Africa

Nach den jüngsten tödlichen Angriffen auf zivile Handelsschiffe, fordert das Parlament die EU auf, die Entsendung einer Marineeinsatzoperation im Schwarzen Meer in Erwägung zu ziehen.
Ausschuss für auswärtige Angelegenheiten

Quelle : © Europäische Union, 2026 - EP

The wife of a diplomat based in Abuja travelled to Kampala for a vacation.

By External Source
Oct 22 2026 (IPS)

 
The world is getting hotter. And the consequences are already being felt.

From devastating floods and prolonged droughts to intensifying heatwaves, climate change is disrupting lives and livelihoods across the globe.

According to the World Meteorological Organization, the eleven years from 2015 to 2025 were the hottest ever recorded.

In 2025, global temperatures were approximately 1.43 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels.

And the human impact is growing.

UNICEF reports that more than 171 million students had their education disrupted by climate-related hazards in 2025.

Three-quarters of those affected lived in low- and lower-middle-income countries.

Now, a new United Nations Environment Programme report delivers another warning.

Its 2026 Emissions Gap Report concludes that temporarily exceeding the Paris Agreement’s 1.5-degree warming threshold is now unavoidable.

But how far temperatures rise, and for how long, still depends on decisions made today.

UNEP estimates that limiting this overshoot requires global greenhouse gas emissions to fall by 18 percent by 2030, and 45 percent by 2035, compared with 2025 levels.

Current national climate commitments fall far short.

Yet solutions exist.

Renewable energy, cleaner transport, energy efficiency and stronger climate policies can reduce emissions.

And investment in climate adaptation can help protect vulnerable communities from worsening impacts.

On October 24th, International Day of Climate Action draws attention to the urgent need for collective action.

The challenge is no longer simply to prevent warming.

It is to limit the damage, protect lives and build a more resilient future.

Because every fraction of a degree matters.

IPS UN Bureau

 

 

 

 

By Shahiduzzaman
DHAKA, Bangladesh, Oct 22 2026 (IPS)

Bangladesh has earned global recognition for reducing deaths from cyclones and floods. Early warning systems, cyclone shelters, embankments and community preparedness have transformed the country’s disaster response. Yet another climate crisis is receiving far less attention: the economic damage climate change is quietly inflicting on households, farmers, workers, businesses and public finances.

Shahiduzzaman

The question is no longer whether climate change is costing Bangladesh. It clearly is. The real question is how much we are losing, who is paying the price and whether the country is doing enough to prevent these losses.

The uncomfortable reality is that Bangladesh still lacks a comprehensive annual system for calculating climate induced microeconomic damage. Losses are recorded separately through agricultural damage, disaster assessments, health costs, infrastructure destruction, lost working days, business interruption, declining household income and climate induced migration. As a result, much of the country’s real climate bill remains invisible.

Available evidence shows that the cost is already enormous. The World Bank estimates that tropical cyclones cost Bangladesh around US$1 billion annually. It has also warned that a severe flood could reduce national GDP by as much as 9 percent, while climate change could cause around one third of agricultural GDP to be lost by 2050. As many as 13.3 million people could become internal climate migrants by 2050 because of climate related pressures on agriculture, water and land. The economic burden is no longer limited to cyclones and floods. Extreme heat is emerging as a major source of economic loss. A 2025 World Bank assessment found that heat related physical and mental health conditions resulted in an estimated 250 million lost workdays in Bangladesh in 2024. The resulting economic loss was estimated at between US$1.33 billion and US$1.78 billion, equivalent to around 0.3 to 0.4 percent of GDP.

This should fundamentally change how Bangladesh understands climate damage. A disaster does not have to destroy a house, factory or bridge to cause economic loss. When extreme heat reduces the productivity of a construction worker, garment worker, farmer, transport worker or street vendor, the economy loses output.

The hidden climate bill therefore extends far beyond physical destruction.

