This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here.
Digital tools promise efficiency and impartiality in humanitarian response. In food aid, biometric systems are meant to ensure that the ‘right’ people receive assistance. But when the verification of need depends on being readable by a machine, accountability shifts. Drawing on field experience in South Sudan, Hayley Umayam explores how exclusions come to look like a system error rather than a downstream effect of human decision-making.
Needs-based programming is the organizing principle of most contemporary humanitarian action. In South Sudan, where millions require assistance each year, and resources are consistently insufficient to meet needs, organizations justify allocation choices through a ‘logic of impartiality’: aid should go to those most in need. This logic is increasingly operationalized through digital and technocratic systems designed to make suffering measurable, commensurable, quantifiable, and thus ‘governable’.
Over the past decade, humanitarian agencies have turned to digital tools like fingerprint scanners and unique digital identifiers to manage service delivery. These tools promise accuracy and efficiency, an appeal that is easy to understand in a world of shrinking aid budgets and growing demand. They offer a way to demonstrate that limited resources are used responsibly and that assistance is delivered to the “right” people, thereby reinforcing claims of impartiality. There are plenty of technological evangelists, too, highlighting the potential use of Artificial Intelligence or Machine Learning in ‘streamlining’ the aid process.
Within this paradigm of impartiality-through-efficiency, accountability becomes largely procedural. It risks being defined less by relationships with affected communities than by the ability to show that needs-based logic has been correctly applied. If you can demonstrate that you followed needs-based logic using the right indicators, vulnerability criteria, and verification procedures with some level of “community buy-in”, you are seen as accountable. In other words, claiming that “the most in need” were reached is a way of demonstrating impartiality, and accountability is about legitimizing hard choices in contexts where almost everyone can qualify as in need. Strangely, humanitarian hyper-prioritization may actually lead to a reduction in the number of people who can access aid.
South Sudan makes the limits of this approach especially visible. Routinely described as complex and protracted, it is a setting where identifying the “most in need” is not only contested but, in practice, impossible to do in any complete sense. Selection is less about discovering need in any comprehensive sense than about justifying exclusion in the most acceptable way under conditions of scarcity.
When I reflect on the promises and risks of digitalization in these conditions, I return to a moment early in the rollout of biometric systems at food distributions I helped monitor. This encounter may seem mundane, but shows how core ideas of need, accountability, and responsibility are shifting as humanitarian action is increasingly digitally mediated.
“Before the computer, we used to get food”
At a food distribution site in Lakes State, a woman presses her finger onto a biometric scanner. The machine beeps, and the screen shows a red X: Not matched. She wipes her hand, prays, and tries again. After several attempts, the screen finally turns green. The next woman in line is less fortunate. Her fingerprints fail repeatedly. After trying multiple machines, she is sent home without food, her distress visible.
“They have brought computers in and these useless cards that make some of us not get food,” she says. “Before, without the computer and with our previous cards, we used to get food.”
During these early months of biometric rollout, moments like this were common. Fingerprint readers often struggled with calloused, dusty, or sooty hands. People waited anxiously to undergo a process they did not fully understand. Some prayed before placing their finger on the device, others cried with relief when the screen flashed green. And when it didn’t, there was little to be done but blame the computer.
The long social and moral labor of being selected, being summoned for a distribution, queuing, and presenting oneself as deserving collapses into a single, opaque interaction between body and machine. At that moment, one’s neediness is technical, not social or relational.
“It’s the System That Decides”
Frontline staff experienced these moments of biometric failure with their own mix of frustration, sympathy, and resignation. They had been trained on the new equipment, but they could not control how the machines behaved. When the screens displayed error messages, there was often little they could do to fix the problem on the spot. They could not see inside the system or override its judgement. While they could log exclusions in hopes of a ‘catch-up’ distribution cycle, I seldom saw mention of this in upstream reporting. Concretely, a non-recognized fingerprint simply meant no food, while a distribution that adhered to its list of scannable beneficiaries checked the box of impartiality.
Biometric systems were introduced into an already tense moral terrain. Even before digitalization, frontline staff were the face of decisions that they often had no control over. Caseload numbers were set elsewhere, and it was the unenviable task of field teams to turn those inevitably constrained numbers into a verified list of the “most in need.”
In this context, some staff began to see digital tools as a buffer against the reactions of the affected-but-excluded. Instead of saying we cannot assist you, staff could say the system does not recognize you.
Who is accountable for technical errors?
Some of these early rollout issues have been partially mitigated over time. Nevertheless, the encounter at the scanner still matters because it offers a glimpse into how humanitarian need and accountability are being reconfigured, which will likely only continue with increased digital aid practices.
Exclusion appears as a technical error rather than a consequence of prioritization and human decision-making. This sustains a humanitarian fantasy of impartial needs-based programming in which defaults to technical systems and procedures. By transforming moral and political decisions into technical ones, humanitarian organizations can maintain legitimacy amid chronic shortfalls, while displacing responsibility onto machines and caseloads. This procedurally legitimizes needs-based distributions while making certain bodies invisible, producing a formal sense of impartiality even as real-world access is uneven. Meanwhile, those with unrecognizable fingerprints have limited recourse to accountability.
None of this means digital tools should be rejected outright. In many contexts, they can limit some forms of abuse and allow aid to reach people who might otherwise be excluded. But if we evaluate them only in terms of their supposed efficiency or as neutral tools of impartiality, we miss how they redistribute responsibility, normalize exclusion, and translate need into something that exists only when a system can verify it.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Hayley Umayam
Hayley Umayam is a PhD candidate at the Geneva Graduate Institute. Her research focuses on the politics of knowledge and expertise in famine and mass starvation. She holds an MA in Peace and Justice Studies from the University of San Diego.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
On 16 October 2025 academic and practice thought leaders came together to discuss Protecting civilians in a changing world order at the IHSA conference hosted by Marmara University in Istanbul, Turkiye. This blog, written by Amra Lee is a result of the panel discussions and intends to continue critical discussions on protecting civilians, with a view to establishing a Working Group in 2026.
The geopolitical dynamics driving changes to the current world order – including the resurgence of ‘might is right’ and decreasing respect for international law – have pushed the humanitarian system including the law, norms, institutions and funding that support it to its limits. Ongoing impunity and the growing normalisation of war without limits continue to increase threats to civilians, aid workers and principled humanitarian action. The impact of these threats have been compounded by seismic changes to the humanitarian donor landscape, particularly the withdrawal of major funds and funders.
While protection for civilians in conflict has often been inconsistent and insufficient in practice, the nature and scale of the current threats and challenges require urgent action. Political and humanitarian actors, including parties to armed conflict, must acknowledge the gravity of the current moment and work to leverage a wider range of practices that can help prevent, mitigate and respond to civilian harm.
The UN Secretary-General in annual Protection of Civilian reports and briefings to the Security Council has called for moving beyond the more traditional focus on compliance and accountability to explore a wider range of “effective, legal, policy and operational responses”. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) has further been working with a diverse cross-regional range of member states to reinforce respect for international humanitarian law. And at the same time, the humanitarian sector has many lessons to inform the reset – that protection is central to humanitarian action, that proactive protection requires incentivisation and investment, and that, in practice, civilians are most often agents of their own protection.
The panellists responded to the above context and calls, examining how a humanitarian reset and the UN80 reform discussions can better centre people and their protection in practice, and explored new pathways forward. The pathways included lessons on civilian harm, theorising humanitarian diplomacy, accountability as a fifth humanitarian principle, centering civilian safety and security, and critical lessons from the Responsibility to Protect (RtoP).
Opening the Discussion
Amra Lee from the Australian National University opened the panel, providing an overview of a changing world order and what decreasing respect for international law on the resort to and use of force means for civilians and the wider humanitarian system. This includes record aid worker and journalist deaths, the increasing challenge of countering mis-disinformation and hate speech, and the imposition of the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation during an imminent risk of famine, that saw 1373 Palestinians killed simply trying to access food to survive.
Reorienting Focus to Proactive Protection
Hannah Jordan from the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) presented on the joint NRC-Nonviolent Peaceforce-Alliance for Peacebuilding research that developed an analytical framework to reorient civilian protection practice to proactively respond to civilian safety and security in a context of escalating harm. This includes shifting the current focus on providing services to reducing risks, interrupting violence and supporting local solutions. The framework prioritises actions that are civilian-centered, systemic, cross-sectoral, cross-temporal, influential, specific and adaptive, providing key guiding questions to support such work.
Building on this foundation, Gemma Davies presented the timely joint HPG-ODI-Nonviolent Peaceforce research that directly responds to the risk of deprioritising protection in ongoing Humanitarian Reset discussions with ‘back to basics‘ narratives, reinforcing the need to proactively (re)prioritise and refocus protection efforts to demonstrate how they reduce civilian harm and increase investment in civilian-centred protection.
Humanitarian Diplomacy, Principles and Accountability
Clothilde Facon-Salelles from the University of Antwerp presented on theorising humanitarian diplomacy, examining the power dynamics between international humanitarian actors and semi-authoritarian states in a way that does not presuppose the hegemony of liberal humanitarianism.
Following this, Junli Lim from Nanyang Technological University of Singapore, presented on ongoing challenges and threats to principled humanitarian action, including the role of private security contractors. This included proposing accountability as a fifth humanitarian principle, and discussing the ways in which emerging mutual aid networks and practices contribute to accountability with local trust that can increase the effectiveness of protection services. Mutual aid practices offer important insights into alternative systems for implementing humanitarian assistance and governance.
Civilian Harm
Marnie Lloydd from the Te Herenga Waka-Victoria University of Wellington examined national inquiries that take place following action in conflict, highlighting deficiencies in militaries’ transparency and reporting mechanisms, as well as recommendations that emerged from these inquiries including New Zealand’s Defence Force Order 35 on Civilian Harm. Marnie discussed the urgency of integrating robust proactive preventive measures, civilian harm tracking, and transparent reporting frameworks from inception, reflecting on what the UN Secretary-General’s Protection of Civilians report for 2023 characterizes as a ‘broader approach…addressing the full range of civilian harm’, to move toward more comprehensive protective measures.
Rise and Fall of RtoP
Building on the themes of accountability and civilian-centered protection, Stefan Bakumenko concluded the panel with a discussion on the rise and fall of RtoP. Conceptualised in 2001 and formalised in 2005, the concept nominally promised communities at risk of atrocity crimes a combination of good governance, international cooperation and multilateral intervention. However, incentives to respect existing normative commitments were already fading in the face of global militarization, austerity, multipolarity, attacks on international law, and instrumentalisation of the concept, as seen in Libya, Ukraine, and Palestine. Today, protection will need to better understand and support grassroots mobilization, mutual aid, and accountability, instead of relying on the whims and shifting political interests of states.
Moving Forward
The geopolitical dynamics driving changes to the world order can be expected to continue, with far-reaching implications for civilians and principled humanitarian action. The need to refocus, adapt and expand approaches to meet the current moment is clear. While power shifts increase threats and risks for civilians, they also present an opportunity to challenge past problematic beliefs and forge new understandings on how to mobilise more effective civilian-centred and civilian-led action. The panel initiated a timely discussion on recentering protection in humanitarian action and discourse, reinforcing both the responsibilities of states at a time of existential threats to principled humanitarian action and the critical role that civilians will continue to play in their own protection.
* The panellists intend to continue these discussions and plan to establish a dedicated working group on civilian protection within IHSA in 2026. Please reach out to Amra Lee amra.lee@anu.edu.au and Marnie Lloyd marnie.lloydd@vuw.ac.nzif you are interested to join.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
Amra Lee is a senior practitioner and PhD researcher whose research focuses on protecting civilians in a changing world order.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here.
In this blog, ICRC Senior Policy Advisor Pierrick Devidal highlights the systemic humanitarian implications of the ‘Politics of Food and Technology’, arguing that humanitarians need to move away from a techno-solutionist and productivity driven approach, to one based on rights and digital resilience-building. This shift would strengthen their capacity to leverage digital technologies to achieve their objectives and to stay aligned with their principles.
As the contributions to this series illustrate, humanitarians are increasingly aware that the bright promises of the digital transformation often come with a darker side. After years of bingeing on digital solutions, humanitarian organizations are waking up with a ‘digital hangover’:confronted with digital distortions of their ethics and overwhelmed by cybersecurityrisks beyond their control. There is no doubt that technology provides significant opportunities for humanitarians to extend their reach and impact, yet the risks that this step implies are equally significant. Understanding the broader socio-political context in which the digital transformation has emerged can help deconstruct the fictions that underpin the promises of techno-solutionism, allowing for a recommitment to the humanitarian ethos and better management of the risks of over-reliance on digital technologies – including for food assistance.
Looking back to move forward
The rapid rise of digital solutions to humanitarian problems in the 2000’s was framed by the promise of convenience, speed, and scale. This was understandably persuasive for organizations faced with increasing global needs, limited budgets, and numerous obstacles to safely accessing communities. In the hope of lower cost and resource efficiency, humanitarians embraced digital innovation solutions. Additionally, those offered remote-controlled intervention opportunities reducing physical exposure to the increasing security risks of operating in unstable environments. In a context of generalized techno-determinism – and the idea that technological developments are an inevitable conduit to progress – donors strongly encouraged them to go further.
However, behind the lure of innovation and performance, the ‘digitalization of everything’ was also driven by the ‘securitization of everything’. In the context of the so-called ‘Global War on Terrorism’, data and digital surveillance became key instruments for security agencies, and humanitarian organisations – operating in territories sometimes controlled by non-state armed groups listed as ‘terrorists’ – often considered potential suspects. The data trail of digital humanitarian solutions provided an opportunity to reduce perceived fraud and aid diversion. The digital transformation of humanitarian action therefore, became the cradle of ‘surveillance humanitarianism’,opening access to vast amounts of people’s personal data to State and private actors that could misuse it for non-humanitarian purposes.
The normalization of digital cash transfers replacing more traditional cashassistancemechanisms illustrates the shift. Under the cover of convenience, speed,and improved security, this‘digital solution’alsobroughtnew parameters that were fundamentally at odds with humanitarian considerations. For example, humanitarian partnerships with banking actors introduced ‘Know Your Customer’ requirements into the system andeffectively turnedrecipients of aid into presumed fraudsters and possible terrorists. By joining digital cash transfers programs – to which there were often no alternatives – affected people submitted themselves to surveillance systems, in practice forced to trade away their biometric data to access cash assistance. The gain of financial inclusion and autonomy came with significant risks that their personal data be accessed andmisusedby authorities to arrest, persecute, or evenkill them.
While mainstreaming digital solutions, humanitariansunconsciouslyundermined theirability to identify and mitigate the harm they may be causing. Convenience and security fordonors and humanitarian organisations may have come at the price of digitally triggeredinsecurity for the people they are meant to protect and help. Despite significant progress in the domain of data protection and cash transfers since then, profound challenges remain.
Deconstructing the fictions behind the promise of digitalization
The ‘digitalization of everything’ has permeated humanitarian language itself, creating an urge to add the ‘digital’ prefix to longstanding concepts to appear relevant and cutting edge: ‘digital dignity’, ‘digital harm’, and even ‘digital famine’. While useful to capture technologically influenced evolutions, this verbal tic can in fact create the illusion that these concepts have a ‘digital double’, disconnected from real life. Yet, the consequences of ‘digital harms’ are very tangible for the people that experience them.
The concept of ‘digital sovereignty’ is another fiction that can have dangerous consequences. It is a chimera (made up of various different, and sometimes contradictory parts), and the notion itself is at odds with the reality of the intrinsically global and interconnected digital domain. Those who try to achieve it, including through digital surveillance and censorship, quickly face its limits and boomerang effects, unconsciously highlighting the extent of their digital dependencies. For example, internet shutdowns meant to curb instability or public demonstrations often feed more discontent due to their paralyzing, and very costly, impact on the economy. Their secondary effect on food security can be devastating when the absence of cash and the impossibility to use digital cash transfers and remittances makes food inaccessible, thus deepening humanitarian crises.
The multiplication of ‘big data’ and algorithmic systems for needs assessments have also indirectly transformed food assistance. While strengthening anticipatory and early warning systems to detect possible food crises, they have also distorted humanitarian impartiality. As we have now learned, ‘big data’ can turn into ‘bad data’. The inherent limitations of data – which are often at best incomplete and at worst inaccurate – can be amplified by algorithms and generate biases and discriminations that exclude those in the digital periphery or on the other side of the digital divides.
This offers lessons-to-be-learned for humanitarians. By massively investing in the development of their digital capabilities for the promise of increased efficiency, they have inadvertently expanded their vulnerability to cyber and digital risks. In doing so, they multiplied their dependencies and relinquished their autonomy and independence to technology providers who do not stand by the same values and objectives. Without building back their ability to operate normally when connectivity is disrupted, they risk becoming prisoners of those dependencies and non-humanitarian agendas. With the emerging ubiquity of ‘artificial intelligence’ based systems in the operational and information management set-up of humanitarian organisations, it is the impartiality of aid that is now at risk of disappearing into algorithmic ‘black boxes’.
