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Nakon još jednog niza uspješnih izbora – ovaj puta na lokalnoj razini – hrvatska zeleno-lijeva platforma Možemo! nalazi se na ključnoj prekretnici. Može li istodobno ispuniti obećanja o promjenama, ostati vjerna svojim temeljima i odgovoriti na sve zahtjevnije izazove profesionalnog upravljanja na lokalnoj, nacionalnoj i europskoj razini?

Kada su Zagrepčani u svibnju izašli na birališta na lokalnim izborima, nisu birali samo gradonačelnika. Nakon četiri godine upravljanja gradom od strane koalicije Možemo! i Socijaldemokratske partije (SDP), ovi su izbori zapravo poslužili kao svojevrsni referendum o prvoj zeleno-lijevoj vlasti u povijesti hrvatske metropole.

Rezultat je bio uvjerljiva pobjeda koalicije. U utrci za gradonačelnika, kandidat Možemo! Tomislav Tomašević ušao je u drugi krug s 47,6 posto glasova, daleko ispred desne protukandidatkinje Marije Selak Raspudić, koja je osvojila tek 15,7 posto. Drugi krug završio je uvjerljivom pobjedom Tomaševića, koji je osvojio 56,6 posto glasova. Još važnije, Možemo! i SDP zadržali su većinu u Gradskoj skupštini, čime su osigurali ključan preduvjet za kontinuitet u upravljanju gradom.

Možemo! je dobre rezultate ostvario i u drugim dijelovima Hrvatske. U Pazinu je Suzana Jašić ponovno izabrana za gradonačelnicu, što je potvrdilo stabilnu podršku platformi u toj sredini. U Karlovcu je kandidatkinja Možemo! Draženka Polović ostvarila iznenađujuće dobar rezultat i za svega nekoliko postotnih bodova propustila pobijediti u gradonačelničkoj utrci, simbolički značajan iskorak u regiji u kojoj platforma dosad nije imala jače političko uporište. U Rijeci, Splitu, Osijeku, Dubrovniku, Puli i drugim većim gradovima Možemo! je zadržao svoje vijećnike, potvrdivši da njihova biračka baza ostaje najjača u urbanim sredinama.

Ali što stoji iza ovog uspjeha?

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Gotovo dva desetljeća Zagrebom je upravljao populist Milan Bandić sa svojom klijentelističkom hobotnicom. Njegova vladavina obilježena je brojnim korupcijskim aferama, netransparentnim upravljanjem, rastućim dugom i urbanističkim kaosima, no njegova iznenadna smrt početkom 2021. otvorila je politički prostor koji je Možemo! brzo i strateški iskoristio.

Uoči lokalnih izbora te godine, Možemo! je kampanju temeljio na obećanjima o dubokoj političkoj, administrativnoj i infrastrukturnoj obnovi, zasnovanoj na transparentnosti, održivosti i socijalnoj pravdi. Ključne točke kampanje 2021. uključivale su zatvaranje odlagališta otpada na Jakuševcu, ulaganja u javni prijevoz, ubrzanje obnove nakon potresa i pokretanje zelene tranzicije. Ubrzo nakon izbora, Tomašević je postao ključna politička figura i simbol generacijske i političke promjene.

Možemo! je osvojio 23 od ukupno 47 mjesta u Gradskoj skupštini i formirao većinu zajedno sa SDP-om. Prvi mandat koalicije bio je obilježen naporima da se stabilizira naslijeđena situacija restrukturiranjem gradskih poduzeća, konsolidacijom javnih financija i otvorenim upravljanjem prema javnosti. Ostvareni su vidljivi pomaci u modernizaciji javnog prijevoza, obnovi vrtića i škola te ulaganjima u sportsku infrastrukturu. Nabava novih  Končarevih tramvaja, uvođenje novih električnih autobusa i širenje pješačkih zona u središtu grada, označili su konkretan pomak prema zelenijem i građanima pristupačnijem urbanom prostoru. Iako neka od ključnih predizbornih obećanja – poput zatvaranja odlagališta otpada na Jakuševcu nisu realizirana, a provedba reformi bila je usporena uslijed otpora interesnih struktura povezanih s bivšom gradskom upravom, birači su ipak odlučili dati povjerenje Možemo! za još jedan mandat.

U svom pobjedničkom govoru tijekom izborne noći, Tomašević je najavio da slijedi „mandat razvoja“, naglasivši kako je prvi mandat bio usmjeren na sanaciju naslijeđenog nereda, dok će drugi biti posvećen realizaciji ključnih projekata, od priuštivog stanovanja i energetske tranzicije do velikih infrastrukturnih projekata, uključujući i dugo očekivani centar za gospodarenje otpadom. Sada se postavlja ključno pitanje: može li Možemo! ispuniti ta obećanja i učvrstiti svoju poziciju kao vjerodostojna i stabilna politička snaga?

Turbulentna povijest

Povijest zelenih političkih opcija u Hrvatskoj obilježena je nizom kratkih uzleta i brzih padova, ali i stalnom potragom za autentičnim glasom koji bi zelene i socijalne teme postavio u središte političkog diskursa. Tijekom 1990-ih i ranih 2000-ih, nije bilo ozbiljnijih zelenih aktera na političkoj sceni, a ekološka pitanja uglavnom su ostajala na marginama javne rasprave ili unutar djelovanja civilnog društva.

Prva ozbiljnija politička inicijativa pojavila se 2013. godine osnivanjem stranke Održivi razvoj Hrvatske (ORaH), koju je predvodila tadašnja saborska zastupnica i bivša ministrica zaštite okoliša Mirela Holy. ORaH je u početku doživio snažan uzlet. Poruke o održivoj poljoprivredi, borbi protiv korupcije i društvenoj pravednosti odjeknule su među urbanim, obrazovanim i ekološki osviještenim biračima razočaranima u tadašnju političku ponudu, osobito SDP. U jednom je trenutku stranka dosegnula gotovo 20 % podrške, a vrhunac je uslijedio 2014. godine kada je Davor Škrlec izabran u Europski parlament, postavši prvi zeleni europarlamentarac iz Hrvatske.

Ipak, ORaH nije uspio konsolidirati stranačku strukturu te je ubrzo upao u niz internih sukoba. Na parlamentarnim izborima 2015. nisu osvojili niti jedan mandat, a nedugo potom Holy se povukla iz politike. Bez njezina vodstva, stranka ubrzano nestaje, ostavljajući prazan prostor na zelenoj političkoj sceni.

No taj prostor nije dugo ostao ispražnjen. U Zagrebu je 2017. osnovana inicijativa Zagreb je NAŠ!, koju su pokrenuli zeleni aktivisti, kulturni radnici i sindikalisti s ciljem obrane javnog interesa na lokalnoj razini. Iste godine ostvarili su simbolički važan uspjeh, osvojivši četiri mandata u Gradskoj skupštini Grada Zagreba, što je označilo početak novog poglavlja u razvoju zelenog pokreta u Hrvatskoj.

Politički uspon platforme Možemo! predstavlja rijedak primjer transformacije aktivističkog pokreta u ozbiljnog političkog aktera. Nakon neočekivanog uspjeha na izborima za Skupštinu Grada Zagreba 2017. godine, aktivisti okupljeni oko inicijative Zagreb je NAŠ! zaključili su da zelene i progresivne političke ideje ne smiju ostati ograničene na razinu glavnog grada. Platforma Možemo! formalno je osnovana 2019. godine.

Iako te godine nisu prešli izborni prag na europskim izborima, kampanja im je donijela prepoznatljivost i otvorila prostor za zelene teme u široj javnosti. Pravi politički proboj dogodio se 2020. godine, kada su u sklopu šire zeleno-lijeve koalicije osvojili sedam mandata u Hrvatskom saboru. Time se pokazalo da su birači spremni podržati političku opciju koja povezuje društvenu pravednost, ekološku odgovornost i jasnu antikorupcijsku agendu.

Uslijedila je pobjeda na lokalnim izborima u Zagrebu i Pazinu te ulazak u izvršnu vlast. No s rastom nacionalnog profila došli su i veći izazovi. Godina 2024. pokazala se kao ključni politički ispit za platformu. U tzv. „superizbornoj godini“, koja je uključivala parlamentarne, europske i predsjedničke izbore, Možemo! je morao pokazati da nije samo stranka Zagreba, već i održiva nacionalna politička snaga.

Na parlamentarnim izborima u travnju osvojili su 9,1 posto glasova i povećali broj zastupnika na deset. U lipnju su prvi put izborili zastupnika i u Europskom parlamentu, osiguravši prisutnost i na razini EU institucija.

U prosincu je njihova saborska zastupnica Ivana Kekin bila kandidatkinja na predsjedničkim izborima te osvojila oko 9 % glasova. Tijekom kampanje bila je izložena pravosudnim i političkim  pritiscima , u kojima su sudjelovali i određeni interesni lobiji povezani sa zagrebačkim strukturama moći. Umjesto da joj naštete, ti su napadi dodatno mobilizirali dio birača i učvrstili percepciju Možemo! kao političke opcije koja je trn u oku etabliranim elitama.

Na raskrižju moći

Nakon uspjeha na lokalnim izborima 2025., Možemo! se nalazi na prekretnici. Ulaskom u šestu godinu postojanja i drugi mandat u Zagrebu, Pazinu i Hrvatskom saboru, platforma više ne može računati na efekt političke novosti ili iznenađenja. Pred njima je zrelija faza političkog života, ona u kojoj se odlučuje ne samo o popularnosti, nego i o dugoročnoj održivosti kao ozbiljnog političkog aktera.

Jedna od ključnih dilema s kojom se suočavaju odnosi se na napetost između participativnog lokalnog pristupa iz kojeg su proizašli i potrebe za stranačkom disciplinom na nacionalnoj razini. Možemo! od početka nije zamišljen kao klasična stranka, već kao politička platforma. No upravljanje velikim gradom poput Zagreba, prisutnost u Saboru i sve aktivnija uloga u europskim institucijama zahtijevaju profesionalizaciju, jasnije hijerarhije i sposobnost brzog donošenja odluka.

Kao i mnoge zelene stranke u Europi, Možemo! se suočava s izazovom prijelaza iz svijeta aktivizma u sferu izvršne vlasti, iz ulice u institucije. Ideali horizontalnosti, otvorenosti i participativne demokracije teško se uklapaju u institucionalne okvire koji zahtijevaju brzinu, učinkovitost i jasnu odgovornost. Ključno pitanje za Možemo! postaje: mogu li zadržati vlastite vrijednosti i istovremeno učinkovito upravljati?

Saborska zastupnica i stranačka koordinatorica Sandra Benčić iz prve ruke poznaje pritiske koje nosi odgovornost upravljanja. Kaže kako je platforma od početka svjesna izazova balansiranja između aktivizma i institucionalnog rada, te da zato razvijaju fleksibilan organizacijski model koji nastoji očuvati temeljne vrijednosti, ali omogućiti efikasnu operativnost.

Umjesto tradicionalne stranačke strukture, Možemo! je razvio sustav tematskih grupa u kojima sudjeluju članovi, stručnjaci i zainteresirani građani. Cilj je, kaže Benčić, izgraditi most između „institucionalne politike i društva koje zna, ima iskustvo i želi doprinositi“, čime se nastoji sačuvati horizontalni karakter platforme, ali i omogućiti učinkovito funkcioniranje.

„Ne želimo postaviti strukturu koja će biti uklesana u kamen. Naš cilj je da se odgovornost preuzima kroz rad, da se ljudi isprofiliraju prirodno, bez forsiranja. To je sporije, ali dugoročno održivije,” objašnjava Benčić. Ipak, priznaje da participacija ima svoje granice: „U trenucima kad treba donositi brze odluke, hijerarhija se mora postaviti jasnije jer odgovornost mora biti konkretna. Nije to odstupanje od naših načela, već prilagodba stvarnosti” objašnjava.

Drugi veliki izazov odnosi se na geografsku distribuciju podrške. Iako Možemo! i dalje bilježi dobre rezultate u većim urbanim sredinama, prisutnost u manjim gradovima i ruralnim područjima znatno je slabija. Iako se u kampanjama ističu teme važne za ta područja poput održive poljoprivrede, zelene javne nabave, dostupnog zdravstva, decentralizacije i infrastrukturnih ulaganja, poruke teško probijaju postojeće političke barijere.

To otvara strateško pitanje: treba li Možemo! prilagoditi svoju političku poruku i organizaciju da bi dosegao širi krug birača izvan urbanih jezgri, ili bi time kompromitirali svoj izvorni identitet?

Benčić smatra da nije riječ samo o prilagodbi poruke, nego o nedostatku kapaciteta na terenu. Platforma još uvijek nema dovoljno lokalno ukorijenjenih ljudi koji bi mogli vjerodostojno komunicirati teme i potrebe svojih zajednica.

„Ne želimo samo poslati nekoga s vrha da ‘pokriva teren. Trebaju nam ljudi koji poznaju svoj kraj, stručni su za svoje područje i razumiju lokalnu dinamiku. To gradimo, ali to je proces“, ističe. Također, napominje da čak i kvalitetni programi teško dolaze do izražaja: „Djelomično zato što nas nema dovoljno na terenu, ali i zato što medijski prostor favorizira sukobe i polarizaciju“. Cilj je, zaključuje, ne samo biti prisutan u vrijeme izbora, nego dugoročno ulagati u ljude, političku edukaciju i izgradnju povjerenja u zajednicama gdje još nisu prisutni.

Treći veliki izazov pred kojim se Možemo! nalazi tiče se potrebe za kadrovskim osnaživanjem, pitanje koje postaje sve važnije kako platforma ulazi u zreliju fazu političkog djelovanja. Iako je jezgra stranačkog vodstva godinama nosila većinu odgovornosti, pitanje nasljeđivanja i širenja kadrovske baze postaje sve aktualnije.

Tijekom posljednjih godina Možemo! je privukao novu generaciju političkih aktera. Jedna od njih je Dorotea Šafranić, studentica i novoizabrana zastupnica u zagrebačkoj Gradskoj skupštini. Kako sama ističe, prioritet platforme u naredne četiri godine trebao bi biti „agilnost i fleksibilnost, te dati prostor mladima koji unose svježinu i inovaciju u politički rad“.

U središtu njezine političke vizije nalazi se slušanje građana, uključivanje zajednice u donošenje odluka te jasno komuniciranje postignuća, osobito u sredinama gdje Možemo! drži vlast.
„Ključno je jasno komunicirati što smo postigli, kako bismo pokazali da promjena može biti i pozitivna i održiva“, poručuje.

Istovremeno, slaže se s Benčić u ocjeni da stranka mora biti prisutna i u sredinama u kojima još nema političko uporište, nudeći stvarne alternative i razumijevanje lokalnih potreba.
„Na taj način možemo graditi povjerenje i širiti pozitivne promjene diljem zemlje, uz poštivanje posebnosti svake zajednice.“

Šafranić i Benčić dijele uvjerenje da se Možemo! ne treba oslanjati na karizmu pojedinaca, već da treba sustavno ulagati u ljude spremne preuzeti političku odgovornost u godinama koje dolaze.

Sve ili ništa

Na kraju, vrijedi podsjetiti na nešto što se u hrvatskom političkom kontekstu često zaboravlja: Možemo! je i dalje jedna od rijetkih političkih opcija koja je došla na vlast s jasno definiranim reformskim programom i još važnije, koja je pokazala kontinuitet u njegovoj provedbi. Za razliku od ORaH-a i brojnih manjih stranaka s različitih strana političkog spektra, Možemo! nije samo osvojio vlast u velikom gradu poput Zagreba, već ju je i uspio zadržati.

Rezultati koje je platforma ostvarila u Zagrebu, i u prvom i u drugom mandatu, nisu tek izborni uspjesi, već prilika da se ispita može li politika u Hrvatskoj biti nešto više od pukog održavanja postojećeg stanja. Politički kapital koji se gradi na lokalnoj razini, gdje su rezultati upravljanja konkretni i izravno utječu na svakodnevni život građana, može se pretočiti u vjerodostojnost potrebnu za ostvarenje širih, nacionalnih ambicija.

Ako građani prepoznaju da promjene nisu samo najavljene, već i stvarno provedene, tada projekti poput Možemo! mogu nadživjeti okvire u kojima su nastali i postati ključna snaga u redefiniranju hrvatske političke stvarnosti. Predstojeći mjeseci i godine pokazat će je li ta prilika iskorištena ili propuštena.

Highway to hell Channel News brendan 22nd July 2025 Teaser Media

After another set of good electoral results – this time at the local level – Croatia’s Green-Left Možemo! (We can!) stands at a critical juncture. Can the party deliver on its mandate of change while balancing its grassroots origins with the demands of professional governance on the local, national, and European level?

When residents of Zagreb went to the polls in May for local elections, they were not just choosing a mayor. After four years of municipal governance by a coalition between Možemo! (We Can!) and the Social Democratic Party (SDP), the vote served as a de facto referendum on the first Green-Left administration in the history of the Croatian capital.

The result was a resounding victory for the coalition. In the mayoral race, Možemo! leader Tomislav Tomašević went into the second round with 47.6 per cent of the vote, far ahead of right-wing challenger Marija Selak Raspudić, who secured just 15.7 per cent. The second round also ended with a comfortable victory for Tomašević, who won 56.6 per cent of ballots. But even more importantly, Možemo! and SDP maintained a majority in the City Assembly, thereby securing a vital pillar for governance continuity.

But Možemo! saw good results elsewhere in Croatia as well. In Pazin, Suzana Jašić was re-elected mayor, confirming continued support for the party in the municipality. In Karlovac, Možemo! candidate Draženka Polović achieved a surprisingly strong result, falling just a few percentage points short of winning the mayoral race and marking a symbolic breakthrough in a region where the platform had previously lacked significant support. Finally, in Rijeka, Split, Osijek, Dubrovnik, Pula and some other major cities, Možemo! retained its presence in city councils, reaffirming that its voter base remains strong in urban areas.

But what drove this success?

