عربي English Türkçe اردو فارسى
Logo
Latest News
Features

Lost in Translation? Climate Experts Aim to Break Language Barrier

Representation photo: A general view shows almost dried up Lake Zicksee near Sankt Andrae, as another heatwave is predicted for parts of the country, in Austria, August 12, 2022. REUTERS/Leonhard Foeger/
Representation photo: A general view shows almost dried up Lake Zicksee near Sankt Andrae, as another heatwave is predicted for parts of the country, in Austria, August 12, 2022. REUTERS/Leonhard Foeger/
TT
TT

Lost in Translation? Climate Experts Aim to Break Language Barrier

Representation photo: A general view shows almost dried up Lake Zicksee near Sankt Andrae, as another heatwave is predicted for parts of the country, in Austria, August 12, 2022. REUTERS/Leonhard Foeger/
Representation photo: A general view shows almost dried up Lake Zicksee near Sankt Andrae, as another heatwave is predicted for parts of the country, in Austria, August 12, 2022. REUTERS/Leonhard Foeger/

Indian researcher Sabir Ahamed took a linguist's help to translate the term "just transition" into Bengali for his new study on the impact of coal mine closures on local people, as countries start to shift from fossil fuels to clean energy.
Ahamed settled on the somewhat poetic "kalo theke aalo", which literally means "from darkness to hope", after consulting the language expert for a phrase his target audience of coal communities in India's state of West Bengal would understand.
"It's catchy. It is not a direct translation but people do associate 'kalo' with coal so it gives an immediate context," said Ahamed, 45, who explained that there is no equivalent of just transition or even climate change in the Bengali language.
"Besides, I wanted to show there is hope, that there is a way out (of coal)," added Ahamed, who is based in Kolkata in eastern India and works with Pratichi India Trust, a research and advocacy group.
The concept of just transition is complex, even in English, Thomson Reuters Foundation said.

The UN's International Labor Organization (ILO) defines it as "greening the economy in a way that is as fair and inclusive as possible to everyone concerned, creating decent work opportunities and leaving no one behind".
Ahamed's research is among just a handful of efforts to make jargon-heavy climate change and energy transition dialogue - so far restricted to English-speaking think tanks and experts in India - accessible to people who will be impacted the most.
"What is the purpose of doing research if we cannot communicate the findings or the analysis to the communities or stakeholders?" Ahamed added. "I research for action."
India is the world's second-largest coal producer and at least 13 million people in the nation depend on the industry for a living, said a 2021 report by the National Foundation for India, a philanthropic organization focused on social justice.
Many are at risk of losing jobs and incomes as India builds its renewable energy capacity, just transition experts warn.
However, communication about the country's future move away from fossil fuels - and what this might entail - has yet to reach the people whose lives will be most affected, analysts and activists warned.
"The dialogue around just transition is limited to echo chambers," said Mayank Aggarwal, who heads the just transition vertical for Indian consulting firm Climate Trends.
Aggarwal has this year launched a podcast on just transition in Hindi and used social media platform X - formerly known as Twitter - to host debates about it in the language, which is widely spoken and understood in India's mining areas, he said.
"We want to reach out to people who actually matter, who don't know what just transition is. We want them to understand the issue and be an important stakeholder in the discussion."
The problem is far from unique to South Asia - even the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) has tried to make its global findings easier to understand in recent years after criticism from scientists about jargon being a barrier.
MIND THE GAP
In recent months, think tanks have enlisted comics, poets and musicians to better communicate climate change threats to the public, with a broader aim of making the issue more accessible and widely understood as many people remain unaware.
Apart from spreading the knowledge more widely that extreme weather events such as heatwaves, droughts and cyclones are fueled by climate change, using local languages will also encourage people to demand political action, campaigners said.
While general community outreach by climate and energy NGOs and researchers in India and neighboring Bangladesh - where most people speak Bengali - is done in local languages, efforts are now being made to break down and translate technical terms.
In Bangladesh - which is considered one of the world's most climate-vulnerable nations - activist group YouthNet for Climate Justice has started posting Bengali commentary on social media about the reports of the IPCC, for example.
The activists, who have in the past campaigned for the cancellation of upcoming coal-based power plants in coastal areas, now want community radio stations to discuss climate and energy issues in local dialects of Bengali.
"Climate-related information hardly ever seeps into the community and we are working to bring it close to the people," said Sohanur Rahman, executive coordinator of YouthNet.
In a bid to reach more people in India's coal regions, the Just Transition Research Centre (JTRC) at the Indian Institute of Technology, Kanpur, rolled out four fellowships last year - with one in Hindi, one in Bengali and two in English.
Researcher Ahamed was awarded one of the fellowships - which aimed to assess the impact of mine closures on coal communities.
The next leg of the program will focus on renewable energy - and with new projects coming up in India's western and southern states, fellowships will be offered in languages spoken in those regions - Gujarati and Tamil - "to strengthen impact and reach" of research studies, the organizers said.
"Just transition is a complicated process, and it is important that coal communities understand its dynamics," said Pradip Swarnakar, an academic who heads the JTRC.
During recent visits to coal hubs in India, Context found jobs for local communities are shrinking as mines use outsourced workers - and that with no other skills, many people are resorting to illegally scavenging coal to eke out a living.
"Officials are discussing India's net-zero targets but there is no awareness about this among people, so they don't even demand skills for a future beyond coal," said Pinaki Roy, who teaches children in the coal hub of Jharia in eastern India.
LITERALLY SPEAKING
Climate change and just transition can often feel like distant and irrelevant problems to communities in India and Bangladesh because they are mainly presented and discussed in English, said activists who work with such people on the ground.
And literal translations of terms from English to local languages fail to convey the threat or persuade people to care and engage, according to climate experts and researchers.
Ismet Jarin of the Bangladesh-based NGO Awaj Foundation, which supports garment workers, said the country's fashion industry was becoming greener and more sustainable, but stressed that workers who have long been calling for better wages and conditions are unaware of how this shift would impact them.
"It is important that they can see the connection between climate and their rights, and we are working to convey the message to them in a language they understand," she said.
"We try to use examples that workers can relate to - of seasons changing, disasters and climate hazards becoming more frequent, how the fashion industry is adapting and how workers will cope as the world adjusts to these changes," Jarin added.
It's an aim shared by the Indian researcher Ahamed.
"The world is moving away from coal but there is no information about it at the ground level," he said.
"I want to reach out to (local communities) by writing in Bengali, and motivate others to do the same."