Consider a farmer in coastal Bangladesh. Rising salinity may gradually reduce agricultural production. The immediate result is lower household income. But the consequences do not end there. A family may sell livestock, borrow money, reduce food consumption or withdraw children from school. Eventually, one or more family members may migrate to Dhaka or another city.

A climate shock that begins in a field can therefore become a problem for the labour market, housing, education, health services and urban infrastructure.

The same chain of losses occurs during floods. A small shopkeeper can lose inventory. A transport worker can lose several days of income. A factory may remain physically undamaged but stop production because roads are submerged or workers cannot reach their workplace. Households may spend their savings on repairs instead of education, healthcare or investment.

At the same time, the government must spend more on emergency relief, damaged roads, embankment repair, reconstruction and public health.

Climate change therefore creates a double burden: private income and productive assets are lost while public expenditure increases.

This is why Bangladesh urgently needs a national climate loss accounting system. It should systematically measure household and productive asset losses, agricultural and fisheries damage, lost income and working days, health and productivity costs, business interruption, supply chain disruption, displacement and loss of human capital.

Such a system would tell policymakers not simply how much a cyclone or flood costs in physical damage, but how much income ordinary citizens lose and how much economic activity Bangladesh sacrifices.

This is particularly important because a large share of Bangladesh’s workers remain in informal employment. Agricultural labourers, construction workers, transport workers, street vendors and small entrepreneurs often have limited access to paid leave, insurance or social protection. When a flood, cyclone or heatwave prevents them from working, their income can disappear immediately.

Climate change is therefore also an inequality crisis.

A wealthier household may be able to repair its home, relocate temporarily or pay medical expenses. A poor household may have to sell productive assets or take on debt. For families living close to the poverty line, one climate shock can erase years of economic progress.

Bangladesh has taken important steps toward adaptation. Its National Adaptation Plan for 2023 to 2050 identifies major adaptation priorities and recognises the enormous investment required to protect people, livelihoods and development. (UNDP) But the gap between ambition and implementation remains a serious concern.

The first major gap is data. Bangladesh cannot effectively manage climate related economic damage without knowing its full scale. The government should publish an annual National Climate Economic Loss Report covering households, agriculture, businesses, labour productivity, health and public infrastructure.

The second gap is institutional coordination. Climate adaptation cannot remain primarily the responsibility of environmental or disaster management agencies. Climate risks must be integrated into agriculture, finance, labour, health, housing, transport, industry, education and urban planning.

The third gap is prevention. Bangladesh has become relatively successful at responding after disasters, but prevention deserves much greater economic priority. A resilient drainage system that prevents repeated business disruption may be more valuable than repeatedly repairing flood damage. A climate resilient crop can protect rural income for years. A heat resilient workplace can preserve thousands of working days.

The fourth challenge is finance. Bangladesh cannot meet its enormous adaptation needs through public budgets alone. International climate finance, concessional financing, private investment, insurance and innovative financial mechanisms will all be necessary.

International experience offers useful lessons. The Netherlands demonstrates how flood protection can be integrated into long term spatial planning, infrastructure and water management. Its experience shows that flood resilience can be treated as an economic strategy rather than simply an emergency response.

Singapore offers another important lesson, particularly for Bangladesh’s cities. Its approach to rising temperatures combines urban greenery, heat modelling, climate sensitive planning and protection of vulnerable populations. Dhaka could similarly treat trees, shaded public spaces, cool buildings, drainage and water management as economic infrastructure rather than merely environmental amenities.

Bangladesh can also build on its own success. Its cyclone warning system and community preparedness programmes demonstrate that locally rooted approaches can deliver remarkable results. The same principle should now be applied to protecting livelihoods, small businesses, agriculture and workers.

Most importantly, adaptation should be judged by economic outcomes. Instead of simply reporting how much money is spent on a climate project, the government should measure how many jobs are protected, how much income is safeguarded, how many working days are preserved and how much future economic loss is avoided.

