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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.

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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)

 

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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

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How a South Sudanese neighbourhood embraced community policing

Life came to a standstill in the usually chaotic Hai Mayo neighbourhood of Juba, with school children, motorcyclists, and business owners all standing on the streets discussing the murder of Anthony Surur.

By Richard Sultan

On 31 March, Surur, a 62-year-old engineer, was shot dead as he was jogging en route to St Theresa’s cathedral for morning mass. “But why, why! Why jog in the morning?” an elderly man whispered to his friend as they made their way out of the crowd. “This western mentality, at that age, he should have known better than jogging in the morning—that is a White’s thing.” As his words of caution suggest, incidents such as the unfortunate shooting of Surur have become a common occurrence for most residents of Juba and its outskirts.

South Sudan, Africa’s youngest country, gained independence in 2011 but two years later got embroiled in a series of civil wars that culminated in a shaky peace deal in 2018, which is currently under implementation. Since then, security in the city and other parts of the country has remained a big challenge. In Surur’s case, the police have not identified any suspects for the murder, which is not unprecedented. He is the latest among dozens to lose their lives in recent years to armed criminals with unknown motives, commonly referred to as “the unknown gunmen” in Juba, the capital of South Sudan. As the country strives to address the issue, one of the most effective methods to have emerged is community policing—and one of the most successful initiatives has been in Lokwilili.

Lokwilili is a Boma in the Luri Payam, on the outskirts of the capital Juba. Bomas are the lowest administrative unit in South Sudan, which usually comprise a few villages, and Payams are the second-lowest administrative units, which contain several Bomas. In the immediate aftermath of the peace deal, Lokwilili used to be a crime zone like most suburbs in the city. “There used to be daily reports of robberies and killings in 2019,” Justin Tombe, a youth leader from Lokwilili, recalled. “The police were ill-equipped and understaffed to deal with the rampant crime cases, a situation which has only slightly improved now.” Over the next three years, a unique community policing initiative transformed the neighbourhood.

According to the youth leader, in December 2019, two weeks before Christmas, the Lokwilili chief—a government-appointed head of a Boma—called upon every resident to attend a mandatory meeting. “My dear people! I called for this urgent meeting for us to jointly find a solution to the endless robberies and killings in our Boma,” chief Yohana Lokule said in his opening remarks. After several deliberations, Tombe said, it was decided that every family head would sit in groups of ten, comprising their closest neighbours.

Tombe recalled the chief Lokule’s instructions: “Learn and master the names, occupations and dependents of the ten family heads who live near you so that you can help each other in case of anything. You will also identify leaders among your group who will organize a silent vigilante group from the youth to police your neighbourhood of ten families every night besides screening any new resident.”

Tombe explained the formation and functioning of the community vigilante groups. In every group of ten households, first all the able-bodied youth were identified. The group leader then divided them into sub-groups of two or three—depending on the area size of the ten households—and every night those sub-groups remained on duty, staying awake through the night to alert the community and the police, in case of any incident.

When the chief asked for the names of the group heads to be submitted to him, he was expecting the worst response from those who might be armed. “What the chief did was put the suspected criminals in charge of the security,” Deng Thon, a retired brigadier of South Sudan’s People’s Defence Forces, explained. “Put differently, the chief doesn’t know which of his residents are armed or not, a scenario that isn’t surprising in South Sudan considering the history of independence struggle and the recent civil wars. As a result, to succeed, you need authority, condition and inclusivity which the chief used perfectly. In this case, the condition is failure to participate puts you at risk of being singled out as the real criminals. What then becomes impossible if all the people who are armed in a neighbourhood start caring for each other”

Tombe added, “In South Sudan, the organized forces—such as the police, army, National Security and intelligence officers—all reside together with civilians as there are no designated barracks of residence for them. As a result, the chief anticipated some form of resistance.” Gesturing to the surrounding hills, Tombe apologised as his line of thought shifted towards trying to understand the chief’s concerns. The rocky Kujur hills, a name that loosely translates to ‘witch’ or ‘evil,’ is often referred to by the locals as the genesis of everything good and bad about Lokwilili. Apart from hosting festivities of different religious sects, providing the only free source of employment through stone quarrying, and being a free daily natural gym for fitness lovers; the hills are also a hiding ground for some notorious gangs, according to the police.

The chief’s actions, might be a gamble. Yet, residents of Lokwilili would testify how that meeting from 2019 has changed the fortune of this once-isolated Boma, which has transformed from a sparsely populated neighbourhood to a crowded but safe place.

