foreignpolicy--2020-10-16--Inside Germany’s Successful and Broken Integration Experiment

GELSENKIRCHEN , Germany—Nearly five years ago , when Mohamad Akkour arrived in this city of 260,000 in Germany ’ s western Ruhr region , he was so eager to learn German that he enlisted anyone he could to help him : teachers , friends , and even strangers on the street—with whom he conducted mock interviews to practice the language and build up vocabulary .
Then just 15 years old , Akkour had fled his hometown of Aleppo and made the at-times harrowing journey through Syria , Turkey , and the Balkans to reach safety in Germany .
Today , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He graduated from high school this spring and scored higher on his German exams than many of his German peers .
Now , he hopes to study medicine—following in the footsteps of his older sister , who remains in Syria .
And in this fall ’ s local elections in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia , Akkour ran—unsuccessfully—for a seat on Gelsenkirchen ’ s integration council for the center-left Social Democrats .
“ School was different here , the language was different—everything .
And I accepted that , ” Akkour said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ culture , I know now how Germans behave , which values they represent , and I ’ m thankful for that .
And because of that , I feel integrated.
” “ People always talk about integration , integration , integration—yes , many of us are integrated , many have made it , ” he added .
“ Many work , many pay taxes .
It ’ s working.
” In 2015 and 2016 , Gelsenkirchen took in thousands of refugees like Akkour .
It was one of many cities and towns to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ German Chancellor Angela Merkel famously declared , “ Wir schaffen das ” ( “ We can do this ” ) , a statement that became a proud refrain for Germany ’ s decision in 2015 to accept more than a million refugees , primarily from Syria , Afghanistan , and Iraq .
Five years later , immigration and integration remain deeply divisive issues in the country and have helped fuel support for the populist far-right Alternative for Germany ( AfD ) party , which in 2017 entered parliament for the first time .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ 2015 arrivals—and considers if and how it will accept newcomers going forward—many observers are asking whether Merkel ’ s affirmation held true : Has the country indeed risen to the challenge of integrating its many immigrants ?
But this question can ’ t be answered without first pondering another : What does it mean to be fully integrated , and who is ultimately responsible for fostering the integration process ?
Local politics in Gelsenkirchen demonstrate why the answer to those queries can be so inconclusive and complicated .
That ’ s in large @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the norm ; in Gelsenkirchen , locals started debating integration in 2014 , not 2015—a year before the topic became politically salient in the rest of Germany .
Gelsenkircheners ’ initial qualms about migration were also directed at fundamentally different actors : Anxiety arose out of Romania and Bulgaria ’ s accession to the European Union—and Romanians and Bulgarians ’ consequent residential freedom in Germany .
In the Ruhr in particular , which struggles with high unemployment and poverty , officials were concerned that the region ’ s low cost of living @ @ @ @ @ @ @ coming from Eastern Europe , only compounding existing problems .
Add to that other asylum-seekers who ’ ve arrived in recent years—many from Africa—and you ’ ll find in Gelsenkirchen a complicated mix of nationalities , cultures , and challenges .
Integration can mean different things for different communities .
There are success stories like Akkour and the many others who ’ ve worked tirelessly to build new lives for themselves ; there are some who seemingly don ’ t want to integrate ; and there are others for whom the system makes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ integration can mean different things for different communities—and the sorts of resources one receives to help with the process are dependent on where they ’ re from and why they came to Germany .
“ You need time .
You have to have patience .
You need personnel and money .
[ Integration ] doesn ’ t work any other way , ” said Melek Topaloglu , the head of the Gelsenkirchen integration council .
“ Of course , sometimes it doesn ’ t work .
But challenges are part of the process @ @ @ @ @ @ @ formula to make everything work out perfectly.
” While Gelsenkirchen has always been diverse—during the Ruhr ’ s heyday of coal and steel , it drew guest workers from across Europe as well as Turkey and northern Africa—the influx of newcomers in the last six years has put new stress on the city ’ s long tradition of harmonious multicultural existence .
Today , approximately 36 percent of the city ’ s residents have what in Germany is described as a “ migration background , ” meaning they or at least one of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ non-German citizens make up 20 percent of the total population .
Of those non-citizens , about a third have Turkish roots , 12 percent are from Syria , and 9 percent from Romania .
Gelsenkirchen has another claim to fame that has made it relevant in Germany ’ s debate about integration : It ’ s the hometown of Mesut Ozil , the German soccer star .
Back in 2018 , Ozil , who was born in Gelsenkirchen but whose family has Turkish roots , came under fire after posing for a photo @ @ @ @ @ @ @ He quit the national team shortly thereafter , saying he ’ d faced discrimination from teammates and coaches .
“ I am German when we win , but I am an immigrant when we lose , ” Ozil wrote in a statement on Twitter .
The city is also struggling economically .
The very factors that once made Gelsenkirchen an ideal home for refugees and an attractive destination for immigrants from southeastern Europe—its many empty apartments and low cost of living—also mean that fostering intercultural harmony can be difficult .
Financially strapped , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ jobs and provide services to all who need them .
Today , its residents have the lowest per capita incomes in all of Germany in addition to the country ’ s highest unemployment rate and proportion of child poverty .
Financially strapped , the city has struggled to create quality jobs and provide services to all who need them .
As a result , immigrants are often broadly blamed for the city ’ s ills , and discussions about integration and the problems created by immigration often fail to differentiate between people for @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whom it isn ’ t .
These issues have helped contribute to the relative success of the AfD in Gelsenkirchen : Although the party is strongest in eastern Germany , it performs better here than anywhere else in western Germany .
The AfD won 17 percent of Gelsenkircheners ’ votes in the 2017 federal elections , compared with 12.6 percent nationwide ; while its support slipped to 13 percent in this fall ’ s local elections , it was still the party ’ s best result anywhere in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia @ @ @ @ @ @ @ city council member for the AfD who moved to Germany from Albania when she was 6 years old , said she understands firsthand how difficult integration can be .
At the same time , precisely because of her own experience , she has little patience for those who don ’ t make the same effort she did to integrate into German society .
The AfD , for its part , has a narrow view of integration that ’ s more akin to assimilation : It expects not only that immigrants speak German and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that they fully embrace German culture , values , and traditions .
“ One of the most influential things I ’ ve heard in my life was when my mother told me at the start of first grade , ‘ Listen , child , here we speak German , ’ ” Seli-Zacharias said while manning an AfD information stand in Gelsenkirchen .
“ That was good for me—difficult , of course , but it should be difficult.
” “ Immigrants need to see integration as a requirement , ” she continued .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ motto , ‘ The doors are wide open .
Everyone is welcome.
’ There needs to be a give-and-take , and integration can only work when that balance holds.
” Seli-Zacharias ’ s party has focused much of its recent messaging on the challenges of integrating immigrants—especially those from Romania and Bulgaria , many of whom come from Sinti and Roma communities and started moving to Gelsenkirchen in droves after 2014 .
When people in Gelsenkirchen talk about the problems with integration , they ’ re usually referring to immigrants from southeastern Europe @ @ @ @ @ @ @ more often populate media discourse : Whereas refugees typically have access to language and integration courses as well as financial help , those coming from within the European Union don ’ t receive the same kinds of resources .
Many Sinti and Roma face systemic discrimination in their home countries , so they tend to be less educated and are often skeptical of state authorities .
As a result , many remain in fairly closed communities , learning little or no German and not always following requirements to send their children to school @ @ @ @ @ @ @ order and rules are culturally important , some residents complain that they throw their trash on the street or even out their windows .