The real climate bill is not simply the cost of rebuilding a bridge after a flood. It is the farmer who produces less for years because of salinity. It is the worker who loses productive days because of extreme heat. It is the small entrepreneur whose capital disappears in a flood. It is the child whose education is interrupted because household income collapses. It is the family forced to migrate after losing its land.

When millions of such individual losses accumulate, they become a national economic crisis.

Bangladesh has demonstrated that it can protect its people from the deadliest consequences of climate disasters. The next challenge is to protect their livelihoods and economic future.

The country cannot manage what it does not measure. It is time to move from simply counting disasters to counting lost income, lost jobs, lost working days, damaged productive assets and the GDP that climate change prevents Bangladesh from generating.

The objective should not simply be to calculate how much climate change costs Bangladesh. It should be to determine how much Bangladesh can save by investing in resilience today.

Climate adaptation is no longer merely an environmental responsibility. For Bangladesh, it is an investment in GDP, employment, poverty reduction, human development and long term economic security. The climate bill is already being paid. The failure is that we still do not know its full size.

The author is the Editor and CSO of News Network.

IPS UN Bureau

 

 

 

 

UNESCO is growing its environmental DNA, or eDNA, expedition programme. This ambitious and cost-effective project can give usable ocean data in a couple of weeks using a small number of seawater samples collected by citizen scientists.

Estado Zulia - Venezuela. Credit: Breddyjgalvis, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons

By Francisco R. Rodríguez
DENVER, Colorado, USA, Oct 21 2026 (IPS)

If you’ve been around Venezuelans for long enough, you know that we tend to speak in superlatives. We have the best baseball players, the most beautiful beaches, the tastiest arepas, and the wickedest dictators. But even being used to the scale of our superlatives didn’t quite prepare me for what I read in the May 5 edition of The New York Times, in a story called “In Venezuela, Trump Vowed to Show Accountability. Oil Deals Linger.” The story tells us that a network of shell companies controlled by Carlos Malpica (who is widely believed to be Maduro’s bagman) embezzled $11 billion of the country’s oil wealth in 2021 and 2022. In the Times’ words: “for every two dollars that Venezuela earned selling oil earlier this decade, one dollar was stolen, internal documents and official statistics show.”

Francisco R. Rodríguez

The story is written by Anatoly Kurmanaev, a veteran of Venezuela reporting and one of the most meticulous and careful reporters that I have ever known. As usual, Anatoly’s access to sources and ability to uncover crucial information is impressive. For example, he tells us about how a China-registered company linked to Malpica was allowed to sell oil received from Venezuelan state oil company PDVSA on highly favorable terms that included paying the national development bank in local currency. His story provides us with an exceptional window into the practice of Venezuelan corruption under Maduro.

However, it is one thing to document the practice of corruption and another to argue that half of the country’s oil revenues were stolen. That conclusion is inconsistent with what we know about flows of currency into and out of Venezuela. Put simply, $11 billion of oil revenues could not have been stolen because if they had, Venezuela would not have been able to buy the goods that we know it purchased from the rest of the world.

The claim that half of oil revenues in 2021–22 were lost to corruption rests on a specific assumption: that if Venezuela’s state-owned oil company did not receive direct payment for its exports, the money must have been stolen. That interpretation misses one important fact. During this period, Venezuela was highly sanctioned, could not access bank accounts, and was paying for many of its imports directly with oil. That PDVSA did not directly receive cash payment on billions of dollars in receivables is not evidence of corruption; it is evidence of barter.

