing to help manage Tunisia’s situation and, potentially, even intensifying the problem. “There is a lack of transparency, which is also a strategic choice by the Tunisian state to not talk about cooperation projects related to externalising borders. […] And also on the part of European, French or Italian authorities, there is not enough communication, especially on the security aspect and the resources that are made available for Tunisia to use.” 

On the other hand, and partially as a result of the externalisation and the policies adopted by the Tunisian Ministry of the Interior, organisations say that violations of people´s rights in the country have been increasing every day. “We´ve seen migrants being deprived of their rights; they don’t have the right to work, the right to accommodation”

Whether it be directed to refugees, asylum seekers, students, or migrant workers, Romdhane sees examples of this violation on a daily basis. “Now we see migrants and refugees grouped together in public spaces. In Tunis, in front of the Tunisian agencies, or in a public garden in front of the UNHCR offices. In the Sfax region, they gather under olive trees, forcibly evacuated from the town, and pushed around by the National Guard. The south of Tunisia, a place surrounded by sea on three sides, has turned into a sort of detention camp peninsula.”

Romdhane Ben Amor’s words paint a turbulent picture of Tunisia, an image he hopes to change by continuously advocating for the rights of those who are maginalised by society and  do not have a voice in his country. To him, working with FTDES is a means to that end. 

About FTDES: The Tunisian Forum for Social and Economic Rights (in French Forum Tunsien pour les Droits Economiques et Sociaux – FTDES) is a Tunisian organisation founded in 2011 to fight for people’s economic and social rights at the national and international level. FTDES is working on the following themes: labour rights, women’s rights, environmental rights, and migrant rights.

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here.

 

Waves of constraint: questions raised over Tunisia’s Coast Guard approach to migration

The plight of tens of thousands fleeing across the Mediterranean in search of a better life in Europe is well documented.  A staggering number perish during the journey, giving rise to the grim moniker – “the bigger cemetery of migrants of the world.”  However, another facet of this crisis, though less spoken of, has been raised  by testimonies and documented by NGOs.

 

By Ata Ahmet Kökçü (edited by Méline Laffabry)

On 9 March 2023, an incident was reported by Alarm Phone. The organisation, initiated in October 2014 by activist networks and civil society actors in Europe and North Africa, operates as a crucial lifeline for refugees in distress in the Mediterranean Sea. That day, they reported “Tunisian Coast Guard stealing engines and watching from a distance,” and shared the testimony of an exile. “We were born on the wrong side of the ocean and we are suffering. We have 6-month-old babies with us. The Tunisian coastguard took the engines to sell them for money.”

Alarm Phone isn’t alone in these accusations. Witnesses and human rights organisations, including the Tunisian Forum for Social and Economic Rights (FTDES), Oxfam, and Borderline Europe, all level similar charges against Tunisian authorities. These include brutal and severe measures such as ramming boats, physically assaulting occupants, and disabling vessels by removing their engines, leaving migrants adrift at sea. These practices   have been reported by people in exile who tried to cross the Mediterranean, families of missing migrants, and Tunisian activists to Eléonore Plé, founder of Specto Média, while she was investigating the reality of people in exile in Tunisia in the summer of 2023. 

Wall of silence

Tunisian authorities have denied the accusations or provided reasons which, according to them, explain why some of those measures have been taken.

Despite mounting evidence and international outcry, European governments also maintain a stance that aligns with Tunisian official narratives. They claim engine removal is a safety measure to facilitate rescue operations — a claim  criticised by many as misleading. Critics, including Tunisian and European humanitarian organisations, argue that these practices constitute human rights violations. They accuse EU countries of complicity by continuing to support the Tunisian coast guard while downplaying the gravity of their actions. “The Tunisian coastguard’s partners, especially Germany and Italy, are adopting Tunisia’s narrative,” said the Tunisian FTDES chairman Romdhane Ben Amor. “We see this as complicity in the concealment of attacks on migrants.”

The situation is further complicated by the perilous state of press freedom in Tunisia, particularly since 2021. “You know journalism in Tunisia today is both difficult and very risky,” confided a Tunisian journalist who wished to remain anonymous for safety reasons. “Since 2021, we are not allowed to work on the ground and many journalists are now jailed because they reported  stuff. What you said about migrants is what we all say, but we are unable to prove it because we can’t do the necessary investigations.”

An uneasy partnership

Despite the accusations against the Tunisian coast guards and numerous critics about the impact EU financial support for border control in Tunisia, the European Union has sought to bolster Tunisia’s capacity to manage migration and the challenges it brings. On 22 September 2023, in line with the Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) on a strategic and comprehensive partnership, the EU announced significant financial support for Tunisia. This included €60 million for post-Covid recovery, requested by Tunisia on 31 August, and an additional €67 million operational assistance package on migration.

Tunisian President Kais Saied has rejected EU funds, although €60 million had already been injected into Tunisia’s treasury, with €13 million  given to the International Organization for Migration (IOM) and €8 million to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). However, other funding has been retained, such as the amount of over €13 million allocated to the “Strengthening the Tunisian Coast Guard Training Pillar” project funded by the European Union and implemented by the German Federal Police and the International Centre for Migration Policy Development (ICMPD) until June 2026.

The relationship between the EU and Tunisia is complex, with EU officials noting the importance of direct contacts in conducting relations. Meanwhile, evidence collected by Search and Rescue (SAR) NGOs and observers paints a grim picture of the treatment of migrants by Tunisian coastguards. Reports of physical violence, the use of firearms, engine removal, and boat collisions contribute to the harrowing risks faced by migrants at sea. Furthermore, according to humanitarian organisations, Tunisia’s delay in establishing a formal SAR (Search and Rescue) zone, crucial for conducting rescue operations beyond its territorial waters, highlights the urgent need for comprehensive and humane migration management solutions.

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here.

“My nephews arrived safely in Lampedusa. We never heard from them again”

Since 2011, tens of thousands of people have  perished while attempting to cross the Mediterranean Sea to reach the shores of the European Union, a catastrophe that has left thousands of families in mourning. Less known is the drama of many migrants whose fate is still unclear, having disappeared after arriving in European soil. Among those desperately seeking answers and fighting for justice is Imed Soltani, a mechanic in Tunis. His personal storyplaces him at the forefront of a poignant struggle for truth and dignity for the victims.

 

By Méline Laffabry (edited by Rogerio Simoes)

In March 2011,  Imed Soltani’s two nephews, Belhassan (23)  and Slim (27) Soltani,  tried their luck to cross the Mediterranean. “The whole family knew they wanted to leave for Europe to improve their standard of living.”

Slim and Belhassane  are among tens of thousands of Tunisians who left their country and took to the sea to try to reach Europe since 2011. Only between late January and September 2011, more than 27,000 had arrived on the Italian island of Lampedusa. “We know our boys arrived in Lampedusa but disappeared there on 1 March, 2011.”

“At that time, there was a lot of noise about arrivals in Lampedusa. There were many videos. Italian and European media were talking about it every day. Italian residents were not happy. The Prime Minister at the time, Silvio Berlusconi, went there and announced that he would leave no trace of Tunisians  and return the island to Italians,” explains Imed.

Indeed, Silvio Berlusconi announced drastic and rapid measures. “The government has prepared a plan to evacuate, to free the island, within two to two and a half days. Within forty-eight to sixty hours, Lampedusa will be inhabited only by Lampedusans,” the prime minister declared during his visit on 30 March, 2011.

In search of their boys, Imed and his family then began their “struggle for justice and truth.” By gathering several families of the missing in search of answers, Imed founded the association “Terre pour tous” (Land for All). “We chose this name because we know that if there is not land for all, there is no justice. If we do not fight, the number of deaths and disappearances in the Mediterranean will continue to increase.”