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READ & ORDER The seeds of change

For almost two decades, Zagreb had been governed by populist politician Milan Bandić and his political and business network. Bandić’s leadership was marred by numerous scandals, opaque governance, mounting debt, and chaotic urban planning, with accusations of clientelism. But his sudden death in early 2021 opened a political opportunity that Možemo! swiftly and strategically seized.

Ahead of that year’s local elections, the party based its largely grassroots campaign on the promise of deep political, administrative, and infrastructural renewal grounded in transparency, sustainability, and social justice. The 2021 campaign focused on closing the Jakuševec landfill, investing in public transport, accelerating post-earthquake reconstruction, and advancing the city’s green transition. Soon after, Tomašević emerged as a key political figure and a symbol of both generational and political change. Subsequently, Možemo! managed to 23 out of 47 seats in the City Assembly and formed a governing majority with the Social Democratic Party (SDP).

The coalition’s first term was characterised by efforts to stabilise the inherited situation, restructuring city-owned companies, consolidating public finances, and increasing oversight of municipal governance. Možemo! made visible progress in areas such as public transport modernisation, renovation of kindergartens and schools, and investments in sports infrastructure. The introduction of new electric buses, procurement of domestically manufactured trams, and the expansion of pedestrian zones in the city centre signalled a tangible shift toward greener and more people-oriented urban planning. And even though some key pledges, such as the closure of the Jakuševec landfill, remained unfulfilled and progress was at times slow due to resistance from interest groups linked to the former administration, voters chose to lend their support to Možemo! for another term.

In his victory speech on the eve of the May elections, Tomašević promised that the next four years would be focused on a “mandate of development”. While the first term was dedicated to cleaning up inherited mess, the second would deliver on affordable housing, energy transition, and large-scale infrastructure projects, including the long-awaited waste management centre. Now, the question is, can Možemo! make good on its promises and consolidate itself as a reliable political force?

A turbulent record

The history of green political movements in Croatia has been marked by a series of short-lived rises and quick downfalls, as well as a persistent search for an authentic voice to place environmental and social issues at the centre of political discourse. During the 1990s and early 2000s, there were no significant Green actors on the political scene, and ecological topics mostly remained on the margins of public debate or within the confines of civil society. The first serious political initiative emerged in 2013 with the founding of the party Sustainable Development of Croatia (Održivi razvoj Hrvatske, ORaH), led by then-parliamentarian and former Minister of Environmental Protection, Mirela Holy.

Initially, ORaH experienced a genuine political surge. The party’s messages on sustainable agriculture, fighting corruption, and social justice resonated with urban, educated, and environmentally conscious voters disappointed in the mainstream political offer, especially the Social Democratic Party (SDP). At its peak, the party polled as high as almost 20 per cent, and its crowning achievement came in 2014, when Davor Škrlec was elected to the European Parliament, becoming Croatia’s first Green MEP.

However, OraH failed to consolidate its organisational structure and struggled with internal conflicts. In the 2015 parliamentary elections, the party failed to win a single seat, and shortly afterwards, Holy withdrew from politics. Without her leadership, OraH rapidly disintegrated, leaving a vacuum in the country’s green political space.

But that space would not remain empty for long. In 2017, Zagreb is OURS! (Zagreb je NAŠ!) was formed in the Croatian capital by environmental activists, cultural workers, and unionists with the goal of defending the public interest at the local level. The initiative saw quick success in the same year by winning four seats in Zagreb’s City Assembly. It was a modest but symbolically important breakthrough, and it marked the beginning of a new chapter for the Croatian Green movement. The political rise of Možemo! is a rare example of a rapid transformation from a grassroots movement into a serious political player. After achieving a surprising success in 2017 with the Zagreb is Ours! (Zagreb je Naš!) list in the Zagreb City Assembly, the activists behind the initiative concluded that green and progressive political ideas could not remain confined to the boundaries of a single city. Hence, they formed the Možemo! platform in 2019.

Although they failed to win a seat in that year’s European elections, the campaign gave Možemo! valuable visibility and helped to push Green-Left issues into wider public consciousness. The real political breakthrough came in 2020, when the party ran as part of a broader Green-Left coalition in the national parliamentary elections. The campaign was highly successful and gave Možemo! seven seats in the Croatian Parliament.  The election sent a clear signal that voters were willing to place trust in a political option that combines social justice, environmental responsibility, and a strong anti-corruption stance.

The political rise of Možemo! is a rare example of a rapid transformation from a grassroots movement into a serious political player.

Then came the party’s electoral victory in Zagreb and Pazin and its entry into local governance. But as the platform’s national profile grew, so did the stakes. The year 2024 posed a major political test for Možemo!. In a so-called “super election year” featuring parliamentary, European, and presidential elections, the platform had to prove it was not just a party of Zagreb, but a lasting national political force. In the April parliamentary elections, Možemo! won 9.1 per cent of the vote and increased its presence in Parliament to ten seats. In June, the party managed to get into the European Parliament, establishing a foothold in the EU institutions.

In December, Možemo! MP Ivana Kekin took part in the presidential election, managing to secure around 9 per cent of the vote. Her campaign became the target of political discreditation and judicial pressures, some of which involved interest groups linked to entrenched power structures in Zagreb. However, far from derailing her candidacy, these attacks energised part of the electorate and reinforced Možemo!’s image as a political movement targeted by entrenched elites.  

The crossroads of power

Following its success in the 2025 local elections, Možemo! finds itself at a pivotal juncture. Now entering its sixth year of existence and holding a second term in Zagreb, Pazin, and the national parliament, the platform can no longer rely on the novelty factor or the element of surprise. What lies ahead is a more mature phase of political life; one that will test not just Možemo!’s popularity, but also its long-term political viability.

One central dilemma the platform faces is the tension between its local participatory roots and the need for national party discipline. From its early days, Možemo! was conceived not as a traditional party but as a political platform. However, running a city like Zagreb, maintaining a presence in Parliament, and engaging more actively in European institutions require professionalisation, clearer hierarchies, and the ability to make decisions in tighter timeframes.

As Greens in other European countries have experienced, the shift from activism to governance – from the streets to executive power – risks bringing into question a movement’s political identity. For Možemo!, the challenge is to balance its origins with the demands of governance.

Sandra Benčić is a member of the Croatian parliament and a party coordinator for Možemo! who has experienced these mounting pressures first-hand. According to her, the platform is fully aware of the tension between activism and governance. From the outset, Možemo! has worked to develop a flexible organisational model that can balance foundational values with the demands of institutional presence.

Rather than adopting a traditional party structure, Možemo! has built a system of thematic working groups that include members, experts, and engaged citizens. The idea, Benčić explains, is to build a bridge between “institutional politics and a society that knows, has experience, and wants to contribute”, preserving a horizontal ethos while ensuring the platform functions effectively.

“We don’t want to carve our structure in stone. The aim is for responsibility to emerge through engagement, for people to naturally step into roles, not be pushed into them. It is a slower path, but one that is more sustainable in the long run,”Benčić notes. But at the same time, she acknowledges the limits of participatory processes in the face of the realities of political life: “There are moments when decisions must be made quickly, and that is when clearer hierarchies become necessary, because accountability has to be tangible. That’s not a betrayal of our principles – it is an adjustment to how institutions actually work.”

A second major challenge that Možemo! is facing is the geographic distribution of support. While the platform continues to perform strongly in larger urban centres, its presence in smaller towns and rural areas remains limited, with significantly weaker electoral support. Although their campaign messaging emphasises issues relevant to these regions, such as sustainable agriculture, green public procurement, accessible healthcare, decentralisation, and infrastructure investment, these narratives have yet to break through entrenched political barriers. This raises a strategic question: Should Možemo! adapt its political messaging and organisational structure to reach voters beyond urban cores or would that inevitably dilute the political identity that brought them this far?

As Greens in other European countries have experienced, the shift from activism to governance risks bringing into question a movement’s political identity.

Benčić is clear that this isn’t just a matter of messaging, but of local capacity. The platform still lacks enough locally rooted individuals who can credibly communicate its priorities and translate them into concrete political messages. Furthermore, the parliamentarian explains, attempts to bring substantive programmes on healthcare, agriculture, or public services to the broader public often remain politically invisible, “partly because we don’t have enough presence on the ground, but also because the media space favours conflict and polarising themes”.

Rather than deploying top-down party operatives to unfamiliar territories, Možemo! wants to build its presence from the ground up, through people who understand the specific context in which they operate. “We need people who know their communities, who are experts in their fields, who understand local dynamics. We are building that, but it’s a process,” she says.

The strategic goal, according to Benčić, isn’t merely to “cover the ground” during elections, but to make long-term investments in people, political education, and trust in communities where the platform is not yet firmly established.

Finally, the third major challenge Možemo! faces is the growing need for dedicated personnel, a question that becomes increasingly pressing as the platform matures. While the party’s core leadership has carried much of the responsibility for years, the issue of succession is growing more urgent.

In recent years, a new generation of politicians has joined Možemo!. One of them is Dorotea Šafranić, a student and newly elected member of the Zagreb City Assembly. In her view, the platform’s priority over the next four years should be “staying agile and flexible, and giving space to young people who bring freshness and innovation to political work”.

At the heart of Šafranić’s political vision is listening to citizens, involving communities in decision making, and demonstrating clear achievements, especially in places where Možemo! holds power. “It’s crucial to clearly communicate our accomplishments to show that change can be both positive and sustainable,” she says.

At the same time, she agrees with Benčić that the party must be present in areas where it is not yet politically established, offering meaningful alternatives and a real understanding of local needs. “This is how we can build trust and spread positive change across the country, while respecting the uniqueness of each community.” Furthermore, Šafranić and Benčić both suggest that Možemo! envisions itself not as a platform dependent on individual charisma, but as a movement that systematically invests in people willing to take on political responsibility in the years ahead.

Everything to gain – or lose

In the end, it is worth remembering something often forgotten in the Croatian political context: Možemo! remains one of the few political forces to come to power with a clearly defined reform agenda and one of the even fewer to demonstrate a sustained commitment to its implementation.  Unlike ORaH or many smaller parties across the political spectrum, Možemo! has not only won but retained power in a big city like Zagreb.

The party’s results in Croatia’s capital, both in the first and second terms, are more than electoral victories; they are a test of whether politics in Croatia can be more than just managing the status quo. Political capital gained at the local level, where the results of municipal governance are tangible and felt in citizens’ daily lives, can translate into broader credibility for national ambitions.

If citizens recognise that promised reforms have been truly delivered upon, then projects like Možemo! stand a chance of outgrowing the context in which they were born and becoming a relevant force in reshaping Croatian political reality. The coming months and years will reveal whether that opportunity has been seized or lost.

A petition signed by 133 civil society organizations and Canadian coalitions is calling on Guatemalan authorities, the Canadian government, and Canadian-owned Pan American Silver to affirm the Xinka People’s right to free, prior and informed consent regarding the controversial Escobal mine. The signatory organizations, including Earthworks, represent 20 countries around the world, and the coalitions include the Canadian Network on Corporate Accountability (CNCA) and the Americas Policy Group (APG), which together represent over 45 international development and humanitarian NGOs, human rights and environmental justice organizations, labour unions, faith-based groups, and solidarity groups.

In May of this year, following a long and at times fraught consultation process ordered by the Guatemalan Constitutional Court, the Xinka announced their final decision on the future of the mine: an emphatic “no.” Their right to self-determination and autonomy is enshrined in international law and is in accordance with a 2018 Guatemalan Constitutional Court decision.

“It is clear that the State has not been able to guarantee our rights to health, life, a healthy environment, water, housing, freedom of expression, identity, our language, our culture, and our territory,” the Xinka Parliament stated in their press release. “For this reason, the Xinka people do not consent to the mining project ‘El Escobal.’” 

Pan American Silver’s response? A deafening silence. 

There has never been any ambiguity in the Xinka position. They’ve resisted the silver mine from the beginning, when it was illegally permitted in their territory without consent. As they recently put it in an Instagram post (translated from the Spanish): “We’ve been resisting for over 15 years.They wanted to divide us. They criminalized us. We were stigmatized. But we’re still here. Strong. United. Worthy. This fight is not just from the Xinka People. It’s a fight for the right to decide. It’s a struggle for life.”

They’ve spoken. Now it’s time for the company—and the authorities—to listen. 

Our petition makes a simple and straightforward request: keep your word, as detailed in the Guatemalan Constitutional Court decision and the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, to which Canada is a signatory. It also demands protection for the safety and security of Xinka defenders and members of the Xinka Parliament, who have faced intimidation, attempts at coercion, threats, and the killing of one of their leaders. 

Through it all Xinka communities have remained dedicated to defending water and life over mining. Since June 2017, the Peaceful Resistance have maintained two 24-hour resistance camps to prevent mine traffic from reaching Escobal. The camps also aim to ensure compliance with the Supreme Court decisions in 2017 and 2018 that suspended the project for lack of prior consultation and discrimination. 

Representatives from the Xinka Parliament will be visiting Canada again this fall to share their message. For more information on their visit and the ongoing struggle for the Xinka’s right to deny consent for the Escobal project, follow Earthworks, MiningWatch Canada, and the Xinka Parliament.

The post Labor Unions and Human Rights Defenders Demand Respect for Xinka People’s Right to Say “No” to Escobal Mine appeared first on Earthworks.

For more than half a century, the Environmental Protection Agency’s Office of Research and Development, or ORD, has furnished the EPA with independent research on everything from ozone pollution to pesticides like glyphosate. Last week, after months of speculation and denial, the EPA officially confirmed that it is eliminating its research division and slashing thousands more employees from its payroll in the agency’s quest to cut 23 percent of its workforce. The latest moves add to the nearly 4,000 personnel who have already resigned, retired, or been laid off, according to the agency’s calculations. 

The decision came directly on the heels of a Supreme Court order that greenlit the Trump administration’s efforts to downsize and restructure the federal government. 

With approximately 1,115 employees — just 7 percent of the EPA’s head count at the start of President Donald Trump’s second term — the research office has played an outsized role in helping the agency fulfill its legal mandate to use the “best available science” in its mission to protect human health and the environment. ORD science has underpinned many of the EPA’s restrictions on contaminants in air, water, and soil, and formed the basis for regulations on per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, or PFAS — also known as “forever chemicals” — in drinking water; deadly fine particulate matter in air; carbon dioxide emissions in the atmosphere; and chemicals and metals like asbestos and lead.

“Without a research arm, it will be very difficult for EPA to issue new standards for air or water pollutants, toxic chemicals, pesticides, or other hazards,” said Michael Gerrard, faculty director of the Columbia University’s Sabin Center for Climate Change Law. 

ORD, which works with states, local governments, and tribes in addition to its federal work, has six national research programs, each one focused on a different aspect of health and the environment. Research being undertaken at those centers included studying how to safeguard water systems from terrorist attacks, understanding the impacts of extreme weather on human health, and modeling the economic benefits of reducing air pollution.

The EPA said it is moving some of ORD staff into other parts of the EPA, including into its air, water, and chemical offices and a new Office of Applied Science and Environmental Solutions within EPA Administrator Lee Zeldin’s office. The agency said the moves will save taxpayers nearly $750 million and produce an agency that closely resembles the shrunken version of the agency that existed under President Ronald Reagan in the early 1980s. The aim, the agency said, is to “prioritize research and science more than ever before.” 

In an email to Grist, an agency spokesperson called media reports about the disbanding of ORD “biased” and denied that the changes will affect the quality of EPA science. “Friday’s announcement is not an elimination of science and research,” the agency said. 

But former EPA employees and environmental advocates say disbanding ORD will both weaken the EPA’s research capabilities and put its scientific independence at risk of political interference.

“Part of the reason why ORD is a separate office is to preserve scientific integrity,” said Chris Frey, an associate dean at North Carolina State University who worked in the office on and off from 1992 to 2024, most recently as its Assistant Administrator under former president Joe Biden. “From a societal perspective, it’s a huge win for the public that those decisions be based on evidence and not just opinions of stakeholders to have a vested interest in an outcome.” The EPA hasn’t said how many ORD scientists will be allowed to continue working at the agency. 

Already, the U.S. regulatory system gives chemical companies like 3M and DuPont a large degree of influence over how the chemicals they produce are controlled, a strategy that has been known to fail. Under the Toxic Substances Control Act, or TSCA, the EPA has 90 days to assess a chemical’s risks before it hits the market. 

The EPA’s decision to dissolve ORD and integrate a portion of its scientists into the agency’s policymaking infrastructure stands to benefit chemical companies and industrial polluters by rubbing away the boundaries between science and politics, science advocates argue. Research conducted at ORD not only grounded new EPA regulations, it also provided the scientific basis for TSCA enforcement. 

“There’s lots of ways that ORD speaking truth about impacts of pollutants was inconvenient for regulated industry,” said Gretchen Goldman, president of the nonprofit science advocacy organization the Union of Concerned Scientists. “They’re probably celebrating over this.” 

Despite recent wins, industry trade and lobby groups are pushing for even more freedom. Last week, on the same day the EPA announced it was disbanding ORD and a day after the EPA separately exempted dozens of chemical factories and power plants from Biden-era air pollution and emissions rules, the American Chemistry Council’s President and CEO Chris Jahn floated the idea of making changes to the Toxic Substances Control Act in an interview with The Washington Examiner. 

“EPA Administrator Zeldin, the White House, Congress are all looking at this right now,” he said, “to potentially make some updates to TSCA to make it work more effectively for the long run.”

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This story was originally published by Grist with the headline This EPA research office safeguarded Americans’ health. Trump just eliminated it. on Jul 21, 2025.

San Pedro de Macorís, Dominican Republic — It’s eight in the morning and the landfill wakes up under a veil of smoke. There are no fences, no trees, no shade. Just heaps of smoldering waste blending into the tropical heat. Dozens of people walk across the trash, sacks slung over their shoulders, worn-out rubber boots on their feet. They search for cans, copper, cardboard, plastic, fabrics — even scraps of food.

They search for what no one else wants.

Among them is Kiko, who has worked here since he was a child. Now 30, he knows this place like the back of his hand.

“My mother always went to the landfill,” he says. “I used to beg her to take me with her. I must have been eight the first time I came. For me, it felt like a game, like an amusement park…and time just went by.”