Building humanitarians’ digital resilience
In a context of staggering need, increasing political pressure, and reduced budgets, there is no doubt that humanitarians must harness the potential of digital technologies for more efficiency and better impact – including in the food assistance domain. Yet, they must urgently redefine their relationship to digital technologies to be able to better prevent and mitigate the risks such technologies create for both humanitarian organizations and the people they serve. What is needed is to switch from a solution driven and productivity-based approach, to a problem and resilience driven one based on rights.
The pathway to digital resilience – designing humanitarian responses systems that effectively integrates digital risks and can function through digital disruptions – is a re-commitment to the humanitarian principles and understanding of their application in digital environments. Concretely, for humanitarians, this starts by:
Understanding the profoundly political nature of the digital transformation to prevent the risk of humanitarian actors partnering with State or private actors whose political agendas and economic objectives lead to techno-colonialism and digital extractivism – undermining their neutrality, independence, and commitment to ‘do no harm’.
Acknowledging that humanity cannot be data-fied and accepting that if digital tools and data can help, they cannot replace the unquantifiable yet critical human elements that underpin empathy and respect for dignity and the heart of humanitarian action.
Ensuring that the data and digital tools used to identify humanitarian needs do not create blindness to the needs that such tools are not designed to see – to preserve impartiality in a world of AI hallucinations and data biases.
Reducing and better managing digital dependencies to maintain the ability to operate and deliver aid anywhere it is needed – even when there is no connectivity – to avoid that human survival and dignity become hostages of data or access to the internet.
In short, building resilience against the dark side of the digital transformation has become the only way to avoid that what defines humanitarianism gets lost in digital translation.
BLISS will be publishing various blogs from this series over the next few months. For more information about the project ‘Digitalising Food Assistance: Political economy, governance and food security effects across the Global North-South divide’, check out the project website, or overview on the website of SOAS, University of London.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Pierrick Devidal is a Policy Adviser at the ICRC. He has worked as an ICRC Field and Protection delegate in Colombia and Darfur, for the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights, and the Office of the Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court. Pierrick holds a LL.M in International Law and a Master’s in International Relations and Political Science.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here.
In this blog, Tamer Abd Elkreem (University of Khartoum) and Susanne Jaspars (SOAS) argue that digitalised food assistance in Sudan presents an extreme case of digitalisation as lifesaving but at the same time its weaponisation through internet shutdowns. It feeds into power relations and a violent, extractive political economy by excluding some of the most marginalised and functioning as a tool for economic and political control.
Food assistance has a long history in Sudan, as has its manipulation for political purposes. Efforts to digitalise finance, food, and social assistance started in the mid-2010s for reasons of access, accountability and efficiency, including through the use of biometric ID cards, pre-paid bank cards, electronic vouchers, online self-registration, and mobile money. These initiatives involve a range of organisations, authorities, and companies (e.g. telecoms, internet providers, banks, merchants). The current war and its humanitarian repercussions offer a critical lens through which to examine the dual nature of digitalisation: it is a life-saving intervention as it is one of the only ways that aid can be provided to crisis-affected people since the start of the 2023 war. At the same time, though, digitalisation leads to new exclusions and feeds into inequalities. We argue that the digitalisation of food assistance must be understood within the context of asymmetrical power relations, competing interests, and political economy.
The weaponisation of communications
The manipulation of communication systems has become a weapon of war . The banking system collapsed in April 2023 with the start of the war between Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and Sudan Armed Forces (SAF) from April 2023. The Bank of Khartoum had the only banking app (Bankak) that continued to function, because it had developed online solutions separate from the Central Bank infrastructure and was not dependent on its electronic switch. It soon became the main way of assisting people in Sudan, as international humanitarian organisations left, and – already limited – government social protection programmes stopped. Moving physical goods across the frontline (that divides the east from the west of the country) became almost impossible.
In February 2024, the RSF sabotaged government internet service providers (in large parts of Sudan, including Darfur, Khartoum, and Al-Gezira), stopping communication and digital cash transfers for at least 2 months until it was gradually restored in some areas. At the same time, RSF and affiliated traders brought in Starlink satellite dishes from Chad and United Arab Emirates to provide internet services. They could benefit economically from charging fees for internet access but more importantly, could control communications and conduct surveillance of the population. In war-affected areas, Bankak and Starlink devices have become the only means of access for besieged communities, for examples in cities like Al-Fashir during much of 2024 and 2025. In our research, we see that access to Starlink internet access is clearly linked to war dynamics and stability of RSF control: the more securely held, the more Starlink services and the lower the cost of access. In areas of active war Starlinks services are subject to heavy security surveillance or are confiscated to prevent its used for intelligence communications to SAF. In October 2025, the RSF at first live-streamed their massacres in Al-Fashir to show their capture of the city, but following widespread international condemnation completely blocked communications to cover up the atrocities.
Digital exclusions
Though digital cash transfers provide aid to some, many are excluded. Clearly, the internet shutdowns discussed above are the most extreme form of exclusion. Otherwise, humanitarian operations have been underfunded, and digital innovations by international organisations (self-registration, digital vouchers, wallets and platforms) remain small scale and experimental. Charitable people in Sudan and diaspora outside the country provide cash to relatives and friends, often connected via WhatsApp, or send it to community initiatives such as soup kitchens (Takaya) and Emergency Response Rooms (ERRs). Money is most often transferred via Bankak. In the aftermath of the Al-Fashir invasion, these same WhatsApp groups became a tool for extortion. Sudanese abroad deleted the groups when it became apparent that the RSF used them to identify foreign contacts to demand ransom payments as well as to identify SAF collaborators.
So what happens to people who do not have relatives in the diaspora? In parts of Al-Gezira, we see deepening inequalities. The labourers previously working on the agricultural scheme are historically marginalised in terms of land ownership, and access to land, and social services. Few have relatives abroad. They now have no work, no diaspora aid, and are less represented on aid committees. Even if they did have friends to send money, since the SAF recapture the internet is weak and few banks are operating, and most are undocumented citizens.
For mobile money transfers, you need a bank account, an ID document, as well as a smartphone, which many in rural areas do not have. In many parts of Sudan, particularly in Darfur, people did not have these because they mistrusted government (and banks) and did not want to be visible to the state. This necessarily limited self-registration for international aid programmes using online applications, as well as who could receive transfers from diaspora. Those who did have Bankak accounts could make large profits by charging for the transfer. In RSF areas, where banks remain closed, merchants or businesses act as mini-banks. Our researchers documented the range of fees that businesses charged for money transfer transactions, and that the charge is directly related to level of insecurity and market functionality, ranging from 5% in relatively secure areas, up to 70% in the extreme case of tightened siege of Al-Fashir.
Those who did not receive sufficient assistance from organisations or through social networks, went into debt, carried out precarious work (like e.g. cleaning, cooking, petty trade – if markets were functioning), or migrated to work in gold mines. Some joined the army or militia: and so, fed directly into the war.
Feeding into unequal power relations and political economy
Digital banking and digital aid feeds into power relations and political economy through the practices used and businesses and authorities involved. Over the past year, Sudan has seen a rapid expansion of digital banking. The government enforced financial digitalisation by issuing new banknotes, a move that created a vast digital trap. Sudanese citizens were required to deposit old, unbanked cash into financial institutions but faced severe withdrawal limits, precipitating a cash crisis. This scarcity, in turn, pushed more people toward digital payments. Humanitarian organisations initiated and helped promote digital cash transfers where they had not done so before. This change also provided the government with funds for the war and undermined the economic system in areas controlled by the RSF. The RSF, in response, maintains the use of the old currency and is establishing its own currency system illegalising the new banknotes in its controlled areas.
In Sudan, the most strategic telecommunication and financial sectors had long been privatized, and mostly owned by foreign countries who are also heavily investing the war. For instance, more than 80% Bank of Khartoum, which has lions share in the digital financialization, is owned by UAE. We are also witnessing a phenomenon in which the state is being bypassed by digitalisation – including by privately-owned Starlink satellite dishes and solar panels (in places like Darfur), digital technologies using blockchain and platforms that bypass banks, and many organisations use US-based multi-national corporations to store their data. Digitalised food assistance programmes are not only eroding national sovereignty from this aspect only but also by weakening the social contract; no one, these days, is talking about the responsibilities of the state.
Conclusion
The unprecedented crisis in Sudan reveals the digitalisation of food assistance as both a lifeline and a threat, a tool that connects vulnerable communities, that both mitigates and perpetuates emergencies, and saves lives while feeding the very forces that endanger them. Through data extractivism, it simultaneously erodes national capacities, agencies, and legitimacy. Digitalisation needs to be considered from the perspective of these wider parameters rather than from a purely technical one.
More Reading:
This blog post uses findings from an ERSC-funded project entitled: Digitalising food assistance: Political economy, governance and food security effects across the Global North-South divide. See: https://digitalisingfood.org/.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the authors:
Tamer Elkreem
Tamer Abd Elkreem is a Co-Investigator/Sudan lead researcher of the project. He is a lecturer at the department of Sociology and Social Anthropology and the Deputy Director of Peace Research, University of Khartoum. His research interest focuses on power relations of development, Anthropology of post-colonial state, anthropology of mega developmental projects and critical analysis of its discourses and practices in Sudan.
Susanne Jaspars
Susanne Jaspars is the Principal Investigator of the project. She is a Senior Research Fellow at the SOAS Food Studies Centre. Susanne researches the political dynamics of food in situations of conflict, famine, and humanitarian crisis. Ongoing interests include: regimes of food practices and power relations, social approaches to nutrition and accountability for mass starvation, European migration and asylum policies and their effects. She has worked mostly in the Horn of Africa, often Sudan.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series contributed by presenters at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference, held in Istanbul and Bergen in October 2025. Here, Alasdair Gordon-Gibson looks into the changing context for humanitarian action, and argues for a new and broader approach that embraces diversities of actors, approaches, and contextuality.
Many of the issues raised in the panels at the IHSA Conference, have focused on civilian protection. Most discussions centre around perceptions of a diminished humanitarian space and a lack of respect for humanitarian principles, as well as a loss of trust in its participants. My research argues that the space for principled humanitarian action has not diminished, but that changes in the geo-political landscape, with a growing diversity of stakeholders and increasing agency of affected populations, has meant that the nature of space for shared discussion has altered. To regain trust and access in this changed environment, humanitarians must learn a new way of thinking and talking that is more inclusive, respectful, and confident in the universal value of its discourse.
This requires a solution that looks beyond resetting the current patterns of policy and practice and turns towards a radical change in the way we think around the humanitarian engagement with politics and power. It will mean uncomfortable participation in spaces of engagement that challenge the traditional humanitarian approaches around neutrality and impartiality.
Most working in the humanitarian sector consider the principles of neutrality, impartiality and independence as being an essential and pre-existing part of the expression of ‘humanity’, and that are universally applicable regardless of context or culture. However, to many analysts they were established – like the organisations themselves – at a particular historical juncture and so may represent an ethos that is questioned or rejected by stakeholders outside of their foundational traditions. To regain relevance in a revised space requires confident engagement with the prevailing context of humanitarian action. This means acknowledgement of the political identity of the humanitarian sector, and recognition of its social agency: its interface with established and non-established power.
Auxiliary or Anarchist? The freedom to choose
Scholars of Social Identity Theoryhave observed that people’s orientation towards authorities change once they have established a social bond, meaning that incorporation into the social fabric of public life increases the likelihood of a more considered interpretation of the intent of authority and its auxiliary structures. The construction of social capital, and its associated features of trust, norms of behaviour and mutual obligation, have been linked to an emergence of community participation, where voluntary engagement with state or non-state authority is seen to be a product of shared values and a culture of responsibility to one’s community and society.
Interpretations of the auxiliary role has often been a contested concept in humanitarian engagement. As humanitarians, we are always an auxiliary in some form, most importantly to the community in crisis, but also often to the established or unestablished authorities and other stakeholders in the emergency response. The question posed here is how to navigate this relationship? How to challenge authority when red lines are crossed?
There is history of a legitimated identity to question and challenge authority that shares a common genealogy stretching from Europe to the Middle East and beyond. The traditions and politics are different, but there is a universal expression of dignity and respect, and the voluntary impulse to protect these values, that is common to all. Participating in the discourse of power and playing an influential part as a trusted challenge to authority is not absent from the contemporary humanitarian environment. Examples are evident when local actors and national politicians choose to resist authority – or are auxiliaries to authority but have access to opposition discourse.
Context Matters
There are no blueprints for a humanitarian response, since in every case the social and the political dynamics are different: context matters. The rise in authoritarianism, inequality and social injustices exacerbated by political authoritarianism, and environmental catastrophes through climate change, means that new social movements will emerge and so the formal humanitarian system must adapt in order to respond. This means acknowledging the hierarchies of politics and power and working more transparently with them. Access and engagement in this changing context require a new humanitarian approach. Humanitarian principles must be the lodestar guiding the ethical and operational compass but with recognition of their limits.Prescriptions of rules and principles do not mean their universal acceptance or applicability in all contexts: a dogmatic prescription of rules and procedures neglects the reality of people striving to survive in a crisis.
Mistrust and disappointment with the global political responses to conflicts and complex emergencies, where a sense of humanity is seen as a diminishing concept in humanitarian responses, has led for increasing calls for solidaritywith affected populations that identifies a shared humanity. Disenchantment with political authority makes it more important than ever to engage with the political discussion, rather than distancing from it in the quest for absolute neutrality, impartiality, and independence. It means influencing political decisions in a bolder way that promotes the social agency of the humanitarian identity: one that engages in a discussion that is less dogmatic and directs towards a space for discourse around an ordinary humanitarian society rather than an ordered humanitarian system. I suggest that reconsideration of the two ‘orphaned’ Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement Fundamental Principles of Voluntary Service and Universality, interpreted and understood in the contexts of contemporary conflicts, will help drive a principled discourse with power and politics that is able to be in solidarity with the most vulnerable: an auxiliary when it works and an anarchist when it does not.
ENDNOTES
IHSA 2025 – Panel: Politics of humanitarianism: power, influence, and governance. Session Friday 17th October: ‘The politics of humanitarian negotiations.’
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
Alasdair Gordon-Gibson
Alasdair Gordon-Gibson worked for 25 years within the International Red Cross and Red Crescent Movement. Awarded a PhD in International Relations from the University of St Andrews he is currently an Honorary Lecturer with the Graduate School for Interdisciplinary Studies, University of St Andrews. Email agg2@st-andrews.ac.uk
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
The Dutch have voted. Migration was once again front and centre. Campaigns warned of crises, headlines framed Europe as divided. Open borders versus closed minds, compassion versus control. It all sounds like Europe has taken sides.
But has it?
New research from the PACES project, led by Anne-Marie Jeannet, Associate Professor at the Department of Social and Political Science, University of Milan, suggests a quieter, more nuanced reality.
Most Europeans are not at the extremes. They sit somewhere in the middle. Ambivalent, thoughtful, and conflicted, they recognise that migration can be both necessary and challenging. They want rules and fairness, but, they also care about protecting people in need. Europeans Want Balance and Fairness.
The findings show that Europeans tend to support strong border control and structured return policies, conditional welfare benefits, and targeted regularisation schemes. For example, this could include returning rejected asylum seekers, limiting benefits to those who meet certain conditions, and allowing some undocumented migrants to stay legally.
Immigration policies that included returning migrants with criminal convictions were over 10 percent more likely to be supported than those that did not. By contrast, policies proposing to contain asylum seekers in third-country camps were 4 percent more likely to be rejected, as were policies offering residential or tax-based incentives to attract migrants (3 percent more likely). Overall, the study shows that the public favours policies that are lawful and orderly, but not excessively restrictive.
The silent middle often resolves tensions between competing values using mental shortcuts, or heuristics. Citizens distinguish between authorised and unauthorised migrants and between law-abiding and criminal individuals when forming policy opinions. When rules are transparent and fair, trust grows. Yet migration policies are often viewed as unclear, which can fuel fear.
The Middle Is Large, But Quiet
This middle majority is easily overlooked. Loud, extreme voices dominate headlines, giving the impression that Europeans are either for or against migration. In reality, most people hold multiple, sometimes conflicting, values: humanitarian concern, fairness, and a desire for order. They recognise that migration is not simply good or bad — it is a normal part of social life that can bring benefits, challenges, and everything in between. Rather than choosing sides, they weigh trade-offs, evaluate policies conditionally, and respond to evidence.
As World Migrants Day approaches on the 18th of December, perhaps it is time to move beyond framing people as simply for or against migration. These debates often make me wonder why so many of us feel torn about it. Many people say they want to help refugees while also wanting borders to be managed, or that they support integration but worry about pressure on housing or jobs. That mix of concerns is not a contradiction. It reflects the complexity of real life.
It also raises further questions: why is it so difficult for the silent middle to express their moderate views? Is it a lack of knowledge, a lack of interest, or simply the noise of polarised debate? And what would it take to bring these more balanced voices into the conversation?
Migration is more than a policy debate. It is a mirror reflecting our values, fears, and hopes. Acknowledging the silent middle, the thoughtful but often conflicted majority, opens the door to conversations and policies that reflect reality rather than rhetoric. And the next time you read that Europe has turned against migration, it is worth remembering that while extreme voices are loud, a much larger, quieter middle is watching.
Funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are those of the authors only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the authors:
Anne-Marie Jeannet
Anne-Marie Jeannet is an Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of Milan and affiliated with Bocconi University’s Dondena Centre. Her research examines how social changes such as deindustrialization and immigration reshape political life and public perceptions. She leads the ERC-funded project Deindustrializing Societies and the Political Consequences (DESPO) and has published widely in leading journals.
Marcela Rubio
Marcela G. Rubio is an Economist in the Migration Unit at the Inter-American Development Bank. She earned her Ph.D. in Public Policy and Administration from Bocconi University in 2022 and studies how migration dynamics affect crime, human capital, and development outcomes. Her work spans Latin America, the Caribbean, the United States, Europe, Africa, and Asia, with prior experience in academia, NGOs, and international organizations.
Lois Mobach
Lois Mobach is a Communications Advisor at Erasmus University, where she supports major research initiatives. She works on projects including PACES, helping translate complex findings into accessible communication. As co-author, she brings expertise in research dissemination and public engagement.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
Prevailing responses to digital violence against women and girls are largely reactive— demanding justice after a case of revenge-porn, doxxing or cyber-bullying has already destroyed a life, livelihood or a sense of safety. This crisis has become an emergency: globally,16-58% of women have experienced a form of online violence, and in Nigeria 45% of women self-report experiencing digital violence. Yet we continue to treat symptoms while the architecture that enables digital violence remains unchallenged.
We are holding only one end of the line.
In this blog, Emaediong Akpan argues for a dual approach that addresses both the structural and the cultural dimensions of this crisis. First, we must hold tech platforms and legal systems accountable for the technological architectures that enable abuse. Second, we must transform how we prepare and support the next generation, beginning with digital literacy from childhood. This strategy is not about making users responsible for their own safety but about building communal resilience against the weaponized shame that is digital abuse’s core tactic. By treating survivors with unwavering belief and care, we challenge the culture of silence and place shame where it belongs—with the abusers and the systems that grant them anonymity and virality.
Photo Credit: UN Women
Beyond Reactions
Nearly half of the world’s women and girls, have no legal protection from digital violence. The uncomfortable truth in our fight for digital safety is that we are often act after the fact. There is an overwhelming number of safety nets—legal, social, psychological, to ‘protect’ women and girls after they have experienced harm in digital spaces. However, according to Amnesty International, 76% of women report altering their online behavior due to abuse. This statistic reveals the limitation of our reactionary approach. We are treating the consequences of digital violence but failing to confront the architecture that exposes women and girls to harm.
Our reactionary approach, though vital, is a partial victory at best — it means holding one end of the line. My call is to extend our hands and hold both ends.
The reactionary approach operates after the fact, after the harm has been done. It fails to confront the underlying issue: a digital ecosystem that is engineered through its architecture, business model and algorithms to facilitate and profit from such harm. To address digital violence against women and girls, we must adopt a dual-approach. This approach requires us to hold the line of platform accountability on one hand while engaging in foundational prevention rooted in early digital literacy and communal care on the other.
Understanding the Impact of Digital Violence on Women’s Participation in Public Life
Globally, 16-58% of women have experience online violence. In Nigeria, 45% of women self-report experiencing digital violence, with girls aged 12-17 and young women up to 35 being targeted.85% of women globally have witnessed digital violence such as cyberbullying, false and misleading smear campaigns, doxxing, image and text-based threats and more. Although the forms of digital violence vary, the motive remains the same: to shame, silence, and exclude women and girls from public life. Below I explain the impact of two particularly insidious forms.
Cyber-Stalking:Research indicates that an estimated 7.5 million people have experienced cyberstalking, demonstrating that anyone with a smartphone, social-media or GPS-enabled device is vulnerable. Data from domestic violence programs in multiple countries indicates that 71-85% of domestic violence perpetrators use technology from smartphones and GPS to spyware—to stalk, monitor and threaten survivors. The intimate violence of the physical world now follows women into every digital space, collapsing any boundary between public and private life.
I use “digital violence” throughout this piece because it is conceptually encompassing. It captures not only the act of violence (harassment, doxing) but also the structural nature of the harm. It points to a violent digital environment shaped by the algorithmic amplification of harm and the prioritization of engagement/virality over safety. Digital violence as a concept draws attention to the platform not as a neutral mirror of gender-based violence offline but as an active, participant in these acts of violence.
Holding Platforms and Systems Accountable
Our response ought to begin with the platforms whose digital architectures are designed to maximize ‘engagement’ irrespective of whether these engagements are driven by joy, outrage or hatred. The algorithms reward inflammatory contents with increased visibility, providing a fertile ground for digital violence to thrive. In adopting this approach, we must move beyond reactive content moderation to safety-by-design principles that places the responsibility on these platforms to mitigate systemic risks, including gender-based violence.
Our laws should specifically criminalize forms of digital violence including but not limited to cyber-stalking, disinformation, revenge porn, and doxxing. Although the Nigerian Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act 2015 is a good starting point, its effective application to address digital violence requires both amendment and judicial activism. The Act currently lacks explicit provisions for image-based sexual abuse, cyber-stalking, and platform liability. Courts must be willing to interpret existing provisions broadly while legislators work to close these gaps. We need legal frameworks that recognize the unique harms of digital violence—its permanence, its viral spread, its capacity to follow victims across every platform and into every space.
Digital Literacy as a Complimentary Strategy
Preventive approaches have been critiqued —often rightly—for placing the responsibility on potential victims while absolving platforms of responsibility. My suggested approach does not absolve platforms of their responsibility. Rather, I argue that building communal resilience is not a parallel response but a complimentary strategy in this fight against digital violence. Even in a utopia with perfectly regulated platforms, harm can exist. The goal is to change the social and psychological terrain on which these attacks land.
Fostering a child’s critical consciousness does not excuse a platforms toxic design; it can help mitigate the effect of that design. This is the inoculation I speak of—not against infection, but against the shame that digital violence weaponizes. Where young girls and women have the nonjudgmental support of their community, it becomes harder to manipulate them into feeling shame and equips them to identify, and resist abusive dynamics.
Building Communal Resilience from the Cradle
Today’s children are digital natives in a profound sense. Globally, one in three internet users is a child. In high-income countries, 60% of children use the internet by age five. In Africa, with the world’s youngest population and smartphone adoption surpassing 50%, children are primary users of family devices, entering complex digital publics with little to no guidance. This strategy ought to begin with digital literacy.
Critical consciousness from early childhood: Teaching children to question what they see online, who benefits from this content? Who might be harmed? Why is this being shown to me? This is media literacy adapted for an algorithmic age.
Bodily autonomy and consent: Children need to understand they have the right to set boundaries online, to say no to requests for images or information, and that consent given under pressure is not consent at all. These conversations must happen before children encounter coercion, not after.
Trusted adult networks: Every child should be able to identify at least two adults they can turn to if something online makes them uncomfortable or afraid. This requires adults who respond without panic, judgment, or punishment—a significant cultural shift in many contexts.
Community response models: When digital violence occurs, the community’s response matters as much as the legal one. Schools, religious institutions, and community organizations must be prepared to support survivors with unwavering belief rather than interrogation, with resources rather than blame. In Nigeria, organizations like the International Federation of Women Lawyers,Feminist Coalition, and StandToEndRape have pioneered such models, but they need to become the norm, not the exception.
The evidence supports this approach. In Finland, where comprehensive digital literacy has been integrated into education since 2014, young people report higher confidence in identifying misinformation and manipulation online. In South Korea, where digital citizenship education is mandatory, rates of cyber-bullying have declined even as internet usage has increased. Nigeria has the capacity to develop contextually grounded approaches that respond to our specific realities of digital violence.
Conclusion: Holding Both Ends of the Line
The fight against digital violence is a struggle for the future of public space, discourse, and democracy itself. A singular focus on post-harm justice, while morally imperative, is strategically incomplete. It addresses the symptoms but does not prepare the next-generation for these realities. We must confront digital violence by contesting the exploitative architectures of platforms and by building a critically conscious population from the cradle. This dual-approach is critical in this moment.
We must confront digital violence by contesting the exploitative architectures of platforms while simultaneously building a critically conscious population from the cradle. We must demand that platforms redesign their systems for safety while teaching young people to navigate these systems with critical awareness. We must prosecute abusers while building communities that refuse to shame survivors.
This dual approach is not a compromise, it is recognition that structural change and cultural transformation must advance together. One end of the line without the other leaves us perpetually playing catch-up, counting casualties, offering comfort after the fact.
It is time to hold both ends of the line. Our daughters are counting on it.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Emaediong Akpan is a legal practitioner and an alumna of the International Institute of Social Studies. With extensive experience in the development sector, her work spans gender equity, social inclusion, and policy advocacy. She is also interested in exploring the intersections of law, technology, and feminist policy interventions to promote safer digital environments. Read her blogs here: 1,2, 3, 4,5
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
Sexual violence response systems rely on a workforce of caregivers who bear witness to trauma daily. Yet, the vicarious trauma eroding these responders’ wellbeing is dangerously overlooked. Drawing on her personal frontline experience, Emaediong Akpan argues that caring for survivors is impossible without caring for those who serve them.
Photo Credit: Unsplash
Bearing Witness in a Broken System
Drawing on my professional experience in sexual violence response, I have encountered two parallel realities. The first is the survivor’s journey marked by courage, fragmented by institutional demands, and too often complicated secondary victimization—the trauma inflicted by the very systems meant to provide justice. The second, less visible reality is that of the responders: the advocates, nurses, law enforcement officers, and counselors who absorb these narratives daily.
Across different roles, a common experience is a deep sense of professional and personal isolation. Many legal professionals, for instance, describe a deep conflict between the rigid demands of procedure and the human impulse to offer comfort, leaving them feeling like instruments of a process rather than agents of care. This profound alienation is not a personal failing; it is a structural byproduct of work that demands profound empathy while offering inadequate structural support.
During the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-Based Violence, our discourse rightly centers survivor voices and systemic accountability. However, I argue that this discourse remains critically incomplete if it does not also address the vicarious trauma permeating the response workforce. This is not about shifting focus from survivors, but about recognizing a fundamental truth: a system that consumes its caregivers is a system destined to fail those it seeks to serve. Neglecting the responder’s wellbeing is a direct, measurable detriment to survivor care, addressing it becomes a non-negotiable pillar of gender justice.
Beyond Burnout, Toward Transformation
To understand the true nature of this crisis, we must move beyond everyday words like “stress” or “burnout.” The core psychological hazard for trauma workers is vicarious trauma (VT). Grounded in seminal work by McCann and Pearlman, VT is understood as a cumulative and transformative process. It is not simply about feeling tired or sad. Rather, it is the profound, often permanent, change in a helper’s own inner world, their beliefs, memories, and sense of self, that results from repeatedly and empathetically engaging with the traumatic material of those they serve.
The key mechanism is the disruption of what psychologists call cognitive schemas. These are our most basic psychological frameworks, our deep-seated beliefs about safety, trust, esteem, intimacy, and control. Vicarious trauma forces these frameworks to change. Repeated exposure to traumatic stories creates a confrontation that our existing worldview can’t absorb. To cope, the mind is forced to rebuild its understanding of reality, leading to a profound shift: the helper’s worldview itself can become more pessimistic, fearful, and fragile.
This is what makes VT different. It’s not the same as compassion fatigue (which is the wearing down of your empathy) or burnout (which is general exhaustion from work stress). While those conditions are about depletion, VT is about alteration. It does not just tire you out; it can fundamentally and lastingly change how you see the world and your place in it.
The Perfect Storm: How Sexual Violence Work Fuels Vicarious Trauma
The nature of sexual violence response doesn’t just risk vicarious trauma, it actively creates the ideal conditions for it to take root and thrive. It is defined by a double exposure that sets it apart.
First, there is the chronic, cumulative exposure to traumatic material. Survivors are often caught in a relentless “testimonial spiral,” required to narrate their assault repeatedly, to police, medical examiners, prosecutors, and multiple counselors. Each time they narrate their experiences even though procedurally necessary, it is psychologically costly, forcing the responder to bear witness to graphic, intimate details of violence not once, but over and over again.
Second, and just as negatively impactful, is the exposure to systemic and procedural betrayal. We are not just witnesses to the original trauma. We become firsthand observers of how institutions can fail survivors: through skeptical questioning informed by rape myths, invasive forensic exams with little psychosocial support, and the devastating attrition of cases through plea bargains or dismissal. This generates more than empathy; it creates moral injury, the profound distress that comes from witnessing actions that violate our core sense of justice and ethics. The helper is thus traumatized by both the client’s story and the system’s failure.
This ‘perfect storm’ is intensified by the composition of the workforce. The victim services sector is predominantly female, reflecting the broader gendered landscape of care work. Furthermore, it includes a significant number of survivors who enter the field through a validated ‘survivor-to-survivor’ model of advocacy,a testament to the movement’s grassroots origins that value lived experience as expertise. While this brings profound empathy and insight, scholars note it also layers personal vulnerability onto professional exposure, a combination that is too rarely met with the robust structural safeguards it demands.
The Architecture of Neglect: Systemic Drivers of Vicarious Trauma
It is important to note that VT is not an accidental outcome; it is manufactured by systemic failures across multiple levels.
a. The Political Economy of Care Work
Victim services are notoriously underfunded, relying on precarious grants and charitable funding. This translates into low salaries, high caseloads, and chronic understaffing, conditions directly correlated with VT severity. Workers, often women, are asked to perform emotionally extreme labour with economic precarity, a classic example of the gendered devaluation of care.
b. Institutional Illiteracy
Many criminal justice and healthcare institutions lack trauma-informed organizational practices. Supervision is often administrative, not clinical or reflective. There are rarely protocols for routine psychological debriefing, caseload management to prevent saturation, or mandated “cool-down” periods between intense cases. New, younger advocates, those most vulnerable to secondary traumatic stress, are frequently thrown into the deep end without adequate mentorship (as highlighted in my own training materials).
c. Cultural Stigma and the “Strong Helper”
Especially within masculinized domains like law enforcement, a culture of stoicism prevails. Help-seeking is stigmatized as weakness, with legitimate fears about confidentiality breaches and career repercussions. Studies indicate that a majority of first responders are reluctant to seek support due to perceived professional risks. The culture of stoicism, particularly in criminal justice roles, stigmatizes help-seeking. People fear being seen as weak or unfit, forcing distress underground and often leading to maladaptive coping mechanisms like substance use.
d. Professional Isolation and Erasure
Those in roles like victim advocacy, often situated uneasily between community and court, can experience “trauma hierarchy,” where their exposure is minimized compared to “first responders.” This lack of validation exacerbates feelings of isolation and invisibility, stripping away a protective sense of shared purpose.
e. The Inevitable Consequence: Compromised Survivor Care
My argument is that the systemic production of VT is not merely an occupational health issue. It actively degrades the quality and ethics of survivor services.
Attrition of Expertise: Vicarious trauma is a primary driver of high turnover. When a skilled, trauma-informed advocate burns out and leaves, survivors lose continuity, a relationship of trust is severed, and institutional memory evaporates. This constant churn keeps organizations in a state of novice crisis, unable to develop deep expertise.
The Erosion of Empathetic Capacity: Compassion fatigue, a precursor or companion to VT, manifests as detachment, cynicism, and emotional numbing. A responder struggling with these symptoms cannot provide the authentic, patient, and validating presence that trauma recovery requires. Interactions become transactional, potentially replicating the impersonal harm of secondary victimization.
Impaired Judgment and Ethical Risk: VT’s cognitive disruptions, hypervigilance, pervasive pessimism, disrupted boundaries, can lead to clinical errors, inappropriate self-disclosure, or burnout-driven shortcuts in care. Pearlman & Saakvitne (1995) warn that unaddressed VT can lead to boundary violations, where the helper’s own unmet needs distort the therapeutic relationship.
The Silencing of Advocacy: A responder drowning in unprocessed trauma loses the energy for systemic advocacy. The fight to change oppressive policies, challenge rape myths in court, or secure better resources requires a reserve of righteous anger and hope. VT depletes that reserve, creating a workforce that is too exhausted to challenge the very systems that harm both them and their clients.
In summary, a workforce without proper support becomes a fragile system designed to carry immense weight but lacks the reinforcement to do so safely or indefinitely. Because it cannot sustainably hold the weight of survivor trauma, and it will inevitably fracture, with survivors bearing the consequences of the collapse.
Toward a New Paradigm: From Individual Self-Care to Structural Accountability
The common prescription of “self-care” places the burden of resilience on the individual, obscuring the systemic origins of the harm. We must demand a shift toward “system-care” and structural accountability.
Mandate and Fund Psychological Infrastructure: This must be a budget line, not a perk. Agencies need embedded, confidential mental health services specializing in trauma-exposed professions. Funding bodies must tie grants to the existence of realistic caseload limits, competitive salaries, and wellness protocols.
Implement Trauma-Informed Supervision: Replace purely administrative oversight with reflective, clinically-informed supervision that normalizes discussion of VT, provides strategies for cognitive integration, and safeguards boundaries. Models like that proposed by Harrison & Westwood (2009) have shown efficacy in reducing VT.