The association operates without any financial support. “We don’t even have a bank account. We want to keep a free voice and total freedom of speech. If we accept money from the European Union, we can no longer clearly say what we think and denounce what is happening.”

In 2015, the families obtained the opening of an investigation commission. “We sent all the videos and call records of our boys proving that they had indeed arrived in Lampedusa. We have testimonies and videos showing that large boats, on 1, 14, and 29 of March, and 29 of April, brought immigrants but we never heard from them again. We don’t know where these boats were going. There is something wrong. We spoke to the Italian Ministry of the Interior in Rome where there is an office dealing with missing people. They never gave a clear answer to Tunisian families.”

“An undeclared war”

Imed minces no words. For him, these deaths and disappearances are a direct consequence of European policies. “EU policies are an undeclared war. There are agreements between the European Union and Tunisia and between Italy and Tunisia that make our country the border guard of Europe. We do not agree with this and we fight against it. These policies have turned the Mediterranean into a cemetery and we want the EU to take responsibility.”

“A month ago, in March 2024, we found the bodies of six boys buried in Italian graves with no names, only identified by numbers. They had left Tunisia in October 2023 and had not given any sign of life after arriving in Lampedusa. This is not the first time that in searching for our missing persons, we find their bodies in Italian cemeteries. After DNA tests, we were able to pressure the government to have them repatriated and buried in Tunisian graves with their names where their families can come to mourn.”

Imed is also sensitive to the fate of sub-Saharan exiles passing through Tunisia to reach the Mediterranean. “We stand in solidarity with sub-Saharans. Many of them are in Sfax. They live in camps, in fields, under trees. This is unacceptable.”

To protect Tunisians and sub-Saharans and do justice to those for whom it is already too late, Imed and his association work tirelessly. . “All these problems are due to the closure of borders and the non-respect of international laws and human rights. We just want respect for these laws. Respect for the humanity of each person. That’s our fight.”

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here.

 

“Tunisia is a beautiful country, but there’s no work”

Life in Europe does not mean Nabil has forgotten his home country, Tunisia. He has fond memories, particularly about the early days of the Jasmine Revolution. The challenging economic situation in the North-African nation, however, makes him say that he might never return.

 

By Anne Mie Ryding (edited by Sebnem Adiyaman)

Well past midnight, in an empty, dimly lit blues bar located in inner Copenhagen, an unusual group barges in. One of the people is 25-year-old Nabil*, far away from what he used to call home, Tunis. Tonight he is accompanied by three British girls and an older man with graying dreadlocks, square sunglasses, and a guitar case in his hand. Nabil takes a seat in front of the small stage, observing the impromptu jam session that has begun, along with the few people still lingering in the late hours. 

Nabil remembers Tunis, the capital city in Tunisia, where sub-Saharan migrants gather outside of the International Organization for Migrations office. It was also where violent clashes took place as the Jasmine Revolution began, back in December 2010. The uprising protested poverty, corruption and political repression in Tunisia, and inadvertently inspired a wave of civil resistance, later named the Arab Spring. 

“We made history”, Nabil says with a smile, before he takes another drag of his cigarette. It was indeed historical. After the protests began around 2011, longtime president Zine Al-Abidine Ben-Ali was forced to step down, officially ending his 23 years of power. Bringing down an authoritarian regime through the power of the people’s collective voice is certainly a point of pride for the revolution, indicative of progress in human rights in Tunisia, as well as in many other parts of the Southwest Asia and North African region where resistance took place. “Yeah, so much better in terms of human rights, but the situation got much worse financially and economically”, Nabil says. 

Today it seems the values and progress of the Jasmine Revolution are slowly being dismantled under the current president Kais Saied’s rule. Although Saied is increasingly criticized by the Tunisian population, Nabil believes he is still the lesser evil, “He’s not good, but with lots of bad people, you choose the less bad.” He lights another cigarette and goes on, reflecting on the upcoming presidential election in Tunisia, “He’s a good man. He’s trying to figure out… to figure some kind of solution for the country. I don’t think that he will make a big difference, but he’s trying.” 

Not enough jobs, not much hope

Saied was elected back in October 2019 on the promises of strangling corruption, and saving Tunisia from its economic crisis. As Nabil explains, the economic situation is mainly the reason why he left Tunisia, and did his Master’s in mechanical engineering in Germany, where he now lives. “They just fucked up everything,” he continues. “Actually, Tunisia is a beautiful country, but the political thing, there is a little bit… There are a lot of problems there. I left Tunisia because of the financial situation because there is no work. When you find work, it’s a low salary.” According to the International Labour Organization, the overall unemployment rate in Tunisia hit 15.8% in September 2023, while Tunisian youth are hit the hardest, with an unemployment rate of 38.5% for ages 15-24.

Besides the internal political unrest, Tunisia has been dealing with the influx of sub-Saharan migrants journeying to the country. Transformed into a transit country, over 12,000 migrants and asylum seekers are registered by UNHCR in Tunisia.  Nabil mentions the impact of the arrival of migrants from other parts of Africa as one of the reasons why he has left his home country. “When they came, they took low-salary jobs. For example, for an hour, it’s like €10 for one hour. It’s just an example. It’s not really €10. But they took €5 or less. That’s why, they took all the work in Tunisia..” Shaking his head, Nabil repeatedly describes the relations between Tunisians and the migrants as a “catastrophe”. 

He sheds light on a vicious cycle that has been established. With the arrival of exiles in Tunisia, a workforce cheaper than local residents is introduced. Employers take advantage of the great precariousness of people in exile to halve the salaries they would usually pay to Tunisians. As a result, the latter find themselves unemployed, since the positions are occupied by a precarious community forced to accept less favourable working conditions. This dynamic breeds numerous tensions and frustrations between Tunisians and those in exile.

Although Nabil misses his family, who still live in Tunis, he does not see himself living in Tunisia again. At least not under the current circumstances, “It’s a better future here. I love my country, but going back to live there, no, I don’t think so. Maybe with time, it’s going to change, but actually, no. I just came here”, he says with a grin. 

The bar is still full of life, with music from his newly-found companions, changing from blues to reggae. Nabil arrived in Germany just a year ago, after a strenuous journey to get his visa. “It’s like, not impossible, but… It’s bad. Hard, really hard. It took one year to get my visa to Germany. (…) Maybe it’s because of the German system: a lot of paperwork, bureaucracy, or maybe because of all of the people who want to leave Tunisia.” 

With his new life, Nabil does not hold back on experiencing the world and is traveling to Berlin, Warsaw, and Barcelona in the coming months. But no matter where he goes, one thing might never change when he thinks about home; “The people in Tunisia are so cool. They are really, really cool. I think they are the coolest. That’s not because they are my people, no. I’m just telling the truth.”

*The name has been changed to preserve the anonymity of our source.  

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here. 

 

This multimedia series is produced by Specto Média. Author: Eléonore Plé Investigation and production: Eléonore Plé Sound production: Norma Suzanne Graphic identity: Amandine Beghoul and Baptiste Cazaubon French version dubbing: Yamane Mousli English version dubbing: Isobel Coen and Julian Cola Editing: Hugo Sterchi and Norma Suzanne Recording studio: Radio M’S

To discover the series in French, visit Specto Media


Hardship in Tunisia breeds tension between locals and migrants

Whilst struggling Tunisians decide to leave the country through irregular channels due to high unemployment and inflation, those arriving from abroad suffer even more severe challenges and discrimination. Neither a National Migration Strategy nor a National Institute for Refugee Protection has been capable of protecting those passing through Tunisia or trying to adopt it as their new home.