That, Kiko says, is how he became a buzo, the local name for those who scavenge through waste to recover and sell recyclables. He didn’t mean for it to happen. “But I am one, because I live their life.”

Now, like many others, Kiko fears that this world might vanish, a mostly invisible world that’s vital to over 12,000 people across the Dominican Republic.

Many are undocumented Haitians, or children of Haitians born in the bateyes — former sugar cane settlements that now survive as impoverished communities, remnants of a declining economy now replaced by the service sector, with tourism as its core.

A Necessary Law, an Unexpected Threat

Tourism is booming in the Dominican Republic: over 11 million visitors in 2024 — nearly matching the country’s population of 11.4 million. That’s a 35% increase from 2023, almost double the pre-pandemic figure of 6.4 million in 2019, and more than twice the 5 million recorded in 2014 — a dramatic surge that fuels consumption and, in turn, waste.

But where does all that garbage end up?

Each year, the country produces more than 7 million tons of solid waste. Only 7% of it is recycled, according to a 2023 report by the Economic and Commercial Office of the Spanish Embassy in Santo Domingo. The rest mostly ends up in open-air landfills — 358 across the country — many of which lack even basic environmental or sanitary controls. It’s no coincidence that the country ranks 165th for waste management in Yale’s 2024 Environmental Performance Index.

To address this crisis, the Congress of the Dominican Republic passed the General Law on Comprehensive Waste Management and Co-processing (Law 225-20) in 2020 with a goal of completely overhauling the national waste system. One of its most ambitious measures: the progressive closure of at least 30 open-air landfills, as part of a shift toward a cleaner, more formalized economy.

At first glance, this seems like a positive step for the Dominican Republic’s environment — and it is. But there’s a darker side: the law fails to include effective mechanisms for integrating informal recyclers — the buzos — who live and work in these areas. Nor does it acknowledge the social and economic role that these informal networks play for thousands of families.

Without clear inclusion policies, closing landfills could leave thousands of people outside the system — without income, without support, and with no real alternatives.

“It’s a necessary reform and undoubtedly a significant achievement,” says Felipe Rosario Nolasco, coordinator of the National Movement of Recyclers of the Dominican Republic, an organization founded to advocate for the rights of buzos. “However, there’s one aspect that deeply concerns us. The law does not clearly define what role recyclers will play in this process. There’s no regulation that mandates our inclusion, nor have any working groups been set up to discuss the matter. We risk being excluded from the very system we have helped sustain for years. Instead of recognizing and strengthening our work, it is being pushed aside.”

According to Nolasco, private companies are already taking advantage of the situation, “as in Santiago de los Caballeros, where a single company has taken control of the entire recycling sector.” Corporate jobs go exclusively to citizens, which excludes most buzos, who overwhelmingly lack official immigration status or papers.

Nolasco says he worries about the social cost of this legislation. “Without addressing the human dimension, this won’t be a just transition — it will be the systematic exclusion of the most vulnerable.”

Life on the Margins, Lived with Dignity

Life in the landfill is harsh. Kiko knows it well.

“Working here is dangerous,” he says. “You reach into a sack and you might get pricked by a syringe or cut by glass. You feel nauseous, you vomit. Sometimes you can’t take the flies. I’ve seen terrible things… We’ve found newborn babies, dead, thrown into the trash. Even murdered people — burned, abandoned.”

Kiko. Photo: Raúl Zecca Castel

And still, Kiko would rather be here. Because despite everything, in this place that others avoid, he has found a way to live — and to exist — that he wouldn’t trade for anything.

“I like working in the landfill. I won’t lie — I grew up here, and I feel like I belong. Some might find it disgusting, but I was born and raised here. Nothing bothers me,” Kiko says, his eyes bright with a kind of quiet pride. Then he adds: “I’d much rather work here than cut sugar cane. In a day here, you make what would take a week over there. And you’re alone. No one bosses you around. No one tells you what to do or how long to work. You’re your own boss.”

More than just a dump, the landfill is, for many, a space of freedom. Precarious, yes, but real. Because this place, full of danger and debris, also offers something the outside world never gave them: freedom, respect, a sense of belonging.

Altagracia, a 48-year-old woman who used to work in the cane fields and now sells second-hand clothes in the bateyes, says it plainly: “There’s respect here. In the landfill, we’re all equal. If you respect yourself, others respect you too. I like that. I feel like I’m with family here.”

Nairobi. Photo: Raúl Zecca Castel

Nairobi, 24, found something unexpected in the landfill: love. She arrived after leaving a job selling food on the plantations — work that didn’t pay enough to survive.

“People would buy on credit and then couldn’t pay me back,” she explains. Now she’s been recycling plastic and cardboard for three years.

Her partner, Francisco, unable to work after surviving an assault, stays home with their child while she earns their daily income under the sun. He shares their story with a quiet smile, as if he still can’t quite believe it: “We argued a lot at first, but you know, talking and talking… in the end we fell in love. It happens. And now look at us — we’ve lived together for a year and have a child.”

In the landfill, homes, families, and futures are built — even among waste and neglect. Here, thousands of people — invisible to the system — find new ways to live, to resist, to reinvent themselves.

But this fragile web of autonomy and dignity rests on shaky foundations: lack of documents, structural discrimination, and the constant threat of being expelled.

The Price of Informality

“There are so many people like me without papers,” Kiko says. “I couldn’t go to school because of it. And without documents, you can’t do anything.”

His story is far from unique.

According to the Dominican Republic’s National Movement of Recyclers, between 60% and 70% of landfill workers lack legal migration status. As a result, they cannot be formally recognized as “service providers” under the new waste management system set out by Law 225-20. Under this law, service providers would be authorized actors responsible for tasks such as waste collection, transport, transfer, and sale — key operations in what is meant to become a formalized recycling chain. The law envisions a gradual integration of informal recyclers into this system, but without legal status, most remain excluded. They’re informal workers who are invisible to the system and are denied access to rights and services.

The situation is compounded by a disturbing trend: in the past six months, more than 180,000 Haitians have been deported by Dominican authorities, amid rising xenophobia and political tension between the two countries. By comparison, the Trump administration deported fewer than 66,000 people during its first 100 days.

“Law 225-20 aims to modernize the nation and build a cleaner recycling economy. But unless structural barriers — undocumented status, systemic discrimination, migration policy — are addressed, the closure of landfills won’t be a step forward, but a social catastrophe for thousands,” warns Nolasco, offering a stark reminder of the human cost behind policy decisions.

Nairobi earns the equivalent of $4.50 a day — but it’s not a fixed wage. Like everyone else, she works by the piece: if she gets sick or doesn’t collect enough recyclables, she earns nothing. And what she does manage to make supports not just herself and her young son, but also Francisco, who stays home to care for the child. “I don’t want my son to work here,” she says. “I want him to go to school and decide for himself what to do with his life. But now… without papers, there’s no other option.”

Kiko poses. Photo: Raúl Zecca Castel

Kiko writes songs, sings, and dreams of performing on stage. “Maybe one day I’ll become famous. Who knows if I’ll still be here. Today I am. Tomorrow… maybe not. But anything could happen.”

No one should need to rely on a landfill or put their health at risk to process a nation’s waste, but Kiko and the thousands of other buzos have adapted to society’s failures. Shutting down the landfills without creating real alternatives isn’t progress. It’s throwing away the lives of those who live among the waste — yet fight, every day, for their dignity.

Watch a trailer for “Chibol: Lives of Waste,” the author’s documentary about the buzos of the Dominican Republic:

Republish this article for free! Previously in The Revelator:

In Austria the Government Pays to Repair Your Stuff

The post Closing Landfills, Throwing Away People appeared first on The Revelator.

Plagued by illegal logging and corruption, Liberia has been losing its forests at an alarming rate. But its new strategy to make direct payments to communities that agree to prohibit cutting and protect their trees is seen as a potential model for other developing nations.

Read more on E360 →

Don’t wait for the fire Channel Comment brendan 21st July 2025 Teaser Media

Editor’s note: In 2021 conservation scientist Federico Kacoliris profiled the imperiled El Rincon stream frog in The Revelator’s “Species Spotlight” feature.

“The El Rincon stream frog only lives in hot springs at the headwaters of a small Patagonian stream,” he wrote. “With just a handful of decimated populations remaining, the critically endangered frog is struggling to survive.”

But a foundation founded by Kacoloris was already making strides toward protecting this critically endangered frog. “I was part of the first reintroduction attempt of this endangered species in the wild — in a restored habitat where a local population had become extinct,” he wrote. “Releasing captive-born individuals into a wild habitat, where they will be protected and free of threats, makes me happy and confident about being able to do something for the sake of the wild.”

Now we have an exciting update, courtesy of Mongabay writer Mark Hillsdon. The story below was originally published by Mongabay and is republished under a Creative Commons license.

On a Patagonian Plateau, a Microendemic Frog Makes a Hopeful Comeback

A first look at Argentina’s Somuncurá Plateau reveals features somewhat predictable for a Patagonian steppe: shrubs, grass, plains, and rocky outcrops. Only the occasional volcanic peak breaks the monotony of the

landscape spanning an area larger than Switzerland across the provinces of Rio Negro and Chubut. But in this apparent monotony, life abounds as the plateau’s conditions make it one of Patagonia’s key biodiversity areas and home to several endemic species.

Among those, one critically endangered species has caught the attention of researchers and, more recently, of the wider conservation world. Measuring less than 5 centimeters (2 inches) in length, the El Rincon stream frog (Pleurodema somuncurense) relies on the warm headwaters of the Valcheta stream, fed by the Somuncurá’s hot springs. Here, the microendemic amphibian, whose habitat measures no more than 10 square kilometers (3.7 square miles), finds refuge from the plateau’s large temperature variations.

The species was described by scientists in the late 1960s, but went on to be largely ignored by science until the early 2000s, when it became increasingly exposed to habitat loss, invasive species and cattle ranching. That earned it the status of critically endangered on the IUCN Red List, making it one of the world’s most threatened amphibians.

Argentina’s Somuncurá Plateau provides an unexpected haven for microendemic species. Image courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

Federico Kacoliris has long studied the El Rincon stream frog. Aside from adding knowledge about the species and its habitats, Kacoliris, who leads the Somuncurá Foundation, has mobilized a conservation movement around this tiny amphibian. So far, the effort coordinated by several NGOs with ranchers and local communities has boosted the frog population by about 15% to date from an initial count of just over 4,500 adult individuals in 2018. These restoration efforts have also benefited the critically endangered naked characin fish (Gymnocharacinus bergii), Patagonia’s only endemic fish species, found only in the Valcheta stream.

For his work, Kacoliris was recently named a winner of the Whitley Award, a prestigious prize known as the “Green Oscars” that supports grassroots conservation across the Global South.

“As a conservation symbol, the El Rincon frogs are very important because … they are the most threatened amphibian species in the country,” Kacoliris tells Mongabay.

Federico Kacoliris, who heads the Somuncurá Foundation, has mobilized a conservation movement around the species inhabiting the plateau, bringing benefits to the wider ecosystem. Image courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

A key action to conserve the frogs has been tackling the predatory species that have invaded their habitat. Predatory rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss) were introduced in the Valcheta stream, and across Argentina, during the 1920s; a highly aggressive species, it quickly became the top predator, pushing the El Rincon frogs into the headwaters and a few isolated tributaries. But even in these small patches away from the trout, the frogs saw their habitats threatened by cattle, which trampled on vital vegetation and polluted the waters, causing eutrophication, or low-oxygen dead spots, Kacoliris says.

Removing the trout was “the only way to guarantee the long-term survival of the frogs,” he adds.

Using a system of natural features such as waterfalls, alongside artificial barriers, the team from the Somuncurá Foundation has cleared the stream one section at a time, increasing the frog’s natural habitat by more than 15%, Kacoliris says. They then released thousands of tadpoles into the trout-free, restored areas.

To address cattle invasions, the Somuncurá Foundation works with local ranchers. Traditionally, they raised sheep here, but about 10 years ago, as increasing numbers of sheep fell prey to pumas and Andean foxes, they switched to cattle, Kacoliris tells Mongabay. This despite the land and climate being too hostile for ranching.

Creating dams to manage restrict trout from entering the areas inhabited by the El Rincon stream frog. Image courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

In many places the Valcheta stream runs through private properties, and Kacoliris has worked with individual ranchers, striking deals to fence off key areas of the stream, where the thermal waters bubble to the surface, and where both the frogs and fish go to breed. Water troughs are provided so the cattle still have easy access to water. Kacoliris also encourages ranchers to return to sheep farming, showing them it can be much more lucrative, and providing them with guardian dogs to protect the livestock from predator attacks. At the same time, the program is working to discourage the shooting of pumas and Andean foxes.

“The frogs are like [a] flagship species,” Kacoliris says. “[The ranchers] are really proud about being neighbors of these incredible animals, it’s a kind of local symbol.”

Marta and Benedicto Ortiz are siblings who have been farming sheep and goats across about 2,000 hectares (5,000 acres) on the plateau for more than 50 years. Speaking through Kacoliris, they say that when they were children, the stream was full of frogs, but that over the years these disappeared.

They’ve allowed the foundation to fence off some of the stream that runs across their family’s land, and say they’re proud to help protect the frogs and naked characins living there.

The naked characin fish (Gymnocharacinus bergii) is Patagonia’s only endemic fish species, found only in the Valcheta stream. Image by Hernan Povedano courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

The siblings also have three guard dogs that they say have reduced the loss of sheep to predators.

Over the last four years, the Somuncurá Foundation, in partnership with the U.K. charity World Land Trust and partner NGO the Habitat and Development Foundation (Fundación Hábitat y Desarrollo), have acquired 20,000 hectares (nearly 50,000 acres) across the plateau, which now forms the region’s first nature reserve. The ultimate aim, Kacoliris says, is to donate the land to Argentina’s National Parks Service, which will give it a higher level of protection.

This marks a rare success for conservationists working to save the world’s amphibians. According to research published in February, amphibians worldwide receive just 2.8% of all conservation funding, despite the fact that 41% of the entire class are threatened with extinction.

“Amphibians are the most threatened animals on the planet,” says Jeanne Tarrant, director at Anura Africa, an NGO supporting amphibian conservation across Africa.

Yet conservation efforts are “massively underfunded compared to other groups [such as] charismatic mega-fauna,” she says.

Amphibians, along with reptiles and insects, have an image problem, she adds; they lack the perceived charisma of iconic species such as pandas and tigers. It’s an issue that goes back to the earliest days of zoological study, Tarrant says, when Carl Linneaus, the 18th-century father of modern taxonomy, described reptiles and amphibians as “foul and loathsome.” The label has stuck in the mind of the public and potential donors.

Since 2018, the Somuncurá Foundation has increased the El Rincon stream frog population by about 15%. Image courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

But Tarrant says perceptions are starting to change and there’s now greater recognition of the important role that frogs, lizards and beetles play in maintaining healthy ecosystems. “There really does seem to be a genuine increase in interest in the smaller, less charismatic things,” she says.

Typically, she says, biologists have shunned the limelight, preferring to work alone out in the field. But that has had to change and they now play a crucial role as storytellers, as well as working with other academics, such as social scientists, to understand the fears and concerns of local communities.

“[People] want to know why something is useful,” Tarrant says, and it’s important to explain the significance of a species and the role it performs.

The big sell with frogs, she says, is that they’re great natural pest controllers, eating insects that could otherwise destroy crops. They even play a role in human health; one study linked an increase in malaria cases in Central America to the decline of amphibian populations, which allowed disease-carrying mosquitoes to flourish.

To help breed El Rincon stream frogs, in 2016 the researchers set up an initial facility at La Plata Museum in the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires, the country’s first facility for threatened amphibians. After two successful reintroductions of 200 juvenile frogs born at the facility, in 2022 the ex-situ program moved to Buenos Aires Eco-Park, a conservation center based at the former city zoo.

Borja Baguette Pereiro is a conservation coordinator at the eco-park and worked with Kacoliris to nurture the eggs into tadpoles and eventually juvenile El Rincon stream frogs for release back into the wild. He agrees that biologists need to be good storytellers, too. “The priority is that people become familiar with the species: for them to know where it lives, what it looks like, what it eats and what threats it faces.”

Somuncurá Foundation aims to restore all the headwaters of the Valcheta stream by 2030 in order to protect the El Rincon stream frog in the long term. Maps courtesy of Federico Kacoliris.

While the eco-park also runs conservation programs for more iconic species such as the Andean condor (Vultur gryphus) and the South American tapir (Tapirus terrestris), Pereiro’s team is also focused on saving less captivating species such as the minute Apipé water snail (Aylacostoma chloroticum), the scorpion mud turtle (Kinosternon scorpiodes), and endemic species living in remote environments, such as the Pehuenche spiny-chest frog (Alsodes pehuenche), which only inhabits the meltwater streams high in the central Andes.

“Species such as frogs or small reptiles are frequently endemic, highlighting the importance of the local community recognizing them as their own,” Pereiro says. “Without their involvement in conservation, no one else will step in.”

Kacoliris agrees that creating a narrative is an important part of conservation, especially when dealing with amphibians. “The way we share our enthusiasm about conserving these small animals is by telling the story,” he says. Schoolchildren from the village of Chipauquil, on the Somuncurá Plateau, for instance, have taken part in the project, adopting the frogs and monitoring them after their release.

“It is key to engage the local people in the conservation actions,” Kacoliris says, “because they are the final guardians of the whole biodiversity of the region.”

The post In Patagonia, a Frog Makes a Comeback appeared first on The Revelator.

When Europeans arrived to the Pacific Northwest, they spread smallpox that devastated the Indigenous people, plundered stocks of salmon and herring, hunted down deer and other game, and built sprawling cities and ports. New research tallies the profound impact on wildlife.

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En los últimos años, las manifestaciones y las revueltas han movilizado a un gran número de personas en todo el mundo. Sin embargo, estos movimientos no han logrado las transformaciones radicales que propugnaban. Es más, en algunos casos incluso han allanado el camino para que la derecha se haga con el poder y se instauren dictaduras militares. Los actos de protesta siguen siendo una forma popular de conflicto político, pero ¿qué lecciones podemos extraer de una década de revoluciones perdidas?