Most Viewed

 
 
Features

As Famine Ravages Sudan, the UN Can’t Get Food to Starving Millions

Raous Fleg sits outside a hut in a displaced persons camp she fled to in Sudan’s South Kordofan state. There’s no food in the camp, so Fleg and the other residents have resorted to eating boiled leaves and seeds. REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya
Raous Fleg sits outside a hut in a displaced persons camp she fled to in Sudan’s South Kordofan state. There’s no food in the camp, so Fleg and the other residents have resorted to eating boiled leaves and seeds. REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya
TT
TT

As Famine Ravages Sudan, the UN Can’t Get Food to Starving Millions

Raous Fleg sits outside a hut in a displaced persons camp she fled to in Sudan’s South Kordofan state. There’s no food in the camp, so Fleg and the other residents have resorted to eating boiled leaves and seeds. REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya
Raous Fleg sits outside a hut in a displaced persons camp she fled to in Sudan’s South Kordofan state. There’s no food in the camp, so Fleg and the other residents have resorted to eating boiled leaves and seeds. REUTERS/Thomas Mukoya

More than half the people in this nation of 50 million are suffering from severe hunger. Hundreds are estimated to be dying from starvation and hunger-related disease each day.

But life-saving international aid – cooking oil, salt, grain, lentils and more – is unable to reach millions of people who desperately need it. Among them is Raous Fleg, a 39-year-old mother of nine. She lives in a sprawling displaced persons camp in Boram county, in the state of South Kordofan, sheltering from fighting sparked by the civil war between the Sudanese army and the Rapid Support Forces.

Since Fleg arrived nine months ago, United Nations food aid has gotten through only once – back in May. Her family’s share ran out in 10 days, she said. The camp, home to an estimated 50,000 people, is in an area run by local rebels who hold about half the state.

So, every day after dawn, Fleg and other emaciated women from the camp make a two-hour trek to a forest to pick leaves off bushes. On a recent outing, several ate the leaves raw, to dull their hunger. Back at the camp, the women cooked the leaves, boiling them in a pot of water sprinkled with tamarind seeds to blunt the bitter taste.