By Nesreen Yousfi (edited by Tijani Abdulkabeer)

Geographic location, political turmoil, and serious economic challenges have placed Tunisia at the heart of migration flows towards Europe. The North African country has become both a significant source of migration and an essential path towards richer countries for people fleeing conflict, persecution, and poverty in different parts of Africa and Asia. Recent numbers provide a clear picture of the situation. According to the World Bank, Tunisians were the main nationality to arrive in Italy via the Central Mediterranean Route between 2019 and 2023.

Furthermore, data collected by Arab Barometer in 2022 reveal that 45% of Tunisians want to emigrate, more than double the 2011 rate (22%). Of those who want to leave the country, 41% are willing to do so without the appropriate documentation. Similarly, Tunisia is a common passage for sub-Saharan African migrants trying to reach Europe. The World Bank says that in the first eight months of 2023 44% of irregular migrants going to Europe had travelled from Tunisia to Italy.

Only 11% were Tunisian; the remaining were sub-Saharan. Whilst the migrants’ option of using the country as a stepping stone highlights its proximity to Italian islands, the decision taken by Tunisians to migrate irregularly, in spite of the high risks of fatality during the perilous journey, reflects their desperation to improve their quality of life.

Political turmoil and a struggling economy

More than 13 years have passed since the young Tunisian street vendor, Mohamed Bouazizi, took his own life in response to the confiscation of his merchandise – and his livelihood – by authorities, police brutality, and subsequent state neglect. Only 26 years old, Bouazizi had spent most of his life working to support his family, selling fruits and vegetables in the streets of Sidi Bouzid, central Tunisia. His tragic self-immolation was followed by street demonstrations against authoritarian rule and socio-economic conditions.

This further led to the Jasmine Revolution and the wider Arab Spring. In contrast to other countries with popular uprisings in the region, Tunisia was able to take much larger strides towards democracy. After the autocratic President Ben Ali fled to Saudi Arabia on 14th January 2011, the country established a new constitution and shifted towards a multiparty system. Nevertheless, the economic situation has remained dire. As of the fourth quarter of 2023, the national unemployment rate is at 16.4%, but even higher for women, at 22.2%.

Higher education graduates, the majority of whom are between 20 and 29 years of age, are particularly touched by unemployment, with 23.7% of them without work as of the second quarter of 2023. Female  graduates are more than twice as likely to be unemployed. There are also deep regional inequalities between the rural inland and the move developed coastal areas. Partnered with a long-term drought which has raised food inflation to 13.9%, these trends of high unemployment, in addition to gender, age, and regional disparities, are on par with the precarious living conditions which motivated the Jasmine Revolution. 

The tourism sector, which contributed 4.5% to Tunisia’s GDP in 2019, has suffered from fluctuations via the revolution, the 2015 Islamic State (ISIS) attack on tourists, the COVID-19 pandemic, and spillover from the civil war in neighbouring Libya. The industry had a relatively fast recovery from the initial drop in tourism after the terror attacks and has now also returned to pre-pandemic levels. However, the decline of the Tunisian Dinar, in tandem with wider structural issues in the sector, has limited its potential revenues. As the situation bites harder, the country has turned heavily on foreign debt, which in 2022 alone was close to 90% of its GDP.

Having been able to repay 2023 debts, Tunisia still faces challenges securing more external funding. According to the Ministry of Finance, debt servicing is expected to increase by 40% in 2024 compared to 2023. To stabilise Tunisia’s economy, in 2023 the African Development Bank Group (AFDB)  suggested the country should adopt a medium-term strategy to reduce sovereign debt, implement a plan to restructure public enterprises, and reduce its external debt. It also advised the country to negotiate a plan with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) to restore fiscal sustainability, in order to attract more investment.

Migrants from sub-Saharan Africa suffer discrimination in Tunisia. (Photo: Eléonore Plé)

Hard for Tunisians, harder for foreigners

While local citizens turn elsewhere for survival, foreign migrants have either decided or been forced to remain in Tunisia, despite initially wanting to reach Europe. One hurdle preventing their moves has been the Memorandum of Understanding between the European Union and Tunisia to cooperate on border management. In his study on migrant protection in Tunisia, urban studies researcher Adnen El Ghali notes that “EU funding to Tunisia is conditional on the country playing its part in stopping migrants reaching European soil”.

This ultimately turns Tunisia into a permanent destination for many, as the Tunisian government has augmented its role in managing irregular migration. Although Tunisia established the National Migration Strategy (2012) and the National Institute for Refugee Protection (2018) to defend migrant and refugee rights, the reality indicates the country has been falling short of carrying out that duty. Tunisia’s Labour Code legislates that work permits expire annually, ultimately restricting their access to long-term employment. Since many migrants overstay their visas, they are then unable to renew their work and residency permits.

This results in several migrants holding irregular status in the country, unravelling into a chain of dead-ends, as without residency permits, migrants do not have access to basic amenities like public health care, travel, or defence against exploitative employers. Labour exploitation of sub-Saharans in Tunisia is hence rampant. An absence of work permit and irregular status leads them to end up in informal employment (e.g., through a verbal contract).

It is possible, for instance, that many sub-Saharan Africans are finding work in the hospitality sector which has an unusually high informal employment rate (46% in the second quarter of 2019). Such working conditions ultimately leave migrants at a much higher risk of exploitation at work.  On top of that, sub-Saharan migrants and refugees are at increasing risk of state and non-state violence. Although Tunisia’s economic problems pre-date the growing migrant population, discourse in the sociopolitical sphere has shifted towards scapegoating sub-Saharan migrants and refugees for the country’s social woes.

Despite the adoption of an anti-racism law in 2018, President Kais Saied has been fanning the flames of racial tensions, claiming last year that the influx of sub-Saharan Africans is a plot between opposing parties and foreign nations to change the demographic composition of Tunisia – despite the fact that foreign migrants make up around 0.5% of the population, a significant number of whom come from Syria.  This government’s rhetoric, regarded as racist and condemned by most of the international community, has led to an escalation in violence against sub-Saharans. When undocumented migrants are subject to violence in Tunisia, their lack of civil status discourages them from coming forward as they are afraid of being arrested, or being subject to police corruption and extortion, a dynamic which echoes the tragedy of Bouazizi in 2010.

In a podcast with Specto Studio, Filippo Furri (anthropologist and member of the Migreurop network), underlines the violent expulsion of migrants since Saied took the reins of the presidency. These concerns are confirmed by a joint statement from the UN agencies UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency, and IOM (International Organisation for Migration) last summer, reporting that hundreds of migrants had been abandoned in the desert along the Algerian and Libyan borders. Many are even forced across the borders where they are faced with Algeria’s military or Libyan militias who violently refuse them entry.

This chain of offloading responsibility for migration from Europe to Tunisia, and then to neighbouring Algeria and Libya, leaves sub-Saharan migrants in a society already struggling to provide for itself. Stuck in Tunisia and scapegoated for the country’s wider socioeconomic issues, sub-Saharans ultimately become the most vulnerable to the country’s poor economic conditions, as their unrecognised status exposes them further to violence and exploitation.

This article is part of the special series “Tunisia – Land of Passage”, produced by Specto Media and aidóni. Listen to the podcast here.

 

This multimedia series is produced by Specto Média. Author: Eléonore Plé Investigation and production: Eléonore Plé Sound production: Norma Suzanne Graphic identity: Amandine Beghoul and Baptiste Cazaubon French version dubbing: Yamane Mousli English version dubbing: Isobel Coen and Julian Cola Editing: Hugo Sterchi and Norma Suzanne Recording studio: Radio M’S

To discover the series in French, visit Specto Media


 

This multimedia series is produced in collaboration with aidóni for translation, and producing the articles and profiles.