Green European Journal: Tal y como sostienes en tu libro Si ardemos, la década de 2010 fue testigo de las mayores protestas masivas de la historia, desde Egipto hasta Brasil, pasando por Chile, Ucrania y Hong Kong, que sin embargo no trajeron consigo verdaderas revoluciones. ¿Cuál fue el resultado de esta «década de protestas masivas»?

Vincent Bevins:  En los episodios que escogí para mi estudio, las protestas masivas se hicieron tan grandes que devinieron en algo diferente y, o bien acabaron derribando los gobiernos establecidos o bien desestabilizaron profundamente las sociedades. Determinar en qué se convirtieron, a menudo de forma inesperada y fortuita, es un gran interrogante y la respuesta varía de un caso a otro. El criterio con el que valoro las repercusiones de estas revueltas a largo plazo es comparar su desenlace con los objetivos que los organizadores de las protestas originales se habían fijado inicialmente. En la mayoría de los casos, las personas que entrevisté dijeron que el cambio se había producido en la dirección equivocada ya que se consiguió lo contrario de lo que se reclamaba. En otros casos, la gente se quedó con la sensación de haber logrado una victoria a medias, pues no se habían conseguido todos los objetivos de la movilización. Como es lógico, determinar qué querían los manifestantes originales no siempre es una tarea fácil, ya que había muchas opiniones discordantes en las calles.

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También se puede recurrir a un criterio más amplio. El politólogo estadounidense Mark Beissinger diferencia las revoluciones a grandes rasgos, distinguiendo por un lado las revoluciones sociales, es decir, aquellas que transforman las estructuras específicas de poder dentro de la sociedad, y las revoluciones cívicas, aquellas que se limitan a cambiar la persona que está al mando de esa misma estructura de poder. El Euromaidán ucraniano de 2014 o las revoluciones de colores que tuvieron lugar en Europa Central y Oriental en la década de los 2000 no llegaron a reconfigurar realmente las estructuras de poder, sino que en muchos casos sembraron el caos a corto plazo y aumentaron la desigualdad y la tensión interna en los organismos en los que se desarrollaron. Los casos sobre los que escribo podrían describirse como revoluciones cívicas. Podrían haber desembocado en un gobierno con un nombre ligeramente distinto o algo mucho peor, como una invasión extranjera o una guerra civil. Sin embargo, ninguno de estos movimientos logró la profunda transformación social con la que soñaban cuando convocaron las protestas en primer lugar.

Des manifestants rassemblés devant le siège du RCD, le parti unique de Ben Ali, le 20 janvier 2011,en presence massive de l’armee tunisienne . La foule exige la dissolution du gouvernement provisoire et la fin du Rassemblement constitutionnel démocratique, symbole de l’ancien régime. inscription en arabe “Non au RCD “

Sostienes que una de las principales razones por las que se produce esta situación es porque no existe un vacío de poder como tal. Si el movimiento contestatario no está preparado (o no pretende) tomar las riendas del poder, entonces aparece en escena un grupo más organizado. ¿Cómo se desarrolló esta dinámica en la plaza Tahrir de Egipto, uno de los primeros casos que analizas?

La denominada Primavera Árabe comienza en Túnez en el año 2010, pero la plaza Tahrir de Egipto en 2011 sentó precedente para los años siguientes —no solo en el mundo árabe, sino en muchas otras partes del mundo en las que se replicó el modelo de Tahrir, como en Estados Unidos, España, Grecia o Hong Kong, por nombrar algunas.

En enero de 2011, un grupo de activistas organiza un acto de protesta en contra de la brutalidad policial en El Cairo. Se trata de un grupo de manifestantes que lleva reuniéndose más de una década y que desarrollaron un vínculo organizativo en torno a la solidaridad con Palestina y la oposición a la invasión estadounidense de Irak. Esperan recibir la típica represión policial, pero acude mucha más gente de la que preveían en un inicio, y aún más en los días siguientes. El 28 de enero, la protesta acaba en una batalla campal con la policía. Derrotados, los agentes de policía se arrancan los uniformes y huyen en plena noche. El ejército no participa en este enfrentamiento, por lo que los manifestantes se enfrentan a un vacío de poder en este breve lapso de tiempo. Podrían hacer muchas cosas, como intentar establecer algún tipo de sistema dual de poder o hacerse con alguna parte del Estado, al menos en cuanto a los medios de comunicación se refiere. En cambio, se limitan a tomar la plaza Tahrir porque ese había sido el objetivo de muchas otras protestas a lo largo de los años. Permanecen en la plaza durante 18 días, hasta que el gobierno de Hosni Mubarak es derrocado. Lo que ocurre en realidad es que el ejército toma el poder, pero no la plaza, aunque pueda parecer que ha sido ésta la que ha liderado los acontecimientos. En un sentido estricto, estamos ante un golpe militar dirigido por el Consejo Supremo de las Fuerzas Armadas (SCAF) que, cuando menos, promete celebrar unas elecciones democráticas.

La plaza Tahrir de Egipto en 2011 sentó precedente para los años siguientes.

Ahora bien, los sectores progresistas y laicos de la plaza, que tan presentes estuvieron en la cobertura del levantamiento de 2011 y que representan a una gran parte de la población egipcia, no consiguen aunar fuerzas en pos de un resultado electoral, y en la segunda vuelta se impone la Hermandad Musulmana, la mayor fuerza organizada de la plaza. A gran parte de la ciudadanía egipcia le agrada como dirigen el país, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta que la transición a la democracia suele ser un proceso bastante turbulento y caótico.

Sin embargo, en junio de 2013 una campaña de recogida de firmas se erige como heredera del espíritu de 2011. Esta iniciativa congrega un gran número de movilizaciones que acaban allanando el camino a un golpe de Estado militar. El ejército interviene con el apoyo de las monarquías del Golfo y, en última instancia, de la administración Obama, para llevar a cabo un golpe militar contrarrevolucionario y establecer la dictadura que gobierna hasta el día de hoy.

Si hubiera habido algún tipo de organización revolucionaria al frente de la revuelta o con capacidad para intentarlo, las personas manifestantes podrían haber hecho algo más que limitarse a tomar la plaza Tahrir. Pero no fue el caso, y perdieron la oportunidad.

El país que has investigado más de cerca es Brasil, donde una oleada de protestas de izquierdas dio lugar a un resultado imprevisto: la llegada a la presidencia del ultraderechista Jair Bolsonaro. ¿Cómo pudo suceder?

El caso de Brasil pone de manifiesto que el concepto de libertad puede significar cosas muy distintas para diferentes grupos de personas. El colectivo inicial, el Movimento Passe Livre («Movimiento Pase Libre», MPL), estaba formado por anarquistas autónomos de izquierdas que exigían un transporte público gratuito para todos los ciudadanos brasileños. Llevaban ocho años organizando protestas con regularidad, pero en junio de 2013 los principales medios de comunicación brasileños, de tendencia derechista y en manos de la oligarquía, apelaron a las autoridades para que aplicaran mano dura. Esta represión corrió a cargo de la policía militar brasileña, heredera de la dictadura respaldada por Estados Unidos.

Tiflis, Georgia, 9 de marzo de 2023. Manifestación contra la ley de «agentes extranjeros», que instauraba un registro de los medios de comunicación y ONG que recibían una financiación extranjera superior al 20 %. La ley se retiró en un principio, pero se reintrodujo en el año 2024, lo que provocó nuevas oleadas de protestas. ©MARIAM GIUNASHVILI

La conmoción de la sociedad civil brasileña, incluidos los mismos medios de comunicación que habían incitado a dicha represión, fue de tal magnitud que provocó un aluvión de apoyo a las protestas. Sin embargo, los principales medios de comunicación y la mayoría de las personas que se unieron a las protestas en aquel momento no estaban dispuestas a respaldar la acción directa anarquista ni la desmercantilización total del transporte público. Esto provocó un conflicto —que empezó siendo verbal pero que acabó siendo violento con los manifestantes de izquierda originales, muchos de los cuales acabaron expulsados de las calles. Llegados a este punto, un grupo de jóvenes brasileños que trabajaban para think tanks neoliberales auspiciados por Estados Unidos llegó a la conclusión (acertada, a mi modo de ver) de que cualquiera podía resignificar lo que estaba ocurriendo en las calles . Podían rebatir el fundamento mismo de las protestas y reinterpretar lo que estaba sucediendo, así que este grupo de estudiantes bien organizados y financiados desde el exterior decidió tomar la fórmula original, Movimento Passe Livre (MPL), y cambiarla por Movimento Brasil Livre («Movimiento Brasil Libre», MBL). Eligieron un acrónimo muy similar, pero con un concepto de la libertad radicalmente distinto: su visión de la libertad era de índole norteamericana y libertaria, como una relación de suma cero entre la sociedad civil y el Estado.

A lo largo de los dos años siguientes, este grupo lideró una nueva serie de protestas contra Dilma Roussef, la presidenta elegida democráticamente, y acabó reclamando su destitución, que se produjo en 2016. Acto seguido, la organización hizo campaña a favor del ultraderechista Jair Bolsonaro, llegando al poder codo con codo en el año 2019. Después de usurpar el estilo y la credibilidad de una formación autonomista, este grupo llegaba al poder para destruirla.

Hay dos principios que, de manera más o menos explícita, rigen los movimientos de protesta que has analizado: el horizontalismo y la prefiguración. ¿En qué consisten y por qué son importantes a la hora de entender el desenlace de las revueltas?

La horizontalidad es un método de organización política que insiste en que no debe haber ningún tipo de jerarquía. Los movimientos y experimentos antijerárquicos han existido durante muchos años, cobrando especial auge en los años sesenta, aunque la palabra «horizontalidad» surge en Argentina a principios del siglo XXI. Ante el colapso económico y estatal, se formaron asambleas que estaban abiertas a todo el mundo, sin líderes ni pretensiones de crear estructuras representativas o un nuevo Estado. El horizontalismo es un concepto ligeramente distinto, ya que no es un término meramente descriptivo, sino también normativo. Por ejemplo, el MPL brasileño creía que la horizontalidad era la forma correcta de organizar su movimiento. Los Indignados de la Puerta del Sol en España y el movimiento Occupy Wall Street en Estados Unidos también compartían algunos principios horizontalistas, mientras que en Egipto esta horizontalidad fue más bien el resultado de la incapacidad para coordinar unas estructuras representativas.

La prefiguración suele ser un asunto de gran importancia para el horizontalismo. En términos normativos, la prefiguración se basa en la convicción de que para crear la sociedad que deseamos, debemos ser capaces de reflejarla en el movimiento actual. En la plaza Tahrir, hubo personas con diferentes ideologías políticas, clases sociales y creencias religiosas que se unieron, se protegieron y se sustentaron las unas a las otras. Esto parecía ser una constatación de lo que el pueblo egipcio era capaz de hacer y motivaba a las personas a acudir a la plaza.

Desde una perspectiva radicalmente antiautoritaria, una revuelta debe crecer y crecer hasta convertirse en el nuevo Estado, en la semilla de una nueva sociedad. En Brasil, la horizontalidad específica de las protestas respondía al horizontalismo ideológico de sus participantes originales, que no creían realmente en el liderazgo. Todo el mundo se sentía bienvenido en las calles siempre y cuando tuviera algún tipo de queja contra la sociedad brasileña. El horizontalismo permitió que las protestas adquirieran una gran magnitud.

Lo mismo ocurrió en el parque Gezi de Estambul ese mismo año. Los elementos prefigurativos lo convirtieron en un lugar de encuentro más agradable y atractivo. Era un espacio de reunión donde las personas comían y conversaban. Sus funciones en la sociedad capitalista pasaban a un segundo plano mientras compartían una experiencia verdaderamente enriquecedora a nivel personal, aunque aquello no fuera a reemplazar al gobierno.

El horizontalismo se convierte en un problema en la segunda fase y es que no se puede acceder al vacío de poder ni articular la mejor estrategia electoral posible cuando no se dispone de medios que permitan la coordinación, tal y como ocurrió en Egipto. En Brasil, la presidenta Dilma Rousseff quería conceder a las calles el cambio que demandaban, pero era incapaz de entender qué pedían exactamente, porque pedían tantas cosas como personas había, o quizá incluso más. 

La prefiguración plantea unos retos similares pues impone un límite ideológico estricto sobre lo que se considera aceptable. En la década de 2010, asistimos a la eclosión de ciertas situaciones revolucionarias, y cuando las élites dominantes se sienten amenazadas, responden con violencia contrarrevolucionaria. Ahora bien, si alguien invade tu pueblo y empieza a matar a todo el mundo, lo más probable es que no quieras responder actuando de la forma en la que te gustaría vivir después de que se marchen, tal y como establecería la prefiguración. Final del formulario

Los movimientos de protesta que analizas tienen un fuerte carácter de acción colectiva y a menudo en contra del neoliberalismo y su ideal de individualismo. Sin embargo, también es posible interpretar el rechazo absoluto a la representación y a la jerarquía como una forma de individualismo en estado puro, como la convicción de que nadie puede hablar en nombre de los demás. ¿Cómo explicas esta paradoja?

Es una paradoja extraña, pero diría que ambas cosas pueden coexistir. Tal y como afirma el sociólogo ucraniano Volodymyr Ishchenko, muchas de las revueltas que presenciamos en la década de 2010 se pueden interpretar como una respuesta a la crisis de representación del sistema global neoliberal. La ciudadanía desconfía cada vez más de sus gobiernos porque el Estado moderno responde sobre todo a las élites económicas e ignora substancialmente a la población, a menos que esta consiga que algún sector de la clase dominante defienda sus intereses.

Por otra parte, estas revueltas reprodujeron a nivel interno algunos de los aspectos y perspectivas del sistema en el que surgieron. El historiador argentino Ezequiel Adamovsky, uno de los pensadores más elocuentes del movimiento que organizó las ocupaciones a principios de la década de 2000 ―que condujeron a la popularización del horizontalismo― me dijo que estas movilizaciones surgieron como respuesta al claro fracaso de las instituciones representativas (la empresa, el Estado, el sindicato, el partido). Sin embargo, probablemente también estaban influenciadas por las ideas neoliberales de libertad y el discurso antiestatal que tan extendidos estaban en los medios de comunicación favorables a la privatización en Argentina.

Se podría decir que estos movimientos eran antisistema en lo subjetivo, pero prosistema en lo objetivo porque adoptaron una forma final y crearon oportunidades que las estructuras de poder preexistentes supieron aprovechar.

Estos movimientos crearon oportunidades que las estructuras de poder preexistentes supieron aprovechar.

Las manifestaciones masivas son una modalidad de conflicto político relativamente reciente, cuya aparición está muy relacionada con el efecto amplificador de los medios de comunicación de masas. En este caso, las revueltas de la década de 2010 también recibieron el impulso y la influencia de los nuevos medios digitales. ¿Cómo interactuaron estos dos tipos de medios y cómo contribuyeron a dar forma a los principales movimientos de protesta de la última década?  

En un primer momento hubo numerosas interpretaciones, sobre todo en los medios liberales anglosajones, que apuntaban a que estos eventos eran revoluciones de las redes sociales. Ahora bien, a posteriori es evidente que las redes sociales fueron una de las muchas piezas que hicieron posibles estas revueltas y su papel consistió en interactuar con los medios tradicionales. Los periodistas que trabajaban para los canales tradicionales, entre los que me incluyo, miraban las redes sociales, publicaban y obtenían información de ellas. Los usuarios de las redes sociales leían los medios tradicionales y hablaban de ellos en las redes sociales. Es difícil dividir estos dos fenómenos y creo que no hay razón para hacerlo.

Los medios de comunicación hicieron que mucha más gente quisiera unirse a las protestas y determinaron su significado porque, como bien has dicho, estas revueltas no pudieron o no quisieron mostrar al mundo lo que eran en realidad. Sin embargo, la forma en que los medios de comunicación las presentan sí puede remodelar lo que ocurre en las revueltas. Los grupos que salieron a la calle con unas ideas diferentes en Brasil las habían sacado de los medios de comunicación. Del mismo modo, la manera en que los medios de comunicación exponían la protesta influyó inevitablemente en la percepción de la misma. Así, era frecuente encontrarse en la calle a dos personas que compartían el mismo espacio físico, pero que mentalmente estaban asistiendo a dos protestas diferentes.

El llamado Euromaidán de Ucrania surgió a raíz de un grupo relativamente pequeño de personas que protestaban contra la decisión del presidente Víktor Yanukóvich de no firmar un Acuerdo de Asociación con la Unión Europea. Esas personas creían en esa causa y tenían unos argumentos coherentes para defender la firma de ese acuerdo, pero la mayoría de la ciudadanía ucraniana no lo apoyaba. De hecho, fue la represión de los manifestantes lo que atrajo a mucha más gente a la plaza del centro de Kiev.. Estas personas se habían enterado de la represión, se les habían revuelto las tripas y querían pasar a la acción. También añadieron otras reivindicaciones. Hubo auténticas peleas en la calle sobre el significado de lo que estaba sucediendo en la plaza. Toda interpretación sobre el Maidán, a menos que se estuviera presencialmente allí y se investigara sobre el terreno, procedía de los medios de comunicación. Antes de que Rusia invadiera Ucrania a nivel global en 2022, conocí a personas de una misma familia que tenían ideas distintas de lo que había ocurrido porque veían medios de comunicación diferentes: quienes se informaban por los medios de comunicación rusos solían consumir contenido de los miembros de la extrema derecha que estaban presentes en la plaza, mientras que la creencia generalizada en Occidente era que las protestas se debían a la adhesión a la UE.

