Africa

Tunisia sack Sabri Lamouchi one game into their World Cup, with former Morocco and Saudi Arabia manager Herve Renard replacing him.

Tunisia sack Sabri Lamouchi one game into their World Cup, with former Morocco and Saudi Arabia manager Herve Renard replacing him.

Tunisia sack Sabri Lamouchi one game into their World Cup, with former Morocco and Saudi Arabia manager Herve Renard replacing him.

An illustration by Serhiy Ofitserov, a Ukrainian civilian currently held in Russian captivity. Serhiy began drawing while in prison; here is a view of his prison cell. Courtesy: Hennadiy Ofitserov

By Mykhailo Savva and Oleh Martynenko
KYIV, Jun 16 2026 (IPS)

People often discuss Russia’s aggressive war against Ukraine in terms of drones, missiles, shifting front lines, and territorial borders. But this war has another dimension — the human one.

More than 90,000 Ukrainians are considered missing under special circumstances. These are official data. Some of them are currently held captive by Russia — both prisoners of war and civilians. The latter ended up behind bars when Russian forces occupied the territories where they lived.

In March 2026, in an interview with Axios, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said that the administration of U.S. President Donald Trump sees no other way to end the war except by handing over the entire Donbas to Russia. But it is important to understand this – it is not just about land but also about the people who live there. And occupation is not peace.

Mykhailo Savva is a Doctor of Political Sciences and an expert at the Center for Civil Liberties.

 

Oleh Martynenko is a Doctor of Law, a Professor, a criminologist, a veteran of Russia’s war against Ukraine, and also an expert at the Center for Civil Liberties.

‘The Chain of Persecution’

The terrorisation of the civilian population is one of the tactics that Russia is using in its war against Ukraine. Imprisonment has become a punishment for failing to comply with the rules established by the occupying authorities.

At the heart of this system lies what might be called “the chain of persecution.” This pattern is repeated in all occupied regions.

Stage 1: Identification. Local officials, teachers, journalists, volunteers, and ordinary residents who express even the simplest pro-Ukrainian views come under the scrutiny of the occupying authorities. Sometimes, an overheard conversation or a social media post is enough.

Russia has been using this method since 2014: it tested it in occupied Crimea and later expanded it to all occupied territories. For example, in March 2026,  a resident of Alupka was arrested in  Crimea after Russian security forces accused him of “justifying terrorism” based on posts in a messaging app.

The words on this drawing are “Hold on. I’m holding on.” This phrase reflects the emotional state of both those held in captivity and those waiting for their loved ones to return from imprisonment. The illustrator, Serhiy Ofitserov, has been in detention since August 2022. In January 2026, he was sentenced to 17 years on fabricated charges; he turned 50 in May. Courtesy: Hennadiy Ofitserov

Stage 2. Enforced disappearance. Detainees are not officially registered. Their whereabouts are concealed or denied. Relatives are left in the dark. This is done deliberately so that everything that happens next remains beyond their control.

Stage 3. Cruel treatment. Torture is not an exception but a systematic practice. Survivors describe beatings, electric shocks, mock executions, and prolonged deprivation of food and water. Sexual violence is used against both men and women.

“They’d take a person out into the hallway, where there were no cameras, where everyone was, let’s say, on their side. No one would object. And there, they’d simply beat the person as much as they saw fit. They used stun guns. And this was with about 10 to 12 people there. If not more. They said, “You’ve had your little taste of life – well, that’s enough – you’ve already experienced what it’s like. You won’t have any more of that,’” recalls Viktoria Andrusha, a teacher whom the occupiers took from her parents’ home on September 25, 2022.

During the search, they found messages on her phone from chatbots about the movement of Russian military equipment. Viktoria was accused of “spying” and taken away: first, she was held in a makeshift detention centre in the boiler room of the neighbouring village of Novy Bykiv, and later in a pre-trial detention centre in the Kursk region of Russia. She was released in October 2023.

Stage 4: The Sham Trial. Detainees are often transported over long distances. Such transfers sever ties with their communities, complicate search efforts, and further deprive people of legal protection.

Next comes the “trial”, which merely mimics legality. Civilians are prosecuted on trumped-up charges — extremism, terrorism, or espionage.

For example, Yana Suvorova, the administrator of the Telegram channel “Melitopol Is Ukraine”, was sentenced to 14 years in a general-regime penal colony after nearly two years of unlawful detention. The verdict was handed down by the Southern District Military Court of Rostov-on-Don on October 23, 2025.