The mother of all kleptocracies

The claim that $11 billion were stolen is staggering because it would represent by far the largest corruption scandal ever uncovered. To take one example: the largest ever kleptocracy investigation, that for Malaysia’s 1MDB scandal, has been alleged to have diverted $4.5 billion over a seven-year period in a country whose GDP was approximately $270 billion a year. That works out to about 0.2 percent of Malaysian GDP over that period. Were the New York Times’ $11 billion figure correct, it would represent roughly 8 percent of Venezuela’s GDP over the period — approximately 32 times the size of the Malaysian graft relative to its economy. And if you take into account that estimates suggest that every dollar of oil revenue generates about 4 dollars of non-oil activity, you would reach the conclusion that the costs of Maduro’s alleged corruption was around 40 percent of Venezuelan GDP — several orders of magnitude higher than the cost of corruption found in numerous quantitative cross-national studies (and that[s even without counting the money other people were stealing). This would make Venezuela by far the mother of all kleptocracies.

The Times’ $11 billion number, if true, has major implications for the debates about Venezuela. For a long time, proponents of maximum pressure sanctions have argued that we shouldn’t worry about their detrimental effect on the country’s economy because the real cause of Venezuela’s collapse is corruption. That argument has always been strongly flawed: there’s no reason why corruption, mismanagement, poor policies and sanctions can’t all have contributed to the collapse. That said, if it were true that half of Venezuela’s oil income was being brazenly stolen, then the idea that external constraints are at most a secondary cause of Venezuela’s economic malaise acquires a greater ring of truth.

Reality check

Yet the story that Maduro’s henchmen stole $11 billion has a deep problem. If that money had really vanished, then Venezuela would not have been able to pay for the goods that it imported in those years.

In 2021 and 2022, Venezuela sold $26 billion in oil shipments, or an average of $13 billion a year. In addition, it generated another $11 billion in non-oil exports, of which a large part is mining, and received around $7 billion in remittances. That means the country received total foreign currency inflows of $44 billion in those two years. Now here’s the rub. We also know that the country was paying around $44 billion in imports of goods, services, and income payments to the rest of the world over the same two years. In fact, for 2021 and 2022 combined, the country’s foreign currency revenues exceeded its spending by just $0.04 billion. This difference, also known as the current account balance, was essentially zero. It means the country was spending as much money as was coming in, which makes sense for a country that had no assets to run down and no one to lend it money.

In sum in 2021–22, Venezuela was living paycheck to paycheck. And when you’re doing that, it’s very hard for half of your paychecks to go missing without you and everyone around you noticing.

Table 1: Venezuela Current Account Statistics, 2021–2022

Source: Own construction using balance of payments data from Venezuelan Central Bank.

Now you might say: wait a minute, if the money was stolen, then maybe it didn’t come in at all, and instead of those $44 billion we would have had $55 billion in foreign currency earnings. Except that the New York Times story tells us that the oil was sold and invoiced, and that PDVSA never directly received payment for it. But if that’s true, then we know they must have been registered as exports. That’s how balance of payments statistics are built: you count an export when it is sold and invoiced, not when it is paid for.

But what if the Central Bank is lying? What if it’s just claiming that Venezuela sold $26 billion in oil to hide evidence of the corruption? Or what if it’s inflating import numbers with the same purpose?

Certainly, that would not be beyond them. And, in fact, we know there are circumstances under which over-invoicing of imports distorts balance of payments statistics. But that tends to happen in different conditions — for example, when there are exchange controls and people claim to be importing more than they really are.

To check this, I put together data reported by Venezuela’s 31 most important trading partners. Scaling up to the economy’s total trade, I estimate total goods imports of $23 billion for 2021–22, quite close to the Central Bank’s $24 billion.[1] I also looked at estimates of exports from physical oil shipments constructed by independent agencies.[2] Again, the numbers match up with what the Central Bank is telling us.

Francisco R. Rodríguez is a senior research fellow at the Center for Economic and Policy Research (cepr.net) in Washington, DC and a professor and fellow at the University of Denver’s Korbel School of International Studies.

[1] The calculation assumes that the share of trade with these partners remained stable between 2012 and 2021.