At Lalok Libre , a community center that works with refugee and immigrant children and youth—including many Sinti and Roma—Venetia Harontzas deals with these challenges every day .
She called the center ’ s work a “ Sisyphean effort , ” adding that adjusting long-held cultural norms and experiences to a new society , while possible , takes far longer than many politicians are willing to admit .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ said .
“ Maybe in the second and third generations.
” To Harontzas , successful integration doesn ’ t mean assimilating into German society but rather finding a balance between retaining cultural traditions and norms from one ’ s old home and adhering to the rules and expectations of one ’ s new home .
“ The things you ’ ve learned from your family are things you should hold onto , but you live in a different system , and you need to follow the rules of that system , ” she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a one-way street .
I need to make an effort , but you need to take me as I am .
We need to meet in the middle.
” That sort of recognition—that integration takes effort on both sides—has been a huge help to Alla Ibrahim , a 25-year-old woman from Syria .
When she and her family arrived in Gelsenkirchen in 2015 , they were given an apartment in a building on the city ’ s main street , where their neighbors made a concerted effort to make them feel welcome , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ served as an informal support system .
“ At first , I always thought I had to keep a bit of distance and just say hello and goodbye , ” Ibrahim said .
“ But our neighbors showed us something different : They were friendly .
They always helped us .
They always greeted us with a smile .
They ’ re truly my best friends here—they ’ re the best people in Gelsenkirchen.
” Wilma Mittelbach , one of Ibrahim ’ s neighbors who has worked to help arriving refugees get settled @ @ @ @ @ @ @ with the city ’ s newcomers—and recognize that people with different cultural norms or backgrounds aren ’ t immediately suspect .
Moving past preconceived notions many longtime residents have of refugees is slow but necessary work .
“ We always say , ‘ Did the refugees take away your job or your apartment or make your rent go up ?
’ No—that ’ s someone else ’ s fault entirely.
” “ There ’ s no other way besides making a real , patient effort at persuasion , ” she said .
“ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ refugees take away your job or your apartment or make your rent go up ?
’ No—that ’ s someone else ’ s fault entirely.
” Refugees from elsewhere , including those from countries in Africa , face significant hurdles to integrating in Germany—or even making it out of refugee camps and into communities where they can thrive .
Alassa Mfouapon , a 31-year-old from Cameroon , first came to Germany as a refugee in 2018 after a long and difficult journey through Libya , across the Mediterranean , and , finally , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deportations in a refugee camp in the southern German state of Baden-Württemberg , Mfouapon was deported back to Italy under the EU ’ s Dublin rule ; he waited patiently , sleeping in a train station there , until he was allowed to return to Germany six months later .
These days , Mfouapon is starting his second year of a training program in media in Gelsenkirchen and helps run an organization advocating for the rights of his fellow refugees .
He said the vast majority of them want to work and contribute @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t given the chance to do so ; in turn , they are then castigated as being unwilling to fully integrate .
“ They say , ‘ The refugees we receive don ’ t want to be integrated , ’ ” he said .
“ The refugees who are here , they are willing to work … but [ the German government ] didn ’ t give them the chance to go to school , didn ’ t give them the chance to work , didn ’ t give them the chance to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ say , ‘ The refugees are jobless.
’ ” Perhaps the best way to push back against those stereotypes is with the efforts and achievements of refugees and newcomers themselves—and their desire to help make the city a better place .
Akkour , the 20-year-old from Aleppo , sees it as his and other refugees ’ responsibility to give back however they can : After succeeding in his own efforts to get a good education , Akkour says he wants to help motivate and support other young immigrants to do the same .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ residents here in Gelsenkirchen , need to show that we are also doing our part to help this city , ” he said .
“ We don ’ t want to burden the city—exactly the opposite .
We also want to achieve something and do some good here .
”

GELSENKIRCHEN, Germany—Nearly five years ago, when Mohamad Akkour arrived in this city of 260,000 in Germany’s western Ruhr region, he was so eager to learn German that he enlisted anyone he could to help him: teachers, friends, and even strangers on the street—with whom he conducted mock interviews to practice the language and build up vocabulary. Then just 15 years old, Akkour had fled his hometown of Aleppo and made the at-times harrowing journey through Syria, Turkey, and the Balkans to reach safety in Germany.
GELSENKIRCHEN, Germany—Nearly five years ago, when Mohamad Akkour arrived in this city of 260,000 in Germany’s western Ruhr region, he was so eager to learn German that he enlisted anyone he could to help him: teachers, friends, and even strangers on the street—with whom he conducted mock interviews to practice the language and build up vocabulary. Then just 15 years old, Akkour had fled his hometown of Aleppo and made the at-times harrowing journey through Syria, Turkey, and the Balkans to reach safety in Germany.
Today, at 20, Akkour is thriving. He graduated from high school this spring and scored higher on his German exams than many of his German peers. Now, he hopes to study medicine—following in the footsteps of his older sister, who remains in Syria. And in this fall’s local elections in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia, Akkour ran—unsuccessfully—for a seat on Gelsenkirchen’s integration council for the center-left Social Democrats.
“School was different here, the language was different—everything. And I accepted that,” Akkour said. “I’ve gotten to know the culture, I know now how Germans behave, which values they represent, and I’m thankful for that. And because of that, I feel integrated.”
“People always talk about integration, integration, integration—yes, many of us are integrated, many have made it,” he added. “Many work, many pay taxes. It’s working.”
In 2015 and 2016, Gelsenkirchen took in thousands of refugees like Akkour. It was one of many cities and towns to do so: At the time, German Chancellor Angela Merkel famously declared, “Wir schaffen das” (“We can do this”), a statement that became a proud refrain for Germany’s decision in 2015 to accept more than a million refugees, primarily from Syria, Afghanistan, and Iraq.
Five years later, immigration and integration remain deeply divisive issues in the country and have helped fuel support for the populist far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) party, which in 2017 entered parliament for the first time. As Germany contemplates the legacy of its 2015 arrivals—and considers if and how it will accept newcomers going forward—many observers are asking whether Merkel’s affirmation held true: Has the country indeed risen to the challenge of integrating its many immigrants? But this question can’t be answered without first pondering another: What does it mean to be fully integrated, and who is ultimately responsible for fostering the integration process?
Local politics in Gelsenkirchen demonstrate why the answer to those queries can be so inconclusive and complicated. That’s in large part because the town is an exception to the norm; in Gelsenkirchen, locals started debating integration in 2014, not 2015—a year before the topic became politically salient in the rest of Germany. Gelsenkircheners’ initial qualms about migration were also directed at fundamentally different actors: Anxiety arose out of Romania and Bulgaria’s accession to the European Union—and Romanians and Bulgarians’ consequent residential freedom in Germany.
In the Ruhr in particular, which struggles with high unemployment and poverty, officials were concerned that the region’s low cost of living would make it attractive to lower-skilled workers coming from Eastern Europe, only compounding existing problems. Add to that other asylum-seekers who’ve arrived in recent years—many from Africa—and you’ll find in Gelsenkirchen a complicated mix of nationalities, cultures, and challenges.
Integration can mean different things for different communities.
There are success stories like Akkour and the many others who’ve worked tirelessly to build new lives for themselves; there are some who seemingly don’t want to integrate; and there are others for whom the system makes integration—even if desired—difficult to achieve. But integration can mean different things for different communities—and the sorts of resources one receives to help with the process are dependent on where they’re from and why they came to Germany.