Dismantle Stigma Through Leadership: Institutional leaders must model vulnerability and help-seeking. Peer support programs, with rigorous confidentiality safeguards, can create culturally-competent spaces for processing within the workforce itself.
Integrate Resilience into Training: Education for responders must begin before first contact with survivors. Training should include psychoeducation on VT, grounding techniques, boundary-setting skills, and clear pathways to support, framing resilience as a core professional competency.
Conclusion: My Call for an Unbreakable Chain of Justice
As we concluded the 16 Days of Activism , we must commit to a more holistic vision of justice. The fight against gender-based violence is fought on multiple fronts: in the courtroom, the hospital, the therapist’s office, and the advocate’s office desk. These fronts are connected by people. If the people on the front lines of care are being psychologically depleted by the very structure of that care, we have designed a self-defeating system.
Caring for survivors and ensuring the wellbeing of those who care for them are inseparable goals.They represent two halves of a single ethical imperative. We cannot build a survivor-centered response on the broken well-being of the workforce. Investing in the resilience of responders, through funding, institutional change, and cultural shift, is not a diversion from survivor justice. It is the most pragmatic investment we can make in its sustainability and quality.
The witness who is heard, the advocate who can stay present, the nurse who maintains compassion, the officer who conducts a trauma-informed interview, these are not just individuals doing a job. They are the living, breathing infrastructure of a just response. It is time we built that infrastructure to last.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts solely reflects the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Emaediong Akpan is a legal practitioner and an alumna of the International Institute of Social Studies. With extensive experience in the development sector, Emaediong Akpan’s work spans gender equity, social inclusion, and policy advocacy. She is also interested in exploring the intersections of law, technology, and feminist policy interventions to promote safer digital environments. Read her blogs here: 1,2, 3, 4.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
International law has an incredible potential to be the vehicle through which global transgender liberation is realized. In this reflective blog, Paxton McCausland argues that international law is already being used to improve the quality of life for transgender peoples across the world. Sadly however, this dream will never be fully accomplished with the continuation of horrific impunity.
As an American grassroots organizer for transgender liberation, I never envisioned myself becoming interested in or even inspired by law. During my undergraduate education, in which I studied Political Science, I took a Constitutional Law class and was deflated, disappointed and bored. American constitutional law has very few safeguards for transgender individuals and the Supreme Court, in its present composition at least, is generally hopeless. Having completed several unpaid internships with politicians who used my work without crediting me, I began to understand that American politics were not for me. My despondent view of the law changed when I began to learn about international law in graduate school.
It turns out that international law has incredible potential to realize and spread transgender liberation. While there are several forms of international law, all with their own guidelines, concepts and modalities, in this blog post I will use a broad definition, meaning that the points I make do not align with one specific form of international law. Additionally, I must establish that I am not an international lawyer, but rather merely a liberation nerd, endlessly excited by the potential of international law. That being said, international law not only contains an actual definition of gender, it also contains radical promotion of self-determination, a concept I had never heard of within the domestic law of my own nation. Both the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, major tenants within the international human rights law, begin with the phrase ‘All peoples have the right of self-determination’. Self-determination as transgender liberation, as I have understood it in my background as a trans organizer, advocates for an individual to understand and decide for themselves who they are and what is best for them. In theory, the ultimate expression of transgender liberation is the truest expression of self-determination. This incredible tool for international trans liberation, however, cannot reach its full potential while blatant impunity against war crimes and continuous double standards for the worst and most powerful offenders continues. In a very obvious example, the United States has been protecting Israel from punishment, as well as allowing the country’s many war crimes and crimes against humanity, such as the blatant encouragement of illegal Israeli settlements, to continue with impunity for decades via the UNSC veto power and other such methods. The longer this impunity continues, the weaker international law becomes. I would even go so far as to say that the future of international transgender liberation rests on the protection and sanctity of international law, and therefore the end of such impunity.
International law has already begun to benefit and protect transgender, gender-non-conforming, nonbinary and Indigenous third gender peoples throughout the world. Despite a somewhat problematic definition of gender within the Rome Statute, which confuses sex and gender, the International Criminal Court established the understanding that gender is socially constructed as an international law standard through the Office of the Prosecutor’s Policy on the Crime of Gender Persecution. For more information on the debate regarding the definition of gender in international law, I encourage readers to engage with Alexandra Lily Kather and Juliana Santos de Carvalho’s brilliant article on the subject. As mentioned above, international law’s standard of the concept and promotion of self-determination is extremely helpful in establishing transgender people’s right to gender-affirming care and ability to self-identify. Many scholars, such as B. Camminga, advocate for trans folk’s right to legal gender recognition (LGR), or accurate depiction of an individual’s gender identity on legal documents, on the basis of self-determination alone. In arguing for LGR on this basis, requirements for trans people to ‘prove’ their gender identity (refer to the Camminga article linked above), through costly, cumbersome, invasive and harmful medical diagnosis or bottom surgery, a form of reproductive violence and forced sterilization, are rendered unnecessary. In the unfortunate situation in which a trans person has a well-founded fear of persecution based on their membership to a particular social group – the trans community – international law grants them, via the 1951 Refugee Convention, refugee status and allows them to apply for asylum. The international law principle of non-refoulement states that it is prohibited for these individuals to be sent back to their countries of origin if their return would most likely result in a serious threat to their life or freedom. These are a few of the ways international law is already working toward transgender liberation.
Given these standards of international law and the enormous potential of this type of law to realize transgender liberation, it is imperative that all roadblocks to its success be eliminated. We cannot tackle the toughest battles until the means by which the battles can be fought are working as they were intended to. Liberation builds on itself – at a macro and micro level, we are all fighting the same battle for liberation. As such, protecting international law not only ensures the protection and safety of trans and gender-non-conforming individuals, today and tomorrow, but it additionally ensures protections of rights for everyone. By battling impunity, we are allowing trans people, Palestinians, Sudanese, Royhinga, Yadzidi and everyone to live full and dignified lives everywhere.
They say the future of international law is domestic law. Given this adage, it is my greatest hope that one day I can see the laws in my own country reflect those that protect my people through international law. At that point, with my ultimate life and career goal being international transgender liberation, I will be able to die happy. Protect international law. Protect the International Criminal Court. The liberation of transgender peoples and of all peoples depends on it.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Paxton McCausland
Paxton McCausland (he/they) is an organizer and academic who began working toward gender justice as a grassroots organizer for transgender liberation. They were recently appointed as a board member for the Women’s Initiatives for Gender Justice and received a Master of International Affairs from the School of International and Public Affairs. Paxton currently resides in Pennsylvania.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
International criminal law has made remarkable progress in recognizing gender-based crimes, yet conviction rates alone cannot capture the meaning of justice for survivors. In this blog, Abubakar Muhammad Jibril draws on the Gender Justice in International Criminal Law Conference to argue that genuine gender justice must be reimagined through survivors’ lived experiences—centering healing, dignity, and accountability beyond the courtroom.
Over the past two decades, international criminal law (ICL) has evolved to acknowledge sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV) as crimes of the gravest concern. From the landmark Akayesu judgment of the ICTR, which recognized rape as an act of genocide, to the Rome Statute’s explicit listing of sexual slavery, enforced pregnancy and other forms of sexual violence, progress has been undeniable. Yet despite these achievements, the lived experiences of many survivors reveal a different reality. During the Gender Justice in International Criminal Law Conference, several participants echoed a powerful truth: a conviction does not automatically equate to justice. Survivors often remain unseen, unheard and unsupported in the aftermath of trials. Many return to communities where stigma and silence persist, where reparations are delayed and where their suffering is reduced to a footnote in legal history. This paradox between legal recognition and lived reality lies at the heart of why gender justice remains incomplete.
The epistemic gap in International Criminal Law
ICL, by design, privileges evidence, procedure and precedent. It asks: What can be proved? Who can be held responsible? Yet for survivors of gender-based crimes, justice often depends on questions the law cannot fully answer: How can I heal? Who believes me? Will my story change anything? This epistemic gap between legal knowledge and experiential truth reflects a deeper structural limitation. The courtroom, though vital, cannot capture the emotional, social and cultural dimensions of gendered harm. The narratives of survivors are frequently filtered through lawyers, investigators and judges, transformed into ‘admissible evidence’ rather than lived testimonies of pain and resilience. As feminist scholars like Catharine MacKinnon and Fionnuala Ní Aoláin have argued, law can recognize sexual violence without truly listening to survivors. This dissonance risks turning gender justice into a symbolic victory rather than a transformative one.
From criminalization to transformation
At the conference, one speaker remarked that international tribunals have been more successful in criminalizing gender-based crimes than in transforming the conditions that enable them. This distinction is crucial. Criminalization ensures accountability for perpetrators, but transformation demands more: it requires dismantling the patriarchal, cultural and institutional structures that make such crimes possible in the first place. Survivors do not merely seek punishment; they seek recognition, healing and inclusion in rebuilding their societies. For instance, the Trust Fund for Victims under the International Criminal Court (ICC) has provided symbolic reparations, but survivors repeatedly stress the need for collective and community-based remedies, access to education, psychological care, economic empowerment and public acknowledgment. These are not mere add-ons to justice; they are justice itself.
Centring survivors’ voices: towards participatory justice
Reimagining gender justice means shifting from a courtroom-centred model to a survivor-centred one. Survivors must not only testify; they must shape the process. Participatory justice approaches already piloted in certain post-conflict societies offer valuable lessons. In Sierra Leone, Rwanda and Uganda, survivor networks have played pivotal roles in truth-telling and community reconciliation. Their initiatives illustrate that justice becomes meaningful when survivors help define their goals and outcomes. As discussed in several conference panels, integrating psychosocial support, trauma-informed procedures and culturally sensitive reparations into ICL processes could bridge the gap between law and lived experience.
The politics of recognition
Gender justice cannot be disentangled from global hierarchies of power. Many survivors come from the Global South, yet international criminal processes are dominated by Northern institutions and perspectives. This imbalance shapes not only whose stories are heard but also how justice is defined. To move beyond symbolic inclusion, international mechanisms must decolonize their approaches, valuing local knowledges, community healing practices and indigenous forms of accountability. Justice cannot be exported; it must be co-created with those who have suffered most. A decolonial feminist approach to ICL thus requires more than reforming procedure; it demands rethinking the very epistemology of justice from punishment-centred to person-centred, from institutional legitimacy to human dignity.
Reclaiming the meaning of justice
The conference’s closing sessions were marked by a shared realization: while legal frameworks are essential, they are not sufficient. The future of gender justice lies not only in how courts punish crimes but in how societies restore humanity after harm. For survivors, justice is not measured in verdicts but in voices being heard, believed and healed. It is in communities that refuse to silence them, in policies that empower them and in histories that finally honour their truths. International criminal law must therefore evolve from a reactive to a restorative paradigm, one that integrates legal accountability with social repair, trauma healing and long-term prevention. Only then can justice be both legal and lived.
Conclusion
As scholars, practitioners and advocates, we must move beyond celebrating convictions to asking harder questions: Whose justice? For whom? At what cost? The survivors who continue to rebuild their lives after unimaginable violence remind us that justice is not a verdict; it is a process of human restoration. The future of gender justice in international criminal law depends on whether we can truly listen to the people for whom justice was meant to serve.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Abubakar Muhammad Jibril is a legal researcher and LLM candidate specializing in human rights law, with a focus on women’s and children’s rights, gender-based violence and international human rights frameworks. His work integrates comparative legal analysis across diverse jurisdictions, exploring the intersections of law, culture and religion, particularly within Islamic legal traditions. Abubakar’s research aims to promote equitable legal reforms and deepen the scholarly understanding of justice, dignity and protection for vulnerable groups worldwide.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
Since the first recognition of conflict-related sexual violence (CRSV) by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) in its jurisprudenceFurundžija) to the recognition of gender as a ground for persecution by the International Criminal Court[para 936], International Criminal Law (ICL) has increasingly addressed CRSV, but there is still a long way to go. Inspired by the ICL Conference on Gender Justice and through the application of a feminist and intersectional lens, Katerina Lefkidou examines current challenges in addressing CRSV in Ukraine.
Conflict Related Sexual Violence (CRSV) in Ukraine
As CRSV increasingly calls for accountability mechanisms shaped through converging feminist, intersectional, and survivor-centered approaches, Ukraine appears to be a State that is at least willing to listen. With the adoption of Law 4067-IX in 2025, which provides CRSV survivors with interim reparations, and through the development of new Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs) for the investigation and prosecution of CRSV, some steps are being taken in the right direction. However, a closer look shows that many issues remain unsolved. Since the full-scale invasion in February 2022, 385 CRSV investigations have been opened by the Ukrainian Office of the Prosecutor General, with 21 individuals convicted. Other international actors report higher numbers, which keep rising. However, these 21 convictions (mainly direct perpetrators), are a result of approximately 10 cases, which is quite low considering the reported figures.
Two main situations have been identified where CRSV has been systematically used by Russian forces throughout the conflict: 1) during house searches or forced visits carried out in occupied areas, and 2) as a form of torture against individuals detained, both civilians and prisoners of war (POWs), in “filtration points” and official/unofficial detention facilities. In the first case, most victims are women and girls; in the latter, the majority of survivors have been men [para 47]. Nevertheless, only cases of CRSV concerning women and girls have reached decisions in criminal proceedings. CRSV has been especially prevalent against Ukrainian POWs; 119 out of the 169 interviewed by the United Nations Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine reported having experienced CRSV [para 30].
Challenges in reporting CRSV in Ukraine and gender roles
According to the International Independent Commission of Inquiry on Ukraine, CRSV is under-reported in the conflict, and survivors are reluctant to speak out due to gender stereotypes, religious and family considerations, and stigma, especially in rural areas [para 630]. Incidents have been reported where survivors were treated disrespectfully by authorities and then consequently withdrew their complaints [para 93]. The recently launched platform “Було так” (“It Happened This Way”) created by Ukrainian Women Lawyers Association “JurFem” for survivors to share their experiences, particularly with law enforcement, also indicates the urgency of this problem. Further, survivors have even fled their home or even the country due to fear of stigma and blame from close ones and broader society, or reprisals from the Russian authorities. Additional obstacles include the harmful re-enforcement of gender stereotypes and stigma in CRSV media coverage [paras 630-636].
Bias shaped through gender roles—such as the culture of victim blaming, which especially affects women—has emerged in various examples. In Bucha, a woman who was raped by Russian soldiers to prevent the rape of her 13-year old daughter, later faced stigmatization and was even investigated for collaboration with the Russian forces. The gender paradigm shapes the stigma for male survivors, too. As reported by the All Survivors Project, Ukrainian culture often depicts men as defenders and fighters. Acts of CRSV challenge this sense of masculinity, making men less likely to disclose their trauma for fear it will be perceived as a sign of “weakness,” incompatible with traditional gender expectations. According to the Commission of Inquiry, men are more inclined to report torture without the sexual aspects [para 632]. Gender stereotypes also influence investigators, who frequently do not ask questions about potential CRSV when interviewing male victims of violence. Social perception of sexual identity is also relevant. The Russian Federation has exploited the cultural prejudice against LGBTQI+ people by actively seeking out LGBTQI+ people as targets of CRSV, and by systematically employing CRSV against non LGBTQI+ males. Consequently, male survivors of CRSV are branded as “weak” and “unnatural”, not in line with the role of “strong, straight, cisgender male.”
Intersectional dimension of CRSV
As long established by feminist theory, sexual violence is not an expression of sexual desire, but a means of conveying dominance, relying on the enforcement of rigidly defined gender roles. Furthermore, it is rooted in structural inequalities, and gender is not the only relevant variable. Socioeconomic status, for example, plays a key role in the commission, reporting, investigation, prosecution, and outcome of CRSV cases. Engagement with accountability mechanisms is only possible if basic needs of survivors are covered [para 634]. Poverty enhances vulnerability; survivors have often endured CRSV as a means for survival and may not even be able to identify that what has happened to them may qualify as CRSV. An example presents the experience of a woman in Kherson province, who, during the Russian occupation, moved in with a man for safety and protection. He instead exploited her and ultimately facilitated her rape by Russian soldiers.
Conclusion
A clear understanding of how gender norms, and other underlying factors of discrimination are manifested in Ukrainian society is paramount in order to fully address CRSV perpetrated in Ukraine. As reiterated throughout the conference, advancing gender justice requires holistic policy reforms that go beyond supporting domestic justice and include education and awareness efforts around gender bias aimed at collective societal change. Further, many survivors still require support to come forward and, ultimately, seek justice. It is vital that Ukraine continues its efforts in this area to pursue accountability for the full scope of CRSV crimes resulting from the Russian occupation and the ongoing armed conflict.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Katerina Lefkidou
Katerina Lefkidou holds an LL.M. in International Human Rights Law from the University of Groningen. Her research interests include themes such as gender justice, equality and reproductive rights. She is a qualified lawyer, registered with the Athens Bar Association.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog post is based on the keynote speech delivered by Michelle Jarvis at the Gender Justice in International Criminal Law Conference, held on 29–30 September 2025 in The Hague, the Netherlands. The event was organized in partnership with the Gender Justice Practitioner Hub, Women’s Initiatives for Gender Justice, Legal Action Worldwide, the Legal Mobilization Platform and the International Institute of Social Studies.