“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.”

Mama Meling Ann, a 41-year-old widow who sells tea and other snacks at the Lokwilili trading centre believes there is power in collective responsibility. “Let me tell you, my son, it has been nearly four years since I lost my husband to the unknown gunmen. He was a guard in the city with one of the security companies. Ohhh! Dear Tom, how I miss you.” The perpetrators are still at large and motives again not established, but Ann has not lost hopes of justice. “One day, trust me! One day, they will face justice,” she said. “My only comfort now is that things have changed for the better, and my husband is one of those who sacrificed for it.”

Lokwilili is not the only South Sudanese effort with community policing. The United Nations has been involved in training community police groups in other localities such as Cuei-Cok and Aweil. In both areas, the community policing system is under the leadership of the South Sudan National Police Service, which established Police Community Relations Committees comprising volunteer members who are vetted by the police. The PCRCs then collaborate with local authorities, ensuring greater cooperation and coordination on policing efforts.

According to Thon, the retired brigadier and a veteran of the 21-year struggle for independence, the Lokwilili initiate is far more effective than the others in the country. Unlike other community policing initiatives in the country, “Lokule made it mandatory for every residence regardless of one’s military or security sector affiliation,” Thon said. “Anyone who violates the rule will be considered a criminal and subject to expulsion from the neighbourhood.” Thon attributes the success of the Lokwilili initiative to this tough stance of the chief.

The Lokwilili initiative was not implemented without hurdles. There were initial difficulties in the beginning because some residents were armed and some were not. Some officers in the police force were also reluctant to cooperate because of some individuals being armed. It’s common knowledge that in South Sudan, most of the police and their Criminal Investigation Department officers isolate themselves from the public. They love to be feared instead of being trusted to earn the population’s respect.

“Some of the armed residents are members of the security forces,” Tombe said. “Even if some of the police suspect them of being in a criminal network, there was no evidence, and none of them is a victim to date,” he added, which supports Deng’s analysis of the initiative’s success.

The armed residents also complained about the burden of protecting families other than their own. But when most of the community moved forward with the initiative, others joined in. According to Tombe, there was one night when a community vigilante member was wounded, and the other members of the group arrested the criminals before they could escape. “It was our first real encounter with the criminals after several near misses, and our actions sent shock waves among the criminal networks,” Tombe said, adding that in 2019 alone, they netted about 15 criminals.

Another reason behind the initiative’s success has been that most residents of Lokwilili are poor and live with a sense of trust, despite working various occupations and being from different ethnicities. “In the uptown end of Juba City, where some residents are well off compared to others, there is little cooperation as there is no sense of being a community,” Tombe said. “That is why it’s difficult to replicate this method in most residential areas.” Deng also added the advantage of the Boma’s establishment on communal land pending title deeds from the government, something that most residents will want the chiefs help in.

“There are still issues of night robberies and isolated killings on the roads that lead to Lokwilili which we believe is easy to overcome once the government extends electricity to our area,” Tombe said, with his hands wide open to depict the unknown hope of power reaching their area.

Top image: The road leading to the Lokwilili market in the city of Juba (Credit: Richard Sultan)

Méline Laffabry Uncategorized

Initiative Hlavak: urgent aid to refugees in Prague

Initiativa Hlavák—or in English, “Main Train Station Initiative”—has been providing critical aid to refugees escaping conflict for more than seven years. The name comes from the fact that the initiative primarily works at the main train station in Prague, where it helps asylum seekers arriving in Czechia. Mainly run by volunteers, Initiativa Hlavåk has been providing aid to those fleeing conflict areas to or through the Czech capital. However, it was only recently that the initiative became official, mainly due to the work done around the reception of people fleeing the war in Ukraine.

by Marina Vidal Rico

I. (she/her), who requested to remain anonymous due to the nature of her work, is a young volunteer who started working with Initiativa Hlavak last October, but already has a lot to say about what arriving in the Czech Republic looks like for forcibly displaced people coming from Ukraine and the Middle East.

Apart from the “Ukrainian agenda,” as I. refers to it, Initiativa Hlavák also works with people, I. calls them “clients”, arriving from the Middle East and beyond. Her work revolves around the latter, and consists mostly of interpreting for those who arrive to the Czech Republic from Arabic-speaking countries.