Meet the woman leading the fight against casteism in Nigeria

In the hustle and bustle of Nigeria’s commercial hub, Lagos state, Maduagwu Ogechukwu strove to build a brand as a celebrity make-up artist and videographer partnering with globally recognised acts and record labels. But in 2017, she left the glamour of the entertainment industry to fight for “a divine assignment”— casteism across Nigeria states. Her friend’s marriage failed due to the stigma against people of her caste; she was an osu, who were descendants of enslaved persons dedicated to traditional deities.

By Jennifer Ugwa. Edited by Arshu John

Casteim exists in different forms in small communities across Nigeria. Among the Igbo community, slavery dates back to before transatlantic slavery. However, unlike the transatlantic slave trade, the enslaved maintained their connection to their ancestral roots.  The Igbo community are one of the majority ethnic groups of Nigeria, predominantly from the south-eastern states of Anambra, Abia, Imo, Ebonyo and Enugu. Igbo is the native tongue of around 25 million Nigerians and is spoken by 40 million people globally.

In ancient Igbo, people were divided into four social hierarchies: the diala, who were the only community considered freeborn, and three hierarchies of enslaved castes—the ohu, the osu and the ume. The ohu were owned by the so-called freeborns and were the only enslaved caste to socially coexist with the diala. The osu were ‘dedicated’ to the gods, which referred to an act by which a community or family enslaved an individual to a traditional deity to avert a calamity or ill fate. Meanwhile, the ume were individuals who offered themselves to the deities to avoid certain societal punishment for a crime.

The osu and ume were treated as untouchables. Moreover, dedication was not the only way a person became enslaved. A widow who sought protection from a deity for property from greedy in-laws also automatically condemned herself and her household to osuship. The osu had no privilege, maintaining little or no interactions with the rest of the community. They lived near the shrine of the deities they were enslaved to. According to traditional beliefs, the generational curse of the osu is transmitted to the next generations, making the caste system not only hierarchical but also hereditary.

As such, it was considered taboo for the diala to marry with the other castes. In most rural communities across Igbo communities, it is believed that nuptial union with persons of osu descent would result in terrible luck in business and marriage. A 1956 law by the then-defunct Eastern House of Assembly abolished the osu caste system, but it was never implemented. Unfortunately, more than six decades after, discrimination and stigma of the caste system, the practice  is still prevalent in different parts of Igboland.
Moved by the experience of her friend, Maduagwu, a diala herself, founded her non-profit organisation, Initiative for the Eradication of Traditional and Cultural Stigmatisation in our Society or IFETACSIOS in April 2017. Six years later, she continues the fight to change the narrative and abolish the system.

An epiphany 

Stories of ill treatment of the persons of Osu caste are often, but only, heard in hush tones and in close quarters. While most person would not want to be accused of referring to anyone as less human, before any marriage, Igbo families still conduct the social custom of “Iju ajuju”—which roughly translates to “asking questions”—an investigation to trace the ancestry of the couples. It is at this stage that engagements fail and stigmatisation takes centre stage. People are called outcasts and slaves that are unfit to marry with a freeborn. It is what broke Maduagwu’s friend’s engagement.

“After the incident with my friend, I began thinking about how to help bridge the gap between my people,” Maduagwu said. She began creating audio messages she shared as WhatsApp broadcasts to her contacts and on Facebook.  But even then, Maduagwu said she was scared of the implications of the fight she had taken up and distorted her voice in her message.

“After the incident with my friend, I began thinking about how to help bridge the gap between my people.”

 

Few weeks later, it became obvious that distorting her voice had not been sufficient when she started facing threats from community members for disrupting Igbo culture. The 47-year-old make-up artist turned activist is the youngest of seven siblings and recalled how she got a call from her sister asking her to stop out of concern for her safety. But Maduagwu did not. “I understood this was a serious issue,” she said. “Somebody had to fight the fight.”

For the aggrieved community members to make their point, the IFETACSIOS boss said she was advised to go ahead and marry an Osu if she wished, and to leave their culture alone. But committed to her purpose, Maduagwu continued sending the messages out, and it received massive engagements from the public. “This was how what you now know as IFETACSIOS began in 2017,” she said.

Since the cat was out of the bag, Maduagwu began sending correspondence to traditional leaders in communities where the practice was still adhered to. In Nigeria, traditional leaders effectively form a parallel government; holding significant political and economic influence without any actual formal power, and preside over cultural norms, including matters of caste.

However, the commotion on the outside was nothing compared to the storm that consumed her inside. Omenala is the set of traditional, cultural beliefs of the Igbo community, and it is the guiding principle of any Igbo individual. The people are strong adherents of their culture. At the height of the threats, Maduagwu even feared that in the absence of any conventionally agreed process to abolish the caste system, she may be called upon to offer a human sacrifice. Traditionally, the Osu were considered dead in the physical world, and merely the properties of deities, and as such, she feared that the leaders may argue that to abolish the practice and treat them as living individuals would require a human sacrifice on her part. “I thought, what if I become the scapegoat? What if I am asked to be the sacrifice to abolish the system in my place,” Maduagwu told aidóni.

Building a movement

Fortunately, this fear never came true. Maduawgu persisted, slowly and consistently expanding the reach of her mission for social justice. In 2019, Maduagwu delivered a TedXTalk on the sensitive issue. “I am beaming my light at the dark corners of your heart where love and equality are trapped,” she said in her opening remarks. The video on YouTube has over 9,000 views. But for all its acclaim, the talk received almost as much criticism from people who believe IFETACSIOS advocacy contradicts tradition. But Maduagwu said the negative feedback fuels her drive.

IFETACSIOS currently boasts a team of eight staff members and a growing number of volunteers. The team works with a group of legal practitioners who offer pro-bono services to victims of caste discrimination. “We have achieved over a dozen re-orientation and reconciliation programmes across the southern state communities,” Maduagwu said. In August, IFETACSIOS carried out major outreaches across three southeastern states–Imo, Anambra and Ebonyi states.

The NGO is also partnering with the group of legal practitioners in Nneji –roughly translated as born from the same mother— a global group that represents the interests of Osu’s on reviewing an unimplemented 1956 law. There is no data on the number of Osus in Nigeria, but it is estimated that millions of people of Osu and Ohu descent live within and outside the country.

“I am beaming my light at the dark corners of your heart where love and equality are trapped.”

 

With just N85,000—approximately $108—Maduagwu embarked on her first intervention in 2018. The sum was to cater to her then six team members, logistics. In 2020, the Ford Foundation awarded the NGO a grant, but since then, they have operated on publicly raised funds. IFETACSIOS offers counselling interventions for victims, and Maduagwu “wish to assist victims financially, especially the single mothers who their partners abandoned.”

IFETACSIOS is currently partnering on a Knowledge Exchange project with the University College London and the Bureau for Conflicts and peace resolution in Imo State to stop stigmatisation of the descendants of Osu.  However, Maduagwu notes while they are making strides it is discouraging that at the top cadre of government, issues on casteism are not a priority.

Bringing social change

Yet, despite the lack of political will at the level of the Nigerian government, there have been smaller victories among the traditional leaders. In less than a year, Maduagwu led the first community intervention in 2018 to abolish Osu in her community, in the Oguta town of Nigeria’s Imo state. Following joint community meetings organised by IFETACSIOUS, twenty-four traditional leaders endorsed a formal declaration to abolish the caste system in Oguta.