In this blog, Jarvis emphasizes that achieving true gender justice in international criminal law requires transforming not only the outcomes of justice processes but also the deep gender structures that operate both within societies and within the institutions responsible for delivering justice.The views expressed are Jarvis’ personal views and do not necessarily reflect the views of the IIIM-Syria or the United Nations.
Between 2023 and 2024, I followed the scoping phase for the Gender Justice Practitioner (GJP) Hub – funded by the Australian Government and implemented by Legal Action Worldwide. It was an unprecedented opportunity to consult practitioners around the world working on accountability for international crimes. Over 18 months, nine regional roundtables and dozens of expert interviews, we reached more than 800 practitioners. We asked some pressing questions about the blockages they face, what would help them the most and how we, as a field of practice, can strengthen overall gender justice outcomes.
One thing was seared on my mind from the discussions: the hunger across our field of practice for connection, solidarity and support – within and across, the national, regional and international levels.
As a practitioner working on accountability mandates over the past 25 years, I knew from my own experience the sense of disconnection inside our individual institutions, due in part to the ad hoc nature of this work. But I was stunned by the depth of the sentiment expressed about the emotional toll on practitioners and our collective alarm over hard-fought gains being eroded in a heartbeat.
Now we find ourselves here, in September 2025, in a world riddled with escalating attacks on the very principle of gender equality, unabashed efforts to dominate people and populations and unprecedented pressure on our ever-more fragile institutions. Still, we have to be honest about the historical shortcomings embedded in our institutions – from a gender perspective and from many other perspectives as well. But, after-all, the cracks are where the light gets in. We can choose to see this as a time of opportunity.
Three key considerations may guide us to move in this direction. The first thing is getting clarity on the vision of the world we want to see. Daring to speak it out loud – if we can do so safely. And when that is not possible, finding other ways to direct our energy to it. Creating a collective narrative that can help us shape our reality. We need a new imagining of humanity, to counter the mounting and alarmingly effective narratives of domination, separation, division and greed.
And perhaps we need to go back to basics. The vision of the world that I would like to see can be very simply stated: peaceful, flourishing communities, living within planetary environmental boundaries. Surely that is at least a starting point we can all agree on?
But how do we move in that direction? For me, one urgent piece of the puzzle is repairing and rebuilding communities torn apart by conflict-related atrocities. I have spent most of my career grappling with the role that justice plays in this process.
Of course, if we achieve this vision of peaceful, flourishing communities, there will be no more atrocities and no need for justice processes to address them. Perhaps we should dare to set a bold target as part of our vision – ‘in 20 years’ time, justice processes for atrocity crimes will be obsolete’.
If we were to take up a challenge like that for atrocity crimes, we have some deep thinking to do about what our justice processes need to deliver to truly help repair and rebuild communities. We say ‘no peace without justice’. But what kind of justice? We need justice processes that expose and condemn the structural drivers of atrocity crimes, to help us dismantle them.
We see flecks of this thinking embedded in the design of our international criminal law frameworks. Some provisions were specifically developed to expose certain discriminatory drivers of crimes, such as race, ethnicity, nationality, politics and religion. However, gendered structures have not, historically, been recognised. Although we have made some progress with the Rome Statute’s recognition of gender persecution, we have been very slow to apply this provision and, so far, the results are sparse.
Overall, we have struggled to address the structural elements of gender in international criminal law, despite their pervasive role in driving crimes; exacerbating the impact of conflict-related harms; and then silencing the voices of victims and survivors and blocking their access to justice.
Our focus has largely been confined to addressing some of the gendered consequences of conflict, particularly conflict-related sexual violence. We have not really begun to grapple with the structural underpinnings of that violence. Until we do, our justice processes will be a blunt instrument in our toolkit for repairing and rebuilding communities in the aftermath of atrocities. That link between addressing gendered structures in accountability processes and the quest for a more peaceful and flourishing world, needs much more attention. While the gendered drivers of atrocities are not homogenous and static, there are some patterns and we can do better in developing baseline methodologies to tailor for specific contexts. This is something the Hub has on its priority list.
This brings me to the second issue – the need to address the deep gender structures inside our own institutions. Based on the 25 years that I have worked inside international institutions with accountability mandates, one thing is clear: we cannot promote inclusive gender justice without institutions that have a commitment to gender equality embedded in their DNA. We should reject the idea of justice processes that serve only a fraction of the affected community and commit to addressing the imbalance as a core part of our work. To support this, we need institutions that also embody a commitment to gender equality.
This was one of the key insights coming out of the extensive review we did at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, which was published as Prosecuting Conflict-Related Sexual Violence at the ICTY. However, since then, we have seen little evidence of meaningful engagement with this challenge. We have seen a flurry of policy frameworks – which is important – but few signs of sustained engagement with the ‘deep structures’ inside our institutions. As a result, we presently have a gulf between our policy frameworks, their implementation in practice and the strengthened gender justice outcomes that we are seeking.
Having worked on this challenge now for many years, I am the first to acknowledge that progress is not easy – and this challenge is not for the faint hearted!
Our institutional systems are highly complex and the deep discriminatory structures embedded in them are very good at re-asserting themselves when challenged. As I watched this process unfold in real time, it sent me scurrying for research that would help me understand the systemic factors at play. What had others experienced and written on this? Joanne Sandler and, in particular, her co-authored book Gender at Work was pivotal in helping me to recognize and articulate what I was seeing up close. The book emphasizes the importance of grappling with the ‘deep gender structures’ inside our institutions: ‘gender policies rarely take on deep structures due to their pervasiveness and the takes time to confront them’ and, I would add, the difficulty of even getting visibility on how they are operating. But we certainly feel them and sometimes hear fragments of them articulated inside our institutions through comments like: ‘We are spending too many resources on gender’; ‘By focusing on crimes experienced by women, we could be seen as biased. It is incompatible with being evidence driven’; and ‘Why does it matter if we have low figures of women as witnesses – that has no impact on the verdicts’.
We need open and honest discussions about these types of concerns. Cultures of silence are one of the most insidious forms of reinforcing biased structures. But how do we know what is a valid concern and what is the discriminatory system re-asserting itself? A good litmus test is the constructiveness with which the concerns are raised and whether the overall trend inside our institutions is to block, or gut, any progress on gender equality.
Inevitably, when entrenched biased structures are challenged, there will be backlash. If we are not experiencing backlash from the implementation of our gender policies, then we have not yet begun to fundamentally change the way that our institutions are functioning. Fiona Mackay sums it up well:
‘We should celebrate as a success cases where the status quo has to…work hard to reproduce itself and has to invest resources and energy in resisting gender change. The need for visible resistance to positive change is a success.’
Along the way, we need to create a better culture of care around the change agents inside our institutions. As we heard during the scoping phase of the Hub, it is tough out there! And in the words of Sandler et al. ‘Personal and professional attacks pile up, especially when success is achieved.’
One of our most significant strategies to date has been the short-term deployment of gender experts to work with accountability mechanisms. This has been an important development to address historical silences. However, we should not view this as a stand-alone strategy. Individuals parachuted into an organization, especially for a short period of time, cannot, alone, tackle the gendered structures that block gender justice both within the communities we serve and inside our own institutions. We also have to be realistic about the pattern of pushback that change agents are likely to experience and be well prepared to support them through the process as a standard part of our strategy.
These systemic issues are focus areas for the Hub. Encouragingly, the Hub has started to receive requests for assistance by some institutional actors now seeking to engage with the challenge, but we can get even more ambitious. It would be great to see all leaders of accountability institutions engaging with the Hub on a collaborative project to strengthen efforts on gender sensitive institution building, starting with those who have already signed up as Gender Champions.
The third issue I want to cover, is the alchemy we could release through better coordination among ourselves as gender justice actors. This aspiration has also been embedded in the vision for the Hub.
We know we need to move outside of our echo chamber. Bringing in all generations to the conversation is an important component of this and sparks genuine optimism that it is possible to achieve the systems change we seek.
Better cross-disciplinary coordination is also key, starting with the silos that currently exist between academia and practitioners. There is so much good work being done within the academic realm, but practitioners rarely have time to follow the developing literature, and often it is too theoretical to be directly translated into practice. It makes a difference when academics working on gender and International Criminal Law issues engage with practitioners and help us translate their insights into practical approaches for our work – and I’m personally grateful to scholars like Judith Gardam, Kirsten Campbell, Gorana Mlinarevic, Susana SáCouto and Lisa Davis.
To conclude, let us return for a moment to the vision I mentioned: peaceful, flourishing communities; effective gender justice to help us repair and rebuild communities torn apart by atrocities; and ultimately, rendering justice processes obsolete.
What would it look like if we threw our collective global might behind this challenge?
Definitely we have some work to do. Even if it feels overwhelming to see how comprehensive change could be achieved, perhaps we can start with focusing on some islands of change.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the authors:
Michelle Jarvis
Michelle Jarvis has worked in the international criminal justice field for 25 years and took up the role of the Deputy Head of the International, Impartial and Independent Mechanism (Syria) (IIIM) in December 2017. Prior to that she was the Deputy to the Prosecutor at the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY) and the Mechanism for International Criminal Tribunals (MICT). Michelle’s work has focused on bringing accountability to victims/survivors of crimes in the Balkans, Rwanda and Syria, as well as building capacity for accountability processes in many other conflict and post conflict areas. Michelle has worked extensively to promote inclusive, innovative and agile approaches to accountability for core international crimes (war crimes, crimes against humanity and genocide), including bringing visibility to the experiences of marginalized groups during accountability processes and strengthening legal responses. She has co-authored two books and numerous articles on the subject of gender and armed conflict. She has initiated an innovative project, supported by the Australian Government, to establish an international Gender Justice Practitioner Hub to promote improved gender justice outcomes globally. Prior to her work in international criminal law, Michelle was a litigator in Australia, where her roles included improving women’s access to justice. Michelle holds a master’s degree in law from the University of Toronto as well as degrees in law and economics from the University of Adelaide.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here.
In this blog, Jeremy Taylor (PhD), Regional Head of Advocacy at the Norwegian Refugee Council, looks at some of the programming issues inherent within a reliance upon (good!) data in the humanitarian space, proposing some points for further discussion and improvement to build a digitally resilient humanitarian system.
Operational INGOs are grappling with two different yet intersecting dynamics. Firstly, the aid system is powered by numbers and, also heavily reliant on accompanying digital platforms for storing and analysing a range of quantitative indicators such as needs analyses, severity indices, caseload targets, and response monitoring frameworks. Secondly, in many frontline contexts the numbers are partial, delayed, politicized—or simply unavailable. When digital systems are fragile or authorities restrict information, our dependence on purely quantitative proof risks excluding the very people we exist to serve.
This is the double-bind the humanitarian industry now inhabits, we are more dependent than ever on quantified proof to allocate, prioritize and report, while the very places that need aid most are increasingly data-poor, data-contested or data-controlled.
Consider Sudan in early 2024. A nationwide communications blackout severed internet and phone networks for tens of millions, stalling assessments, beneficiary verification and even basic security checks. Humanitarian agencies warned operations could not continue without connectivity, and OCHA dashboards logged communications blackouts as a binding constraint across clusters. In a response architecture that assumes constant digital reporting, the data pipeline simply collapsed.
Or Ethiopia in 2021. An effective blockade of the Tigray region meant the ability of aid agencies and the UN to conduct assessments was drastically curtailed. Not only was the humanitarian space significantly impacted by political pressure, but the physical access constraints also carried with them data gaps that could not be plugged. While the Tigrayan authorities claimed there was a famine, the lack of telecoms, fuel and physical access to many parts of the region meant the quantitative data bar for a famine declaration could not be fully met. The episode revealed the need for additional qualitative indicators given how quickly a core evidence channel can be closed. And that the limited international response and accountability mechanisms that do exist, such as the UN Security Council resolution 2417 on the use of starvation as a weapon of war, are ultimately reliant on a credible data-based determination of food insecurity that in this case was not possible to obtain.
Sometimes the choke point is formalized. In Burkina Faso, what began as de facto restrictions has been codified as a visa statistique regime: any survey, census or statistical study must obtain prior authorization from the national institute, with detailed procedures governing approvals. At the same time, public statistics for internally displaced people (IDPs) have not been updated since March 2023, leaving planners to operate against stale baselines they cannot independently refresh. The intent may be order and security; the effect is constrained verification and publication, and ultimately constrained and patchy service delivery.
Compounding this is a second overlaying reality: sweeping budget cuts. By early 2025 the system was told to “hyper-prioritize”—and “do more with less”. In addition to the sweeping cuts by the United States, further reductions are expected from many traditional donors in 2026 and beyond, with few new faces around the OECD DAC table. In this climate, prioritization becomes a requirement for almost all parts of the aid system—and, inevitably, it is determined by the evidence we can marshal. When that evidence is uneven, the risks of mis-prioritization magnify.
For an operational agency, the contradictions show up in small, human ways. We try to distinguish between displaced families and impoverished hosts who share needs indicators. We worry about counting the same person three times as frontlines shift and people are displaced multiple times. We see local authorities nudge figures up to unlock supplies, or down to preserve legitimacy. We sit with community leaders who have learned, over years, which phrases trigger which boxes on which forms. And all the while, the planning machine asks us for clean imputations that field reality does not provide.
All of this leaves us with some questions.
What level of uncertainty are we prepared to accept to save lives? We have become adept at demanding high-frequency, comparable indicators; we are less comfortable acting on imperfect, triangulated signals. Yet places in blackout or under blockade will not produce gold-standard datasets. Are donors and agencies willing to define explicit “no-regrets” thresholds—a ladder of evidence that, once crossed, unlocks time-bound, life-saving response even when the denominator is fuzzy?
How should algorithmic or formula-based allocations treat invisibility? Many institutional donor funding models effectively reward measurable burden and penalize missing data. In a year of cuts, that potentially shifts resources toward where surveillance is strongest, not necessarily where need is greatest. Should allocation formulas include an “uncertainty margin” for data-denied contexts, weighted by independent access analysis and expert consensus, so that lack of visibility does not equal lack of value?
Can we protect impartial analysis space from political veto—without losing the ability to operate? The IPC experience in Ethiopia—and the hyper-contested statistics environment more broadly—shows how easily analysis can be stymied. What minimum guarantees (on methods, publication and dissenting notes) are we, as a system, willing to insist on before we put our logos on a consensus number? And if those guarantees are absent, can we normalize transparent ranges and scenario narratives rather than offering a false precision open to further political manipulation?
Where are our “minimum viable indicators” when digital systems fail? Sudan’s blackout laid bare our dependency on connectivity. What is the offline core data or indicators—two or three proxies per sector—that can be collected safely and quickly, with paper-first redundancies and simple integrity checks, to steer assistance for weeks at a time? If we cannot answer that now, we will keep rediscovering this vulnerability in every conflict with degraded infrastructure and intentional blockages.
How can we include data collection and dissemination as integral to the protection of humanitarian space? The Burkina Faso visa statistique offers a glimpse of a future where data permission is proceduralized as much as physical access – and becomes another indicator in the wider trajectory of tightening humanitarian space.
None of these questions diminish the real gains of the data revolution. Needs overviews are sharper than a decade ago; anticipatory models have prevented suffering; digital platforms allow us to reach more people in more creative ways. But the current equilibrium—absolute dependence on quantified proof in places where proof is systematically degraded—has institutionalized a bias toward the visible. Cuts make that bias costlier. Every time we “hyper-prioritize” using incomplete evidence, we risk reinforcing a hierarchy of suffering determined by data richness rather than human need.
So what does “beyond the numbers” look like for an operational agency? It looks like codifying uncertainty—writing it into proposals, dashboards and board papers, not burying it in footnotes. It looks like donors rewarding honest ranges and scenario-triggered scale-ups. It looks like protecting the independence of analysis even when it is inconvenient, and building redundancies for when the lights go out. Above all, it looks like keeping faith with people who exist whether or not the spreadsheet can currently count them.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Jeremy Taylor
Jeremy Tayloris the Regional Head of Advocacy at the Norwegian Refugee Council (NRC) covering East and Southern Africa. Based in Nairobi, he collaborates closely with institutional partners and international organizations, and his work links operational complexity to policy solutions in protracted humanitarian and conflict contexts. With a background in research and peacebuilding, his current role encompasses coordinating and leading briefings to inter-agency forums, donors, and the diplomatic community. He holds a PhD from SOAS, University of London.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here
This blog is the second in a series entitledIn this blog, Eiman Mohamed looks at the role of digital systems in Sudan, including the effects of digital colonialism, and foreign ownership of key digital infrastructure.
Over the past decade, digital sovereignty has become an increasingly central concept in global policy debates. It refers to a state’s ability to govern its digital infrastructure, data, and cyberspace in alignment with national interests. While the term has gained traction in Western discourse as a means of protecting citizens and national data from foreign influence, its manifestation in the Global South (particularly across Africa) has followed a different trajectory.
Across the continent, internet shutdowns have emerged as a recurring expression of digital sovereignty. Governments justify them as measures to ensure national security, prevent misinformation, or maintain social order. Yet, these acts of disconnection often function as political instruments, used to consolidate power, suppress dissent, and control access to information.