Southern District Military Court of Rostov-on-Don, October 23, 2025.

Stage 5: Imprisonment. People are placed in a network of detention facilities where supervision is minimal or nonexistent. Conditions are often inhumane. Contact with families is restricted or completely prohibited. For many, this stage becomes indefinite.

What the world will face if this is not stopped

Each of these stages violates human rights and international norms. But together, they form something more—a system in which crimes against humanity occur sequentially and reinforce one another.

Persecution, unlawful detention, deportation, enforced disappearances, torture, sexual violence, and imprisonment are not isolated incidents. They are parts of a single, integrated, and deliberate structure.

The goal of this system is to consolidate control over the occupied territories, create an atmosphere of fear, and force people to submit to imposed rules—legal, administrative, and educational. The message is clear: people are expected to be submissive. In effect, the occupation is turning into a form of criminal governance.

This poses a question to the international community: if such systems are allowed to operate without consequences, what precedent will this set for future conflicts?

Normalising the “chain of persecution” risks cementing these practices as tools of modern warfare. And then this model of control will extend far beyond Ukraine’s borders. Therefore, the issue of accountability concerns more than just Ukraine. The task is complex—but the law is clear.

All that remains is the will to act. If that will is lacking, this practice will become the norm rather than the exception. And the price for this will be paid not only by those currently behind bars, but also by the very integrity of international law.

IPS UN Bureau Report

 

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Dr Elizabeth Igaga in one of the operating rooms at Smile Train partner, CORSU hospital, Uganda during a partner visit. Credit: Smile Train

By Elizabeth Igaga
KAMPALA Uganda, Jun 16 2026 (IPS)

Global health has a habit of mobilizing around the visible and the dramatic. Ebola, malaria, and Mpox have all dominated headlines related to Africa in recent years, and understandably so. But nobody is talking about one of the most consequential regional health crises waiting to happen.

When a child needs surgery, the first challenge is not the procedure itself. It is getting them safely to sleep. For decades, hospitals across sub-Saharan Africa have relied on a drug called halothane to do that. It has a faintly sweet smell, which means children breathe it in calmly, without distress or resistance. It’s affordable, stable in warm climates, and it works. Although there are anesthetics with fewer side effects that have been used for decades in higher-income countries, in low-resource settings with limited options, it has been indispensable.

Dr. Elizabeth Igaga, Senior Director of Program Safety, Smile Train

In 2023, the sole global manufacturer of halothane abruptly and permanently shut down production. There was very little warning time, no wind-down period, and no coordinated plan for the countries most dependent on the drug. What remains is the stock that was already distributed across global markets. That stock will not last much longer. Based on what we know about consumption patterns, it is very likely that by the end of 2026 or in early 2027, the last bottle of halothane in Africa will be gone.

I am an anesthesiologist and perioperative patient safety specialist based in Uganda. I work with hospitals across low and middle-income countries to ensure that children who need surgical care receive it safely. Safe anesthesia is not a luxury. It is a foundation of surgical care. What I see on the ground makes the halothane shortage one of the most pressing and underacknowledged patient safety problems in global health today.

The obvious alternative is a drug called sevoflurane. As a more modern anesthetic, it’s safer and more effective than halothane. But in Uganda, sevoflurane costs approximately ten times more than halothane. In settings where health budgets are already stretched, this is not a simple swap.

This matters on an enormous scale. Research published in The Lancet shows that outcomes for children undergoing surgery in Africa are already significantly worse than those in high-income countries, including African mortality rates that are approximately 11 times higher. Remove access to the one anesthetic drug that most African pediatric facilities currently rely on, and those numbers will get worse.

The demographic stakes make this more urgent still. Africa is projected to be home to roughly 40 percent of the world’s children by 2050. The continent already carries an enormous burden of conditions that can only be treated with surgery, much of it in pediatric populations, not to mention a child hit by a car, diagnosed with cancer, or rushed to the hospital with a ruptured appendix. All of these children face the same anesthesia infrastructure as everyone else, and when that infrastructure fails, what would have been a survivable crisis becomes something far worse.

What is often misunderstood about the transition away from halothane is that it is not simply a matter of substituting one drug for another. It is a systems problem with at least four distinct components that all need to move at the same time.