“You need time. You have to have patience. You need personnel and money. [Integration] doesn’t work any other way,” said Melek Topaloglu, the head of the Gelsenkirchen integration council. “Of course, sometimes it doesn’t work. But challenges are part of the process, and there’s no magic formula to make everything work out perfectly.”
While Gelsenkirchen has always been diverse—during the Ruhr’s heyday of coal and steel, it drew guest workers from across Europe as well as Turkey and northern Africa—the influx of newcomers in the last six years has put new stress on the city’s long tradition of harmonious multicultural existence. Today, approximately 36 percent of the city’s residents have what in Germany is described as a “migration background,” meaning they or at least one of their parents was not born here; non-German citizens make up 20 percent of the total population. Of those non-citizens, about a third have Turkish roots, 12 percent are from Syria, and 9 percent from Romania.
Gelsenkirchen has another claim to fame that has made it relevant in Germany’s debate about integration: It’s the hometown of Mesut Ozil, the German soccer star. Back in 2018, Ozil, who was born in Gelsenkirchen but whose family has Turkish roots, came under fire after posing for a photo with Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. He quit the national team shortly thereafter, saying he’d faced discrimination from teammates and coaches. “I am German when we win, but I am an immigrant when we lose,” Ozil wrote in a statement on Twitter.
The city is also struggling economically. The very factors that once made Gelsenkirchen an ideal home for refugees and an attractive destination for immigrants from southeastern Europe—its many empty apartments and low cost of living—also mean that fostering intercultural harmony can be difficult. Financially strapped, the city has struggled to create quality jobs and provide services to all who need them. Today, its residents have the lowest per capita incomes in all of Germany in addition to the country’s highest unemployment rate and proportion of child poverty.
Financially strapped, the city has struggled to create quality jobs and provide services to all who need them.
As a result, immigrants are often broadly blamed for the city’s ills, and discussions about integration and the problems created by immigration often fail to differentiate between people for whom integration is working and those for whom it isn’t. These issues have helped contribute to the relative success of the AfD in Gelsenkirchen: Although the party is strongest in eastern Germany, it performs better here than anywhere else in western Germany. The AfD won 17 percent of Gelsenkircheners’ votes in the 2017 federal elections, compared with 12.6 percent nationwide; while its support slipped to 13 percent in this fall’s local elections, it was still the party’s best result anywhere in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia.
Enxhi Seli-Zacharias, a newly minted city council member for the AfD who moved to Germany from Albania when she was 6 years old, said she understands firsthand how difficult integration can be. At the same time, precisely because of her own experience, she has little patience for those who don’t make the same effort she did to integrate into German society. The AfD, for its part, has a narrow view of integration that’s more akin to assimilation: It expects not only that immigrants speak German and find a place in society but also that they fully embrace German culture, values, and traditions.
“One of the most influential things I’ve heard in my life was when my mother told me at the start of first grade, ‘Listen, child, here we speak German,’” Seli-Zacharias said while manning an AfD information stand in Gelsenkirchen. “That was good for me—difficult, of course, but it should be difficult.”
“Immigrants need to see integration as a requirement,” she continued. “We can’t simply follow the motto, ‘The doors are wide open. Everyone is welcome.’ There needs to be a give-and-take, and integration can only work when that balance holds.”
Seli-Zacharias’s party has focused much of its recent messaging on the challenges of integrating immigrants—especially those from Romania and Bulgaria, many of whom come from Sinti and Roma communities and started moving to Gelsenkirchen in droves after 2014. When people in Gelsenkirchen talk about the problems with integration, they’re usually referring to immigrants from southeastern Europe, not the Arabs or Africans who more often populate media discourse: Whereas refugees typically have access to language and integration courses as well as financial help, those coming from within the European Union don’t receive the same kinds of resources.
Many Sinti and Roma face systemic discrimination in their home countries, so they tend to be less educated and are often skeptical of state authorities. As a result, many remain in fairly closed communities, learning little or no German and not always following requirements to send their children to school. And, in a country where order and rules are culturally important, some residents complain that they throw their trash on the street or even out their windows.
At Lalok Libre, a community center that works with refugee and immigrant children and youth—including many Sinti and Roma—Venetia Harontzas deals with these challenges every day. She called the center’s work a “Sisyphean effort,” adding that adjusting long-held cultural norms and experiences to a new society, while possible, takes far longer than many politicians are willing to admit. “Eventually it will work,” she said. “Maybe in the second and third generations.”
To Harontzas, successful integration doesn’t mean assimilating into German society but rather finding a balance between retaining cultural traditions and norms from one’s old home and adhering to the rules and expectations of one’s new home.
“The things you’ve learned from your family are things you should hold onto, but you live in a different system, and you need to follow the rules of that system,” she said. “Integration isn’t a one-way street. I need to make an effort, but you need to take me as I am. We need to meet in the middle.”
That sort of recognition—that integration takes effort on both sides—has been a huge help to Alla Ibrahim, a 25-year-old woman from Syria. When she and her family arrived in Gelsenkirchen in 2015, they were given an apartment in a building on the city’s main street, where their neighbors made a concerted effort to make them feel welcome, help them with German bureaucracy, and served as an informal support system.
“At first, I always thought I had to keep a bit of distance and just say hello and goodbye,” Ibrahim said. “But our neighbors showed us something different: They were friendly. They always helped us. They always greeted us with a smile. They’re truly my best friends here—they’re the best people in Gelsenkirchen.”
Wilma Mittelbach, one of Ibrahim’s neighbors who has worked to help arriving refugees get settled, said residents need to be patient with the city’s newcomers—and recognize that people with different cultural norms or backgrounds aren’t immediately suspect. Moving past preconceived notions many longtime residents have of refugees is slow but necessary work.
“We always say, ‘Did the refugees take away your job or your apartment or make your rent go up?’ No—that’s someone else’s fault entirely.”
“There’s no other way besides making a real, patient effort at persuasion,” she said. “We always say, ‘Did the refugees take away your job or your apartment or make your rent go up?’ No—that’s someone else’s fault entirely.”
Refugees from elsewhere, including those from countries in Africa, face significant hurdles to integrating in Germany—or even making it out of refugee camps and into communities where they can thrive. Alassa Mfouapon, a 31-year-old from Cameroon, first came to Germany as a refugee in 2018 after a long and difficult journey through Libya, across the Mediterranean, and, finally, Italy. But after he protested against deportations in a refugee camp in the southern German state of Baden-Württemberg, Mfouapon was deported back to Italy under the EU’s Dublin rule; he waited patiently, sleeping in a train station there, until he was allowed to return to Germany six months later.
These days, Mfouapon is starting his second year of a training program in media in Gelsenkirchen and helps run an organization advocating for the rights of his fellow refugees. He said the vast majority of them want to work and contribute to their local communities but aren’t given the chance to do so; in turn, they are then castigated as being unwilling to fully integrate.
“They say, ‘The refugees we receive don’t want to be integrated,’” he said. “The refugees who are here, they are willing to work … but [the German government] didn’t give them the chance to go to school, didn’t give them the chance to work, didn’t give them the chance to do vocational training. And then they say, ‘The refugees are jobless.’”
Perhaps the best way to push back against those stereotypes is with the efforts and achievements of refugees and newcomers themselves—and their desire to help make the city a better place. Akkour, the 20-year-old from Aleppo, sees it as his and other refugees’ responsibility to give back however they can: After succeeding in his own efforts to get a good education, Akkour says he wants to help motivate and support other young immigrants to do the same.