The same year, IFETACSIOS also facilitated another intervention in Enugu’s Nsukka town, where the discrimination is primarily against the Ohu community. In the following years, 119 villages in nine autonomous communities in Nsukka have reportedly formalised the eradication of the caste system in their communities. In 2021, the Ogbor Autonomous community in the Imo state abolished the system as well.

Maduagwu said one of their biggest challenges has been to get traditional leaders and residents in rural communities where this practice is common to agree to the re-integration and orientation process. Since it assumed that an Ohu were slaves were purchased by the masters, Maduagwu said a tradition of a monetary exchange between the descendants of Ohu and Diala would nullify the age-long casteism in the communities. “Osu abolition would be done through a proclamation of the elders using the ‘offor,’” she said. The offor is a staff of the office of a traditional custodian, and supposedly embodies spiritual powers that makes any vow binding.

Maduagwu is optimistic a massive awakening will spark a national, if not global, conversation on caste discrimination and stigma. While she acknowledged that leaving a thriving career in the fashion industry came at a cost, Maduagwu emphasised that it was one she is happy to have paid. “Witnessing abolition ceremonies, people regaining their fundamental human rights and dignity is the high point for me in what I do.”

Top image: Maduagwu Ogechukwu, founder of IFETACSIOS

Minorities more affected by disinformation, particularly Hispanics in the US

Disinformation is rampant and thrives among minority communities in the United States, including Latinx, exploiting language and cultural diversity like bilingualism or history. Limited fact-checking in languages other than English amplifies its impact, eroding trust and fueling polarisation. Language barriers and a lack of diverse representation within media and institutions contribute to spreading false narratives. Comprehensive fact-checking efforts and fostering language and cultural diversity are essential to combat disinformation and protect democratic processes.

By Julie Gonsard. Edited by Manmeet Sahni

Disinformation, the deliberate spread of false or misleading information, has emerged as a significant challenge in today’s digital age. Among the various communities affected by this issue, Latinx Americans have faced disproportionate consequences due to their language and cultural characteristics. The Latinx community holds a significant presence, with over 500 million Spanish speakers worldwide, making it the fourth most spoken language globally. This is a democratic problem. Because of their considerable representation, they are of great electoral importance, but misinformation and disinformation can influence their votes. It is even more so in the United States, the second Spanish-speaking country after Mexico.

Like many diaspora communities, Latinx folks in the U.S. rely heavily on social media platforms to stay informed. Social media is vital for them to stay connected with their home countries and close ones living abroad. It provides a space for them to share trust, intimacy, and information with their communities. Whatsapp is the most used social media by Latinx communities in the U.S. between 18 and 34. According to a Nielsen study from 2021, they used it twice more than other adults in the U.S.

However, the same social media platforms that foster connectivity and information sharing also serve as fertile ground for the spread of disinformation. Due to their viral nature, false narratives and mis- and disinformation can quickly gain traction and reach a large audience. It poses a significant challenge for the Latinx communities, as they are exposed to a higher volume of misleading information, increasing their vulnerability to disinformation campaigns.

Most Latinx communities are bilingual, proficient in English and Spanish and use both languages to stay informed. According to Pew Research Center, 71% of them said they received at least some information in Spanish daily. Less than a third get their information only in English. Spanish is, therefore, a major information tool for the Latinx communities in the U.S.

Nonetheless, Spanish is one of the languages with the most mis- and disinformation on social networks. According to a study by AVAAZ, Facebook (now Meta), does not flag more than two-thirds of fake news in Spanish compared to less than one-third in English.

Fact-checking is much less effective in foreign languages than in English, with half of all fake non-English content not receiving a warning label. Social networks have only recently begun to rely heavily on artificial intelligence to fact-check.

“Today, our small trading centre operates until 2 am local time and sometimes till the next morning on big days compared to 7 pm back in the day,” Tombe said. That is in spite of the absence of government electricity, functioning with just a few generators that run up to 10 pm. The few police officers in our area have also grown in confidence due to our level of cooperation with them.”

Initially developed in and for English, they have struggled to adapt to Spanish and failed to identify fake news. The development of AI in Spanish is made even more difficult by the lack of data in Spanish – most of which is private – and  as Spanish is a diverse language with its numerous dialectal variants owing to its many geographical and cultural contexts.

Social networks face a deep-rooted problem when it comes to fact-checking in languages other than English, particularly Spanish. Fake news is usually corrected by independent fact-checkers long before it is labelled by social networks. It can take several weeks before Meta issues a warning label on Spanish content. Moreover, once a post has been flagged, Meta finds it difficult to do the same for its shares and duplicates.

Latinx communities in the U.S. have a long history of dealing with racism in the United States. They have little or no representation in the mainstream media, and this underrepresentation often leads to inaccurate portrayals and/or stereotypes that can be harmful. Amid this lack of representation in the media, more folks from the community are withdrawing from traditional forms of media, such as generally fact-checked news, and are turning to alternative media and sometimes to sources of information that may not be accurate and spread misinformation.

Latinx communities in the U.S. are often the targets of disinformation campaigns due to their significant presence and influence in the country’s political landscape. These campaigns exploit vulnerabilities stemming from the lack of robust fact-checking measures and Latinx communities’ challenges. As a result, disinformation efforts against these communities can be particularly effective.

The Latinx community in the U.S. has been particularly affected by disinformation surrounding COVID-19, even after the pandemic’s peak. For example, a list of alleged serious side effects of the Pfizer vaccine were circulated on social media, particularly on the Spanish-language Telegram accounts. The list compiled possible events to monitor related to severe COVID-19 and vaccines in general but was maliciously exploited and went viral, eroding trust in the Pfizer vaccine.

Given their substantial numbers, the Latinx communities in the U.S. have the potential to influence electoral outcomes and policy decisions. Disinformation campaigns designed to mislead and misinform this community can have far-reaching consequences, affecting the individuals targeted, the broader social fabric, and democratic processes.

A crucial aspect that makes them susceptible to targeted disinformation is their sensitivity to issues such as healthcare and immigration, among others. These topics are politically divisive and can sway the Latinx community’s political leanings in one direction or another. Disinformation campaigns strategically exploit these sensitive subjects to manipulate opinions and shape political narratives within the community.

Disinformation presents significant dangers to democracy and society. It erodes trust in institutions, fuels polarisation, and undermines democratic processes. This polarisation hampers constructive dialogue and compromises the ability to find common ground. False information has far-reaching consequences, including public health risks and exacerbating social inequalities. Disinformation campaigns also threaten democratic processes, such as elections, by manipulating public opinion and delegitimizing outcomes.

Additionally, disinformation can have severe implications for public health, as seen during the COVID-19 pandemic. False information about treatments, vaccines, and preventive measures can hinder efforts to combat the spread of diseases and jeopardise public health responses. Furthermore, targeted disinformation campaigns disproportionately affect marginalised communities, perpetuating discrimination and exacerbating social inequalities.

These disinformation issues are not limited solely to the Latinx communities in the U.S.  but extend to all Spanish speakers and other communities. The challenges of disinformation affect the entire Hispanic diaspora, given their significant global presence. Arab communities face similar challenges due to their substantial diaspora and global reach. Disturbingly, nearly a quarter of Arabic-language fake news on social media platforms still needs to be labeled, indicating the prevalence and effectiveness of disinformation campaigns targeting these communities.

To effectively combat the targeted disinformation affecting linguistic minorities, developing fact-checking capabilities in languages other than English, particularly within social media platforms, is crucial. These platforms need to develop artificial intelligence that is equally effective in languages other than English. Building trust in traditional structures and fostering alternatives in the languages and cultures of these communities is essential. Better representation is necessary. For instance, many Spanish-speaking countries have expressed disappointment that linguistic parity has yet to be achieved. While the UN has six official languages, it disseminates its instantaneous press releases only in English and French, a concern repeatedly raised by Argentina and the Friends of Spanish Group. Spanish-speaking nations have also cautioned against relying solely on translated English content, advocating for original content creation to respect linguistic and cultural nuances.