The first is government procurement. Halothane is currently embedded in national drug budgets across the continent at a price point that sevoflurane cannot match. Ministers of health and national procurement authorities must make an active decision to fund the difference and begin revising their drug budgets now, before shortages force their hand under emergency conditions. Market dynamics mean dwindling supplies will make halothane increasingly expensive, another component that could put essential surgeries out of reach.

The second is equipment. Many anesthesia machines currently in use across African hospitals are not compatible with sevoflurane without modification or outright replacement. That requires hospital-by-hospital assessment to understand what is needed before a single bottle of the new drug is ordered. Committing to a new anesthetic without first confirming that the infrastructure can deliver it safely is not a transition plan; it is a different kind of crisis.

The third is the supply chain. Sevoflurane needs to be formally incorporated into national essential medicines lists and procurement frameworks so that it reaches facilities reliably and at negotiated prices, rather than arriving sporadically through fragmented channels.

The fourth is workforce training. The majority of anesthesia care in Africa is delivered by non-physician anesthesia providers rather than doctors. Administering anesthesia to a child is one of the most technically demanding and emotionally weighty responsibilities in medicine, requiring precise judgment in real time when the margin for error is razor-thin. Nobody should be put in the position of performing that task for the first time on an unfamiliar drug in the middle of an emergency. These providers need structured, supervised training on sevoflurane before the transition happens, not after. National anesthesia societies have a direct role to play here, both in alerting their members to what is coming and in developing and delivering the training programs they will need.

The World Federation of Societies of Anaesthesiologists has already called on national and regional health authorities to rapidly budget for and implement a safe transition to sevoflurane. That call deserves a far more urgent response than it has received so far. Countries that stockpiled halothane may have a few additional months of runway. Countries that did not are already running low.

The Philippines and Indonesia have already navigated this shift successfully, and they offer a promising roadmap, including training for local biomedical engineers and anesthesia providers to ensure the transition is safe, practical, and sustainable. The lesson from those experiences is not that transition is easy, but that it is entirely achievable when governments, health systems, and the medical community move together with a shared plan.

The difference between those countries and much of sub-Saharan Africa right now is time and attention. Unlike other urgent global health situations, halothane depletion will not arrive with an outbreak curve or a dramatic headline. It will arrive quietly, one empty bottle at a time, in a hospital where a child needs surgery and the only drug the staff knows how to use is no longer on the shelf. By the time that moment becomes a crisis visible enough to mobilize a response, it will already be too late.

We know this is coming and what the solution requires. The only thing that remains uncertain is whether we will treat it with the urgency it deserves.

Elizabeth Igaga is Senior Director of Program Safety, Smile Train

IPS UN Bureau

 

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There are glimpses of happiness in the Democratic Republic of Congo's fight against the virus that has killed more than 170.

There are glimpses of happiness in the Democratic Republic of Congo's fight against the virus that has killed more than 170.

There are glimpses of happiness in the Democratic Republic of Congo's fight against the virus that has killed more than 170.

The streets of the capital, Praia, shook with wild celebrations as the small island nation held Spain to a shock 0-0 draw.

The streets of the capital, Praia, shook with wild celebrations as the small island nation held Spain to a shock 0-0 draw.

The streets of the capital, Praia, shook with wild celebrations as the small island nation held Spain to a shock 0-0 draw.

Cape Verde stuns Spain with a goalless draw inspired by a 40-year-old goalkeeper who has gone viral on social media.

Cape Verde stuns Spain with a goalless draw inspired by a 40-year-old goalkeeper who has gone viral on social media.

Cape Verde stuns Spain with a goalless draw inspired by a 40-year-old goalkeeper who has gone viral on social media.

By James Alix Michel
VICTORIA, Seychelles, Jun 15 2026 (IPS)

Tomorrow, Africa hosts the Our Ocean Conference on its own shores for the first time, in Mombasa.

This is more than a diplomatic milestone. It is a test of whether we, as Africans, are prepared to safeguard our ocean as a shared heritage and a pillar of our future prosperity.

James Alix Michel

For island and coastal nations such as Seychelles, this is not an abstract debate. It is a question of survival, identity and dignity. Our ocean is the blue heart that sustains our people. It feeds our families, stabilises our climate, underpins our blue economies and shapes our cultures. If we fail to protect it, we will have failed our children.

As former President of Seychelles, I had the privilege to help pioneer the blue economy concept in Seychelles and the South West Indian Ocean. That vision, born from our own lived reality, was simple but profound: our economic future depends on a healthy ocean. We must build prosperity not by exhausting marine wealth, but by restoring and protecting it.