Using Sudan as a case study, this blog article explores how internet shutdowns have become mechanisms for asserting digital sovereignty and examines their wider implications for state power, economic dependency, and individual autonomy.
State Autonomy or Authoritarian Control?
In theory, digital sovereignty implies the capacity of states to manage and secure their digital ecosystems responsibly and transparently. It reflects a form of autonomy aligned with self-determination and public accountability. However, within authoritarian contexts, digital sovereignty often becomes a tool of repression rather than empowerment.
In Sudan, the history of internet shutdowns illustrates this distortion. Following the 2013 protests, telecommunications companies that resisted shutdown directives were restructured to include loyal government actors, effectively granting the regime direct oversight of national connectivity. Regulatory entities in the country were frequently sidelined, while the military invoked ambiguous national security clauses to justify recurring blackouts.
These shutdowns were not isolated responses to unrest but institutionalized mechanisms of control. By disabling communication channels during protests, the state curtailed citizens’ ability to coordinate, mobilize, and document violations. Over time, digital autarky came to signify not collective governance, but exclusive authority enforced through infrastructural power; a manifestation of digital authoritarianism under the guise of sovereignty.
Economic Autonomy and the Persistence of Digital Colonialism
Digital sovereignty also encompasses the ability to shape and sustain a national digital economy free from external domination. Yet, across much of Africa, this autonomy remains constrained by digital colonialism; a structural dependence on foreign-owned technologies, platforms, and infrastructures.
In Sudan, the 2024 internet shutdowns exposed the fragility of this economic autonomy. When connectivity was severed, online mobile banking platforms, relied upon by millions for remittances and daily transactions, became inoperable. The resulting liquidity crisis crippled household economies and informal markets, as people lost access to cash, wages, and essential goods.
In the absence of state-provided connectivity, citizens turned to Starlink, a satellite service operating beyond national control and one that is open to profit-bearing and other political influences. Access was mediated through militarized networks, where civilians paid inflated prices to armed groups for limited connectivity. This dynamic generated profits for militias, bypassed regulation, and deprived the state of revenue.
Rather than restoring sovereignty, the shutdown fragmented Sudan’s digital economy into competing domains of authority: foreign, military, and informal. What was presented as a gesture of independence in fact deepened dependency, illustrating how disconnection reproduces digital colonialism in new and exploitative forms.
Individual Autonomy, Dignity, and Food Security
The human dimension of digital sovereignty extends beyond the state and economy to the individual. In the contemporary world, digital access underpins not only communication but also livelihoods, humanitarian assistance, and access to food.
In Sudan, the 2024 shutdown directly undermined this autonomy. The blackout halted digital payment systems, severing millions from remittances and cash transfers essential for food and medicine. Humanitarian organizations that relied on digital platforms for coordination were unable to deliver aid efficiently. Community networks that tracked safe routes for bread and flour deliveries were silenced.
As connectivity vanished, digital exclusion translated into material deprivation. In Khartoum and other cities, communal kitchens shut down after losing access to mobile money platforms, leaving low-income families without affordable meals. Those able to afford satellite connections often paid exorbitant fees at military checkpoints, while marginalized groups were left completely disconnected.
In these conditions, internet shutdowns became a form of infrastructural violence, determining who could access basic resources and who could not. Connectivity itself became a marker of privilege, linking digital exclusion to hunger, insecurity, and indignity.
Rethinking Digital Sovereignty in the Global South
Sudan’s experience underscores the need to reconceptualize digital sovereignty in the Global South. It is not merely about who owns data or infrastructure, but about how power is exercised through connectivity and disconnection.
When state autonomy transforms into authoritarianism, digital sovereignty ceases to serve the public. When shutdowns fracture local economies, economic independence gives way to new forms of dependency. And when digital access becomes contingent on wealth or political loyalty, individual dignity and survival are compromised.
Ultimately, digital sovereignty must be understood as a struggle for justice, autonomy, and existence. In many parts of Africa, internet shutdowns are not simply acts of censorship; they determine who speaks, who eats, and who survives.
Reframing digital sovereignty through the lenses of autonomy and justice reveals that the politics of digital control in Africa are inseparable from the politics of life itself.
BLISS will be publishing various blogs from this series over the next few months. For more information about the project ‘Digitalising Food Assistance: Political economy, governance and food security effects across the Global North-South divide’, check out the project website, or overview on the website of SOAS, University of London.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Eiman Mohamed
Eiman Mohamed is a cybersecurity expert and digital development practitioner with more than seven years of experience driving digital transformation and implementing ICT projects across both private and non-profit sectors. Her expertise lies in cybersecurity governance, risk, and compliance (GRC), as well as digital development project design and implementation particularly in fragile and conflict-affected contexts mainly in Sudan, Africa.
She holds a Master of Science in Digital Development from the University of Manchester (2024). Her research interests include digital political economy, digital justice, and digital finance.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
This blog is part of a series on ‘the Politics of Food and Technology’, in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre. All of the blogs in this series are contributions made at the International Humanitarian Studies Association (IHSA) Conference in Istanbul-Bergen, October 2025, to the panel with a similar title. To read the rest of the blogs in this series, please click here.
Digitalisation is transforming how food and humanitarian assistance are delivered across the Global South and the Global North – from Sudan and India to the UK. While promoted as efficient and accountable, these systems often reproduce exclusions and reinforce unequal power relations. In this introductory blog, Yasmin Houamed argues that digitalisation is not a neutral innovation but a political process, fraught with risks and vulnerabilities.
Over more than a decade, inequality, food crises and humanitarian emergencies have increased globally. Humanitarian crises are not confined to the Global South. This is closely linked to a changing geopolitics and the effect of decades of neoliberal ideologies. , the results of which are evident in widely varying contexts, for example, Sudan’s humanitarian crisis, India’s protracted hunger crisis, and the UK’s deepening food crisis. This trend is also associated with an increase in technocratic approaches, including the digitalisation of food and humanitarian assistance. While promoted for reasons of efficiency and accountability, the use of digital technologies to provide assistance can lead to new forms of exclusion, or the formalisation of existing inequalities. Digital technologies involve powerful transnational and national companies, states, and organisations, each with their own specific political and economic motivations, interests, and effects.
This post, the first in a series on The Politics of Food and Digital Technology by BLISS in collaboration with the SOAS Food Studies Centre, introduces key themes that emerged from our recent panel with the same title at the International Humanitarian Studies Association conference, held in Bergen and Istanbul in October 2025. The following blogs in the series are based on each of the presentations in the panel, as well as comments from the discussants.
1. Digitalisation as Fiction
The push to digitalise critical services has become almost unquestioned in multiple contexts. In the UK, as panelist Iris Lim outlined, the Universal Credit welfare system has been digital-by-default since 2013. This digitalisation clashes with the reality of individuals excluded from accessing support due to their limited access to devices or internet, difficulties navigating bureaucratic processes, or (lower) digital literacy.
Governments and donors describe digital tools as neutral and objective, yet their use often masks political choices. As discussant Pierrick Devidal observed, humanitarian actors risk falling for “the fiction” of digitalisation – forgetting its long history and that key foundational elements of humanitarianism do not align with it.
Panelist Hayley Umayam’s research in South Sudan (2017–2020) shows how biometric registration as part of “needs-based” targeting shifts accountability away from people and onto digital systems by “translating uncertainty into procedural legitimacy,” giving the illusion of fairness even when large groups are excluded.
The attraction of innovation can distract from these realities. Technologies promise efficiency, but for whom? For recipients, digitalisation can mean new barriers, surveillance, and loss of agency. For service providers, it can mean extra work and less flexibility. To move beyond fiction, digitalisation must be grounded in lived realities and complement, not replace, human judgment.
2. Digitalisation as an Incomplete Image
Digitalisation promises visibility, yet it also produces blindness. As panelist Jeremy Taylor argues, the humanitarian sector’s increasing reliance on digital data creates a paradox of visibility: those most in need are often least visible to digital systems. He uses the example of the 2022 siege of Tigray, where data collection was nearly impossible or was manipulated by Ethiopian authorities. The question we must return to, Taylor asks, is “What levels of uncertainty are we willing to accept in order to save lives?” Digitalisation, in this sense, creates an incomplete picture of need – one that privileges measurable (if imperfect) data over on-the-ground knowledge.
Similarly, as panelist C.Sathyamala outlines, the digitalisation of India’s Public Distribution System (PDS) fails to provide for the most marginalised. For example, fingerprint authentication excludes manual labourers whose worn prints make them “illegible” to the state. In both cases, uncertainty by digital measures excludes the most vulnerable.
3. Digital systems as a Double-Edged Political Tool
Digital systems can function as tools of control, and they can also create new forms of exclusion.. Several of our panel papers examined how digitalisation reshapes power within and beyond state borders.
Panelist Eiman Mohamed’s paper on “digital sovereignty” highlighted another dynamic in Sudan: government-imposed internet shutdowns used to control communication and dissent. Rather than liberating states or citizens, digitalisation can reinforce dependency on global technology and finance companies – a form of “digital colonialism.”
India’s biometric ID cards are another example. C. Sathyamala describes how what started as a surveillance project for citizenship evolved into an asset making system where data collection becomes an important resource leading to capital accumulation. It is apparent from the cases presented that data is not neutral. It serves political, economic, and strategic interests as much as humanitarian ones.
4. Rethinking Responsibility: From Digital to Dignity
Similar questions of ethics, agency, and responsibility surfaced across all the papers. As discussant Usha Ramanathan observed, the fact that the same problems recur across regions is both “fascinating and depressing” – but recognising this commonality creates space for collective solutions. Increasingly, when technology fails them, the burden falls on individuals to navigate complex systems and challenge opaque, unaccountable bureaucracies. As Umayam puts it, the “moral burden is displaced onto digital processes.”
This shift dehumanises recipients of aid as they are treated automatically as potential fraudsters, having to continually verify their identity and ‘neediness’. Devidal argues for “building back” capacities that have been outsourced to digital systems: local discretion, trust, and accountability could all play into a wider conversation about ‘digital resilience’.
Across all cases, digitalisation reorders power – between citizens and states, between public and private actors, and between visible and invisible marginalised groups.
Conclusion
Digitalisation introduces new risks: surveillance, corporate capture and exclusion. Policymakers and humanitarian actors must ask not only what technology delivers but what it sidelines – local knowledge, trust, and human judgment.
Digitalisation is a political choice, not an inevitability. Systems must be designed to serve people rather than power, recognising that data is never the whole story – and that its use carries real risks for individuals and states alike.
BLISS will be publishing various blogs from this series over the next few months. For more information about the project ‘Digitalising Food Assistance: Political economy, governance and food security effects across the Global North-South divide’, check out the project website, or overview on the website of SOAS, University of London.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Yasmin Houamed
Yasmin Houamed is the Research Assistant for the UK case study of the ESRC-funded Digitalising Food Assistance project. She received her MA in Anthropology of Food at SOAS, University of London, and her BA in Political Science from Stanford University. Her research has previously focused on food systems and commodification in Tunisia.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
Whether we embrace it or not, digital technologies and AI are here to stay, and they are fundamentally changing the human world of labour. As new technologies revolutionize the healthcare landscape, these changes are reshaping the lives and work of care workers. In this blog, Sreerekha Sathi shares insights from her research, which explores important questions about how digital technologies are reshaping care work in the Netherlands specifically: how these innovations are affecting care workers and how care homes are adapting to digital solutions and AI-assisted robotics. What specific forms of AI-assisted robotics are currently being utilized in Dutch care homes and how can we evaluate the benefits, challenges and risks associated with their implementation?
Source: Unsplash
Digitalization, robotization and the care worker
The Dutch healthcare sector faces increasing inequality in access to care, staff shortages, increasing workloads and a high percentage of aging populations. Around two thousand government-funded care homes serve the elderly, those with dementia, disabilities and other care needs.
Like other countries in Europe, the Netherlands has been experimenting with digitization and robotization in health care. Over the past two decades, AI-assisted digital tools and Socially Assistive Robots (SARS) have become more common in surgeries, patient monitoring, consultations, diagnostics, rehabilitation, telemedicine, cognitive and emotional care, especially in the post-pandemic period (Getson, C., & Nejat, G. 2021, Kang et al. 2023). Beyond Europe, countries like China and Japan lead these developments, with Sweden and the Netherlands close behind.
The use of digital solutions and AI-assisted robotics have moved beyond the experimental phase into early adoption. Current discussion focuses on opportunities for collaboration between private companies, academic institutions and healthcare providers. This pilot study involved conversations with few care workers in the care homes, innovation managers, company officials and academic scholars in the Netherlands.
Conversations with care workers show that most technologies in use are still relatively simple – medication dispensers, sensor systems and communication tablets – selected for their affordability and ease. Once prescribed, digital care tools like Compaan, Freestyle Libre, MelioTherm, Medido, Sansara or Mono Medical are introduced to clients by neighbourhood digital teams, usually via smartphone apps connected through WIFI as part of online digital care.
The introduction of robots is slowly gaining ground. Many universities, including Erasmus University, are collaborating with private companies on new projects in robotization and digitalization in health care. Some of the robots which are popular in use currently in Europe include TinyBots (Tessa), Zorabots (NAO), Pepper, Paro and other robotic pets, and SARA, which supports dementia patients. Some care workers believe that the robots promote social contact and enhance patients’ independence, while others appreciate that robots taking over peripheral tasks can make their own work easier.
Care workers are required to learn and engage with new technologies, which directly affect their everyday lives. Although they are relatively well paid by normal standards, their workload and stress often exceed what their pay reflects. Larger, well-funded care homes have support staff who assist care workers for indirect or non-medical support at lower pay. When new technologies are introduced without sufficient involvement and inputs from the workers, they can lead to more burden on workers in terms of time and labour costs. For them, new technologies are often ‘thrown over the fence’, with insufficient training or involvement of care workers in design or decision-making, leading to frustration, resistance and underuse even when the tools are effective. They argue, ‘we don’t need fancy tools – just the right tools used in the right way.’
Many workers feel that if a robot can take on physical tasks, the workers can give clients more time and attention. When the purpose of a tool is clearly explained, and workers remain present in critical moments, clients and families are more accepting of new technology.
Gender and labour in new technologies
Feminist Science and Technology Studies (FSTS) has long shown how technologies carry gendered biases. Feminist histories of computing have highlighted women’s contribution to the invention and introduction of computers and software (Browne, Stephen & McInerney, 2023). A relevant question to explore today is would new technologies using AI assisted robotics replicate the same biases. Although new technologies are often presented as objective, they are built upon datasets and assumptions that can reproduce biases and stereotypes, based on the foundations of the feeds and accesses in-built into it (1). Robots, for instance, often reflect the idealized gendered traits. Nurse robots are designed with feminine or childlike features – extroverted and friendly – versus ‘techno-police’ styled introvert security robots as stoic and masculine.
Care work remains a heavily gendered profession, though more men are joining the field. While some men care workers face occasional client push back, they are increasingly welcomed amid shortages. Many care workers worry about being replaced by robots, yet most agree that emotional presence of caregivers – especially in elderly and dementia care – remains essential and robots may support but cannot substitute the human connection that defines good care work.
Further, workers also stress that technology must be context-sensitive: its success depends on the socio-economic profile of the area, staff availability and the lived preferences of the people receiving care. They advocate for flexible, context-based implementation rather than top-down standardization of new machines. Core to the debates on digitalization and robotization in care are ethical issues often narrowly framed as privacy concerns but extending to autonomy, emotional dignity and growing surveillance and inequality.
Insights into the future
The study observe that many attempts to introduce digital technologies or robotics in care homes stall in the pilot phase, often disliked or abandoned by care professionals or clients. Care workers need time and training to trust these devices, especially regarding the risks and uncertainties involved. They emphasize early involvement through co-design as essential for building trust, transparency and accountability. For sustainable implementation, the focus should shift from what is ‘new’ to what is ‘useful’.
Future debates will likely centre around prioritizing digitization in health care versus SARs in physical care. Persistent challenges include time constraints to software failures (Huisman & Kort 2019). As efforts to create ‘smart homes’ and support independent living continue (Allaban, Wang & Padir 2020), environmental sustainability and climate resilience must become priorities.
Another important step for exploration is to critically analyze the growing corporatization and monopolization in digitization and robotization (Zuboff, 2019; Hao, 2025). Rather than leaving healthcare innovations to monopolies or private capital, public or community-based state welfare support must retain agency in how digital and robotic tools are implemented. Finally, pushing back from military robotics towards socially beneficial technologies – such as health care or waste management – needs to be prioritized.
As a work in progress, this research is significant for understanding the social impacts of digitalization and robotization. In the next step of this study, these conversations will further bring together care workers, academics and innovative managers between the global south and the global north to foster dialogue about how these changes are reshaping the healthcare economy, care homes and the future of care workers.
End Note:
A focus on changing forms of labour, along with the concerns around gender stereotypes and gendered knowledges attributed to social robots, is important for further exploration in the fields of AI-assisted occupations. The introduction of new machines involves the invisible human labour behind them, which is mostly the ‘ghost workers’ from the global south, whether with data work, coding or mining. What is inherent to existing social contexts, including gender, class, and racial stereotypes, are already heavily compromising the digital world.