“We as refugees, as new residents here in Gelsenkirchen, need to show that we are also doing our part to help this city,” he said. “We don’t want to burden the city—exactly the opposite. We also want to achieve something and do some good here.”


foreignpolicy--2020-10-16--The Rise of the COVID Dictatorships

The Rise of the COVID Dictatorships

The Rise of the COVID Dictatorships As the pandemic ’ s death toll rose throughout the spring , many countries took aggressive measures to control the spread of COVID-19 .
Governments instituted national emergencies and travel bans , and prohibited large gatherings .
Such responses , however necessary they may have been from a health perspective , have allowed politicians to undermine democracy and human rights .
The pandemic has been used to justify surveillance policies and bypass checks and balances , some of which have been met with approval from a public rallying around the flag .
Yet power @ @ @ @ @ @ @ United States , Israel , Poland , Hungary , and China—and the question is how long the rally-around-the-flag effect will mitigate the anger .
Of course , the U.S. public has not proved willing to buy in to all of Trump ’ s supposedly pandemic-related policies .
Over the summer , the president attempted to discredit and deter Black Lives Matter protestors on the basis that the gatherings would transmit COVID-19 .
That did not stop marchers in their efforts to raise awareness of over policing and inequality .
Trump thereafter called protestors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ s plan to paint “ Black Lives Matter ” on Fifth Avenue as a “ symbol of hate.
” He sent federal agents to Portland , Oregon in response to protests and threatened to do the same for other cities .
Yet the BLM protests have had a major impact , and now even 45 percent of Republicans acknowledge that Black people are treated differently in the United States .
With Trump down in the polls ahead of next month ’ s presidential election , then , it appears that the rally-around-the-flag effect @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Israel , supporters rallied around Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu ’ s efforts to deploy state intelligence-gathering instruments to track its population without consent .
Pre-COVID , Netanyahu was likely on his way out of office .
But the leader used the crisis to call for emergency powers and later pushed for a new bill to extend emergency regulations .
The Knesset was suspended to prevent the opposition from meeting .
Two watchdog organizations have since petitioned the High Court against cellular surveillance of COVID patients , arguing that it violates civil rights .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ the Knesset shutdown .
Thousands sent complaints to the Ministry of Justice against what they perceived as assault on privacy rights .
In July , protestors took to the streets to demand Netanyahu ’ s resignation .
Protests ( ongoing since July ) have been in the tens of thousands every weekend .
In response to the continuing protests , Netanyahu ’ s government passed a law prohibiting mass protest during the country ’ s COIVD-19 lockdown .
Netanyahu has held onto power since 2009 , but the response to his COVID-19 polices @ @ @ @ @ @ @ illiberal Hungary and Poland , Presidents Viktor Orban , and Andrzej Duda used emergency laws to consolidate power .
Orban enacted “ rule by decree , ” enabling him to make laws with no checks .
The press was further muzzled and protests banned , on the grounds of containing the pandemic .
Duda used the pandemic to stop the political opposition from holding campaign events ahead of presidential elections in June and July , but continued to hold his own .
Yet with Hungarians rallying around the government , Orban held a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rule by decree—and the figure remained high ( 62 percent ) even following severe restrictions on the press and civil society .
Duda won re-election .
Further power grabs in Hungary and Poland have been slowed by resistant civil societies .
After rule by decree ended in June , Hungarians took to the streets .
When the government axed Index ’ s editor-in-chief—Index being the last major independent media outlet in Hungary—new protests erupted .
A recent European Court of Justice ruling reempowered civil society by lifting outside funding restrictions , making room @ @ @ @ @ @ @ In Poland , after Duda demonized LGBTQI+ people during his campaign , activists gave “ rainbow makeovers ” to well-known statues in Warsaw .
Thousands gathered to protest the activists ’ arrests .
Despite public gathering bans , feminists protested to stop Parliament from passing legislation that would have reduced abortion access and labeled sex-ed “ pedophilia.
” China—although authoritarian—also sees regular government resistance , although collective actions is usually quickly squashed .
In early 2020 , doctors , citizen journalists , and activists were silenced for calling attention to President Xi Jinping @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in addressing COVID .
Now , with life in China nearly back to normal , citizens may be rallying around the government .
Polling in mainland China indicates strong trust in the regime .
At least in , Hong Kong , the dissent is clear .
Protests were banned on the grounds of public health but resurged in May when changes made in the Hong Kong legislature lessened self-rule .
New “ national security ” laws target pro-democracy protestors and were used to deny pro-democracy legislative candidates from running in slated September elections @ @ @ @ @ @ @ entire year due to the pandemic .
Hong Kongers continue to protest against the government despite the risks , which now include secret trials in mainland China .
Non-democratic states such as China have had ample justification for intensifying their repression of human rights and civil liberties .
And even democratic countries such as Israel and the United States have used these emergencies as a cover for non-democratic actions .
However , given the greater political freedoms embedded within democratic institutions—even in illiberal countries , such as Hungary—political leaders in democracies have met @ @ @

As the pandemic’s death toll rose throughout the spring, many countries took aggressive measures to control the spread of COVID-19. Governments instituted national emergencies and travel bans, and prohibited large gatherings. Such responses, however necessary they may have been from a health perspective, have allowed politicians to undermine democracy and human rights. The pandemic has been used to justify surveillance policies and bypass checks and balances, some of which have been met with approval from a public rallying around the flag. Yet power grabs have also provoked resistance in the United States, Israel, Poland, Hungary, and China—and the question is how long the rally-around-the-flag effect will mitigate the anger.
Of course, the U.S. public has not proved willing to buy in to all of Trump’s supposedly pandemic-related policies. Over the summer, the president attempted to discredit and deter Black Lives Matter protestors on the basis that the gatherings would transmit COVID-19. That did not stop marchers in their efforts to raise awareness of over policing and inequality. Trump thereafter called protestors terrorists and rebuked New York City’s plan to paint “Black Lives Matter” on Fifth Avenue as a “symbol of hate.” He sent federal agents to Portland, Oregon in response to protests and threatened to do the same for other cities. Yet the BLM protests have had a major impact, and now even 45 percent of Republicans acknowledge that Black people are treated differently in the United States. With Trump down in the polls ahead of next month’s presidential election, then, it appears that the rally-around-the-flag effect was outlasted by public anger.
In Israel, supporters rallied around Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s efforts to deploy state intelligence-gathering instruments to track its population without consent. Pre-COVID, Netanyahu was likely on his way out of office. But the leader used the crisis to call for emergency powers and later pushed for a new bill to extend emergency regulations. The Knesset was suspended to prevent the opposition from meeting.
Two watchdog organizations have since petitioned the High Court against cellular surveillance of COVID patients, arguing that it violates civil rights. Demonstrators organized a car convoy protest over the Knesset shutdown. Thousands sent complaints to the Ministry of Justice against what they perceived as assault on privacy rights. In July, protestors took to the streets to demand Netanyahu’s resignation. Protests (ongoing since July) have been in the tens of thousands every weekend. In response to the continuing protests, Netanyahu’s government passed a law prohibiting mass protest during the country’s COIVD-19 lockdown. Netanyahu has held onto power since 2009, but the response to his COVID-19 polices may be the last straw.