[2] Average oil exports from Venezuela in 2021 and 2022 were 627,000 and 616,500 barrels per day, respectively, according to data from Reuters and Refinitiv Eikon. Using these export volumes, the BCV’s implied sales price for Venezuelan oil would be $47.0 and $68.1 per barrel in 2021 and 2022, respectively, implying a discount of 10 percent on average relative to OPEC’s Merey price for those years. This is consistent with evidence that Venezuela sold some of its oil at a lower price than that of the market reference reported to OPEC (see, e.g., this story based on internal PDVSA reports and this New York indictment in a corruption case with direct numbers reflecting discounts on PDVSA sales). For Venezuela to have had a sizable current account surplus, the BCV would have to be understating its oil exports — but this would imply either substantially higher export volumes than those calculated by Reuters/Refinitiv Eikon based on tanker loading data, or that Venezuela was selling its oil at a substantially higher price. Both appear highly implausible.

IPS UN Bureau

 

 

 

 

Leider haben wir Schweizer kein eigenes Formel-1-Rennen. Dafür haben wir aber etwas Umweltfreundlicheres: Den Flumser Kuh-Grand-Prix.

Dieser weltberühmte Hollywoodstar ist auf den Strassen von Brooklyn kaum wiederzuerkennen. Für seinen neuesten Film schlüpft er in die ungewohnte Rolle eines Seniors – hättest du ihn auf den ersten Blick erkannt?

Dwayne Johnson, auch bekannt als «The Rock», sieht auf einmal ganz anders aus. Seinen neuen Look verdankt er aber einer Verfilmung eines Jugendromans.

Wer beim Bezug von Vorsorgegeldern Fehler macht, riskiert hohe Nachzahlungen. Der Beobachter zeigt, woran du denken musst. Und wie du deine Steuern legal optimierst.

Er ist der Skirennfahrer mit dem speziellsten Auto. Viel wichtiger aber: In der Vorbereitung auf den WM-Winter ist der 26-Jährige in den Riesen-Trainings mit Marco Odermatt äusserst positiv aufgefallen. Die Rede ist von Fadri Janutin.

Former Sale player Hyron Andrews - who was found dead at his new team's hotel base before a Champions Cup match - died of natural causes, an autopsy finds.

Schon im Juni hatte er es angekündigt, nun hat es der Erbprinz von Liechtenstein wahr gemacht: Bei einer Initiative für die Legalisierung von Schwangerschaftsabbrüchen hat er sein Veto eingelegt.

Neuwagen brauchen einen weiteren Assistenten: Das blinkende Notbremslicht soll Auffahrunfälle verhindern. Auch die Schweiz hat die EU-Vorgabe übernommen.

Quinten SG könnte sein Kursschiff verlieren: Der Kanton St. Gallen will die Verbindung im Sparpaket streichen. Für das nur per Schiff oder zu Fuss erreichbare Dorf wäre das ein harter Einschnitt. Gegner wehren sich.

The Sámi, Europe's last recognised Indigenous community, continue to have their livelihood and lifestyle threatened. Credit: Johan Mikaelsson/IPS

By Johan Mikaelsson
SÁPMI, Norway, Oct 21 2026 (IPS)

The Sámi, Europe’s last recognised Indigenous community, have faced threats to their existence throughout history. Norway, in 2024, apologised for its forced assimilation policy following the findings of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission report, and in September 2026 Sweden has recently been told to do the same.

Despite the growing understanding of how their culture and economic livelihoods have been threatened, their precarious lifestyle is again under threat, ironically from something that is usually considered positive: the ‘green revolution’.

Kautokeino, in Norway’s far north, feels like a capital of Sápmi, the homeland of the Sámi people. The region is associated with the Scandinavian mountain range and the vast territories traversed by reindeer. Much of it lies above the Arctic Circle, stretching across Norway, Sweden, Finland and the Kola Peninsula in Russia.

In Kautokeino, 95 percent of the population are Sámi, and Northern Sámi is the main language. One in every two inhabitants owns reindeer. So does municipal council leader Anders S. Buljo, who once worked full-time in reindeer herding, a livelihood his son has since taken over.