A principios de la década de 2010 también se extendió la opinión de que las redes sociales servían para la autorrepresentación sin intermediarios y el periodismo ciudadano veraz. En la actualidad, todo el mundo sabe que hay personas y grupos bien financiados que pueden distorsionar los mensajes en las redes sociales y que la información que surge de los miles de millones de fragmentos de la realidad que se publican cada día puede ser engañosa. Ante esta ingente multiplicación de los hechos, resulta ineludible que un algoritmo diseñado para maximizar los ingresos publicitarios ejecute un proceso de selección. Así, hasta los hechos más verídicos, como una fotografía real publicada en las redes sociales, pueden contribuir a crear relatos engañosos.

Estambul, Turquía, 23 de marzo de 2025. Agentes de la unidad antidisturbios hacen uso de gas pimienta para expulsar a un manifestante durante una protesta tras la detención y encarcelamiento del alcalde de Estambul, Ekrem İmamoğlu. La detención de İmamoğlu desencadenó la mayor ola de protestas en Turquía desde el episodio del parque Gezi en 2013. ©HUSEYİN ALDEMIR

Aparte de Brasil, ¿estaba presente la libertad en los movimientos de protesta que investigas, ya fuera como meta utópica o como reivindicación concreta?

En términos muy básicos, la libertad puede significar lo que cada persona quiera. Se podría decir que toda acción de protesta es una protesta por la libertad. Sin embargo, la interpretación de lo que eso significa puede variar mucho en función de a quién se le pregunte. Lo interesante de la década de 2010 es que se observó una gama de reivindicaciones más o menos similar y un enfoque táctico y organizativo parecido en unos contextos sociales, económicos y políticos muy diferentes entre sí. El contenido subjetivo de cada protesta era muy diverso, al igual que la relación con el concepto de libertad. En lo que respecta a Túnez, Egipto o Baréin, cabría interpretar estas revueltas como una reivindicación de libertad frente al régimen existente. En el caso de Turquía, podríamos decir que se trataba de un llamamiento a la libertad ante la invasión del espacio público. Las protestas contra la austeridad que tuvieron lugar por esas mismas fechas en el sur de Europa se podrían entender como un deseo de libertad a fin de participar en la economía, tener un empleo y beneficiarse del estado del bienestar establecido por las generaciones anteriores. Quienes se manifestaban en Ucrania en un inicio aspiraban a la libertad de unirse a la UE, pero la firma del Acuerdo de Asociación también suponía muchas normas nuevas y cambios económicos que darían paso a nuevos ganadores y perdedores. Es más, las personas también interpretan y recuerdan sus propias vidas de forma diferente a lo largo de la historia. En la actualidad, es probable que haya más ucranianos que interpretaran esas protestas como una reivindicación de libertad frente a Rusia.

Kiev, Ucrania, 14 de diciembre de 2013. Una manifestación se reúne en Maidén Nezalézhnosti (Plaza de la Independencia) durante un concierto de la banda ucraniana Okean Elzy. A las protestas del Euromaidán le siguió la Revolución de la Dignidad, que culminó con la destitución del presidente Víktor Yanukóvich. Según los datos oficiales, 106 manifestantes murieron en altercados con la policía antidisturbios. ©JULIA KOCHETOVA

En las protestas con una estructura horizontal donde es posible expresar una gran variedad cacofónica ―y a veces contradictoria― de reivindicaciones, los conceptos prevalecientes en el discurso deben ser suficientemente amplios y plenamente positivos, sea cual sea la ideología política de cada persona. En la década de 2010, vimos cómo conceptos tales como la democracia, la libertad y la lucha contra la corrupción borbotearon hasta llegar al punto de ebullición porque son términos con los que todo el mundo está de acuerdo. El pueblo de Hong Kong luchaba por la democracia, pero la República Popular China es, según su propio discurso, un Estado democrático. Para gran parte de la ciudadanía egipcia que gestó las protestas de enero de 2011, era obvio que la construcción de un Egipto democrático supondría una amenaza para el imperialismo estadounidense y los intereses de sus aliados en la región, Arabia Saudí e Israel. No obstante, según la visión de un corresponsal de la CNN, el pueblo egipcio exigía la libertad de ser como la ciudadanía estadounidense, de copiar su sistema político y unirse a Estados Unidos como aliado menor.

Cuando se abordan unos términos tan amplios, el secreto está en la letra pequeña.

Cuando se abordan unos términos tan amplios como “libertad”, el secreto está en la letra pequeña.

¿Tuvo el ecologismo algún papel en las grandes revueltas de la década de 2010? Considerando las experiencias adquiridas de las protestas que has analizado, ¿qué se necesita para que el movimiento ecologista tenga éxito?

Las revueltas en lugares como Egipto y Baréin mostraron un contenido principalmente político ya que se enfrentaban a una represión evidente y opresiva en el ámbito político. Más que abordar cuestiones ecológicas, su objetivo principal era transformar el orden político. Sin embargo, las revueltas en países como Turquía, Brasil o Chile sí tuvieron un carácter ecológico explícito. Las protestas del parque Gezi nacieron como defensa de los espacios verdes públicos y los activistas ecologistas fueron los primeros en tomar partido. En Brasil, los progresistas son, de forma automática, ecologistas y defensores de los derechos indígenas y de la protección del Amazonas. Por el contrario, Bolsonaro llegó al poder con un proyecto manifiesto de completar la colonización de Brasil, poner fin a la soberanía indígena y transformar una mayor parte del Amazonas en tierra que produzca un rendimiento económico.

Estoy convencido de que uno de los principales retos del siglo XXI será la lucha por transformar la economía global actual en una menos destructiva para nuestro planeta. Muchas de las principales protestas de la década de 2010 tenían un sesgo anti-Estado explícito o implícito. Aun así, el orden actual de los Estados que conforman el sistema global será clave a la hora de salvar al planeta de la catástrofe climática, nos guste o no. Necesitaremos un cambio en las regulaciones y en las relaciones entre Estados. Necesitaremos la cooperación de Estados Unidos y China, los dos Estados más importantes del sistema global, aunque las cosas no pintan bien en este momento. Por lo tanto, rechazar el Estado como terreno de lucha sería un error.

Los movimientos de protesta pueden hacer muchas cosas. Pueden cambiar quién toma las decisiones, pueden dejar claras sus inquietudes a las élites existentes e imponerles un coste real que les inste a actuar de forma responsable. Todo esto será una labor transcendental.

A pesar de que muchas revueltas no hayan terminado bien, la mayoría de los revolucionarios con los que has hablado no recomiendan enterrar el hacha. Los últimos cinco años también corroboran que las protestas masivas siguen siendo una forma muy popular de conflicto político, con movimientos como Black Lives Matter o las protestas en Irán, Serbia y Georgia. ¿Ves algún cambio en la estructura y las tácticas de las protestas en comparación con las que tuvieron lugar en los años anteriores?

El tipo específico de protesta que describo surgió por razones tanto ideológicas como materiales. Si la comparamos con otras formas de lucha, este tipo de protesta se convirtió en algo posible y fácil de llevar a cabo. En la década de 2020 ha habido una cierta evolución ideológica. Hoy en día ya no se considera tanto que la espontaneidad y la falta de estructura sean factores intrínsecamente buenos. Veo menos insistencia en la noción de que todas las reivindicaciones son igualmente importantes y que todo el mundo puede participar y hablar con la misma autoridad. En los campamentos propalestinos de Estados Unidos, por ejemplo, se han seleccionado meticulosamente a los representantes de prensa para evitar que alguien apareciera y hablara con quien quisiera sobre el significado de las protestas.

Sin embargo, las condiciones materiales siguen siendo las mismas en gran medida. Las protestas masivas aparentemente espontáneas, coordinadas de forma digital y con una estructura horizontal siguen siendo más sencillas de articular que la creación de organizaciones capaces de llevar a cabo acciones colectivas a largo plazo y con una coordinación rápida y eficaz.

Traducido por Guerrilla Media Collective

Ursprünglich sollte der Begriff Gaslighting Missbrauch und Manipulation in Paarbeziehungen definieren. Doch immer häufiger wird er auch in der kollektiven politischen Analyse verwendet. Was bedeutet diese Verlagerung vom privaten in den öffentlichen Raum?

But he’s gaslighting her!” Ich hörte den Begriff „Gaslighting” zum ersten Mal während einer Diskussion mit einer britischen Freundin im Jahr 2019. Wir sprachen über ein Paar, in dem die Frau ihren eigenen Erinnerungen nicht mehr traute und sich dabei ertappte, wie sie Anrufe und Nachrichten durchging, um zu überprüfen, ob das, woran sie sich zu erinnern glaubte, der Wahrheit entsprach. Für meine Gesprächspartnerin gab es keinen Zweifel: Unsere Bekannte ist ein Opfer von Gaslighting.

Laut der amerikanischen Psychoanalytikerin Robin Stern, Autorin von The Gaslight Effect Recovery Guide (Rodale Press, 2007 und 2023), ist „Gaslighting eine mächtige, heimtückische und oft verdeckte Form der psychologischen Manipulation, die sich über einen längeren Zeitraum über wiederholt und das Vertrauen einer Person in ihre eigene Wahrnehmung, ihr Urteilsvermögen und in extremen Fällen auch ihre geistige Gesundheit untergräbt. Es handelt sich dabei nicht um eine individuelle Pathologie, sondern sie gedeiht auf dem emotionalen Boden ungleicher Beziehungen.”

„Gaslighting kann zwar bei allen Geschlechtern vorkommen”, fährt Stern fort, „doch Frauen sind überproportional davon betroffen, und zwar nicht, weil sie von Natur aus verletzlicher sind, sondern weil ihnen seit jeher beigebracht wurde, ‚nett‘ zu sein und zu gefallen. Das Patriarchat hat männliche Autorität lange Zeit gebilligt und weibliche Wahrnehmung auf diese Weise diskreditiert.”

In den letzten Jahren ist Gaslighting jedoch auch zu einer politischen Kategorie geworden und spiegelt einen Trend wider, bei dem psychologische Konzepte zur Erklärung von kollektiven Phänomenen und Dynamiken unserer Zeit verwendet werden. „Donald Trump Is Gaslighting America“, titelte die Teen Vogue im Jahr 2016 und bezog sich dabei auf „Trumps systematische Versuche, die Wahrheit zu destabilisieren und das Fundament der amerikanischen Freiheit zu schwächen.” In seinen Tweets und Erklärungen hat Trump eine lange Liste von Lügen verbreitet, ohne sich die Mühe zu machen, sie zu korrigieren oder zu widerlegen. Die amerikanische Essayistin Rebecca Solnit hat darauf hingewiesen, dass Trumps erster Wahlsieg Gaslighting „zu einem unverzichtbaren Wort im öffentlichen Leben” gemacht hat.

Männliche Herrschaftsfantasie: zwischen Psychologie und Politik

Der Begriff stammt ursprünglich aus dem britischen Theaterstück Gas Light von Patrick Hamilton, das 1938 in London uraufgeführt wurde – ein großer Erfolg, König Georg VI. brachte seine Frau zur Aufführung mit und das Stück wurde 1944 von George Cukor verfilmt, mit Charles Boyer und Ingrid Bergman in den Hauptrollen. Der Film erzählt die Geschichte einer Ehe, in der der Mann seine Frau manipuliert, indem er sie anlügt und kleine Veränderungen im Haus vornimmt, z. B. das Licht in den Gaslampen dimmt, so dass sie an ihrer Wahrnehmung und ihren geistigen Fähigkeiten zu zweifeln beginnt.

Zur Zeit von Hamiltons Stück und Cukors Film wurde das Thema häusliche Gewalt noch nicht öffentlich diskutiert. Doch heute, mehr als 80 Jahre später, ist der Titel in den allgemeinen Sprachgebrauch übergegangen, um eine Form des beziehungsspezifischen und politischen Missbrauchs zu beschreiben.

2016 wurde „Gaslight” von der American Dialect Society zum „nützlichsten Wort“ des Jahres gekürt und 2018 listete Oxford Dictionaries es als eines der „Wörter des Jahres” – eine Wahl, die 2022 vom amerikanischen Merriam-Webster-Wörterbuch bestätigt wurde, nachdem die Online-Suche nach dem Begriff im Vergleich zum Vorjahr um 1740 Prozent gestiegen war. „In unserem Zeitalter der Desinformationen – von ‚Fake News’, Verschwörungstheorien, Twitter-Trollen bis hin zu Deepfakes – ist Gaslighting zu einem wichtigen Wort geworden”, erklärt Merriam-Webster. Im Jahr 2016 hatte Oxford Dictionaries „post-truth“ gewählt, ein weiterer Begriff, der eine für unsere Zeit typische Verschleierung der Wahrheit beschreibt.

Beim Gaslighting wird die Verantwortung umgekehrt: Diejenigen, die es praktizieren, leugnen nicht die Wahrheit eines Problems, sondern schieben das Problem auf die andere Person und greifen sie für ihre Art zu sein an.

Heute ist die Popularität des Begriffs jedoch eher auf seine politische Verwendung zurückzuführen, insbesondere in der englischsprachigen Welt. „Die amerikanische Popularisierung der psychologischen Sprache ist sowohl eine kulturelle Eigenheit als auch ein gesellschaftspolitisches Phänomen”, erklärt Stern. Dem Psychoanalytiker zufolge haben jahrzehntelanger Aktivismus in den USA – vom Second-Wave-Feminismus bis zur #MeToo-Bewegung – und später der politische Aufstieg von Trump den Weg dafür geebnet, dass psychologische Begriffe Teil des Alltagsdiskurses wurden. „Was in der klinischen Welt begann, tauchte in Wohnzimmern, Klassenzimmern und schließlich in der Umgangssprache der sozialen Medien und des Protests auf.”

„Während zwischenmenschliches Gaslighting das individuelle Selbst- und Wahrheitsempfinden verzerrt, zielt politisches Gaslighting darauf ab, die gemeinsame Realität einer bestimmten Gesellschaftsgruppe zu verzerren oder umzuschreiben” – Robin Stern

„Da ist etwas in Bewegung”, fügt Stern hinzu. „Die globale Verbreitung feministischen Denkens, digitaler Aktivismus und die weitverbreitete Erfahrung von systemischem Verrat – insbesondere in der Politik – hat das Bedürfnis nach einer Sprache geschaffen, die das bestätigt, was die Menschen intuitiv spüren, aber noch nicht zu benennen wissen.”

In diesem Zusammenhang hat sich Gaslighting als „ein Wort herauskristallisiert, das dem Unbehagen Ausdruck verleiht, wenn einem gesagt wird, dass der eigene Schmerz nicht echt ist – sei es von einem Partner, einer Partnerin oder von einer Regierung. Wie bei vielen sozialen Phänomenen kann sich dieses Vokabular zunächst nur leise verbreiten, am Ende wird es jedoch immer lauter und spricht mit Macht.”

Der französische Soziologe Marc Joly, Forscher am Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS), stimmt dem zu: „Es ist erstaunlich, dass sich immer mehr psychologische Konzepte durchsetzen, die es uns ermöglichen, die psychischen und verhaltensbezogenen Funktionen der Menschen so genau wie möglich zu definieren.” Diese Begriffe werden immer häufiger sowohl im privaten Bereich – man denke nur an „hypersensibel” – als auch im öffentlichen Bereich verwendet, um ein als abweichend oder unangemessen empfundenes Verhalten anzuprangern.

Joly hat einen Großteil seiner Forschung dem pathologischen Narzissmus gewidmet, der Politiker wie Donald Trump oder Emmanuel Macron kennzeichnet. In seinem Buch La pensée perverse au pouvoir („Perverses Denken an der Macht”, Anamosa, 2024) hat sich Joly auf den französischen Präsidenten konzentriert und kommt zu dem Schluss, dass durch narzisstische Perversion in der Politik das „männliche Phantasma der absoluten Herrschaft” reproduziert wird. In diesem Sinne ist Narzissmus eine Reaktion auf den Verlust von relationaler und politischer Macht: „Wenn Minderheitengruppen oder ehemalige Minderheitengruppen ihre Rechte und ihren Standpunkt geltend machen können, dann sind dominante Gruppen von einem Legitimitätsverlust bedroht und müssen auf neue Herrschaftsstrategien ausweichen.”

„Was passiert also, wenn der Ehepartner die Besitzmentalität beibehält, aber nicht mehr das Recht dazu hat, weil er mit einer Partnerin konfrontiert ist, die autonom ist und ihre Bedürfnisse und Wünsche respektiert sehen möchte? Dieses Ungleichgewicht in den ehelichen Beziehungen findet sich in allen Beziehungskonstellationen wieder, insbesondere in den Beziehungen zwischen Herrschenden und Beherrschten”, fügt Joly hinzu. Manipulation durch Verleugnung, Spaltung, aktive Verunglimpfung sowie störendes oder chaotisches Verhalten (mit Folgen für die gesamte Gesellschaft) gehören zu den häufigsten Erscheinungsformen des politischen Narzissmus.

„Eine kollektive weibliche Erfahrung”

In ihrem 2023 veröffentlichten Buch Le gaslighting ou l’art de faire taire les femmes („Gaslighting oder die Kunst, Frauen zum Schweigen zu bringen”, L’Observatoire-La Relève) bezeichnet die französische Schriftstellerin Hélène Frappat das Gaslighting als „kritisches Instrument des Feminismus”. Frappat zeigt anhand von Geschichte, Kino und Politik, wie dieser Mechanismus gegen Frauen eingesetzt wurde, um sie „verschwinden” zu lassen, zum Schweigen zu bringen und sie als verrückt oder labil darzustellen – von Kassandra über Antigone bis zu Britney Spears. Für Frappat ist das Gaslighting daher eine kollektive weibliche Erfahrung.

„Politisches Gaslighting ist der kollektive Cousin des intimen Verrats”, sagt Stern. „Während zwischenmenschliches Gaslighting das individuelle Selbst- und Wahrheitsempfinden verzerrt, zielt politisches Gaslighting darauf ab, die gemeinsame Realität einer bestimmten Gesellschaftsgruppe zu verzerren oder umzuschreiben. Es ist nicht nur eine Taktik – es ist eine Kontrollstrategie. Der psychologische Mechanismus ist derselbe: leugnen, ablenken, verzerren. Aber die Reichweite ist viel größer und die Folgen weitreichender.”