In illiberal Hungary and Poland, Presidents Viktor Orban, and Andrzej Duda used emergency laws to consolidate power. Orban enacted “rule by decree,” enabling him to make laws with no checks. The press was further muzzled and protests banned, on the grounds of containing the pandemic. Duda used the pandemic to stop the political opposition from holding campaign events ahead of presidential elections in June and July, but continued to hold his own. Yet with Hungarians rallying around the government, Orban held a 74 percent approval rating in April—after declaring rule by decree—and the figure remained high (62 percent) even following severe restrictions on the press and civil society. Duda won re-election.
Further power grabs in Hungary and Poland have been slowed by resistant civil societies. After rule by decree ended in June, Hungarians took to the streets. When the government axed Index’s editor-in-chief—Index being the last major independent media outlet in Hungary—new protests erupted. A recent European Court of Justice ruling reempowered civil society by lifting outside funding restrictions, making room for continued progress by civic organizations. In Poland, after Duda demonized LGBTQI+ people during his campaign, activists gave “rainbow makeovers” to well-known statues in Warsaw. Thousands gathered to protest the activists’ arrests. Despite public gathering bans, feminists protested to stop Parliament from passing legislation that would have reduced abortion access and labeled sex-ed “pedophilia.”
China—although authoritarian—also sees regular government resistance, although collective actions is usually quickly squashed. In early 2020, doctors, citizen journalists, and activists were silenced for calling attention to President Xi Jinping’s government’s initial ineptitude in addressing COVID.
Now, with life in China nearly back to normal, citizens may be rallying around the government. Polling in mainland China indicates strong trust in the regime. At least in, Hong Kong, the dissent is clear. Protests were banned on the grounds of public health but resurged in May when changes made in the Hong Kong legislature lessened self-rule. New “national security” laws target pro-democracy protestors and were used to deny pro-democracy legislative candidates from running in slated September elections. Elections have been delayed for an entire year due to the pandemic. Hong Kongers continue to protest against the government despite the risks, which now include secret trials in mainland China.
The pandemic created opportunities for political leaders to strengthen their hold on power through emergency measures meant to control the spread of the virus. These powers come with fewer constraints than usual, and may be extended to outlast the crisis they were intended to manage.
Non-democratic states such as China have had ample justification for intensifying their repression of human rights and civil liberties. And even democratic countries such as Israel and the United States have used these emergencies as a cover for non-democratic actions. However, given the greater political freedoms embedded within democratic institutions—even in illiberal countries, such as Hungary—political leaders in democracies have met most resistance.


foreignpolicy--2020-10-16--The U.N. Has a Diversity Problem

The U.N. Has a Diversity Problem

But in a year of worldwide protests for racial justice , the world body is increasingly under fire for failing to promote equality in its own ranks , especially in the recruitment and hiring of employees from developing countries for the most sought-after positions .
With its 193 member states , the U.N. is one of the most diverse institutions in the world—and yet , according to its critics , the agency has a diversity problem .
The United Nations still employs more people from the United States—some 2,531 or 6.75 percent of the entire U.N. workforce—than from any other @ @ @ @ @ @ @ U.N. report on staff demographics , even as the Trump administration complains about America ’ s waning power at the agency and the oversized influence of other countries .
Many European powers , including the United Kingdom , France , Italy , and Spain , are considered by the U.N. ’ s calculations to be overrepresented , meaning they have more employees per capita than most other countries in the world .
For people from the developing world , there are plenty of field jobs available in conflict zones like the Democratic Republic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the best-paying , most senior jobs at the U.N. headquarters in Geneva and New York go disproportionately to Westerners .
Nowhere has this gap between poor and rich countries been more evident than in the U.N. ’ s emergency relief agency , the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs .
OCHA was established by the U.N. General Assembly in December 1991 , to coordinate the activities of the U.N. ’ s myriad relief agencies in response to natural disasters or complex emergencies brought on by conflict or political collapse .
The hiring @ @ @ @ @ @ @ staffers who say the humanitarian relief office operates like a neocolonial fiefdom with a particularly Anglo-Saxon complexion .
The hiring practices at OCHA have fueled criticism from staffers—including from Western nationals in senior positions—who say the humanitarian relief office operates like a neocolonial fiefdom with a particularly Anglo-Saxon complexion .
The U.N. glass ceiling has been particularly hard for Africans to crack , though there have been some prominent African U.N. leaders , including former Secretaries-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali of Egypt and Kofi Annan of Ghana .
At OCHA , members of the African @ @ @ @ @ @ @ overall posts , according to internal data obtained by Foreign Policy , but they are largely invisible in the agency ’ s top ranks at U.N. headquarters .
The Asian , Latin American , and Eastern European blocs fared even worse , accounting for only 16 percent , 4 percent , and 3 percent of OCHA staff , respectively .
The department ’ s Western tilt begins at the very top .
In the past 13 years , the institution has been led by four former British government officials , each accepted to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
All were white men , with the exception of Valerie Amos , a Black woman who was born in British Guiana ( now Guyana ) and served as a British politician before running OCHA from 2010 to 2015 .
The vast majority of senior staff are recruited from Western countries that donate to U.N. relief efforts , even while the majority of the agency ’ s operations are in Africa and Asia .
Some 54 percent of U.N. posts at the humanitarian offices worldwide are held by nationals from the U.N. ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ by nationals from Asia , Africa , Latin America , and Eastern Europe combined .
At the U.N. ’ s New York headquarters , the figures are even more weighted toward the West , with 71 percent of jobs held by nationals from Western countries .
At least 90 percent of employees in some divisions and branches , including the policy branch and the strategic communications branch , are Westerners .
The disparity has fueled mounting resentment from staff against Mark Lowcock , an economist who served as the permanent secretary at the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ) before taking charge at OCHA in September 2017 .
“ OCHA has a racism and neocolonialism problem .
And it starts at the top , ” one OCHA staffer wrote in March in a formal complaint to the U.N. internal oversight body .
“ Mr .
Lowcock has consistently handed or maintained key positions of power and influence within the Organization to White and British people.
” “ To look at OCHA ’ s leadership webpage is to be immediately and visually struck by the consequences of white privilege and the continued @ @ @ @ @ @ @ aid .
Twelve out of 15 photos on the page are of White people , ” according to the complaint , which was reviewed by Foreign Policy .
“ Just three are of People of Colour .
And none ( yes , ZERO ) are of Black people.
” All but one of the senior team at OCHA are members of the Western bloc .
Britain , which played a foundational role in shaping the U.N. after World War II , is one of five permanent members of the U.N. Security Council that @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s most sought-after cabinet-level posts .
Chinese diplomats have led the Department of Economic and Social Affairs for over a decade , using the office to promote Beijing ’ s signature trade and infrastructure project , the Belt and Road Initiative ; French government officials have for more than 20 years run the U.N. peacekeeping department , which oversees missions in Africa and the Middle East , regions where France still aspires to exercise its diplomatic influence .
Former U.S. State Department officials have headed the U.N. political affairs office since March @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a top-level job at U.N. headquarters , succeeded in installing a former Russian official as the world body ’ s newly established counterterrorism czar .
Jeffrey Feltman , a former U.S. diplomat who served as undersecretary-general for political affairs , said that he felt it was “ inappropriate ” to bring in his own staff from Washington into the department he led .
The department ’ s staff , he noted , was already dominated by American , Japanese , and Italian nationals ( though many of those officials ’ families hailed from @ @ @ @ @ @ @ was always concerned that given the fact that we worked on political issues , political monitoring and political developments , that our staff needed to reflect the membership at large , ” he told Foreign Policy .