“Right now, the reindeer are in the higher mountains closer to the coast and out on the islands,” Buljo explains, standing on a hilltop with a 360-degree view across the vast landscape.

In September, the reindeer move inland to their winter grazing grounds. The Sámi were once nomadic, following the reindeer’s seasonal movements across the landscape. Reindeer herding remains deeply intertwined with Sámi culture, and both reindeer-herding Sámi and those who rely on hunting and fishing maintain a strong connection to nature.

Beyond the houses clustered in the settlement, the landscape is largely untouched: tens of kilometres of tundra and rolling hills dotted with low trees, marshes, lakes and flowing streams. Rounded, barren mountains stretch towards the horizon, where higher peaks remain covered in snow and ice throughout the year.

The reindeer were once wild, hunted by the Sámi with bows and arrows and spears. Traces of trapping pits, used for thousands of years, can still be found in the terrain.

Over time, the Sámi began gathering reindeer into herds at certain times of the year, separating them and slaughtering selected animals. As the Sámi were brought under state administration, Sámi reindeer-herding communities were established. Each has hundreds or thousands of reindeer, yet the obstacles facing the livelihood continue to mount.

“Wind power, mines and holiday villages are taking up more and more space. At least here, tourism is manageable, as there are no large ski resorts,” says Buljo.

Forestry, agriculture, mining, construction, hydropower, snowmobile trails, ski-lift systems and a growing network of roads and railways are increasingly affecting Sápmi. Helicopters ferry hunters and skiers into the mountains, and skiing from mountain peaks by helicopter is permitted in Sweden.

“It is incredible how little people know about the Sámi and Indigenous peoples, especially further south. We need to build understanding,” Buljo says.

The wind farm at Fosen is a telling example. In 2021, Norway’s Supreme Court ruled that the wind turbines built there were illegal because they infringed on the reindeer herders’ right to practise their culture.

“They build first and ask questions afterwards. The courts established that it was a human rights violation. But the wind turbines are still there,” Buljo says.

Like Indigenous peoples across the Americas, nation states forcibly displaced the Sámi through violence and legislation.

“This continued into the 1970s. We see similar tendencies even today, as the Fosen case shows.”

Anything associated with the “green transition” is often presented as inherently positive. Yet beneath the rhetoric lie the economic interests of states and corporations.

“How green is the transition, really? When the last ore has been extracted from the mountains and the last peak has been fitted with a wind turbine, there will be no reason to stay,” Buljo says.

His municipality can nevertheless influence the direction of development and, for example, prevent mines from opening.

“In 2019, the Supreme Court recognised reindeer husbandry as a traditional use of the land, improving its legal position. And we have come a little further in Norway than in Sweden and Finland.”

In 1979, Karesuando in Sweden’s far north hosted the Davvi Suvva festival, which brought together Indigenous people from around the world. In the opening speech, preserved in the documentary We Are All Brothers and Sisters, Oula Näkkäläjärvi, spokesperson for the Sámi, said:

“We, Indigenous people, have one thing in common: we want to live in harmony with nature, and we can.”

That conviction remains. Yet technological progress and economic growth are transforming lives everywhere, with profound consequences for Indigenous peoples. The price of “development” is an escalating climate crisis. Above the Arctic Circle, the changes are increasingly visible: milder winters, warmer summers and shrinking glaciers. Flora and fauna are being affected in front of us.

Norway and Denmark are among the 24 countries that have ratified the International Labour Organization’s Indigenous and Tribal Peoples Convention, 1989 (No. 169). Neither Sweden nor Finland has signed this key instrument for the protection of Indigenous rights.

The genocide of Indigenous peoples in North America began with colonisation and continued well into the 20th century. Neither the United States nor Canada has ratified ILO Convention 169. In the Nordic countries, the Sámi did not put up armed resistance. Living dispersed across the region, they were gradually pushed off lands they had inhabited for millennia.