Wenn Politiker oder Institutionen Gräueltaten herunterspielen, eindeutig dokumentierte Fakten leugnen oder Andersdenkende als „gestört“ bezeichnen, betrieben sie nicht nur Propaganda, sondern führten einen Krieg gegen die Wahrnehmung, so Stern. „Das Ziel ist Destabilisierung, nicht Überzeugung.” Während politische Propaganda die Öffentlichkeit überzeugen will, zielt Gaslighting darauf ab, sie zu verwirren.

Fast ein Jahrzehnt nach seiner ersten Wahl ist Trump immer noch ein Meister dieser Strategie. „Trump lässt uns im Dunkeln tappen”, schrieb Peter Wehner in The Atlantic, nachdem führende Mitglieder der US-Regierung dem Chefredakteur des Magazins fälschlicherweise geheime Militärpläne mitgeteilt hatten. Anstatt den Fehler einzugestehen, griff Trump The Atlantic an und bezeichnete die Redakteur*innen als Versager*innen.

Wenn ein Gaslighter im Oval Office sitzt, so Wehner, „werden die Schrecken, die normalerweise eine Einzelperson heimsuchen, auf eine ganze Nation übertragen.” In diesem Zusammenhang besteht das Ziel darin, das Vertrauen in die Institutionen zu untergraben. Wie Wehner argumentiert, „ist das ultimative Ziel, die Zivilgesellschaft zu spalten und zu schwächen und so ihre Fähigkeit zur Mobilisierung und zum Zusammenhalt zu untergraben.”

Gaslighting und Post-Truth

Gaslighting ist eng mit einem anderen Konzept verbunden, das in den letzten Jahren populär geworden ist: das der Post-Wahrheit. Die Forscherin Natascha Rietdijk stellt eine Verbindung zwischen den beiden Phänomenen her, weil sie jeweils sowohl unser Vertrauen in uns selbst als Subjekte des Wissens als auch unsere epistemische Autonomie (d. h. die Überzeugung, dass wir die Vertrauenswürdigkeit anderer gut beurteilen können) untergraben.

Wie beim Gaslighting wird auch beim Post-Truth die Wahrheit zu einer zweitrangigen Angelegenheit, während Appelle an Gefühle und persönliche Überzeugungen wichtiger werden als Fakten.

Obwohl Gaslighting jeden treffen kann, gibt es laut Rietdijk Gruppen, für die die Gefahr größer ist: „Menschen, die in der Gesellschaft an den Rand gedrängt werden, sind anfälliger, weil sie sich stärker in asymmetrischen Machtverhältnissen befinden und weil sie möglicherweise dahingehend sozialisiert wurden, weniger selbstbewusst und bescheidener/selbstkritischer zu sein (z. B. Frauen, sehr alte oder junge Menschen, Behinderte, ethnische Minderheiten.” Das bedeutet nicht, dass es für eine weniger mächtige Person unmöglich ist, eine mächtigere Person zu blenden, betont Rietdijk, aber dieser Mechanismus ist viel unwahrscheinlicher.

Ein Machtungleichgewicht und ein problematisches Verhältnis zur Wahrheit sind ebenfalls Merkmale politischer Propaganda. Aber wie subtil auch immer, es gibt einen entscheidenden Unterschied zwischen Propaganda und Gaslighting: „Bei Propaganda geht es oft darum, eine Basis durch emotionale Ansprache und Wiederholung zu mobilisieren. Gaslighting dagegen untergräbt die Fähigkeit dieser Basis, ihrem eigenen Urteil zu vertrauen – und untergräbt damit genau die Instrumente, die Bürger*innen nutzen, um sich ein Bild von der Welt zu machen”, erklärt Stern. In diesem Sinne ist politisches Gaslighting eine Form der epistemischen Gewalt: „Es schafft eine Gesellschaft, in der die Wahrheit zersplittert ist und sich Einzelpersonen ihres Gleichgewichts unsicher sind und deshalb für autoritäre Erzählungen empfänglicher werden.”

Rietdijk fügt hinzu, dass politisches Gaslighting, anders als Propaganda, nicht darauf abzielt, Menschen zu überzeugen oder ihr Verhalten zu ändern, sondern sie zu überwältigen und zu desorientieren, indem sie „die Wahrscheinlichkeit, zu handeln (Kritik zu äußern, Widerstand zu leisten), deutlich verringert.”

Wie sollte man darauf also reagieren? Gaslighting funktioniert, wenn das Opfer es nicht als solches erkennt, erklärt Rietdijkk. Während ein Aufbegehren gegen Gaslighting im privaten Bereich das Risiko der Isolation mit sich bringt, „hat der politische Bereich den Vorteil, dass eine Isolation schwieriger zu erreichen ist und die Möglichkeit für kollektiven Widerstand und Solidarität besteht.”

Für Rietdijkk ist es außerdem wichtig, „Gaslighting immer wieder anzuprangern, wenn man es bemerkt. Sich zu weigern, mitzuspielen und eine andere Sprache zu sprechen ist eine wichtige politische Strategie. Es ist besser und effektiver, zu versuchen, ein alternatives Narrativ zu schaffen.”

Übersetzt von Voxeurop

Le “gaslighting”, un terme inventé pour décrire les abus relationnels au sein des couples, est devenu avec le temps un outil d’analyse de nos politiques. Qu’est-ce que ce passage de la sphère privée à la sphère publique dit de notre époque ?

“Mais il la gaslighte !” En 2019, Je discutais avec une amie britannique lorsque j’ai entendu le terme gaslighting pour la première fois. Nous parlions d’un couple dans lequel une des deux personnes ne faisait plus confiance à ses souvenirs, et se retrouvait à ressasser des appels et des messages pour vérifier que ce dont elle pensait se souvenir était vrai. Pour mon interlocutrice, il n’y avait aucun doute : notre connaissance commune était victime de gaslighting.

Selon la psychanalyste américaine Robin Stern, autrice de The Gaslight Effect Recovery Guide (“Guide de rétablissement à l’effet Gaslight”, Rodale Press, 2007), “le gaslighting est une forme puissante, insidieuse et souvent secrète de manipulation psychologique, répétée au fil du temps, qui érode la confiance d’une personne dans sa propre perception de la réalité, dans son jugement et, dans les cas extrêmes, dans sa propre santé mentale. Il ne s’agit pas d’une pathologie individuelle – elle se développe dans le terreau émotionnel des relations inégales”.

Bien que n’importe qui, quelle que soit son identité de genre, puisse être victime de gaslighting, celui-ci “affecte les femmes de manière disproportionnée, mais pas parce qu’elles seraient intrinsèquement plus vulnérables”, précise Stern. “Historiquement, les femmes ont été socialisées et on leur a appris à ‘être gentilles’ et à plaire, mais c’est parce que le patriarcat a longtemps cautionné l’autorité masculine et discrédité la perception féminine.”

Ces dernières années, le gaslighting – également appelé détournement cognitif – est également devenu un terme politique, reflétant une tendance à utiliser des concepts psychologiques pour expliquer les dynamiques et les phénomènes collectifs de notre époque. “Donald Trump Is Gaslighting America” (“Donald Trump gaslight l’Amérique”), titrait Teen Vogue en 2016, en référence aux “tentatives systématiques de [Donald] Trump de fragiliser la vérité et d’affaiblir les fondements de la liberté américaine”. À travers ses tweets et ses déclarations publiques, Trump a propagé de nombreux mensonges, sans jamais prendre la peine de les vérifier, de les corriger ou de les réfuter. Comme le souligne l’essayiste américaine Rebecca Solnit, la première victoire électorale de Trump a fait du gaslighting “un mot indispensable dans la vie publique”.

Entre psychologie et politique : le fantasme masculin de domination

Le terme trouve son origine dans la pièce britannique Gas Light de Patrick Hamilton, jouée pour la première fois à Londres en 1938. La pièce a connu un énorme succès – le roi George VI a emmené sa femme la voir – et a été adaptée en film en 1944 par George Cukor, avec Charles Boyer et Ingrid Bergman dans les rôles principaux, sous le titre Hantise en français. La pièce et le film racontent l’histoire d’un mariage dans lequel l’époux tente de faire croire à sa femme qu’elle devient folle, en lui mentant, en déplaçant certains objets de la maison ou – d’où le nom de l’oeuvre – en diminuant l’intensité des lampes à gaz, au point qu’elle commence à douter de sa propre perception et de sa santé mentale.

À l’époque de la pièce de Hamilton et du film de Cukor, la question des violences domestiques ne faisait pas l’objet d’un débat public. Mais aujourd’hui, plus de 80 ans plus tard, le titre de l’œuvre est entré dans le langage courant pour décrire une forme d’abus relationnel et politique.

En 2016, “gaslight” a été nommé “mot le plus utile” de l’année par l’American Dialect Society ; en 2018, Oxford Dictionaries l’a classé parmi les “mots de l’année” – un choix repris en 2022 par le dictionnaire américain Merriam-Webster, après que les recherches en ligne pour ce terme ont augmenté de 1 740 % par rapport à l’année précédente. “À l’ère de la désinformation – des ‘fake news’, des théories du complot, des trolls sur Twitter et des ‘deepfakes’ – le terme ‘gaslighting’ est devenu un mot de notre époque”, expliquait Merriam-Webster. En 2016, Oxford Dictionaries avait choisi “post-truth” (“post-vérité”), un autre terme décrivant un obscurcissement de la vérité typique de notre époque.

“Mes années d’expérience en tant que thérapeute – et de témoin des effets du gaslighting – ont mis en lumière l’impact au niveau personnel de cette dynamique – la désorientation interne et l’érosion de la confiance en soi”, explique Stern. “Ce qui commence par des remarques anodines – ‘Tu es trop sensible’, ‘Tu dois te souvenir de ça de travers’ – peut, avec le temps, se transformer en une profonde destruction de la confiance en soi.”

Le gaslighting consiste en un renversement de responsabilité : l’individu qui s’y livre ne nie pas la vérité d’une question, mais déplace le problème sur une autre personne, en l’attaquant sur sa façon d’être.

Aujourd’hui, cependant, la popularité du terme est davantage due à son usage politique, en particulier dans le monde anglophone. “La popularisation du langage psychologique aux Etats-Unis est à la fois un marqueur culturel et un phénomène sociopolitique”, analyse Stern. Selon la psychanalyste, des décennies d’activisme aux Etats-Unis – de la deuxième vague du féminisme au mouvement #MeToo – et plus tard l’ascension politique de Trump, ont ouvert la voie à l’intégration des termes issus de la psychologie dans le discours quotidien. “Ce qui a commencé dans le monde médical a fait son apparition dans les foyers, les salles de classe et, finalement, dans la terminologie des réseaux sociaux et de la contestation politique.”

En revanche, de nombreux pays européens, “en particulier ceux qui ont de profondes traditions de psychanalyse comme la France et l’Italie, ont historiquement traité l’expérience émotionnelle comme quelque chose à explorer en termes philosophiques ou littéraires plutôt que de la rendre fonctionnelle pour l’utiliser dans la vie publique. Dans ces cultures, le langage analytique reste plus cloîtré et peut-être plus sceptique à l’égard de ce qui est parfois considéré comme le ‘tournant thérapeutique’ américain”.

“Mais quelque chose est en train de changer”, ajoute Stern. “La circulation mondiale de la pensée féministe, l’activisme numérique et l’expérience généralisée d’une trahison systémique – en particulier celle des institutions politiques – ont créé une soif de langage qui valide ce que les gens pressentent mais ne savent pas encore comment nommer”.

Dans ce contexte, le terme “gaslighting” est apparu comme “un mot qui exprime le malaise de se voir dire que sa douleur n’est pas réelle – que ce soit par un partenaire ou par un gouvernement. Comme pour beaucoup d’institutions sociales, ce vocabulaire peut commencer à circuler à voix basse, mais finit par faire autorité”.

Le sociologue français Marc Joly, chercheur auCentre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS), partage cet avis : “Il est frappant de constater la diffusion croissante de notions psychologiques de plus en plus diversifiées qui permettent de définir le plus précisément possible le fonctionnement mental et comportemental des gens”. Ces concepts sont de plus en plus utilisés aussi bien dans la sphère privée – comme, par exemple, “l’hypersensibilité” – que dans la sphère publique, pour dénoncer des comportements perçus comme déviants ou inappropriés. Marc Joly a consacré une grande partie de ses recherches au narcissisme pathologique qui caractérise les dirigeants politiques tels que Trump ou Emmanuel Macron.

Selon le sociologue, dont le livre La Pensée perverse au pouvoir (Anamosa, 2024) est consacré au président français, la perversion narcissique en politique reproduit “le fantasme masculin de la domination absolue”. En ce sens, le narcissisme est une réaction à une perte de pouvoir relationnel et politique : “Lorsque les groupes minorés ou les anciens groupes minorés peuvent et sont de plus en plus disposés à faire valoir leurs droits et leur point de vue, les groupes dominants, en perte de légitimité, doivent recourir à de nouvelles stratégies de domination”.

“Que se passe-t-il quand le conjoint garde cette mentalité de possesseur, mais qu’il n’a plus le droit avec lui, et qu’il a, face à lui, une partenaire disposée à être autonome et à voir respecter ses besoins et désirs ? Ce décalage dans les relations conjugales, on le retrouve dans toutes les configurations de relation, et notamment dans les rapports gouvernants-gouvernés“, ajoute Joly. La manipulation basée sur le déni, la division, le dénigrement actif, ainsi que les comportements perturbateurs ou chaotiques (avec des conséquences pour la société dans son ensemble) sont quelques-unes des manifestations les plus courantes du narcissisme politique.

Une expérience féminine collective

Dans son livre Le gaslighting ou l’art de faire taire les femmes (L’Observatoire-La Relève, 2023), l’écrivaine française Hélène Frappat présente le gaslighting comme un “outil critique du féminisme”. Frappat parcourt l’histoire, le cinéma et la politique pour montrer comment ce mécanisme a été utilisé contre les femmes afin de les faire “disparaître” et de les réduire au silence, ou de les faire passer pour folles ou instables – de Cassandre à Antigone en passant par Britney Spears. Pour Frappat, le gaslighting est une expérience féminine collective.

L’essayiste Rebecca Solnit semble partager ce point de vue. “Tout ce que j’avais besoin de savoir sur l’autoritarisme, je l’ai appris grâce au féminisme, ou plutôt grâce à l’œil aiguisé du féminisme lorsqu’il s’agit de contrôle coercitif et d’agresseurs masculins”, écrit-elle. Il y a un fil conducteur qui relie le mansplaining – l’attitude paternaliste par laquelle les hommes prétendent représenter et expliquer aux femmes leur propre point de vue –  au gaslighting et à d’autres mécanismes de domination utilisés pour réduire les femmes au silence et les opprimer.

Solnit constate que la même dynamique est à l’œuvre dans la politique internationale : L’agression de Vladimir Poutine contre l’Ukraine est comparée au comportement d’un ex-mari ou d’un petit ami violent qui se venge lorsqu’il ne peut accepter la séparation.

“Le gaslighting  politique est le cousin collectif de la trahison intime”, explique Robin Stern. “Alors que le gaslighting interpersonnel déforme le sens de soi et de la vérité d’un individu, le gaslighting politique cherche à déformer ou à réécrire la réalité commune d’une population. Il ne s’agit pas seulement d’une tactique, mais d’une stratégie de domination. Le mécanisme psychologique est le même : nier, détourner, déformer. Mais la portée est beaucoup plus large et les conséquences plus importantes.”

Lorsque des dirigeants politiques ou des institutions minimisent les atrocités, nient des faits qui ont été clairement documentés ou accusent les dissidents d’être “dérangés”, ils ne font pas que de la propagande, ils mènent une guerre contre la perception du réel elle-même, affirme Stern. “L’objectif est la déstabilisation, pas la persuasion”. Si la propagande politique cherche à persuader le public, le gaslighting cherche à le désorienter.

Près de dix ans après sa première élection, Trump reste un maître de cette stratégie. “Trump nous gaslight”, a écrit Peter Wehner dans la revue The Atlantic, après que des membres éminents de l’administration américaine ont partagé par erreur des plans militaires secrets avec le rédacteur en chef du magazine. Au lieu de reconnaître l’erreur, Trump a attaqué The Atlantic , le qualifiant de “magazine raté”.

Lorsqu’un gaslighter se retrouve dans le Bureau ovale, commente Wehner, “les horreurs qui sont habituellement infligées à un individu sont en fait infligées à une nation entière”. Dans ce contexte, l’objectif est de désorienter et saper la confiance dans les institutions. Comme l’affirme Wehner, “le but ultime est de diviser et d’affaiblir la société civile, et de saper sa capacité à se mobiliser et à se rassembler”.

Trump n’est pas le seul dirigeant à employer le gaslighting. En 2021, le psychologue Anav Youlevich a qualifié le Premier ministre israélien Benjamin Netanyahou de “maître du gaslighting” en raison de sa façon de paraître constamment attaqué, même lorsque les journalistes lui posent des questions simples. Même l’ancien Premier ministre britannique Boris Johnson, selon ses détracteurs, a montré des traits de gaslighter lorsqu’il évoquait le Brexit.

Gaslighting et post-vérité

Le gaslighting est étroitement lié à un autre concept devenu populaire ces dernières années : la “post-vérité”. La chercheuse Natascha Rietdijk établit un lien entre les deux phénomènes en notant qu’ils sapent tous deux notre confiance en nous-mêmes en tant que sujets de connaissance, ainsi que notre “autonomie épistémique” (c’est-à-dire la conviction que nous sommes capables de juger de la fiabilité d’autrui).

Comme le gaslighting, la post-vérité relègue la vérité au second plan, tandis que les appels aux émotions et aux croyances personnelles deviennent plus importants que les faits eux-mêmes.