U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres has expressed concern about what he sees as the underrepresentation of developing countries at the United Nations , particularly in Africa , saying it is a “ delusion ” to believe we live in a post-racist world .
“ The creation of the United Nations was based on a new global consensus @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a wave of decolonization swept the world , ” Guterres said in the annual Nelson Mandela lecture this July .
“ But let ’ s not fool ourselves .
The legacy of colonialism still reverberates.
” “ Africa has been a double victim , ” said Guterres , a former prime minister of Portugal who is one of four Western Europeans to have held the top U.N. job in a non-acting capacity .
“ First , as a target of the colonial project .
Second , African countries are underrepresented in the international @ @ @ @ @ @ @ World War , before most of them had won independence.
” In August , the United Nations was forced to cancel a “ U.N .
Survey on Racism ” that asked respondents to identify the color of their skin and included the color “ yellow ” among the options .
But the U.N. chief has also stumbled on matters of race .
In June , as racial justice protests broke out across the world , the U.N. ethics office instructed U.N. staff not to participate , citing the need for U.N. civil servants @ @ @ @ @ @ @ social unrest in member states .
The U.N. chief initially endorsed the ethics office ’ s instruction , according to diplomatic sources .
After critics raised objections—noting that the institution ’ s most famous African American official , the Nobel laureate Ralph Bunche , marched with Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma , Alabama , at the height of the civil rights movement—Guterres reversed the ban .
In a subsequent town hall meeting , Guterres assured staffers that the instruction “ does not in any way indicate that staff are to remain neutral @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
To the contrary , there is no ban on personal expressions of solidarity or acts of peaceful civic engagement , provided they are carried out in an entirely private capacity.
” In August , the U.N. was forced to cancel a “ U.N .
Survey on Racism ” that asked respondents to identify the color of their skin and included the color “ yellow ” among the options .
The question triggered an uproar given that yellow has historically been viewed as a racial slur against Asians .
The other categories included @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , and other .
In June , in response to the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis and ensuing racial justice protests , an association of U.N. staffers conducted a survey of U.N. employees of African descent to assess perceptions of racism .
The survey by the Association of United Nations People of African Descent , which drew responses from more than 2,000 people , found that some 52 percent had experienced some form of racism .
“ We witness discrimination in all areas—job opportunities , promotions , training opportunities etc , ” @ @ @ @ @ @ @ that “ it ’ s very hard to see Africans appointed at HQ level.
” A third complained that a disproportionate number of senior jobs went to nationals from the Western group .
“ As an African , I am given the impression that my career path is limited to dangerous duty stations , ” said a fourth .
A copy of the survey was shared with Foreign Policy .
The U.N. Charter requires staff to be hired on the basis of merit , but “ due regard shall be paid to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ wide a geographical basis as possible.
” Several officials complained that Guterres ’ s office has done too little to expand opportunities for nationals from the developing world in OCHA .
An OCHA spokesperson acknowledged that the department needed to do more to advance diversity but said that the OCHA has made gains since Lowcock , the current U.N. undersecretary-general for humanitarian affairs and emergency relief coordinator , took over in 2017 .
“ We are determined to increase the diversity of OCHA ’ s work force and we are taking action to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , OCHA ’ s spokesperson , a British national who previously worked for Lowcock at Britain ’ s premier development agency .
“ This includes the recruitment of diverse external talent for senior positions , promoting national staff to international roles , and investing in leadership development.
” Paxton said OCHA had recently appointed two nationals from outside the Western bloc to senior positions : Ramesh Rajasingham , a dual French and Sri Lankan national who is serving as the acting assistant secretary-general for humanitarian affairs , and Muhannad Hadi , a Jordanian @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the U.N. ’ s regional humanitarian coordinator for Syria .
The office has a number of vacant senior posts , providing an “ opportunity to make progress in increasing the proportion of [ non-Western ] staff.
” OCHA has also reduced the portion of staff from the Western bloc from two-thirds ( 63 percent ) to around one-half ( 54 percent ) since 2016 , Paxton said .
But she vowed that “ there is more to do and we will not stop now.
” Some of the most significant improvements , she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ where the proportion of Western nationals dropped from 49 percent to 42 percent since 2016 .
The U.N. also reduced the proportion of Westerners in the most junior professional staff from 60 percent to under 42 percent .
But gains have not been made in the agency ’ s higher ranks , where Western candidates have the best chance of advancing .
A posted list of OCHA ’ s 15-member leadership team includes only one national from a country outside the Western group .
OCHA ’ s spokesperson served with Lowcock in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the undersecretary-general ’ s personal office is managed by three Western staffers , including a British chief of staff who also served at DFID , a Swedish deputy chief of staff , and a Canadian personal assistant .
The U.N. humanitarian affairs office relies on voluntary contributions to its budget to a much larger degree than other departments in the U.N. Secretariat .
That gives the leadership greater freedom to hire and promote employees without having to go through the U.N. budget committees , which seek to enforce broader geographical representation .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the humanitarian agency , particularly in its New York headquarters office , according to insiders.Critics inside the organization argue that Lowcock has used those powers to fill his top ranks with Westerners .
Several key recent hires , including nationals from Sweden , Italy , and Norway , have been made without posting the job so other staffers could apply , according to numerous OCHA staffers .
OCHA contends that it has relied on experienced human resources managers to ensure that “ all rules are scrupulously followed ” in hiring .
The @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the humanitarian agency , particularly in its New York headquarters office , according to insiders .
A 2019 internal staff survey across the organization showed that OCHA ’ s scores were lower than other departments in the U.N. Secretariat , reflecting concerns about work-life balance , innovation , and staff retention .
It revealed that “ less than half of OCHA staff ( 47 % ) think that people at all levels are held accountable for unethical behavior.
” Morale was considerably worse in headquarters where workers felt “ not empowered and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in the field .
The field workers also registered more positive views on their work life and a greater sense that women were treated equally to men .
“ Staff at HQ are significantly less content than field-based colleagues in every single area , ” according to the survey .
“ They report higher stress levels , lower confidence in senior leadership , and greater dissatisfaction with their career prospects .
”

Mark Lowcock (center right), the head of the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, and Filippo Grandi (left), U.N. high commissioner for refugees, visit a South Sudanese refugee settlement in Kakuma, Kenya, on Feb. 1, 2018, along with Josphat Nanok (center left), the governor of Turkana County. TONY KARUMBA/AFP via Getty Images
For many people around the world, the United Nations has long been associated with struggles for equal rights and racial justice—stemming from its work during the era of decolonization, as well as its support for the American civil rights movement and the fight against apartheid in South Africa.
But in a year of worldwide protests for racial justice, the world body is increasingly under fire for failing to promote equality in its own ranks, especially in the recruitment and hiring of employees from developing countries for the most sought-after positions.
With its 193 member states, the U.N. is one of the most diverse institutions in the world—and yet, according to its critics, the agency has a diversity problem.
The United Nations still employs more people from the United States—some 2,531 or 6.75 percent of the entire U.N. workforce—than from any other country, according to an April 2019 U.N. report on staff demographics, even as the Trump administration complains about America’s waning power at the agency and the oversized influence of other countries.
Many European powers, including the United Kingdom, France, Italy, and Spain, are considered by the U.N.’s calculations to be overrepresented, meaning they have more employees per capita than most other countries in the world.