When asked to describe what a typical day of work looks like, I. explains it like this:

“A typical shift, when I started, looked like arriving in the evening, going to the main train station, looking for people that looked like they would fit the profile of our clients. In the autumn, there were lots of people that just were sitting in the park or in the train station, looking a little bit lost […] and people that were released from the detention centres.  Once we identify someone that could need our help, we offer them food, water, some clothes, or some basic material needs available to us. And then, of course, we ask them whether they would like to seek asylum in the Czech Republic. Some of them have decided that yes, that’s what they would like to do. So, we connect them to the right people, who can help them directly. However, most people prefer to continue with their journey.”

In the Czech Republic, the Ministry of Interior runs different institutions to detain, accommodate and monitor asylum seekers and forcibly displaced people in the country. According to I., however, there are many irregularities taking place within some centres. A common occurrence she has encountered during her volunteering shifts has to do with the misidentification of people.

“There have been refugees who have told us that they are underage, but the detention centres have treated them as adults. It’s a very unfortunate situation because lots of people do not have identification cards with them. […] If you’re underage, they are not allowed to hold you, so it creates a lot of conflict.”

For some arriving in the country, finding a place to stay —even one where they are detained—can be a challenge. After the Russian invasion of Ukraine last February, Czechia was one of the countries to receive the highest number of Ukrainians, especially when counting those who have gone through the country on their way to a different destination. However, according to I., not all incoming people received the same treatment after arriving to Prague’s main station:

“Roma Ukrainians have faced a lot of issues here when applying for refugee status. Last year, around the spring, there was a big issue of Roma Ukrainians sleeping outside of the train station in tents, because they could not get the status of a refugee because they had dual citizenship. So, they were Ukrainian, but they were also Hungarian. And because they were also Hungarian, they were not ill given the status of a refugee by the Czech Republic.”

The situation described by I. matches the recent statements made by the Council of Europe’s Commissioner for Human Rights, Dunja Mijatovic. After her working visit to the country in February, the current Commissioner took the opportunity to criticize Czechia’s slow progress in addressing discrimination against Romanies in areas such as education, housing, and interactions with the police.

For those who work with Initiativa Hlavák, this came as no surprise. At an event held to mark the one-year anniversary of the conflict this February, volunteers from the initiative protested this discrimination towards the Roma community as one of the main deficiencies in the country’s approach to the incoming wave of Ukrainian refugees. “How we observed the one-year mark is by protesting,” I. adds, “While Roma Ukrainian refugees were sleeping in the train station, our minister was sleeping at home.”

“I WISH PEOPLE WOULD HEAR ABOUT THE JOURNEYS THESE INDIVIDUALS HAVE GONE THROUGH JUST TO GET TO SAFETY”

To her, the messages and slogans shared by the authorities on the occasion of the anniversary also fail to acknowledge the work of organizations and volunteers, without whom it would have been impossible to manage the crisis. While she recognizes the importance of working with the authorities as a way to legitimize the organization and get the funding they need to help more people, she regrets that sometimes the assistance they are able to provide (even with the cooperation of the government) is not enough.

 

Faced with irregularities in the detention system and structural racism that discriminates against minorities like the Roma, sometimes all the volunteers can do is lend an ear to those arriving at the station, and spread their word.

“I meet a lot of people while I’m in the field. A lot of the people who are running away from conflict are activists and journalists [who are able to talk about what they have just gone through]. But, of course, there are other people too, and I’m usually being asked: do you know who we can contact to tell them what happened to us?”

 

To I., that’s how journalists can help and contribute to the work done by Initiativa Hlavák, by providing a platform for the stories being shared on the ground.

“There are actual horror stories that I’ve heard from people that have been in different detention centres and in different checkpoints throughout their journey. And I’m not a journalist myself, so there’s very little that I can do. Even in my capacity, I mean, volunteering does take quite a lot out of me, and it’s hard just to be there and hear the stories. But I hear these stories, and then I don’t know what to do with them anymore.”

At this point of the interview, I.’s phone starts buzzing. Without hesitation, she stops talking and checks the notifications. It is, she explains, one of the many messages she receives from the initiative and proof that the volunteers’ work requires constant involvement. After writing a short reply, she continues.

“These people are just happy to have someone to listen to them, but sometimes I wish that more stories were being published about the kind of treatment that people receive on their way. I know that a lot of the media around me, at least in the Czech Republic, the media tends to portray refugees as a burden. And I understand […] where people are coming from, but I do wish people would hear about the actual journeys that these individuals have gone through to just get to safety.”

Photo: Prague, Wenceslas Square, October 2022, demonstration for asylum seeker rights