Bien que le gaslighting puisse toucher tout le monde, selon Rietdijk, il existe des groupes pour lesquels le danger est plus grand : “Les personnes marginalisées par la société sont également plus vulnérables, à la fois parce qu’elles se trouvent davantage dans des relations de pouvoir asymétriques et parce qu’elles peuvent avoir été socialisées pour être moins confiantes et plus humbles ou plus propice à douter d’elles-mêmes (par exemple, les femmes, les personnes très âgées ou très jeunes, les personnes handicapées, les minorités ethniques)”. Cela ne signifie pas qu’il est impossible pour une personne moins dominante de gaslighter une personne bien plus dominante, souligne Rietdijk, mais le mécanisme a beaucoup moins de chances de fonctionner.

Un déséquilibre des pouvoirs et une relation problématique avec la vérité sont également des caractéristiques typiques de la propagande politique. Mais cette dernière diffère du gaslighting  d’une manière aussi cruciale que subtile : “La propagande consiste souvent à mobiliser une base par le biais d’un appel émotionnel et de la répétition. Le gaslighting érode la capacité de cette base à faire confiance à son propre jugement, sapant ainsi les outils mêmes que les citoyens utilisent pour donner un sens au monde”, explique Robin Stern. En ce sens, le gaslighting politique est une forme de violence épistémique : “Il crée une société dans laquelle la vérité est fragmentée et dans laquelle les individus, incertains de leur équilibre, deviennent plus vulnérables aux récits autoritaires”.

Rietdijk ajoute que le gaslighting politique, contrairement à la propagande, n’a pas pour but de convaincre ou de changer les comportements, mais d’accabler et de désorienter les gens en les rendant “beaucoup moins susceptibles d’agir (d’exprimer des critiques, de résister)”.

Réagir au gaslighting

Comment réagir ? Le gaslighting fonctionne lorsque la victime ne le reconnaît pas comme tel, explique Rietdijkk. Si se rebeller contre le gaslighting dans la sphère privée comporte un risque d’isolement, “l’avantage du domaine politique est que l’isolement est plus difficile à atteindre et qu’il existe une possibilité de résistance collective et de solidarité”.

Pour Rietdijkk, “il est important de continuer à dénoncer le gaslighting quand on le voit se produire. Refuser de jouer le jeu du gaslighter et d’utiliser son langage est une stratégie difficile à mettre en œuvre. Il est préférable, et plus efficace, d’essayer d’entamer une autre conversation”.

Pour mettre un terme au gaslighting politique, il faut également trouver des stratégies efficaces pour lutter contre la désinformation, note Peter Wehner dans The Atlantic. Les moyens utilisés jusqu’à présent, tels que le fact-checking et l’éducation aux médias, ont donné des résultats mitigés.

Frappat propose l’ironie comme arme pour retourner le gaslighting contre ceux qui cherchent à manipuler. À la fin du film de Cukor, l’héroïne se rebelle de cette manière contre son mari-oppresseur – “si je n’étais pas folle, j’aurais pu t’aider” – trouvant de la joie dans le même langage que celui qui a été utilisé contre elle. Une dynamique similaire à la réappropriation du mot queer par la communauté LGBT+ , qui a transformé l’insulte en revendication.

Frappat appelle à une ironie “rebelle, sauvage, vivante et sexy”, car le rire “suspend la croyance en tous ces contes de fées qui perpétuent, depuis des millénaires, l’inégalité des femmes”. Et des sociétés dans leur ensemble.

Traduit par Voxeurop

Originally published at Making Routes. Republished with permission; CC BY 4.0 © David Overend 2025.

Hedgehogs are nocturnal so there was little possibility of seeing one when
my new colleague, Elizabeth Vander Meer, led a small group from the University of Edinburgh’s Sustainability in Education Research Group to the student accommodation at Pollock Halls, where there is a healthy population.

In fact, a sighting would have been concerning, perhaps indicating injury or dehydration, so none of us would have liked to encounter one that day. An unusual adventure then: to move close but never reach each other; to search but never find.

This is how hedgehogs coexist with us in the urban environment. Their time is when most of us are sleeping; their place is in the gaps and disregarded spaces of our busy city lives. Every now and then, paths cross and these prickly night wanderers reveal something of their hidden worlds.

As part of the Hedgehog Friendly Campus initiative, Elizabeth and her colleagues have been mapping, recording and documenting the journeys and behaviors of the University’s hedgehog community. Their work has led to rewilded corners of the campus, new shelters made of logs and targeted planting, training programs, surveys, community engagement, signage, and student research projects. In 2022 the University was awarded Gold status for “embedding and sustainability of continued actions as well as wider engagement with local and regionally based communities.”

Elizabeth Vander Meer (left) and the Sustainability in Education Research Group at Pollock Halls student residence, University of Edinburgh. Photo: David Overend

And why all this hard work? Well, habitats are reducing, fatalities due to traffic are on the rise, water can be hard to find, the climate is becoming less predictable, and populations are significantly declining. Hedgehogs are now classed as vulnerable to extinction in the United Kingdom. If we can prevent this from happening, then maybe there is hope for us too?

We walked together from Moray House, where many of us work in Education and Sport. The route took us along the edge of Holyrood Park with Salisbury Crags above us and a deep blue sky above them. As we stopped for a moment at the bottom of a grassy bank off the main path, a man with an expensive looking camera asked us if we were the butterfly group. On learning that we were in fact in pursuit of hedgehogs, he made his apologies and was quickly on his way.

Funny how humans do that, I remarked: separating the natural world into specific species and areas of interest, when of course everything is entangled.

Elizabeth asked us if we had seen any hedgehogs recently and the group’s responses were bleak. Some — myself included — had not seen a living, healthy hog since our childhood. Most had seen dead animals on the road in recent months. Only one or two had regular visitors to their gardens in the evenings. We walked on, keen to reach the hedgehog-rich environs of the student halls.

Hedgehog sightings at Pollock Halls, mapped using ArcGIS © Crown copyright and database rights 2023 OS 100030835. Used with permission.

As we arrived on site, Elizabeth shared the evidence of prickly presences. This included the most wonderful image I have seen in some time. Using a tunnel rigged with ink and paper, the team had captured a moment of passage — tiny hedgehog footprints left on a crisp white canvas.

The reaction of the group to this image was like a gaggle of grandmothers meeting a newborn. Hedgehogs seem to move even the most cynical academic into gushing adoration and this group was far from cynical.

Hedgehog footprints captured in the tunnel, Pollock Halls. Photo: Elizabeth Vander Meer (used with permission)

We also saw footage from a camera trap. A brief glimpse of a hedgehog as it approached the tunnel, then a badger trying unsuccessfully to squeeze its bulky frame into the small opening, then a fox taking a more aggressive approach. All these residents of Pollock Halls, living here without the exorbitant fees paid by their student co-habitants.

In the lead up to the walk, Elizabeth had shared an article with us. Exploring the idea of Storied-Places, Thom van Dooren and Deborah Bird Rose consider a colony of penguins and a flying fox camp in Sydney, Australia. They explore the ways in which “these animals understand and render meaningful the places they inhabit,” pointing out that “much of what they respond to in the city was not meant for them.” The authors propose an “ethics of conviviality,” which would put the burden back on humans, prompting us “to find multiple, life enhancing ways of sharing and co-producing meaningful and enduring multispecies cities.”

Walking with this idea of a city storied by hedgehogs led us to think differently about the places that we passed through and stopped within. We were becoming attuned to borders and barriers, noting places of safety and vulnerability and imagining ourselves into the lifeworld of the hedgehogs. This enabled a different quality of observation and conversation, and opened up the possibility of creative, experiential modes of enquiry.

For the next part of the session, we gathered in a hidden area of woodland bordering Prestonfield golf course for a workshop activity. I invited the group to work in pairs. One person was tasked with exploring the features of the site that Elizabeth had pointed out and the other would document this investigation with photographs, notes, drawings or diagrams.

At this level, the invitation was simple and straightforward, but I also hoped that the group would be up for a slightly more leftfield approach, so I also gave them the option of doing this task slightly differently. The explorer would look around this place as a hedgehog, or at least with hedgehog-like ways of sensing and moving through the site.

The point was not to pretend to be a hedgehog (although that would not be discouraged if anyone wished to take it in that direction). Rather, the idea was to get close to a hedgehog’s way of being here — to crawl through hedges, to feel the leaf litter, to smell the ground. My suggestion was that the designated explorers should try to get a feel for the point at which they were starting to feel uncomfortable and to stay there for a while or try to move beyond it.

While these participants attempted to inhabit the site as hedgehogs, the documenting partner had a slightly different role: to observe a non-human presence — passage and dwelling. This might change the nature of the task and raise questions about why we would need to do this, what would it tell us, and what does it mean for the hedgehog who is recorded in this way?

To my delight, the group embraced this task with openness and enthusiasm. Off they went into the undergrowth, testing routes, feeling their way across the site, plunging hands into leaf litter and taking seriously the possibility of being more hedgehog (or less human) for a moment.

For 20 minutes, the group’s engagement with the site seemed to transform into something more playful and experimental, but also more tentative and careful. I watched one hedgehog-participant move down the edge of the site, searching for a passing place perhaps, but not finding an accessible section of the wire fence marking the border.

Elizabeth had told us that the ideal habitat range for a hedgehog is 0.9 km², whereas the Pollock Halls site is around a tenth of that. This means that the neighboring sites make a big difference, and beyond this particular fence the golf course was exposed, over managed, and beyond our reach.

https://therevelator.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/07/DSCF0351.mp4

As we came back together to bring the session to a close, participants shared their experiences. One of the explorers said that the task had made him feel very big, and everyone agreed that the shift of scale had been important. We reflected on patterns of movement and the need for shelter, wondered about what could be eaten. The wilder areas of the site felt safe and habitable, but the paved areas between them were dangerous and exposed. The group had enjoyed this task, and said they felt that it had provided a space and time to foster a more-than-human relationship with the site.

While the discussion continued, I had to leave promptly to catch a train. As I power-walked down South Bridge, dodging tourists and traffic, it struck me how quickly we can return to our frenetic lifestyles. The built-up city center seemed inhospitable to hedgehogs, and it was easy not to spare them a thought in this part of town.

Nevertheless, my afternoon’s encounter at the fringes of the built environment had offered an alternative way of being and thinking that felt hugely important. We might not often see the non-human others who share our cities, but we need to remember that they are here too. The walk and workshop had allowed us to explore an ethics of conviviality that requires a different way of designing, building, managing and inhabiting urban space. The image of the footprints is a powerful emblem for this project, a reminder that others pass where we walk.

Previously in The Revelator:

Mice, Hedgehogs and Voles Need Conservation Champions

The post Footprints and Fences: In Search of Hedgehogs appeared first on The Revelator.

It has long been understood that clearcutting forests leads to more runoff, worsening flooding. But a new study finds that logging can reshape watersheds in surprising ways, leading to dramatically more flooding in some forests, while having little effect on others.

Read more on E360 →

The Hungarian government’s decision to ban Budapest Pride sparked outrage and solidarity in Hungary and in the rest of Europe. After the city’s Green mayor found a loophole in the law, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets of Budapest. The event’s huge success was a setback for Viktor Orbán’s illiberal government, whose party is trailing in the polls. However, the road to next year’s general election is still long, and LGBTQ+ issues could once again be instrumentalised for political gain.

In his annual address in February, Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán said: “My advice to the Pride organisers is not to bother preparing for this year’s parade. It’s a waste of money and time! It won’t be happening again.” In March, his government banned the Budapest Pride. Yet on 28 June, the 30th Budapest Pride march took place, drawing an estimated 250,000-450,000 people into the streets.

These events could signal that something significant has changed in Hungary in terms of LGBTQ+ rights or visibility. In reality, however, the massive success of the Pride was the result of a strategic mistake on the part of Orbán’s government. What happened in Budapest was the first act of the campaign for next year’s elections.

The Pride ban

Less than a month after Orbán’s speech, the Hungarian parliament passed a three-section amendment to the law on assembly, introducing a separate provision requiring compliance with the 2021 Child Protection Act – commonly known as the homophobe law.

The first section of the amendment states: “In Hungary, only assemblies that respect the right of children to proper physical, mental and moral development may be held, and therefore any assembly that violates the prohibition set out in the Child Protection Act is prohibited.” The second adds that persons participating in such prohibited events commit an offence. The third empowers the police to use AI-driven facial recognition software to identify offenders.

The Child Protection Act allegedly aimed to protect minors from exposure to “LGBTQ+ propaganda” in the context of sexual education and broader representation in education, media, and advertising. However, the law never defined what constitutes “propaganda”, neither in terms of content nor form. All attempts to fine cultural products deemed to “promote homosexuality” for underage audiences failed in court. Therefore, it was unclear from the beginning what aspects of Pride are affected by the law.

Avoiding even the appearance of analytical or legal argumentation in support of its actions, Fidesz (Orbán’s political party) fuelled the discourse surrounding Pride with condescending mockery. In line with established communication strategies, government officials repeatedly claimed that Hungary upholds equality before the law. Bence Tuzson, the minister of justice, denied that Pride had been banned at all. He argued that it was simply not possible to guarantee the safety of children along a public route, and suggested that Pride be held at a closed venue. He proposed one of Budapest’s horse racing tracks, where the march could circle unbothered for as long as wanted.

The law, coupled with dehumanising rhetoric, sparked outrage both domestically and abroad. Critics accused Orbán of further dismantling democratic principles and fundamental rights by restricting freedom of assembly and expression, and denying human dignity to members of sexual minorities. AI-powered facial recognition also raised serious concerns: the practice conflicts with EU principles, and the European Commission is now examining whether the law complies with the EU AI Act and the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR).

Furthermore, Orbán’s critics questioned the proportionality of deploying heavy surveillance technologies in response to minor offences. Given the vagueness of the law’s wording, the government is now in a position to apply it against any movement it deems undesirable, intimidating civil society as a whole.

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READ & ORDER A legal loophole

Based on the amendment to the assembly law, the police repeatedly refused to grant the Pride organisers permission to hold the annual march. The organisers did not appeal the final rejection, so the decision became legally binding. However, around the same time, Gergely Karácsony, the independent Green mayor of Budapest since 2019, announced that, in collaboration with the Pride organisers, the city would launch the event of Budapesti Büszkeség (which literally translates as “Budapest Pride”), reviving a long-lost tradition of celebrating the city’s freedom after the withdrawal of Soviet troops.

The government and the police repeatedly warned the mayor that the event had not been granted permission. Four days before the march, Justice Minister Tuzson threatened Karácsony and his co-organisers with a prison sentence, and the participants with fines. The mayor, however, stood by another section of the law: municipal events do not need police permission.

While the capital eventually supported the Pride, it did not fund it. Pride events, including the march, were organised and executed by volunteers. The team relied on the support of just a handful of corporate sponsors, none of whom were visible during the March. The parade was accompanied by vehicles from four opposition parties (the satirical Two Tailed-Dog Party, the social-liberal Democratic Coalition, the centrist Momentum, and the Hungarian Socialist Party), two music bands, five civil associations, and the Gen Z media outlet Refresher.hu. The budget for the march, including everything from advertising to technical support, was approximately 25,000 euros.

In this context, the mayor’s support alone does not explain the record turnout. In 2024, the same event attracted 35,000 people, while this year, even the more conservative estimates put the number of participants at over 200,000, with the more optimistic ones suggesting it could have been twice that.

A wedge issue

Fidesz’s increased focus on LGBTQ+ issues starting from the late 2010s was not the result of an ideological leap, but the calculated choice of a wedge issue to split society. In the government’s binary framing, the opposition is an aggressive troublemaker, foreign-serving, family-destroying, gay-loving, deviant, treacherous minority, while Orbán’s camp is cast as the peaceful, law-abiding, heterosexual, pro-family, national-conservative, normative (and normal) majority.

While Orbán, in different contexts, creatively argues that the majority is standing with him on LGBTQ+ matters, the issues related to LGBTQ+ rights are not among the main concerns of Hungarians, and many do not have an articulated opinion on them. The government’s moral panic campaigns mimic American culture wars in a context where society has no lived experience with these issues or debates. Hungary has never discussed or implemented self-identification laws, gender clinics do not exist in the country, gender-affirming hormone therapy is not accessible to minors, and there is no controversy over pronouns, as the Hungarian language has no grammatical gender. There have been no reported cases of drag events in children’s spaces or teachers deviating from sex education guidelines. While some might find vocal LGBTQ+ activism overbearing, in Hungary public advocacy is practically absent, as the government has appropriated the majority of the national media, monopolising and oversimplifying any theme it deemed politically useful.

Fidesz’s increased focus on LGBTQ+ issues was not the result of an ideological leap, but the calculated choice of a wedge issue to split society.

In this strategy, it does not matter whether the Child Protection Act is valid, logical, or even enforceable. What matters is the government’s ability to raise and frame the issue it has artificially created – the scarecrow of LGBTQ+ propaganda – as and when the opportunity arises. This was most evident in the so-called “Child Protection Referendum” of 2022, which included leading questions such as, “Do you support the promotion of gender reassignment treatments to minors?” despite such practices not existing in Hungary. The referendum failed due to low turnout and a high number of invalid ballots submitted in protest against the vote, but it successfully mobilised and unified Fidesz’s base on the topic.

Recent polling data seem to confirm the 2022 picture. A June 2025 poll by the independent Publicus Institute found that a narrow majority of Hungarians did not support Pride (48 per cent, against 45 per cent who do). However, an earlier poll from March suggested that 56 per cent opposed the ban on Pride, while only 33 per cent supported it. In both polls, the majority of Fidesz voters stood with Orbán: 88 per cent did not support Pride, while 75 per cent agreed with the ban. Among voters of all other opposition parties – except the far-right Mi Hazánk – over 80 per cent supported the rights of sexual minorities on both questions.

The March survey also found that 42 per cent thought banning Pride was a distraction strategy, and 26 per cent felt that Fidesz wanted to strengthen its camp by targeting a social group that is unpopular among its supporters. Only 20 per cent believed banning Pride was an effort to protect children, which suggests that a significant portion of pro-Orbán voters supported the government’s decisions out of loyalty rather than conviction.