For Fleg and the thousands of others in the camp, the barely edible mush is a daily staple. It isn’t enough. Some have starved to death, camp medics say. Fleg’s mother is one of them.

“I came here and found nothing to eat,” said Fleg. “There are days when I don’t know if I’m alive or dead.”

The world has an elaborate global system to monitor and tackle hunger in vulnerable lands. It consists of United Nations agencies, non-governmental aid groups and Western donor countries led by the United States. They provide technical expertise to identify hunger zones and billions of dollars in funding each year to feed people.

Sudan is a stark example of what happens when the final, critical stage in that intricate system – the delivery of food to the starving – breaks down. And it exposes a shaky premise on which the system rests: that governments in famine-stricken countries will welcome the help.

Sometimes, in Sudan and elsewhere, governments and warring parties block crucial aid providers – including the UN’s main food-relief arm, the World Food Program (WFP) – from getting food to the starving. And these organizations are sometimes incapable or fearful of pushing back.

In August, the world’s leading hunger monitor reported that the war in Sudan and restrictions on aid delivery have caused famine in at least one location, in the state of North Darfur, and that other areas of the country were potentially experiencing famine. Earlier, the hunger watchdog, known as the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification (IPC), announced that nine million people – almost a fifth of Sudan’s population – are in a food emergency or worse, meaning immediate action is needed to save lives.

It was just the fourth time the IPC has issued a famine finding since it was set up 20 years ago. But despite this year’s dire warnings, the vast majority of Sudanese who desperately need food aid aren’t getting it. A major stumbling block: the main provider of aid, the United Nations relief agencies, won’t dispense aid in places without the approval of Sudan’s army-backed government, which the world body recognizes as sovereign.

Parts of Sudan have become a “humanitarian desert,” said Christos Christou, the president of Doctors Without Borders, which is active on the ground in Darfur. The UN is in “hibernation mode,” he said.

A RISING DEATH TOLL

People are dying in the meantime: A Reuters analysis of satellite imagery found that graveyards in Darfur are expanding fast as starvation and attendant diseases take hold. More than 100 people are perishing every day from starvation, the UK’s Africa minister, Ray Collins, told parliament this month.

Aid is being distributed far more widely in areas controlled by the army. But relief workers say the military doesn’t want food falling into the hands of enemy forces in areas it doesn’t control and is using starvation tactics against civilians to destabilize these areas. The army-backed government, now based in Port Sudan, has held up aid delivery by denying or delaying travel permits and clearances, making it tough to access areas controlled by an opposing faction.

In internal meeting minutes reviewed by Reuters, UN and NGO logistics coordinators have reported for four months in a row, from May to August, that Sudanese authorities are refusing to issue travel permits for aid convoys to places in South Kordofan and Darfur.

The UN’s reticence to confront Sudan’s government over the blocking of aid has effectively made it a hostage of the government, a dozen aid workers told Reuters.

“The UN has been very shy and not brave in calling out the deliberate obstruction of access happening in this country,” said Mathilde Vu, the Norwegian Refugee Council’s advocacy adviser for Sudan.

Four UN officials, speaking on condition of anonymity, said they fear that if they defy the military, aid workers and agencies could be expelled from Sudan. They point to 2009, when the now-deposed autocrat, Omar al-Bashir, kicked out 13 non-government aid groups after the International Criminal Court issued a warrant for his arrest on war-crimes charges.

A spokesperson for the UN’s emergency-response arm, the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA), said aid organizations “face serious challenges” in reaching people who need help in Sudan. These include the volatile security situation, roadblocks, looting and “various restrictions on the movement of humanitarian supplies and personnel imposed by the parties to the conflict,” said Eri Kaneko, the OCHA spokesperson.

The World Food Program said it has assisted 4.9 million people so far this year across Sudan. That amounts to just one in five of the 25 million people who are enduring severe hunger. The organization didn’t say how many times these people received aid, or how much each person got.

The army’s main foe, the RSF, is also using food as a weapon, Reuters reporting has shown. The two sides, formerly allies, went to war 17 months ago for control of the country. The RSF has looted aid hubs and blocked relief agencies from accessing areas at risk of famine, including displaced persons camps in Darfur and areas of South Kordofan. The group has also conducted an ethnic cleansing campaign against the Masalit people in Darfur, driving hundreds of thousands from their homes and creating the conditions for famine.