For people from the developing world, there are plenty of field jobs available in conflict zones like the Democratic Republic of the Congo or Mali. But the best-paying, most senior jobs at the U.N. headquarters in Geneva and New York go disproportionately to Westerners.
Nowhere has this gap between poor and rich countries been more evident than in the U.N.’s emergency relief agency, the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. OCHA was established by the U.N. General Assembly in December 1991, to coordinate the activities of the U.N.’s myriad relief agencies in response to natural disasters or complex emergencies brought on by conflict or political collapse.
The hiring practices at OCHA have fueled criticism from staffers who say the humanitarian relief office operates like a neocolonial fiefdom with a particularly Anglo-Saxon complexion.
The hiring practices at OCHA have fueled criticism from staffers—including from Western nationals in senior positions—who say the humanitarian relief office operates like a neocolonial fiefdom with a particularly Anglo-Saxon complexion. The U.N. glass ceiling has been particularly hard for Africans to crack, though there have been some prominent African U.N. leaders, including former Secretaries-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali of Egypt and Kofi Annan of Ghana. At OCHA, members of the African country blocs account for 23 percent of overall posts, according to internal data obtained by Foreign Policy, but they are largely invisible in the agency’s top ranks at U.N. headquarters. The Asian, Latin American, and Eastern European blocs fared even worse, accounting for only 16 percent, 4 percent, and 3 percent of OCHA staff, respectively.
The department’s Western tilt begins at the very top.
In the past 13 years, the institution has been led by four former British government officials, each accepted to the job in a noncompetitive hiring process. All were white men, with the exception of Valerie Amos, a Black woman who was born in British Guiana (now Guyana) and served as a British politician before running OCHA from 2010 to 2015.
The vast majority of senior staff are recruited from Western countries that donate to U.N. relief efforts, even while the majority of the agency’s operations are in Africa and Asia. Some 54 percent of U.N. posts at the humanitarian offices worldwide are held by nationals from the U.N.’s Western bloc—more than the positions held by nationals from Asia, Africa, Latin America, and Eastern Europe combined.
At the U.N.’s New York headquarters, the figures are even more weighted toward the West, with 71 percent of jobs held by nationals from Western countries. At least 90 percent of employees in some divisions and branches, including the policy branch and the strategic communications branch, are Westerners.
The disparity has fueled mounting resentment from staff against Mark Lowcock, an economist who served as the permanent secretary at the British Department for International Development (DFID) before taking charge at OCHA in September 2017.
“OCHA has a racism and neocolonialism problem. And it starts at the top,” one OCHA staffer wrote in March in a formal complaint to the U.N. internal oversight body. “Mr. Lowcock has consistently handed or maintained key positions of power and influence within the Organization to White and British people.”
“To look at OCHA’s leadership webpage is to be immediately and visually struck by the consequences of white privilege and the continued dominance of the white gaze in international aid. Twelve out of 15 photos on the page are of White people,” according to the complaint, which was reviewed by Foreign Policy. “Just three are of People of Colour. And none (yes, ZERO) are of Black people.”
All but one of the senior team at OCHA are members of the Western bloc.
The leadership page on UNOCHA’s website on Oct. 15.
Britain, which played a foundational role in shaping the U.N. after World War II, is one of five permanent members of the U.N. Security Council that have secured virtual monopolies on the body’s most sought-after cabinet-level posts.
Chinese diplomats have led the Department of Economic and Social Affairs for over a decade, using the office to promote Beijing’s signature trade and infrastructure project, the Belt and Road Initiative; French government officials have for more than 20 years run the U.N. peacekeeping department, which oversees missions in Africa and the Middle East, regions where France still aspires to exercise its diplomatic influence. Former U.S. State Department officials have headed the U.N. political affairs office since March 2007. Russia, which has lacked a top-level job at U.N. headquarters, succeeded in installing a former Russian official as the world body’s newly established counterterrorism czar.
Jeffrey Feltman, a former U.S. diplomat who served as undersecretary-general for political affairs, said that he felt it was “inappropriate” to bring in his own staff from Washington into the department he led. The department’s staff, he noted, was already dominated by American, Japanese, and Italian nationals (though many of those officials’ families hailed from the developing world). “I was always concerned that given the fact that we worked on political issues, political monitoring and political developments, that our staff needed to reflect the membership at large,” he told Foreign Policy.
U.N. Secretary-General António Guterres has expressed concern about what he sees as the underrepresentation of developing countries at the United Nations, particularly in Africa, saying it is a “delusion” to believe we live in a post-racist world.
Then U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees, Antonio Guterres, walks past newly arrived Somali refugees at the Dadaab refugee camp on July 10, 2011. Now U.N. secretary-general, Guterres has voiced concern over lack of representation from developing nations, especially those in Africa.
“The creation of the United Nations was based on a new global consensus around equality and human dignity. And a wave of decolonization swept the world,” Guterres said in the annual Nelson Mandela lecture this July. “But let’s not fool ourselves. The legacy of colonialism still reverberates.”
“Africa has been a double victim,” said Guterres, a former prime minister of Portugal who is one of four Western Europeans to have held the top U.N. job in a non-acting capacity. “First, as a target of the colonial project. Second, African countries are underrepresented in the international institutions that were created after the Second World War, before most of them had won independence.”
In August, the United Nations was forced to cancel a “U.N. Survey on Racism” that asked respondents to identify the color of their skin and included the color “yellow” among the options.
But the U.N. chief has also stumbled on matters of race. In June, as racial justice protests broke out across the world, the U.N. ethics office instructed U.N. staff not to participate, citing the need for U.N. civil servants to remain neutral in the face of social unrest in member states. The U.N. chief initially endorsed the ethics office’s instruction, according to diplomatic sources. After critics raised objections—noting that the institution’s most famous African American official, the Nobel laureate Ralph Bunche, marched with Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma, Alabama, at the height of the civil rights movement—Guterres reversed the ban.
In a subsequent town hall meeting, Guterres assured staffers that the instruction “does not in any way indicate that staff are to remain neutral or impartial in the face of racism. To the contrary, there is no ban on personal expressions of solidarity or acts of peaceful civic engagement, provided they are carried out in an entirely private capacity.”
In August, the U.N. was forced to cancel a “U.N. Survey on Racism” that asked respondents to identify the color of their skin and included the color “yellow” among the options. The question triggered an uproar given that yellow has historically been viewed as a racial slur against Asians. The other categories included black, brown, white, mixed/multi-racial, and other.
In June, in response to the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis and ensuing racial justice protests, an association of U.N. staffers conducted a survey of U.N. employees of African descent to assess perceptions of racism. The survey by the Association of United Nations People of African Descent, which drew responses from more than 2,000 people, found that some 52 percent had experienced some form of racism.
“We witness discrimination in all areas—job opportunities, promotions, training opportunities etc,” one anonymous respondent said. Another noted that “it’s very hard to see Africans appointed at HQ level.” A third complained that a disproportionate number of senior jobs went to nationals from the Western group.
“As an African, I am given the impression that my career path is limited to dangerous duty stations,” said a fourth. A copy of the survey was shared with Foreign Policy.
A delegate from Angola looks on during the vote on a watered-down resolution condemning structural racism and police brutality at the United Nations Human Rights Council in Geneva on June 19. - The United Nations’ top human rights body adopted a resolution condemning racism in the wake of George Floyd's killing in Minneapolis, but only after the text was revised to remove specific mention of the United States.