Today, as the world gathers in Kenya under the theme “Our Ocean, Our Heritage, Our Future”, that same blue economy vision must guide Africa’s choices. The theme is not a slogan to open a conference; it is a call to re imagine the relationship between our societies and the sea. It demands that we treat the ocean as a living heritage we hold in trust, not a frontier for short term extraction.

Earlier this year, together with Dona Bertarelli, we called for a moratorium on deep sea mining and for stronger protection of Africa’s ocean. We did so in anticipation of the Mombasa conference, knowing that the decisions taken there – or avoided there – will echo across our continent and far beyond. Africa’s voice on the ocean has to be heard clearly, and our commitments will be judged not by the elegance of our words, but by the protections that reach people and nature.

Deep sea mining crystallises what is at stake. The deep ocean is one of the last largely unknown frontiers on our planet. It supports ecosystems that have taken millennia to form and that play roles in global processes we are only beginning to understand. To open this fragile realm to industrial mining without robust, independent science and effective governance would be to gamble with consequences we cannot foresee and cannot reverse.

For Africa, the risks are even more acute. Many of our states are still building their scientific and regulatory capacities. Many of our coastal communities and small scale fishers already face pressure from climate change, pollution and overfishing. To layer the uncertain impacts of deep sea mining on top of these existing stresses would be reckless.

This is why I support a precautionary pause on deep sea mining. Precaution is not anti development. It is responsible leadership in a time of profound uncertainty. It says: we will not mortgage the ocean that sustains us for promises of quick gain, especially when those gains may flow elsewhere while the damage remains with us.

Africa’s seas underpin our food security, our climate resilience, our blue economies, our cultures and our identities as ocean peoples. They are the living foundation for millions of coastal and island communities across the continent, from the Western Indian Ocean to the Atlantic and Mediterranean shores. To treat them as mere repositories of minerals is to ignore their true value and the rights of those who depend on them.

As leaders, negotiators and experts gather in Mombasa, I believe Africa should speak with one clear, principled message.

First, our ocean is not a frontier for unchecked extraction, but a heritage we hold in trust. Decisions taken in Mombasa must respect the ocean’s ecological limits and recognise the special vulnerabilities and rights of small island developing states and coastal nations.

Second, any activity in the deep sea must proceed only when independent science shows it will not cause irreversible harm. That means investing in African and global scientific capacity and listening to evidence, not to pressure for rapid exploitation.

Third, ocean decisions must prioritise coastal communities, small scale fishers, women and youth, and the countries that depend on the sea every day. The benefits of a blue economy must be shared fairly, and its governance must be inclusive. Communities on the frontlines of change must be at the centre of decision making, not at the margins.

From Seychelles, we know that it is possible to chart a different course. Through marine spatial planning, marine protected areas, innovative financing and a strong commitment to conservation, we have shown that protecting the ocean can go hand in hand with creating opportunities for our people. The blue economy is not a theory for us. It is a lived pathway, built through hard choices and long term vision.

From Mombasa, Africa now has a chance to lead. True ocean leadership requires more than ambitious speeches. It requires restraint as well as innovation, protection as well as investment. It demands that we say “not yet” when the science is uncertain and the risks are too great. It asks us to measure success not only in money raised, but in coral reefs saved, fish stocks rebuilt and communities strengthened.

The Our Ocean Conference was created to move the world from promises to action. Let us ensure that the action that emerges from Mombasa honours its theme: “Our Ocean, Our Heritage, Our Future.” Let us ensure that the legacy of this conference is a safer ocean for Africa and for the world, not new risks passed on to our children.

From Victoria to Mombasa, from Seychelles to the African mainland, our message should be united and firm: Africa’s ocean is not for sacrifice. It is for stewardship. It is for our people. And it is for our future.

James Alix Michel is the former President of the Republic of Seychelles and founder of the James Michel Foundation.

IPS UN Bureau

 

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Ibrahim helped define a genre of South African jazz music in a career that spanned eight decades.

A seat is being left empty in the press box at every France game at the World Cup to highlight the case of a French football writer who is in prison in Algeria.

A seat is being left empty in the press box at every France game at the World Cup to highlight the case of a French football writer who is in prison in Algeria.

A seat is being left empty in the press box at every France game at the World Cup to highlight the case of a French football writer who is in prison in Algeria.

Some victims said they chose not to speak out because they feared staff would cut off access to aid.