Acknowledgements: This research was supported by a small grant from Erasmus Trustfonds for 2024-2025, I embarked on this short study to explore these questions. Although the grant period concluded in June 2025, the research continues. I would like to thank Ms. Julia van Stenis for her invaluable support in making this study possible.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question
About the author:
Sreerekha Sathi
Sreerekha Sathiworks on issues of gender, political economy, and critical development studies. Her current research explores the intersections of gender, care, and labour with digitalization, AI, and the future of work, and engages with critical debates in decolonial thought. She is a member of the editorial board ofDevelopment and Change.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
A red line has been drawn three times now by private citizens, who have not only called for boycotts against Israel to hold it accountable for atrocity crimes, but also the responsibility of their own governments to bring about sanctions. Beyond the ethical imperative, sanctions have legal foundations in international (humanitarian) law. In this blog post, Irene van Staveren and Binyam Afewerk Demena consider the role of sanctions and boycotts in changing the behaviour of governments that carry out human rights abuses and international crimes. Whilst sanctions have a mixed record of success, given the substantial economic ties between Israel and the Netherlands, they could be a powerful tool of accountability as the death toll in the Gaza genocide continues to climb even after the ceasefire. Peace and justice are still far out of sight. Outside of government action, what can people do by ‘voting with their feet’?
We’ve had three massive demonstrations, with 100,000, 150,000 and 250,000 participants each, set against a cruel political unwillingness on the part of most EU states to exercise any criticism of the state of Israel and its genocide in Gaza. The Dutch government too remains silent. Small gestures in the direction of accountability proposed by Parliament members have not gained a majority vote due to a majority of right-wing parties. Only very recently, a majority vote was obtained to boycott products from the occupied territories on the West Bank, but how, when and even if this will be implemented is unknown. Palestine has also become an election issue and on 29 October there will be an opportunity for voters to express their voice against the Dutch government’s de-facto support for genocide, including withholding humanitarian aid and occupying a large border zone in Gaza as well as continuing killings.
When it comes to sanctions, the Dutch government has been hiding behind the EU, arguing that joint action would be more effective. That may be the case in theory, but as long as the EU remains divided about criticism, let alone sanctions on Israel, there is nothing to stop each member state from exercising their own, legal responsibility to implement sanctions (while at the same time lobbying the EU for joint action). Unilateral and multilateral sanctions are derived from various international treaties that states are a signatory to, including the United Nations Charter, the Geneva Conventions and the Genocide Convention.
Sanctions concern the intersection of war, law and economy. Not only as a means of pressure; it is even the case that an economy can profit from war. Francesca Albanese, UN Special Rapporteur on the Palestinian Territories, recently concluded that we can speak of an economy of genocide. In the first year and a half of the assault on Gaza, her report to the UN states, the Tel Aviv Stock Exchange achieved a record 179 per cent increase, translating into a $157.9 billion gain. Albanese calls for sanctions.
Before we delve into the conditions under which sanctions tend to be most effective, first a clarification of what a call for sanctions against the State of Israel is about. It is not about pestering the average Israeli man, woman or child, and certainly it has nothing to do with antisemitism. It is about accountability to international law, impacting and weakening a government accused of serious international crimes and other violations of international law, including the crime of genocide. It is accomplished through affecting its trade in goods, services and weapons, including ending military cooperation, as well as sports and cultural exchanges and university cooperation, thereby seeking to affect Israel’s earnings and opportunities as well as its public support. As was the case with South Africa, which also experienced a range of trade, economic and cultural sanctions, there are many Israelis who call for sanctions from within. They do so because they object to their country’s policies and would like to see the government fall. Although many are satisfied with the return of all surviving hostages, many, though by far not enough, wish to see an immediate end to the cruelties against Palestinians and occupation of the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem (although not everybody supports all these goals together).
Do sanctions work?
A new study published in Econometrics takes a fresh look at a four decades-old debate, asking a simple question: When do economic sanctions actually work? For years, researchers and policymakers have wrestled with mixed evidence. Some studies say sanctions work wonders; others show they barely make a dent. Until now, this back-and-forth has made it hard to generalize on the impact of imposing sanctions against a state. The 2025 study, ’A Meta Analysis of Determinants of Success and Failure of Economic Sanctions’, by one of the authors of this blog post, offers some perspective by systematically analysing empirical studies spanning a period between 1985 and 2018.
What can be discerned from available research is that the success of economic sanctions boils down to three key pillars, or ingredients, of sanctions success. The first is strong trade linkages: if the target country depends heavily on the sender for trade, sanctions hurt more and thus have a higher chance of success. Sanctions are far less effective when countries have diversified their trade or can pivot elsewhere. The second is swift implementation: time is of the essence. Sanctions that are quickly imposed after the triggering event are more likely to succeed, which in the case of Israel has been a repeated manifestation of triggering events. Delay gives the target state time to prepare, rally support or dig in politically, which has also been observed routinely in Israel, especially, though not limited to, the period since October 2023. The third is pre-existing friendly relations: sanctions are more effective when countries have had relatively good political or diplomatic ties before the breakdown. If prior relations are bad, then a potential target could pre-empt the sanction and reduce its impact, for instance through proactive reorientation to new markets or by stock piling.
For policymakers, the message implies choose your battles wisely. Blanket sanctions, in the absence of strong ties or timely coordination may amount to little more than political posturing.
Three cases
Success story: The apartheid regime of South Africa is among the most frequently cited examples where sanctions have supported major political change. In this case, sustained international pressure, including trade embargoes and financial restrictions, helped isolate the regime and eventually led to political transitions. Crucially, this was supported by broad multilateral cooperation, strong trade ties, a vocal and well-organized civil society and clear moral consensus, all of which amplified the sanctions’ impact.
Mixed outcomes:Sanctions against Iran over its nuclear programme have shown limited but measurable economic impact, causing inflation, currency collapse and reduced oil exports. However, despite the economic pain, sanctions alone have not forced a full policy reversal, perhaps highlighting the limits of pressure when strategic interests and national pride are at stake. Sanctions on Iran may have exerted short-term pressure and led to temporary concessions, but they have ultimately failed to achieve long-term success. They have therefore recently been reimposed.
Clear failures: By sharp contrast, US-driven sanctions against Iraq in the 1990s utterly failed to change Saddam Hussein’s regime. Sanctions against Iraq under the regime of Saddam Hussein caused extensive humanitarian harm and met the typical economic criteria for success, being swift and economically damaging, yet ultimately failed to achieve their political objective. This suggests that in some cases regimes are resistant to external pressure when leaders do not prioritize national economic well-being. For example, the extensive sanctions on Russia since 2014 (and escalated in 2022) have hurt its economy and isolated it diplomatically, but have not deterred its military actions in Ukraine.
These cases underscore the limits of sanctions when the target is economically resilient, politically isolated or willing and able to absorb long-term costs to the detriment of the population. Indeed, a recent study in The Lancet has demonstrated a causal relationship between sanctions and civilian deaths, with the strongest effects on mortality for unilateral, economic and US sanctions. But the study did not find any statistical evidence of a large civilian death toll resulting from UN sanctions. This re-emphasizes the importance of UN-based sanctions as they are likely to be more effective with less unnecessary deaths among civilians.
A recent study, which also examines the factors shaping the success or failure of sanctions, finds that the institutionalization of sanctions within the sender coalition is associated with higher success rates than cases that are less multilaterally supported. UN-based sanctions provide a clear example: by embedding measures within a multilateral, rules-based framework, they enhance legitimacy, facilitate coordination and limit opportunities for evasion; mechanisms that the literature consistently links to greater effectiveness compared to unilateral or non-institutionalized sanctions.
The above country-examples per category of effectiveness resonate with what the research tells us: sanctions are most effective when they are timely, targeted and backed by strong international – UN – coordination, especially when the target state is economically dependent on the sender.
From research to action: Trade between the Netherlands and Israel
Let’s learn from these experiences in putting pressure on the State of Israel as well as other states, institutions and companies that are complicit in its violations. For decades, and especially over the past few years, the Netherlands has built up a consistent trade surplus with Israel. IMF estimates indicate that exports to Israel average close to three billion euros, exceeding imports, which stand at around two billion euros. This trade volume has remained almost unchanged since 7 October 2023 when Hamas carried out a horrible attack on Israel and took hostages. This attack was followed by retaliations by the IDF (Israeli Defence Forces) leading to a devastating, and still ongoing, genocide in Gaza. Israel also arrested around 10,000 Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza, mostly civilians, and many without charge, while only a minority has been released after the formal ceasefire and return of all living hostages by Hamas.
Meanwhile, the month-to-month trade data shows a sudden increase in Dutch exports to Israel last March – the largest export volume in 2.5 years. The EU is Israel’s largest trading partner and within the EU, the Netherlands is the fourth largest trading partner. According to the Financiele Dagblad, Dutch financial firms have around 1 billion euros of investments in the occupied territories. The EU is also the largest investor in Israel and the Netherlands ranks as the number one investor.
The biggest trade volumes concern minerals, technical, machinery and chemicals, both for exports and imports. Sanctions included in this trade category in particular would hurt Israeli businesses and thereby put pressure on the Israeli government. Dutch firms may be hurt as well, but it would come at a time when the portfolios of many Dutch industries are filled with more orders than their technical personnel shortages are able to fulfill, particularly with additional, new orders by the Dutch army due to the new NATO spending norm.
This brings us to arms trade between the two countries, which should be the target of a complete embargo, for two reasons. First, Israeli weapon systems are sold as combat tested, which includes testing on civilians in Gaza. Second, Dutch arms exports to Israel have reportedly been used to commit international crimes, including genocide, directly or indirectly in Gaza. Dutch arms exports to Israel are relatively small but nevertheless have still been worth nearly four million euro since 7 October 2023. These exports include parts for rocket and radar systems, and parts for F-16 and F-35 fighter jets. In addition, ships from the port of Rotterdam and flights from Schiphol airport in Amsterdam have regularly carried ammunition from the US to Israel. Exports to Israel also include dual-use goods (military and civil use), which have an estimated value of 60 million euro, including high-tech parts from the Dutch tech company ASML.
Arms imports from Israel are worth more than arms exports – 34 million USD in 2024 – and they are well documented by the Dutch NGO PAX. They include weapons-systems and parts from Israel Aerospace Industries and Rafael Advanced Defense Systems as well as Elbit systems, which has also a subsidiary in the municipality of Woensdrecht in the South of the Netherlands. Imports from Israel include a wide variety of products from bullet-proof vests to an anti-drone system, and include Spike anti-tank rockets as well as Barak-rockets for new Dutch marine vessels. By contrast, Spain has recently cancelled two weapon systems ordered from Israel, including Spike anti-tank rockets that the Netherlands has also purchased recently. In other words, it can be done!
All this shows that even though EU-wide sanctions are not in place, individual EU-members have a lot of scope to take up their legal responsibility of holding the State of Israel accountable for atrocity crimes and ending all forms of the ongoing genocide, beginning with military trade sanctions. This could go a step further with a coalition of the willing. This should include The Netherlands, given its hosting of the International Court of Justice, which in its 2024 Advisory Opinion reiterated its earlier call for measures to be taken by States to hold Israel accountable for its illegal occupation. This would furthermore be in accordance with the policies of previous Dutch administrations, which have called for respect for UN resolutions supporting peace and justice.
Humanitarian exemption
A further export category from the Netherlands to Israel is pharmaceuticals and medicines, worth nearly 100 million euro per year. These could be exempted from sanctions on the basis of an ethics of care. Whereas a justice ethics is necessary for strong and immediate trade sanctions and an arms embargo, this does not mean that we should use the same immoral reasoning as the government of Israel does concerning humanitarian needs in Gaza, which has denied access to medication and medical treatment for Palestinians. An ethics of care takes empathy into account and exempts humanitarian goods from the pressures of sanctions on a government. At the same time, imports of pharmaceutical and medicines from Israel should be stopped, because there are alternatives available for Dutch patients to the Israeli brand of Teva, a company which strongly supports the IDF.
What we can do ourselves
Apart from what the Dutch government may do, there are many other ways for consumers to draw their own red line for peace and justice through a citizen-led boycott. First, there are growing reasons not to book any accommodation through Booking.com or AirBnB anymore, particularly due to these companies listing properties in illegally-occupied areas and thereby profiting from Israel’s illegal occupation. Second, there are many justifications expressed by Dutch NGO PAX and others not to buy any consumer goods from Israel. These are easy to identify with the product barcode starting with the country code 729 or by using a app such as Boycat and the Palestinian-developed No Thanks. Third, one can refrain from buying generic medication from Israeli brands Teva and its related Pharmachemie in drugstores and pharmacies (drugs such as paracetamol), and also take it a step further by writing to their health insurer asking to stop the partnership with Teva for any medication. This is relevant because in the Netherlands, several health insurers purchase up to 44% of their medication from Teva.
In conclusion, let’s pursue boycott as citizens and let’s put strong pressure on the Dutch government and the EU to apply a full package of sanctions and an arms embargo to push for a complete end to all genocidal actions of Israel, because the window for their effectiveness is closing slowly. The sanctions on South Africa in the 1980s set an excellent example.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question
About the authors:
Irene van Staveren
Irene van Staveren is Professor of Pluralist Development Economics at the ISS. Professor Van Staveren’s field of research included feminist economics, heterodox economics, pluralist economics and social economics. Specifically, her fields of expertise lie in ethics and economic philosophy.
Binyam Demena
Binyam Afewerk Demena holds the Assistant Professor of Development Economics position at the International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University Rotterdam, in The Netherlands. His research, deeply rooted in the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), centers on international economics, environmental impacts, development, and health.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
Slovakia is emerging as a hub for African students seeking affordable, EU-recognized education, thanks to competitive tuition, a safe environment, and growing international support. Yet, life after graduation raises questions: Do students stay or leave, and what barriers shape their decisions? In this blog, Terézia Zemeníková and Lucia Mýtna Kureková, from the Slovak Academy of Sciences explore the social, cultural, and academic experiences of African students in Slovakia, highlighting challenges and calling for policy changes to better support and retain international talent.
Slovakia: A developing educational destination with persistent issues
Slovakia is becoming an unexpected hub for African students seeking affordable education and recognized EU qualifications. Universities offer a range of programs at competitive tuition rates, and the country’s EU membership ensures that degrees earned are recognized across Europe. Additionally, Slovakia’s safe environment, relatively low cost of living, and growing international student support contribute to this appeal. But what happens after graduation? Are these students building a future there or moving on? Are there any barriers in their life in Slovakia? How do the barriers they face in Slovakia influence their post-graduation decisions? This blog aims to inform readers about the unique experiences and challenges faced by African students who migrate to Slovakia, shedding light on their journey as an underrepresented group within the country’s educational landscape. Based on in-depth research and analysis, the blog presents comprehensive findings that explore the social, cultural, and academic aspects of migration. It also calls attention to needed policy changes to increase country’s potential to attract, accept, and retain foreign students.
Surveying migrant decision-making
Between 2024 and 2025, the Institute for Forecasting of the Slovak Academy of Sciences conducted 34 interviews with respondents from African countries as part of the PACES project, to understand their motivations for staying or leaving Slovakia. Within this group of participants, 17 were identified as past or current students: 7 Master’s, 7 PhD and 3 Bachelor’s students. Our respondents have mostly studied finance, economics and business (7), mathematical science (3), medicine (dentistry) (3) and computer science (1).
We conducted a study using these 17 interviews and secondary research to better understand the decision-making of African students to stay or leave Slovakia and the influence of barriers they faced in Slovakia. Findings show that 41 per cent (7) of the respondents are planning to leave Slovakia after graduation, 29 per cent (5) plan to stay and 1 plans to return to their home country. The remaining 4 (24 per cent) refused to answer or did not know, which indicates their uncertainty about their future movement.
What do the numbers say?
Slovakia is not a typical migration destination for Africans, and still serves mostly as a transit country for those seeking destinations elsewhere in Europe. African migrants come to Slovakia for various reasons, but many are highly educated and come to study. While the population of African students is small, it is steadily growing.
Recent data show that 134 African students are enrolled in Bachelor’s and Master’s programmes, and 36 are at the doctoral level. While smaller than student populations from Europe or Asia, their presence is both vital and growing. The 17 African students interviewed in this study, while a small sample, represent 10 per cent of all African students in Slovakia in 2024.
International students choose Slovakia for various reasons:
– Programme structures: Interesting programmes offered by Slovak universities increased motivation to apply (5 respondents);
– Networks: Friends or relatives who studied in Slovakia encouraged others to come and apply for studies (4 respondents);
– Policies: Governmental scholarship schemes offered accessible pathways and more sustainable future prospects (2 respondents);
– Affordability: Tuition fees were affordable and lower than in most other EU countries (2 respondents);
– EU diploma recognition: Degrees obtained in Slovakia open opportunities across Europe (1 respondent).
‘The number one determinant was that the school was affordable; it was cheaper than any other school in the European Union. I saw and read the structure of the programme; I liked it. I applied and luckily they gave me admission.’ – Male graduate from Nigeria.