Today, initiatives are emerging to bridge this information gap. One example is the presence of Spanish-language media in the U.S., such as Connecta Arizona, which caters to the hyperlocal Spanish-speaking communities in Arizona and fact-checks the information circulating in the community’s online social networks. These efforts aim to address the specific needs of linguistic minority communities and provide them with accurate information in their language. By expanding fact-checking capabilities and enhancing representation, we can empower these communities to navigate the digital landscape confidently and make informed decisions. Recognizing and respecting the linguistic and cultural diversity within society is crucial to combat the spread of disinformation effectively.

Crowdfunded community: over 6k South Sudanese evacuated from Khartoum

Ladu Isaac looked pensive as he sat alone at a corner table of his regular bar in Rock City, a suburb of the South Sudanese capital ofJuba. When the clock struck 8, he straightened himself up, his head supported by his hands, and glued his eyes to the TV screen as the anchor read out the evening news. When she began the international headlines, the 39-year-old engineer walked a metre closer to the screen. “In international news, fighting between the Sudan Armed Forces and the Rapid Support Forces paramilitary continues, with hundreds of thousands of civilians still trapped in the capital Khartoum,” the anchor spoke.

By Richard Sultan. Edited by Arshu John

Isaac turned away from the screen, walked to the bar and banged his fist against the counter. “What madness has come over you today?” the bartender asked him, concerned and confused by the regular’s irregular behaviour. Tears flowing down his cheeks, Isaac responded, “Just give me three bottles of Star Gin”—a locally brewed, high alcohol-content gin packaged in 250 ml bottles. The order surprised everyone, fellow bar regulars and the bartender—Isaac was not known to drink gin, let alone Star Gin, and his behaviour evoked grave concern. But Isaac ignored everyone’s questions and walked out of the bar.

In February this year, two months before the fighting began in Sudan, Isaac had sent his mother to Khartoum for medical treatment. Now in May, weeks into the fighting, his mother was trapped in the conflict-ridden nation’s capital, and Isaac was among scores of South Sudanese nationals anxious about their loved ones in Sudan, particular in Khartoum—worsened by occasional breakdowns in communication, endless battles, and a lack of necessities. According to the UNHCR, as of 31 January this year, there were over 800,000 South Sudanese refugees in Sudan, which included over 600,000 registered migrants—including students, individuals seeking medical treatment, and business professionals—and over 160,000 unregistered individuals.

In end April, a week after the onset of fighting, South Sudanese eagerly awaited a response from their government on the evacuation of their friends and families trapped in the war. Anxiety reached a boiling point when the West and other countries started evacuating their citizens from Khartoum. The government’s lack of action forced a group of youths in Juba to take matters into their own hands. A civil-society collective, now called Citizens Call for the Emergency Evacuation of the South Sudanese (CCEESS), spurred into action and started a crowdfunding campaign for the evacuation. They used social media, organised meetings and press conferences, and called upon the goodwill of every South Sudanese citizen.

“We thought of what we could do to help our compatriots,” Akoc Manhiem, the group’s chairperson, said. “Without consultation from government institutions, as life was at stake, we did what we felt could work. We first printed a banner, created a Facebook page and uploaded the banner as our cover photo. We also thought about the issue of trust, and that is where Mgurush, a local fintech, came in since it will allow us to receive money from within and from those in the diaspora.”

The campaign was more successful than they expected. Their initiative spread widely and quickly, leading to a surprisingly successful first press conference that even the country’s acting foreign affairs minister attended. “We raised 400,000 South Sudanese Pounds”—a little over $300 USD—“right after our first press conference, and received a pledge of $5000 USD from an individual in the diaspora,” Manheim recalled. “The success of our Facebook page boosted our morale, and I was able to open a crowdfunding account on gofundme.com and share it on other social media like Twitter and clubhouse.”

The initiative’s crowdfunding web page on gofundme records receiving $6,685 USD against their target of $100,000 USD. “This is a cause I believe in. Our people require our support,” posted Adhieu Majok on the crowdfunding page, after contributing $200 USD. However, the fundraising efforts of the initiative have spread far beyond the crowdfunding page, and has seen big investments from South Sudanese business owners and politicians alike. According to a post on their Facebook page on 17 June, CCEESS has raised nearly $550,000 USD, including over $125,000 USD from a fundraising event on 13 May, $100,000 USD from the Eritrean Business Community and over $30,000 from the country’s central bank. Moreover, the in-kind contributions are worth over $100,000.

Using the money, the initiative sought to pay truck drivers to travel nearly 500 kilometres from Khartoum to the South Sudanese town of Renk, carrying trapped citizens back to their home country.  On 27 April, the initiative managed to pay the first truck driver to make the journey with the first group of South Sudanese evacuees. As of 13 June, according to Jok Monychok Kuol, the initiative’s spokesperson, they had evacuated 6,660 individuals from Sudan. “We are currently focusing on evacuating those trapped in Khartoum to the border,” said Emmanuel Ladu, the group’s head of logistics. “From the border onwards, the government and development partners like the IOM and UNHCR will take over. We will only help with food items and other necessities as we know you can’t leave a war zone with your belongings.”

The CCEESS have set up a coordinating office opposite the US Embassy in Juba, where citizens can contribute in cash or kind. “We have a coordinating team in Khartoum, in the Omdurman, Hai Joisef, Kala Kala and Mayo suburbs,” Ladu explained. “Thanks to them, they hired a Sudanese man who has lorries. However, due to the intense fighting, some neighbourhoods like Hai Joisef are still cut off from the assembly points.” He added that safety maps are drawn with the coordinating teams to aid in the evacuation.

Two months into the fighting, the initiative intends to continue their evacuations as long as South Sudanese remain in Sudan. The group is also considering evacuation through neighbouring countries by land for South Sudanese trapped in other parts of Sudan, though the planning is still early. “We are getting calls from various people across South Sudan daily, informing us of their trapped relatives in various parts of Sudan,” Ladu said. “We give them assurances, and they believe us.”

Ladu had urged people to contribute, stressing on the dire situation and appealing to the public’s generosity. And the public responded. Sabina John, a local businesswoman, contributed 50,000 SSP—approximately $50 USD—to the initiative. John said she learnt of the initiative through her daughter. “I had just finished my extended morning prayers because since the outbreak of the Sudan fight, I offer special prayers for peace and safety of my relatives in Sudan,” she recounted. “Then, my daughter called, asking if I had heard about the ongoing contributions to help evacuate trapped South Sudanese from Khartoum. She explained every detail, saying she read it online and urged me to contribute.”

John spoke of the South Sudanese community spirit in times of crisis. “In 2008, while in Western Equatoria State, I heard about the need to contribute anything to support our brothers in the disputed Abyei region after an attack by Khartoum—we gave foodstuffs, clothes and even cash which helped our displaced compatriots there.” She continued with more examples of such initiatives in the past, including during the 2015 Fuel Tank explosion accident near Maridi town, in  Western Equatoria, which killed over 200 people, and the COVID-19 pandemic, during which everyone made “a lot of sacrifices to help overcome starvation.”

Mama Maria, a 70-year-old woman who contributed bedsheets that she had saved for her burial, similarly beamed with pride about the South Sudanese community efforts, and remembered South Sudan’s founding father, John Garang. “This is how during Dr John Garang’s time, we supported the rebellion by giving whatever we had for independence. For such a spirit to still exist nearly 18 years after Garang’s dead gives me the feeling that whatever will befall this country in the future, the current generation can handle it.”