Orbán has successfully tied LGBTQ+ issues to party identification. However, public support for Pride has remained steady, attracting between 20,000 and 35,000 participants annually in recent years. The government likely expected that legal obstacles would drastically reduce turnout in 2025, allowing Fidesz to show its dominance. By focusing on the expected presence and support of opposition and foreign politicians for the parade, Orbán also aimed to reinforce his propaganda portraying the “LGBTQ+ lobby” as a radical, anti-sovereignist, and now law-breaking minority that disregards the will of the Hungarian national majority and its democratically elected leaders.

Orbán’s miscalculations

However, the government’s strategy did not work out as planned. There is complete agreement in Hungarian public discourse that the real purpose of the ban was not to ensure adherence to Fidesz’s ideology, but to dent the popularity of the Tisza Party – currently the most popular force among Hungarian voters – less than one year before the 2026 parliamentary elections. Led by former Fidesz member Péter Magyar, Tisza (a member of the centre-right European People’s Party) has for months consistently polled above Fidesz by 10-15 percentage points. As Tisza’s base is very diverse, ranging from left-liberals to centrists and conservatives who are dissatisfied with Fidesz and its corruption scandals, taking a stand on the Pride could have alienated part of it. Yet Tisza recognised the trap and refused to take a position, sticking to issues that concern voters, such as the country’s economic struggles, infrastructural collapse, and governmental impotence.

This tactic proved effective: Tisza has continued to grow stronger in the polls. If anything, the obvious, hypocritical opportunism of the government’s desperate attempt to corner Tisza further angered its critics. Most Hungarians agree that the dire state of education infrastructure and the health and social care crises have a far greater impact on children’s wellbeing than Pride. It was also not long ago that the president of Fidesz and the minister of justice resigned over a pardon scandal involving a man convicted of covering up the sexual abuse of children. More recently, the story of a government-appointed and decorated director of a child protection service forcing young girls in his care into prostitution for years has caused public outrage. The list could go on.

In the end, the government’s calculated strategy and months-long condescending campaign of aggressive, threatening, and dehumanising rhetoric backfired. The artificial dichotomy created by Fidesz on LGBTQ+ issues has effectively turned attacks on minorities into attacks on the broader opposition voter base.

When Budapest’s mayor found a legal loophole allowing Pride to take place, it not only created a space for solidarity but, more importantly, an opportunity to demonstrate political power. The government’s logic was flipped. While Fidesz sought to stigmatise the opposition by associating it with Pride, the critical mass reframed the narrative: those who came out to support Pride were, above all, showing their defiance of the government.

This year’s Pride was not only about sexual minorities, but about all those who want Orbán gone. It was the largest anti-government demonstration in recent years.

This year’s Pride was the largest anti-government demonstration in recent years.

The aftermath of a losing battle

While the opposition celebrated in euphoria, the government’s communication briefly fell into crisis in the aftermath of Pride. The strategy of aggressive, fear-mongering rhetoric designed to demonstrate strong leadership suddenly collapsed, and months of political investment went up in smoke. The presence of opposition politicians in the crowd – both foreign and domestic – was not at all prominent during the events, and Tisza’s absence from the streets offered the government no occasion to accuse the party of “LGBTQ+ propaganda”. The mass attendance also made it impossible for Fidesz to frame Pride participants as an unhinged, marginal minority.

The day after, Viktor Orbán addressed the events in a closed group with members of his “online army”, the Fight Club. “The order was issued in Brussels: there must be a Pride parade in Budapest. Their puppet politicians carried it out. This shows what life would be like if our country were not led by a national government that defends our sovereignty,” he wrote. A bizarre comment in a context where the sovereignist Fidesz party has been in power with absolute authority for 15 years.

After the initial disorientation, the party ranks quickly realigned within days. Fidesz politicians began to diminish the significance of the event – and thus their strategic and moral failure – and distanced themselves from the consequences. Government spokesperson Gergely Gulyás reiterated the message about equality in front of the law, and claimed that Pride was “more restrained” than in previous years, citing this as proof that the Child Protection Law is working. Both he and Orbán framed the possibility of legal consequences for Pride participants not as a political matter, but one of police jurisdiction – effectively shifting all responsibility onto law enforcement with a single sentence.

This swift political retreat is understandable given the unpredictable legal ramifications and their public consequences. The police did deploy surveillance technology capable of facial recognition, but even with this equipment it wouldn’t be able to identify every individual in a crowd of over 200,000 people. Based on current procedural protocols, processing that volume of footage would take an estimated 500 years. Moreover, the use of AI software for mass surveillance is not only potentially incompatible with EU law, but may also violate provisions of Hungarian law. If only a subset of attendees were to be fined, this could be considered discriminatory. There is also uncertainty as to whether anyone can be fined at all, given that the police did not disperse or instruct the crowd to disband – a legal point spokesperson Gulyás himself implied to agree with.

It was therefore unsurprising that on 7 July, the police announced that no action would be taken against the participants. They argued that, in the ambiguous informational context created by the mayor, the participants were not in a position to determine whether their attendance was illegal.

It is not clear yet what will happen to the main organisers, including the mayor himself. Should the police proceed with legal action, it would likely result in lengthy and complex proceedings. The authorities would need to prove that the event, which did not require an official permit, was illegal. This would entail demonstrating that the Pride violated the Child Protection Act – something no one has yet managed to prove in this or any other case.

Presumably, there will only be legal consequences for organising Pride if the government can find a formula to turn a losing battle into a political strategy for next year’s election campaign. What is certain is that, once again, such a strategy would have nothing to do with the welfare of children or the social position of sexual minorities.

While families across the country celebrated the 4th of July, the Republican Congress passed a new federal budget that makes one thing clear: polluters come before people. This bill isn’t subtle. It’s bold in its harm. It dismantles core environmental protections, strips power from frontline communities, and gives fossil fuel companies everything they’ve asked for at the cost of our clean air and water. 

The bill outlines a deliberate strategy to weaken oversight and our ability to hold polluters accountable, while accelerating the development of dirty energy and excluding people from decisions that impact their health, safety, and future—all the while we barrel towards irreversible damage to our climate and the planet.

Families Left Behind While Polluters Catch a Break

Despite what some headlines say, the Methane Emissions Reduction Program hasn’t been eliminated, but it’s been seriously weakened. One of its core pillars, the methane fee on polluters, has been delayed until 2034. And roughly $150 million meant to help communities and companies cut methane emissions? Slashed.

That means fewer resources to stop leaks. Less accountability. And more risk for families living near oil and gas operations.

The EPA’s methane standards—still intact for now—are the only meaningful oversight left. However, we know that Trump’s EPA has its sights set on rolling back those critical standards. This administration’s goal is to give polluters a free pass.

Real people are paying the price. In West Texas, kids still walk to school through invisible clouds of benzene and formaldehyde, breathing in poison without knowing why their lungs burn. The companies responsible? Still unlikely to face consequences.

This is about public health, justice, and who gets to breathe clean air. And it’s happening in communities across Texas, New Mexico, Pennsylvania, and beyond.

It Fast-Tracks Pipelines, No Questions Asked 

The budget also allocates $10 million to assist fossil fuel companies in expediting the issuance of pipeline permits. It creates a fast lane for industry, one that skips environmental reviews and blocks local communities from raising objections.

In practical terms, this means a pipeline could be built under your town’s river or through your neighborhood with little notice and no public hearing. And when you try to challenge it in court, you may find the door has already been slammed shut.

In rural Pennsylvania, a community could wake up to find survey flags on their land, only to learn that construction is already approved, they have no say, and the law no longer gives them time to act. That’s what this budget allows: corporate convenience at the cost of public control.

This budget may be law, but it’s not the end of the story. We still have the power to raise our voices, tell the truth, and organize for change.

It Cuts Off Communities Already on the Frontlines 

This budget eliminates climate justice programs and local grants that aim to control air pollution in neighborhoods already burdened with the heaviest pollution. These funds helped replace diesel buses with clean electric ones, install solar panels in public housing, and install air filters in schools near refineries and chemical plants.

Now, those programs are gone.

In Louisiana’s Cancer Alley, families hoped these dollars would bring some relief: fewer fumes at the playground, better ventilation in classrooms, maybe even cleaner transit for the kids. Instead, children will continue to breathe the same industrial chemicals on the way to school, because the federal government decided their health wasn’t worth the investment.

This isn’t just negligence. It’s a pattern of disinvestment, of disregard, and environmental racism.

It Slams the Brakes on Climate Solutions

Even as climate disasters become more severe and more frequent, this budget cuts funding for clean energy and resilience projects, eliminating tax credits and gutting support for decarbonization hubs.

Families trying to prepare for record heat or repeated power outages now have fewer options. In Houston, for example, a family planning to install rooftop solar to keep the lights on during blackouts and reduce their energy bills has lost any tax incentives previously available to them. This means they’ll have no choice but to stay connected to a volatile, dirty grid, paying more for power that’s less reliable, even as summer temperatures become unbearable.

Meanwhile, the jobs and local investment that those programs promised? They’re gone too. This budget hinders progress and ensures that the people who need climate solutions most are the last to receive them.

It Hides the Damage While It Happens

As if the pollution weren’t bad enough, the budget also guts greenhouse gas reporting and shortens the window for legal challenges. That means people may not even know they’re being exposed to harmful chemicals until it’s too late to stop it.

Imagine a community in New Mexico that begins to see flames on the horizon, emanating from a new site just beyond their town. But when they ask what’s in the air, there’s no data and no baseline monitoring. By the time a local organizer pieces together the risk, the legal deadline to challenge the project has already passed.

This is not an accident. It’s designed to protect polluters from accountability and keep the public in the dark.

It Puts Corporations in Charge of Their Own Oversight

One of the more outrageous shifts in this budget is the move toward “pay-to-play” environmental permitting. Under this system, companies can pay to fast-track project approvals and conduct their own reviews of environmental impacts.

You read that right. The same industries profiting from drilling, mining, and polluting are now allowed to judge the consequences of their own projects. Independent science is no longer required. Public comment can be limited. And communities will be left with the knowledge that the project near their water supply, farmland, or homes—like so many others—was never thoroughly evaluated or independently assessed.

In Alaska or Arizona, where new mining projects are being proposed near Indigenous lands, this could mean fewer answers about how these operations will impact drinking water, fishing rights, and public health. Residents will have fewer opportunities to speak up for their communities. It’s not just dangerous, it’s undemocratic.

Now Is the Time to Fight Back

This budget makes its priorities painfully clear: Polluters get more power and control while communities get all the risk and are then silenced throughout the process. The new budget doesn’t just roll back environmental rules; it’s essentially an attack on public health and our ability to protect it, and as is historically true, Black, Brown, Indigenous, low-income, and rural communities will bear the most burden. We all deserve better. 

This budget may be law, but it’s not the end of the story. We still have the power to raise our voices, tell the truth, and organize for change.

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On July 1 more than 70 species of sharks and rays, including beloved species like whale sharks and manta rays, were proposed for strict protections under the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species, or CITES (pronounced “sight-ease”). Oceanic whitetip sharks — once considered one of the most-abundant large animals in the ocean but whose populations have declined by 90% or more — are also up for protections.

These proposals have the potential to help transform international shark conservation.

CITES logo, CITES, Copyrighted, All Rights Reserved – Used by Permission,

This year is an important conservation milestone: the 20th Conference of the Parties (COP) of CITES. Described as “the world’s largest and most influential meetings on international wildlife trade,” the nations meeting at the conference will debate and vote on a variety of proposals that help regulate global trade of plants and animals.

International trade poses a major threat to many species, since the highest demand for wildlife products like meat, fins, feathers, or wood often comes from countries outside of these species’ native ranges. The decisions made at CITES, therefore, have the power to save species of conservation concern from extinction.

Here’s how CITES works, including a look at some of the shark conservation proposals being debated this year.

How CITES Works

CITES — an international treaty among 185 signatory nations known as Parties — places each species it regulates on one of three Appendices, and the goal of most CITES proposals is to get species of conservation concern listed on one of them.

Before that, one or more Parties submit a proposal to protect a species or group of species, often with cosponsors from other Parties to suggest broad support. These proposals go to a vote at COP meetings and must receive a two-thirds majority from the Parties to pass.

In addition to the Parties, a variety of entities with observer status can attend COPs and speak without formally voting. This includes the IUCN and environmental nonprofits. One such nonprofit is the Wildlife Conservation Society, for which I currently serve as a conservation communications consultant. WCS is a longtime leader on global shark and ray conservation and has participated in CITES for many years.

Most discussions focus on Appendix I and Appendix II. An Appendix I listing results in a strict ban on international trade in a species. For example, all species of sawfish (critically endangered shark-like rays) are listed under Appendix I. This means that even though their rostrum, or “saw,” is a popular tourist curio, it is illegal to transport one for sale across national borders. As this is the highest level of protection, it requires the highest standard of evidence, and it is the most difficult listing to achieve. Fortunately, relatively few species need an Appendix I listing.

Rostra of different species of sawfish, image courtesy Florida Museum of Natural History

An Appendix II listing does not ban international trade in products from a listed species. Instead, it heavily regulates that trade, requiring the exporting country to demonstrate that the product was harvested sustainably. (To prove that a product comes from a sustainably managed population, it must carry a document called a “non-detriment finding,” without which trade is banned.) This is the Appendix that most shark products — including jaws, meat, and fins — are regulated under.

CITES also has a powerful rule called the “Look-Alike Rule.” This comes into play where an endangered species looks so similar to a non-endangered species that we can’t expect a customs agent to be able to tell the difference. In this case, the non-endangered species receive the same level of protection as endangered species, because that’s the best way to protect the endangered species. At the most recent Conference of the Parties in 2022, the Look-Alike Rule was used to get the vast majority of shark species whose fins are traded in the global fin trade listed under Appendix II. Now, if customs agents can’t tell whether a detached fin comes from a critically endangered shark species or a similar-looking species with a healthy population, both are restricted and require a non-detriment finding for legal trade. As of 2022, all 56 species of sharks in family Carcharhinidae and all the hammerhead sharks in family Sphyrnidae are listed under Appendix II, many under the look-alike rule.

It’s important to also note what CITES cannot do. As it only regulates international trade, a CITES listing by itself has absolutely no legal authority to stop a species from being killed and used in its home country.

It also doesn’t make it illegal to kill endangered species in general. It just regulates or bans international trade in products made from those species, or in the species themselves (live specimens).

But since so much of the threat to so many species comes from market demand through international trade, this can still be enormously powerful.

Additionally, CITES listings can (and do) result in improving complementary domestic regulations, because countries want to be able to meet the standards needed for a non-detriment finding — for example, so they can legally export shark products.

For sharks, this has often taken the form of improved fisheries quotas and catch limits, including in many countries which previously had essentially no shark fisheries management in place. A new analysis found that for 44 species of sharks and rays listed on CITES, 48% of countries have improved their regulations, including improved data collection and improved compliance and enforcement of rules.

Sharks and CITES

Historically, CITES has been very much focused on terrestrial species conservation — it’s no accident that the logo is shaped like an elephant, as much of the early discussions concerned the international trade of elephant ivory.

However, in recent years, marine species in general, and sharks and rays specifically, have increasingly become part of the agenda. This process first started with species with no significant commercial fishery — gentle giants like whale and basking sharks. It later expanded to listing commercially fished species such as threshers, makos, and porbeagles under Appendix II.

Progress has been slow but steady, resulting in lots of saved sharks along the way.

Proposals at the Upcoming COP

This year’s CITES proposals include seven covering sharks and rays that would affect 70 species.

Several species already listed under Appendix II are proposed for a transfer to Appendix I, strengthening their protections by fully banning international trade in products from the species. This includes mobula rays (also known as devil rays, which include manta rays) whose filter-feeding gill plates are used to make a traditional Chinese medicine tea.

Oceanic whitetip sharks, one of the species of sharks most affected by industrial scale fishing, are also proposed for a transfer from Appendix II to Appendix I.

There’s also a proposal for a “zero quota” for Appendix II listed guitarfish — functionally similar to an Appendix I listing but procedurally slightly different and generally considered to be more appropriate for species who are threatened now but can bounce back relatively quickly if pressure is reduced. The Wildlife Conservation Society’s statement on this notes that “these proposals reflect what scientists and governments have known for years: for some shark and ray species, sustainable trade is not feasible, and the strongest protections are the only path forward.”

There are also some proposals for listing new species under Appendix II. The Wildlife Conservation Society’s statement notes that “with 90% of the shark fin trade now regulated, focus must shift to other drivers of shark overfishing.” One proposal aims to list deepwater gulper sharks, whose oily livers are used as squalene in cosmetics and pharmaceutical products. Deep sea species like gulper sharks were out of touch and out of danger because fisheries couldn’t reach them, but newer technology, driven by demand for squalene, have changed the equation.

Another proposal calls for listing smoothhound sharks, whose meat is eaten all over the world.  The shark meat trade notably involves different species and different end-user markets than the better-known shark fin trade, and smoothhound meat is eaten in things like South American ceviche and European fish and chips.

Learn More and Get Involved

The actual COP will take place in Samarkand, Uzbekistan from November 24-December 5,  although many countries will decide whether or not they’re supporting or co-sponsoring proposals long before then.

Though the meeting is not open to the public and only governments, not individuals, get to vote, many environmental nonprofits attend as observers. Some, like the Wildlife Conservation Society, will be sharing updates and information in real time on social media, including opportunities for the public to get involved at key moments and encourage their governments to support these key proposals.

The fate of these amazing and beloved animals comes down to these upcoming votes. Let’s not miss this important opportunity.

Shiffman, who often writes for the news section of The Revelator as a journalist, wrote this editorial in his capacity as a conservation communications consultant working with the Wildlife Conservation Society.

Republish this article for free! Read our reprint policy. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Scan the QR code, or sign up here. Previously in The Revelator:

Something for Everyone: Wildlife Trade in Paradise

 

The post Can a Powerful International Wildlife Conservation Meeting Help Save Sharks? appeared first on The Revelator.

Glacial ice offers a detailed record of the atmosphere, preserved in discrete layers, providing researchers with a valuable tool for studying planetary history. A sample taken from a glacier in the European Alps dates back at least 12,000 years, making it the oldest ice yet recovered from the region.

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A new study finds a drop in air pollution likely drove a recent surge in warming.

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