While student migration often marks the beginning of temporary or even long-term migration plans, the subsequent realities faced by the migrants may significantly influence their decisions. Research showed that African students face several specific integration barriers, which lead to very uncertain prospects, and essentially might encourage leaving more than staying in Slovakia.
The walls they hit
Interviews revealed that the reasons for students’ decision to leave included language barriers (6 respondents), limited job opportunities and low salaries (5), difficulties with visa renewal processes and communication with the Foreign Police (5). Students also reported obstacles in securing housing, healthcare and work permits.
Language was the most significant barrier: 16 out of 17 respondents experienced difficulties, and 31% described it as the factor most strongly shaping their decision to leave. Only three respondents who had real opportunities to learn Slovak were more likely to stay, but most courses were short-term and basic, preventing higher proficiency.
Legal hurdles further restricted settlement. Strict and lengthy procedures for temporary residence permits, combined with uncertainty about work permits after graduation, discouraged students from pursuing long-term employment. Discrimination in housing also surfaced:
‘It happened to me, or you might find housing, and once they realize you’re a foreigner, either the prices are changed, or the terms of the contract change, or they just refuse… like we don’t accept foreigners.’ – Male graduate from Kenya.
Out of 17 students, 4 have experienced a school-to-work transition. Yet only 1 of them wanted to stay in Slovakia after finding the employment. This suggests that barriers extend beyond securing a job after graduation and shape students’ broader perceptions of life in the country.
‘What do I lack in Slovakia? I lack a vibrant African community. I don’t have many friends, even though I have stayed here for a long time. Jobs are scarce. Opportunities for personal improvement and development are low, even if you are employed. Whatever salary you are getting, almost half of it is going to taxes to cover your expenses. The quality of life is OK in Slovakia, but language is an issue. Salaries are low, the jobs are few, and the supporting communities are also weak.‘ – Male graduate from Kenya.
Despite these challenges, a few students still chose to stay. Five respondents cited career opportunities as the main reason, supported by Slovakia’s security (1), calm environment (1) and personal relationships they had built (1).
What can change?
Although Slovakia’s current policies aim to attract, accept and retain foreign students, there remains a lack of specific and consistent support policies at the government and university level. Findings from this research indicate that ensuring smoother transitions from study to work and strengthening comprehensive integration policies would make Slovakia a more viable long-term destination.
Government level: Introduce a structured post-study visa pathway to allow graduates to seek employment and contribute to the economy. Simplify residence and work permit procedures to reduce legal uncertainty;
Universities: Create stronger academic and administrative support systems, including help with paperwork and tailored career services; offer free Slovak language courses within university curricula, extending beyond basic proficiency, to improve labour market integration and long-term settlement;
Institutions: Build support networks to foster integration and counter isolation among foreign students. Develop local level initiatives and allocate resources to support integration into social security system and community activities.
What we have learned
The research shows that Slovak language knowledge is pivotal for African migrants, shaping everything from healthcare access to social participation. As long as language barriers persist, the potential of Slovakia as a true destination country will remain limited.
Policy gaps also hinder international graduates’ settlement. While African migrants prioritize language acquisition and clear pathways to employment when deciding to stay, existing integration policies in Slovakia fall short in addressing these critical needs, resulting in a misalignment that limits the country’s attractiveness as a permanent settlement option and perpetuates its status as primarily a transit country. In addition to helping the nation’s economic and social development, addressing these gaps by better aligning policies with research findings, creating clear post-study work pathways, bolstering institutional support and integrating language learning would make Slovakia a more appealing and feasible long-term destination for international graduates.
For Slovakia to shift from a ‘transit’ to a ‘destination’ country that attracts skilled newcomers, government actors must be willing to invest in structured support, anti-discrimination measures and deliberate social integration initiatives.
This blog draws on the PACES project, a Horizon Europe-funded research initiative that uncovers how migrants make decisions in rapidly changing societies and how policy environments influence their mobility. The project combines policy analysis with qualitative fieldwork across Europe and Africa, offering a robust framework for analysing migration in a broader societal and institutional context.
This blog is part of the PACES project funded by the European Union. Views and opinions expressed are those of the authors only and do not necessarily reflect those of the European Union. Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the authors:
Terézia Zemeníková
Terézia Zemeníková graduated from The Hague University of Applied Sciences and completed an internship at the Centre of Social and Psychological Sciences, Institute for Forecasting of the Slovak Academy of Sciences. Her research focused on labour migration, student migration and the social inclusion of African migrants in Slovakia, exploring integration processes and intercultural understanding.
Lucia Mýtna Kureková
Lucia Mýtna Kureková (PhD) is a senior researcher at the Slovak Academy of Sciences (SAS). Her research focuses on areas such as labour migration and labour market integration of immigrants in the EU; welfare and social inclusion; skills and technological change; and online labour market data. She has participated as lead researcher in several international collaborative research projects funded by the European Commission.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
M-PESA, a fintech platform, created alternative banking for those previously excluded from formal finance. While it advanced financial inclusion, it also highlighted deep inequalities and the extraction of value from vulnerable users. In this blog, Anna Elias, Erwin Tuijl, and Jasmin Hofman remind us that frugal innovation is not just about low-cost solutions — it is about addressing the social and political dimensions of exclusion and examining who truly benefits from digital progress.
M-PESA is often cited as a landmark example of frugal innovation in the digital era. This fintech platform created an alternative banking infrastructure for people in informal economies who previously lacked access to formal banking. While M-PESA has significantly advanced financial inclusion, it has also been criticised for deepening inequalities between those who have and those who lack access, as well as enabling its operators to extract value from vulnerable users in informal settlements . This case highlights an important nuance: frugal innovation should not only be understood as delivering low-cost and simple solutions, but through a more holistic lens that embeds social and political dimensions to actively tackle exclusion and inequality This broader framing pushes us to critically examine how digital platforms do more than just lower entry barriers, they shape who ultimately benefits and who remains excluded.
This tension between increased accessibility and persistent exclusion also appears in social media platforms like YouTube and Facebook. These platforms empower grassroots innovators in the Global South to reach wider markets, but gaining visibility often requires additional investments in advertising or search optimization, reinforcing inequalities based on users’ resources. In contrast, in refugee camps, semi-literate women use WhatsApp for voice messages and photo sharing, fostering new forms of collective agency and entrepreneurship despite limited formal infrastructure.
These examples show that digital platforms can enable users to overcome resource constraints in innovative ways. Frugal innovations aim to “do more with less for more people,” characterized by low cost, simplicity, and ease of access. Yet frugal is not always inclusive.
So, where do gig platforms fit within this framework? Are they truly frugal, that is easy to use, affordable, accessible and do they effectively address livelihood challenges in informal economies? Gig platforms connect people offering short, flexible tasks or “gigs” with customers. They broadly fall into two categories: remote digital work such as coding, translation or data entry on platforms like Amazon Mechanical Turk, and location-based services like ride-hailing, food delivery or home maintenance via SafeBoda, Uber, PedidosYa or Urban Company.
To understand how these platforms operate, we highlight the case of Sonal, a beautician in a Mumbai suburb, whom one of the author’s engaged with during fieldwork. At 5 AM, she prepares her kit and checks her Urban Company app, which has scheduled six appointments for her that day. Before joining the platform, Sonal struggled to find steady work, relying on informal networks and occasional beauty parlour jobs, opportunities that diminished further after COVID-19. Urban Company now connects her to customers she would not otherwise reach. Yet, her income fluctuates with the platform’s algorithms: her rating dropped after a couple of three (with five being the maximum) star reviews, affecting her visibility and job allocation. She is also repaying her smartphone in instalments, a vital tool for her livelihood, which reduces her daily take-home pay. Many workers like Sonal navigate this digital frontier across many contexts, balancing new opportunities with precarious conditions.
Gig platforms lower entry barriers by providing affordable, ready-made infrastructure: mobile interfaces, algorithmic client matching, payment processing, and marketing reach. Traditionally, workers in informal contexts needed not only monetary capital like owning a vehicle or renting space, but also social capital: trust, networks, and knowledge to secure steady work. Access itself becomes a form of capital determining livelihood security and autonomy. Platforms like SafeBoda or Urban Company bypass these hurdles, enabling workers with limited resources to enter new markets.
Ease of use is critical, especially for workers with low formal education or technical skills. Many gig platforms offer intuitive interfaces with regional language support, voice commands, and simple navigation. For example, the Urban Company app supports multiple regional languages and provides features like earnings dashboard for workers to track payments. Sonal highlights the convenience: “I can see my earnings by day, week, or month all in one place, indicate my availability, and manage my schedule through the app”.
Affordability is another dimension of frugal innovation. Many platforms have minimal or no registration fees, making them more accessible than traditional business setups requiring large upfront investments, buying a vehicle or setting up a salon, for instance. Platforms also reduce marketing costs by aggregating demand and matching it to workers directly, mitigating risks associated with finding customers independently.
At first glance, gig platforms appear to embody frugal innovation by offering low-cost, accessible means to improve livelihoods in informal economies.
Challenging platform frugality
Access to digital infrastructure remains a fundamental prerequisite for using digital platforms. Participation depends on reliable mobile networks, smartphone ownership, and basic digital literacy. While often taken for granted in urban areas, these conditions can be major barriers in rural regions, especially across parts of Africa where network coverage is patchy. Moreover, rural areas’ low population density limits demand for location-based services like ride-hailing or food delivery, deepening the urban-rural divide in gig work opportunities.
Costs of participation also challenge the frugality claim. For example, Jane from the Mathare informal settlement in Kenya sometimes skips meals to afford internet bundles. As for Sonal, she must repay her smartphone in instalments. Some platforms charge fees to service providers or merchants, for instance restaurant owners using Just Eat Takeaway may pay to be featured higher in search results or face fierce price competition [iv]. Beyond platform fees, workers bear costs of smartphones, internet subscriptions, loan repayment for vehicles, or workspace rent. Such expenses create dependencies and exacerbate precarity.
Formal registration requirements can exclude many people. Drivers in India can sign up on Uber with a valid driving license, but residents of informal settlements like Mathare often lack official IDs needed for the registration. Similarly, Syrian refugees in Lebanon are excluded due to their lack of a legal status, and strict SIM card registration rules in Uganda prevent some citizens from accessing mobile platforms at all.
Understanding platform frugality requires a holistic view of frugal innovation that goes beyond low cost and simplicity. It calls for embedding social and political dimensions that address exclusion and power dynamics shaping who benefits. Only through such a comprehensive lens can we critically assess the promises and perils of gig platforms as vehicles for inclusive economic development.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the authors:
Ana Elias
Anna Elias is a PhD researcher at the International Institute of Social Studies, Erasmus University. Her research examines how digital platforms reshape livelihoods within the informal sector, focusing on workers’ experiences in economically disadvantaged, socially hierarchical, and resource-constrained contexts of the Global South. She co-coordinates the Platform Labour Group at Erasmus University and is affiliated with the Platform Work Inclusion Living Lab (PWILL).
Erwin Tuijl
Erwin van Tuijl (PhD, Erasmus University Rotterdam) is researcher and lecturer in Urban Studies at the TU Delft, and at the International Centre for Frugal Innovation (ICFI). He is also affiliated with the European Institute for Comparative Urban Research (Euricur). His current research focuses on just sustainability transitions (with a focus on mobility and energy), digitalisation, (frugal) innovation, and regional development.
Jasmin Hofman
Jasmin Hofman is a strategic professional and coordinator of LDE Global and the International Centre for Frugal Innovation. She develops crossover initiatives that bridge research, education, policy, and practice. With experience in designing educational programs, workshops, and innovative concepts, she leverages her expertise to foster collaboration and deliver impactful projects.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
In this blog, ISS MA Student, Sagar Jung Karki looks into the rise and success of the 2025 ‘Gen Z’ protests in Nepal, that grew into a society-wide protest movement against corruption in the Nepali government. The protests eventually ended with Nepali Prime Minister KP Sharma Oli stepping down. Sagar Jung Karki looks into the way that the protests developed, the reasoning behind their rise, and looks at what may happen in the coming months and years following the protests.
Caption: AI- Generated Abstract Simulation of Singha Durbar palace in Kathmandu on September 9, 2025
Introduction
In less than a week, the Generation Z (Gen Z) protests in Nepal toppled the government, dissolved the parliament and installed the country’s first female prime minister. This was more than a protest; it was a generational awakening that refined Nepalese politics. Moreover, the movement serves as a valuable case study for examining how conflict and development theories explain the tensions and aspirations driving it.
Causes of the Gen Z protest
The Gen Z protest that swept Nepal from 8 to 13 September 2025 became a defining moment in the nation’s history. It was partly inspired by similar youth movements in Bangladesh, Indonesia and Sri Lanka. The protest deeply resonated with youths like myself in a country where power had switched between three entrenched political parties that had been ruling for decades. There were three main reasons for the upheaval. First, there is the rampant corruption, in a country with extremely high levels of inequality. Multiple corruption scandals were exposed by the media in recent years, including the fake Bhutanese refugee scam, the visit visa scam, the airplane purchase scam, and the Baluwatar land scam. These recurring scandals led to growing despair, especially among youths. Secondly, 26 social media platforms like Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube were completely banned on 4 September after being unable to register in the country. Most of the Nepali population, specifically the youth, used these platforms for daily communication. Defying suppression and the gag on their freedom of speech and expression, the youths turned to Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) to criticize the politicians and their ‘Nepotism Kids’ (also known as Nepo Kids)as well as plan the protests. In the days before the protest, social media was filled with content mocking politicians’ families for flaunting wealth while ordinary people struggled to make a living. Third, another significant trigger for the protest was the viral video of a provincial minister’s car hitting a little girl on a zebra crossing and escaping the scene. These series of events forced the Nepali youths to march to the streets in protests hoping for change.
Source: Context News
The aftermath of the protest
The protest initially began peacefully with college students, youth activists and others protesting in designated areas. But the calm was shattered when police opened fire and killed 19 protesters. The next day, the demonstration intensified into vandalism and anarchy with key national assets – including the parliament, presidential residence and supreme court. Most of the politicians’ homes and properties across the country were destroyed. In addition, supermarkets, hotels, showrooms, and other public spaces sustained extensive damage. While many fled to hideouts with military help, some politicians narrowly escaped death at the hands of the youth mob.
Elections for the House of Representatives have been announced for 5 March 2026, despite the opposition of the old parties. However, there are lingering questions about how the elections and the future unfold and whether the changes demanded by the protesters are formalized and institutionalized. Many youths, including the founder of Hami Nepali, have shown interest in contesting the election. For formal representation, however, Gen Z will need the formulation of new political parties and secure an election majority. This will be a difficult and time-consuming process, given the rural stronghold of the three old parties. There is another challenge as the old parties still hold a majority in the provincial and local government levels. Beyond politicians, addressing governance malpractices will require a range of institutional changes in bureaucracy and paradigm shifts in cultural practices. Such changes will take time, but for now, all eyes are fixed on the upcoming elections and whether Gen Z-led political parties will gain the majority to form a government.
Key Takeaways
At its heart, the Gen Z protest in Nepal was more than a political outburst, it was a clash between generations, power, and unmet promises. Political Scientist Henrik Urdal’s analysis of ‘youth bulges’ can be better understood through the lens of Conflict theory helps explain this tension. When a large youth population feels excluded from decision-making and struggles with economic insecurity, frustration builds. Nepal’s young people, digitally connected and politically aware, turned that frustration into collective action. Social media became their loudspeaker, uniting scattered voices into a nationwide movement. Ironically, government attempts to suppress dissent only confirmed the protesters’ belief that their leaders were out of touch, echoing conflict theory’s idea that repression often fuels, rather than calms, public anger.
From a development perspective, Nepal’s story reflects the tension between a weak state and a strong society. Years of corruption and poor governance weakened institutions, but civil society, especially youth groups, showed remarkable resilience. Organisations like Hami Nepal and online communities stepped up where the state faltered, proving that civic energy can fill governance gaps. Yet, as development theories reminds us, activism alone cannot replace institutional reform. The army’s temporary role in stabilising the situation showed both the trust citizens still have in traditional institutions and the fragility of democratic systems that depend on them.
Ultimately, Nepal’s Gen Z reminded the world that even in fragile democracies, young people can reshape political landscapes. Their protests were not just about anger, they were about reclaiming voice and accountability. For policymakers, the message is simple: when states fail to listen, societies speak louder.
Across Asia, and beyond, similar Gen Z movements are emerging, digitally savvy, and justice-driven. Among the countries experiencing crises and catastrophes, some have recovered and transitioned, while others have continued to suffer. It is yet to be seen whether these upheavals will bring in the demanded changes in the countries or fail to do so.
Opinions expressed in Bliss posts reflect solely the views of the author of the post in question.
About the author:
Sagar Karki
Sagar Jung Karki is a current MA in Development Studies student at the International Institute for Social Studies (ISS), specializing in Economics of Development (ECD). He previously worked for think tanks on development consulting projects in Nepal. His research interests are trade and investment policies, sustainability, globalization and development.
Are you looking for more content about Global Development and Social Justice? Subscribe to Bliss, the official blog of the International Institute of Social Studies, and stay updated about interesting topics our researchers are working on.
By 