However, not everyone remembers previous community efforts with the same trust, and despite this initiative’s success, they have also been subject to questions from those who remain doubtful of certain aspects of their process. For instance, Makuei Garang recalled his bitter experience of being displaced from his home in Bor during the floods in 2020. “Many people came up with the same initiatives, and money was collected and pocketed,” Garang said. “There was no evacuation, and we had to figure our way out.”

But the group rejected any allegations of impropriety, citing the transparency of the organisation and the fintech company, Mgurush. “We keep records of the cash and in-kind collections,” Manheim said. “The management of Mgurush only releases payment after verifying all the necessary signatories and purposes. Everything we do is voluntary, public, and for the good of our country.”

Credit: Citizens Call for the Emergency Evacuation of the South Sudanese (CCEESS)

Another criticism levelled against the initiative is its relationship to the South Sudan government. For Deng Lual, a student of political science and economics at Juba University, this was the issue that turned him from a supporter to a critic. “Why do you start partnering with government institutions like the Office of the First Lady?” Lual asked “They are ashamed of failing to evacuate our people, and now at the last minute, they are dishing out cash to please us that they care.” He added that some of the citizens contributing to the initiative, who have different political affiliations than to the ruling party, may have to think twice before taking part in such an initiative again.

Others, too, have noted the lack of initiatives by the government to help its citizens trapped in the fighting. While acknowledging the positive support of the youth and development partners, a multi-denominational group called the Upper Nile Religious Initiative for Peace and Reconciliation, which works in the region that borders Sudan and is at the forefront of returnees and refugee crisis, urged the government to do more.  The septuagenarian Maria, too, questioned the inactivity of the government. “In 2016, I asked my grandson the whereabouts of our Ugandan neighbours when there was a conflict in Juba, and he told me that their country sent trucks to evacuate them. Why can’t we now evacuate our own from Khartoum?”

Similarly, religious groups have also insisted on the need for further action from the government. “We call on the Ministry of Humanitarian Affairs & Disaster Management to develop a strategy and mechanism in collaboration with other ministries, NGOs and institutions to repatriate many South Sudanese people still in Khartoum and other areas in Sudan,” said Rev. Fr. Paolino Tipo Deng of the Comboni Missionaries. “They are more than those already at the border.”

On 1 May, over two weeks after the fighting began and under criticism for inactivity in evacuation assistance, the South Sudan government released one billion SSP to the ministry of humanitarian affairs and disaster management. “There are more than 6,000 returnees entering daily through 12 border points,” said the information minister, Michael Makuei. “South Sudanese will be transferred to their areas of origin and supported from there as the government has no plans to set up another IDP camp.”

According to Ladu, the government and development partners have focused on evacuating those who reached the border town Renk instead of those trapped in the battle zone. From Renk, the government and other well-wishers have charted several flights and boats to help the returnees reach their region of origin. Meanwhile, humanitarian agencies are helping in the registration and provision of temporary transit shelters as well as food rations. According to the latest UN figures, over 101,000 individuals crossed the border into South Sudan since April 15.

Back in Juba’s Rock City suburb, a week after the engineer Isaac drew cause for concern with his order of Star Gin, he returned to the bar to explain himself. This time, he wore a broad smile, his eyes no longer hollow and his round face glowing. He shook everyone’s hand and, surprised by the small number of early worshippers—as the locals referred to the daily patrons of the bar—he asked, “Where is everybody?”

Isaac then called the bartender and waived around a $100 USD note. “For all the eight worshippers present, the bar girl inclusive, drink and eat whatever you want, and madam boss here will deduct it from this hundred dollars,” he announced. He was not finished. “This $100 is for between now and 5 pm. After that, we will start a new bill!” Those in the bar later confessed to thinking that he had won big in gambling or maybe even robbed a bank. But Isaac seized the moment of shocked silence that followed his announcements to explain the extravagant generosity.

“The last time I was here, exactly a week ago, I sat in that corner before the 8 pm news hour, and most of you recall what I did afterwards”, he started as they responded with a nod. He explained that he had lost contact with his mother, who was stuck in Khartoum, and driven by desperation had turned to Star Gin. “But as I speak now, I have communicated with my mum and kid brother! Thank God, they are safe and sound in Renk town, inside South Sudan.”

As the bar remained in stunned silence, only the bartender asked how she had managed to escape, and Isaac recounted what his mother had told him. “Juba youths hired a lorry to evacuate any willing South Sudanese from the war, with the location and the departure time. After leaving here, I am driving to their office to give this money to support their honourable initiative”, he said, showing them another $300 that he removed from his suit pocket.

Before he left, Isaac announced, “There is going to be an open bill here even in my absence, as I will be heading to Renk to bring mum home.”

Top image: South Sudanese citizens queue up to make contributions during a CCEESS fundraising event at their office in Juba . Credit: Citizens Call for the Emergency Evacuation of the South Sudanese (CCEESS)

 

Conecta Arizona: fighting misinformation in Hispanic communities in the US

When the pandemic hit the United States in January 2020, Maritza Félix, a journalist based in Arizona – couldn’t visit her mother in the Mexican state of Sonora, bordering Southern Arizona. As Felix’s mother primarily relied on WhatsApp for communication, she noticed that some of the information her mother was sharing about COVID-19 was incorrect, so Felix decided to help her fact-check information on WhatsApp.

By Manmeet Sahni

She created a small WhatsApp group for her mother and a few friends to fact-check information, which led her to build a WhatsApp-based news service – Conecta Arizona.

A 2022 study by Brookings Institute linked a relatively higher internet and social media usage by Latinx communities to increased vulnerability to mis- and disinformation. “Targeting Latinos in Spanish is particularly problematic given that most social media platforms do not perform the same amount of fact-checking in languages other than English, which results in misleading content staying live on these platforms for a much longer period of time than English content,” the study found.

It analysed online misinformation using Facebook (now Meta) and found that “Facebook failed to flag 70% of Spanish-language misinformation surrounding COVID-19 when compared to 29% of such information in English.”

The Latinx community is more susceptible to disinformation and misinformation as it often stems from structural racism and historically discriminatory practices in the health care and political system.

“There is a long and recent history of medical malpractice promulgated against communities of colour by the federal government. For example, the U.S. involvement in the mass sterilisation of Puerto Rican women and Mexican men and women remains a hidden and dark part of U.S. history,” a 2021 report by Brookings Institute, a non-profit organisation, noted.

The report says this fear is perpetuated by “evidence of a violation of Covid-19 guidelines, forced hysterectomies and maltreatment at immigration detention centres where Latinos constitute the majority of those detained.”

Conecta Arizona now reaches over 100,000 people. It turns three in May and is a source of engagement and community building.

Felix has connected thousands of community members with features like ‘La Hora Del Cafecito’ to engage with the community and have meaningful conversations. In a conversation with Manmeet Sahni, Félix explained how the Conecta Arizona community grew organically, its role, and some of its challenges.

aidóni – Why did you create Conecta Arizona? How has the community responded?

Maritza Félix – Since my mom stays on the Mexican side of the border, the pandemic was the first time in my life that we couldn’t go back and forth because of border restrictions. We were using our cell phones to communicate, and she was sending me everything on WhatsApp because that’s the app we use in our migrant communities to communicate, as it’s free and easy.

She sent me everything she could find online about the Coronavirus; many things were sketchy or wrong. For example, Coronavirus will die in Arizona pretty soon because the viruses die with the heat, and Arizona is extremely hot. I wasn’t sure if that was quite right.

So, I started doing some fact-checking for her. I created this small WhatsApp group to inform my friends and family, and it grew organically. We reached the group limit in less than a month and started creating broadcast lists to reach more community members.