The U.N. Charter requires staff to be hired on the basis of merit, but “due regard shall be paid to the importance of recruiting the staff on as wide a geographical basis as possible.” Several officials complained that Guterres’s office has done too little to expand opportunities for nationals from the developing world in OCHA.
An OCHA spokesperson acknowledged that the department needed to do more to advance diversity but said that the OCHA has made gains since Lowcock, the current U.N. undersecretary-general for humanitarian affairs and emergency relief coordinator, took over in 2017.
“We are determined to increase the diversity of OCHA’s work force and we are taking action to achieve this,” said Zoe Paxton, OCHA’s spokesperson, a British national who previously worked for Lowcock at Britain’s premier development agency. “This includes the recruitment of diverse external talent for senior positions, promoting national staff to international roles, and investing in leadership development.”
Paxton said OCHA had recently appointed two nationals from outside the Western bloc to senior positions: Ramesh Rajasingham, a dual French and Sri Lankan national who is serving as the acting assistant secretary-general for humanitarian affairs, and Muhannad Hadi, a Jordanian national who was hired this month as the U.N.’s regional humanitarian coordinator for Syria. The office has a number of vacant senior posts, providing an “opportunity to make progress in increasing the proportion of [non-Western] staff.” OCHA has also reduced the portion of staff from the Western bloc from two-thirds (63 percent) to around one-half (54 percent) since 2016, Paxton said. But she vowed that “there is more to do and we will not stop now.”
Some of the most significant improvements, she said, occurred in field jobs, where the proportion of Western nationals dropped from 49 percent to 42 percent since 2016. The U.N. also reduced the proportion of Westerners in the most junior professional staff from 60 percent to under 42 percent.
But gains have not been made in the agency’s higher ranks, where Western candidates have the best chance of advancing.
A posted list of OCHA’s 15-member leadership team includes only one national from a country outside the Western group. OCHA’s spokesperson served with Lowcock in the British aid office, DFID, and the undersecretary-general’s personal office is managed by three Western staffers, including a British chief of staff who also served at DFID, a Swedish deputy chief of staff, and a Canadian personal assistant.
The U.N. humanitarian affairs office relies on voluntary contributions to its budget to a much larger degree than other departments in the U.N. Secretariat. That gives the leadership greater freedom to hire and promote employees without having to go through the U.N. budget committees, which seek to enforce broader geographical representation.
The lack of upward mobility has sapped morale in the humanitarian agency, particularly in its New York headquarters office, according to insiders.Critics inside the organization argue that Lowcock has used those powers to fill his top ranks with Westerners. Several key recent hires, including nationals from Sweden, Italy, and Norway, have been made without posting the job so other staffers could apply, according to numerous OCHA staffers. OCHA contends that it has relied on experienced human resources managers to ensure that “all rules are scrupulously followed” in hiring.
The lack of upward mobility has sapped morale in the humanitarian agency, particularly in its New York headquarters office, according to insiders. A 2019 internal staff survey across the organization showed that OCHA’s scores were lower than other departments in the U.N. Secretariat, reflecting concerns about work-life balance, innovation, and staff retention. It revealed that “less than half of OCHA staff (47%) think that people at all levels are held accountable for unethical behavior.”
Morale was considerably worse in headquarters where workers felt “not empowered and energized,” compared to their colleagues in the field. The field workers also registered more positive views on their work life and a greater sense that women were treated equally to men.
“Staff at HQ are significantly less content than field-based colleagues in every single area,” according to the survey. “They report higher stress levels, lower confidence in senior leadership, and greater dissatisfaction with their career prospects.”


foreignpolicy--2020-10-17--Our Top Weekend Reads

Our Top Weekend Reads

For a long time , the United Nations has been associated with struggles for equal rights .
But in a year of worldwide protests for racial justice , the world body is increasingly under fire for its lack of diversity—especially in the recruitment and hiring of employees from developing countries for the most sought-after positions .
Meanwhile , as the crescendo of vitriol and misinformation about the U.S. election reaches a fever pitch , a new study has shown that support for democracy is waning in the United States , especially among the president ’ s supporters .
And one @ @ @ @ @ @ @ whether the country has risen to the challenge of integrating its many immigrants , five years after it took in more than a million refugees .
With its 193 member states , the U.N. is one of the most diverse institutions in the world .
But the agency is failing to promote equality in its own ranks , where Westerners are overrepresented , Foreign Policy ’ s Colum Lynch reports .
2 .
Americans Are Officially Giving Up on Democracy U.S. President Donald Trump has long cast doubt on the validity of the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ new study , a significant portion of the U.S. population is just as jaded , Michael Albertus and Guy Grossman write .
What does it mean to be fully integrated as a refugee , and who ultimately is responsible for integrating them ?
One German city is emblematic of how complicated the answers to those questions are , Emily Schultheis writes .
4 .
Trumpworld ’ s Corruption Is as Globalized as the Ultra-Rich the President Mingles With Trump ’ s wealth , such as it is , comes not through successful entrepreneurship @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to the interconnected world of the global elite , Ananya Chakravarti writes .
5 .
The United States Isn ’ t Doomed to Lose the Information Wars U.S. democracy won ’ t be safe until Washington treats information warfare as it would any major threat to national security .
The good news ?
It ’ s well positioned to do so , Doowan Lee writes .

For a long time, the United Nations has been associated with struggles for equal rights. But in a year of worldwide protests for racial justice, the world body is increasingly under fire for its lack of diversity—especially in the recruitment and hiring of employees from developing countries for the most sought-after positions.
For a long time, the United Nations has been associated with struggles for equal rights. But in a year of worldwide protests for racial justice, the world body is increasingly under fire for its lack of diversity—especially in the recruitment and hiring of employees from developing countries for the most sought-after positions.
Meanwhile, as the crescendo of vitriol and misinformation about the U.S. election reaches a fever pitch, a new study has shown that support for democracy is waning in the United States, especially among the president’s supporters.
And one city in western Germany sheds light on whether the country has risen to the challenge of integrating its many immigrants, five years after it took in more than a million refugees.
Here are Foreign Policy’s top weekend reads.
Top U.N. officials visit a refugee settlement in Kenya
With its 193 member states, the U.N. is one of the most diverse institutions in the world. But the agency is failing to promote equality in its own ranks, where Westerners are overrepresented, Foreign Policy’s Colum Lynch reports.
Voters line-up to cast their ballots at a polling station set up at Noonday Baptist Church for the mid-term elections on November 6, 2018 in Marietta, Georgia.
U.S. President Donald Trump has long cast doubt on the validity of the country’s elections—and according to a new study, a significant portion of the U.S. population is just as jaded, Michael Albertus and Guy Grossman write.
Christina Kampmann, then-family minister of North Rhine-Westphalia, speaks with two children from Syria in Gelsenkirchen, Germany, on Oct. 26, 2015.
What does it mean to be fully integrated as a refugee, and who ultimately is responsible for integrating them? One German city is emblematic of how complicated the answers to those questions are, Emily Schultheis writes.
The Cayman Island-registered vessel Equanimity, owned by rogue Malaysian financier Jho Low,, is pictured at Benoa harbour on Indonesia's resort island of Bali on April 13, 2018.
Trump’s wealth, such as it is, comes not through successful entrepreneurship but by exploiting tax codes—and through access to the interconnected world of the global elite, Ananya Chakravarti writes.
U.S. democracy won’t be safe until Washington treats information warfare as it would any major threat to national security. The good news? It’s well positioned to do so, Doowan Lee writes.