BREAKING THE IMPASSE

Some at the UN are calling on Washington and its allies to do more to break the impasse. Among them is Justin Brady, the Sudan head of OCHA. He says the main donor countries – primarily the United States, the United Kingdom and European Union nations – need to engage directly with the Sudanese government on the ground in Port Sudan. After the army seized power in 2021, the US cut off economic aid to Sudan. Western funding for food aid to the hungry is channeled mainly through the UN.

“It’s the donor governments that have the leverage,” Brady said. “We are left on our own” in dealing with the Sudanese authorities.

The Sudanese military and the RSF are to blame for the country’s food crisis, according to Tom Perriello, the US special envoy to Sudan. “This famine was not created by a natural disaster or drought,” he told Reuters. “It was created by men – the same men who can choose to end this war and ensure unhindered access to every corner of Sudan.”

Sudan’s army-backed government and the RSF didn’t respond to questions for this story. The two warring parties have blamed each other for hold-ups in the delivery of aid. Army chief General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan and RSF leader Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo both said this week they were committed to facilitating the flow of aid.

Another impediment may come from inside the World Food Program itself. The WFP has been rocked by alleged corruption within its Sudan operation, which some humanitarian officials and diplomats worry may have affected aid flows. Reuters revealed in late August that the WFP is investigating two of its top officials in Sudan over allegations of fraud and concealing information from donors about the army’s role in blocking aid.

The disarray in Sudan comes as the global famine-fighting system faces one of its greatest tests in years. The IPC estimates that 168 million people in 42 nations are enduring a food crisis or worse, meaning they live in areas where acute malnutrition ranges from 10% to more than 30% of the populace. Like Sudan, many of the worst hunger zones are also conflict zones – including Myanmar, Afghanistan, South Sudan, Haiti, Nigeria and Gaza. War makes it all the harder for the international community to intervene.

'HUNGER KILLED HER'

Before the war, South Kordofan had some two million people. The need for outside help has intensified as some 700,000 displaced people have poured into camps and towns in SPLM-N areas since the war erupted.

Food stocks in the state were already low before the war. A poor harvest in 2023 was compounded by a locust plague that devoured crops. The war and the resulting refugee influx made things far worse.

In the communities Reuters visited, hunger and disease are everywhere. In one camp in the county of Um Durain, home to some 50,000 people, children have been dying of malnutrition and diarrhea for the past year, said community leader Abdel-Aziz Osman.

Nutrition workers at a treatment center in the camp are seeing 50 cases a month of children and mothers suffering malnutrition. Before the war, medics were treating five to 10 cases of malnutrition a month in the entire county.

In the camp in Boram, toddlers with bloated stomachs and rail-thin arms stood outside huts made of sticks, plastic and clothes – vulnerable to rain, snakes and scorpions.

Raous Fleg, the woman who makes the leafy mush, arrived in the camp from Kadugli, the capital of South Kordofan, in December with her mother and six of her children. She left three of her children behind with her husband, a soldier in the Sudanese army. They made the treacherous journey on foot over a pass in the Nuba Mountains, an area that’s home to a mix of ethnic groups.

Fleg is a member of the Nuba people, who form the main support base of the SPLM-N. Growing up in the Kadugli area, Fleg says, she endured repeated aerial bombardments by government forces.

In the early 2000s, when she was a teenager, fighter jets dropped barrel bombs on her home. Seven members of her family died, including her father and two siblings. She recalls being buried beneath the rubble and getting pulled out alive. Her mother also survived.

“The blood flowed like this,” she said, holding a plastic bottle filled with water and pouring it onto the ground.

Thirteen years later, her in-laws and two more siblings were killed in another air strike by government forces. A third sibling died in hospital after losing two limbs in the attack. Again, she and her mother survived.

After they arrived in Boram county, Fleg’s mother felt weak. There was nothing to eat, so Fleg gave her some water with seeds to drink. But it gave her diarrhea. Doctors at a nearby clinic said her mother was suffering from dehydration and hunger, said Fleg.

On the evening of Jan. 5, Fleg felt her mother’s chest to check if she was still breathing. She wasn’t. After she’d survived years of air strikes, “hunger killed her,” said Fleg.