Unlike regular news organisations, it was important for us to have conversations. So, every afternoon, we would chat and discuss in ‘La hora del Cafecito.’

In 2020, most conversations were about Covid: border restrictions, vaccines, viruses, what was going to happen, what was open, and what was closed, and (if) there was any government help to pay the bills.

I didn’t have all the answers, so once a week, I invited an expert – an immigration attorney, doctors, mental health experts, and people from the Mexican consulate – to answer communities’ questions.

I was inviting people my community needed to get a hold of. We kept growing and started our radio show, and it has been three years since we launched.

I partnered with Spanish-speaking freelance journalists working in the border region to find feel-good human stories under the tagline ‘We build human bridges while others are building walls’ to launch a newsletter and a podcast, ‘Cruzando Lineas, and I partnered with different media outlets through which we reached nearly a million listeners. A grant from the National Association of Hispanic Journalists funded the 9-episode podcast.

Félix during the JSK Stanford Fellowship to develop Conecta Arizona in 2020

aidóni – Where do you see Conecta Arizona going from here? Is it a sustainable model that other communities of colour can adopt to combat misinformation and disinformation?

Maritza Félix – Yes, I have been thinking a lot about this lately. Conecta Arizona is not a project but a news organisation. Conecta Arizona was launched as an experiment, which I thought would last three months but it has been three years, in May. Conecta Arizona’s model can be replicated in many communities, not just in Spanish-speaking ones. How many people speak Mandarin in California or Arabic in Chicago or New York? We are all migrants. We are always using our phones and WhatsApp. It can be done so easily. But what we are working on right now is making Conecta Arizona sustainable. After three years, we have numbers to prove this model works.

Journalism’s future is collaborative, but it needs to be sustainable. We can’t ask people to work for free. It’s community service, but you need to make a living out of it. Unfortunately, community foundations and most non-profit organisations that give money to journalism projects care a lot about data, clicks, and page views. On the other hand, we only had a landing page for Conecta Arizona a couple of weeks ago when we launched the webpage just for them; we don’t care about those numbers (web traffic).

We are trying to change how we measure impact in our communities with stories, testimonies, the number of interviews, the number of people we have reached, and the number of questions we have answered during these years. And now we have the numbers to prove that what we’re doing is working. We can monetise that to be sustainable and grow because it will be awesome to have Conecta California or Conecta Texas or Florida.

“We are trying to change how we measure impact in our communities with stories, testimonies, the number of interviews, the number of people we have reached, and the number of questions we have answered during these years.”

 

aidóni – How do you fund Conecta Arizona?

Maritza Félix – I got the JSK Stanford Fellowship based on my project in 2020. It was the first year they did it remotely. And they were community oriented. They invested in me so I could invest in my community. I was a seed and got buried in the perfect soil for me to flourish!

And then they offered me a second year. So they invested two years.

Something I am doing right now is working on the sustainability part, and that’s hard because I was always just a journalist. I love telling stories, and I love to interview and produce (content). I hate doing taxes and financial planning. I didn’t know if I should be an LLC or file for 501(c)(3), or what is the difference between having my own non-profit or having a physical sponsor, or the cost. Learning all this stuff is overwhelming as things are done differently here than in Mexico. I am learning how to be an entrepreneur as I became an entrepreneur during the pandemic without knowing it.

Right now, we are trying to diversify our income. We ask for grant money, and that’s been the most successful. They are very small grants, but we are working with a couple of them at the same time. We have a couple of ads on our radio show or newsletters, so we are doing the for-profit and the non-profit hybrid model. We are also working with public institutions, like the health department, to get a steady income for Conecta Arizona.

We want to be smart about getting the money because we don’t want to ask our community to pay. We don’t want to put a paywall or a membership and have some content available for people who can pay because we are trying to fill a gap, and in Spanish, very few resources are available in these border states.

aidóni – What challenges do you face as you continue to grow the organisation?

Maritza Félix – On this journey, I met amazing people trying to change their communities’ narratives and build an ecosystem of local news. We don’t want to be a massive media outlet because they are fulfilling their mission: Telemundo and Univision. They are doing their job. We want to fill in the gaps they are leaving.

Because we are doing things non-traditionally, it has been challenging to convince big investors. Especially if you speak a language other than English, you always get a smaller slice of the cake.

I met with some foundations who said, “Oh, this is so innovative, this is so cool, but can you do it bilingual?” And I am like, no, I can’t! We were specifically established to fill a gap for Spanish speakers, and we don’t have the resources to do it bilingual.

It is challenging to educate funders about what we are doing is important; it is in Spanish and is needed. Also, sometimes funders want to go with the safe bet. They talk about innovation and experimenting but don’t want to.

aidóni – You are based in a swing state where the Latinx community was instrumental in helping Biden (Democratic Party) win the 2020 U.S. elections. How do you think misinformation among the Latinx community in Arizona could impact the U.S. elections next year? Does Conecta Arizona have plans to help with this issue?

Maritza Félix – Since 2020, we have been combating mis- and disinformation on WhatsApp, answering basic questions. We were really pushing for civil engagement for first-generation voters.

For example, trans-border people as there are a lot of people who have dual citizenship – many were born here and then moved to Mexico and were raised over there, but they came and voted for the first time in the U.S. In mixed-status families, where one (person) was born here (in the U.S.) and is growing up in the system, they are not quite there to petition for the family yet. And so many family members cannot cross the border (like) the way they did in the past.

We are getting ready for a more practical approach for 2024 and are still in the process of defining our strategy for the next election cycle, but the focus is on more informal yet informative guides to address the needs of these first-time voters, dual citizens, voters with mixed-status families, and Latinos who are getting more involved in politics. We are teaching them to identify and fact-check (information).

It’s important to be transparent because we do a lot of fact-checking. I always tell my community that we can fact-check facts, but we cannot fact-check opinions. And try to explain to them what’s the difference. It is hard because, with politics and religion, they can find whatever aligns with their ideology, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. So making a safe space for them to explain, ask questions, or ask for information without feeling dumb or lectured (is essential.)

aidóni – In what other ways do you think Conecta Arizona has helped community members, especially during the pandemic?

Maritza Félix – There is a huge need for mental health services in Spanish in Arizona. That isn’t new, but we have had many conversations after the pandemic. We partnered with a network of psychologists in Sonora, Mexico, (who are) providing free services for our Conecta Arizona people. In the future, we want to work on community-support groups for mental health, finance, immigration, or arts.

And a good thing about being a journalist is that we have a huge network of contacts. So, when the pandemic hit hard, someone asked where they could renew their driver’s license, as nobody answered (the call there). And I knew somebody at the Department of Motor (Vehicles) and called them. They joined us in a ‘Cafecito’ to answer the questions one-on-one.

Once, a U.S. Ambassador joined us. And people from Conecta Arizona said, “He’s talking to us. He’s speaking to us directly. There is nobody in the middle.” And I said, “Yes, so you can ask him questions directly.” Parents who live in Mexico and send their kids to study in the U.S. don’t know much about stuff here. We were doing this infographic about tax season the other day, and in a slide, I said the deadline is in April, and a parent asked if his daughter needed to file taxes if she had an income.

Recently, a group member said thanks to the group, she survived the pandemic because she was by herself in her home in Scottsdale and was lonely.

We’re now producing original content for our newsletters and our webpage. And so sometimes the stories we get, people see themselves in them, which is really important.

They know that if they’re going to call us, somebody’s going to pick up the phone. You don’t need to be a newsworthy story for us to get back to you.

Top image: Maritza Félix, the Mexican-American journalist behind Conecta Arizona