In Norway, a Truth and Reconciliation Commission worked from 2018 to 2023. Alongside an official apology to the Sámi people, concrete measures have been taken. Finland’s Sámi Truth and Reconciliation Commission published its report in December 2025. In Sweden, the Truth Commission for the Sami People presented its report on 30 September 2026.

The auditorium at Mid Sweden University in Östersund was filled. Hundreds of Sámi had travelled from across Sápmi to witness a historic moment, one that many hoped would mark the beginning of something new.

“Sweden’s assimilation policy has been very successful,” says Marja-Kristin Skum, her remark edged with irony.

Skum is Sámi, a reindeer owner, teacher and language researcher at the Sámi University of Applied Sciences in Kautokeino. As part of the Truth Commission’s work, she interviewed people willing to share their experiences. Most were between 60 and 70 years old, but even children gave testimony. The accounts leave little doubt that state policies have left deep scars.

“Here is the truth. But what does reconciliation look like? This is not just about us Sámi. The majority population and the state also have work to do. How are we to repair all the damage that has been done? This wound has never healed,” Skum says.

Although policies in Norway, Finland and Sweden have differed, the three countries face many of the same questions about their past and present. Liv Inger Somby, rector of the Sámi University of Applied Sciences in Kautokeino, travelled more than 1,000 kilometres to Östersund to attend the presentation of the Swedish report, which calls for “an official apology, compensation, and national redress for historical injustices.”

“Of course, what is happening in Sweden is being followed in Norway, too. We essentially have no borders in Sápmi, and we need to keep working across national boundaries. It is very important that we stand strong together,” Somby says.

From the 18th century onwards, farmers from southern Sweden were granted land in the north, where timber, silver, iron ore, gold and other natural resources awaited exploitation. From the 1950s onwards, numerous hydropower plants with huge dams were built, submerging large areas of land under water.

Well into the 20th century, the Sámi were prevented from speaking their own language and forbidden to practise their religion and spirituality, both deeply intertwined with nature and the landscape. In the 2020s, Sámi culture is experiencing what some describe as a “boom”, with growing visibility in film, literature and music and recognition in the cultural sphere.

Ol-Ánte Sikku, chairman of The Gaaltije Foundation, a South Sami cultural centre and museum in Östersund, reflects on what comes next.

“A truth commission cannot be repeated, and its report cannot simply be put on a shelf. Something has to come of it. If it does not happen now, it never will,” he says. Sikku also notes that the political and social climate has become harsher since the commission began its work.

“With mining and resource exploitation, the ‘green transition’, defence, rearmament and space initiatives, Sámi interests can be seen as obstacles.”

When political leaders suggest, implicitly or explicitly, that the Sámi are standing in the way of development, they fuel hostility.

Whether Sweden’s Truth Commission will lead to concrete action remains to be seen. Its report now passes into the hands of a new government. Sweden held a parliamentary election on 13 September, but negotiations to form a government may take time.

A possible left-green-centre coalition is expected to place greater emphasis on environmental protection than the outgoing right-wing government. Economic interests, however, continue to carry considerable weight.

The pressure on Sápmi is intense. Proposals and applications range from extensions to ski-lift systems to large wind farms and mines. Even foreign companies can obtain permits for test drilling. Sweden is often described as a country covered in forest, but 90 percent is managed land, planted with spruce or pine and harvested after 80–120 years.

There is a Sámi saying: “If the Sámi take care of the reindeer, the reindeer take care of the Sámi.”

Today, this relationship involves far more than the practical work of herding. For Sámi reindeer-herding communities, it also means a constant struggle through legal and administrative processes, with documents to read, prepare and respond to.

The recently approved establishment of another mine near Kiruna is a case in point. The project will affect the Gabna Sámi reindeer-herding community, once again restricting the reindeer’s ability to move freely through the landscape.

IPS UN Bureau Report

 

 

 

 

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