On 15 October 2025, Fariba Nawa wrote about Mahshid Nazemi, Iranian human rights defender.
Mahshid Nazemi, an Iranian human rights activist, left her home one day in the fall of 2022 to walk to the corner store to buy yogurt for dinner. The sun had set in the valley in Isparta, a city in southwestern Turkey, and the air was crisp. Nazemi pulled the hat of her coat over her head. The streets were empty. She was tired and hungry. Suddenly, she saw two cars turn on their lights. A dated, navy-colored sedan with tinted windows drove behind her slowly as she walked. Nazemi became suspicious and stopped. The car braked and a pudgy, bearded man with a khaki shirt exited, cursing at her, calling her a prostitute. “Shut your mouth or we’ll send you to Iran in a suitcase,” Nazemi recounted the man saying. “Your sister is on death row. You want to go to Iran in a suitcase?”
A year later, she stood at the exact spot in Isparta, known for its roses and lavenders, as she retold her ordeal.
Nazemi’s case underscores a broader pattern of Iranian activists abroad facing intimidation and pressure from Tehran, despite the regime’s public denials of involvement.
For Nazemi, she says her plight began long ago as a woman in Iran, where women don’t have equal rights, and the situation has been likened to gender apartheid. Women can’t sing in public, their supreme leader has said riding a bike is shameful — though some women defy the taboo and ride bikes — their testimony is considered half of a man’s in court and their right to inheritance is less than men. Nazemi has survived a lot — imprisonment, sexual harassment, death threats and a deportation camp.
The night she was followed and harassed in the street would be a prelude to a series of dubious events terrorizing her life as a dissident in exile.
At that time, Nazemi was in Turkey, which has become an opposition haven for many Iranians. She was speaking out about political prisoners and crackdowns on protesters, while also helping dissidents in Turkey get legal aid and financial support. She’s been a dogged activist on behalf of women in her native Iran. Nazemi wasn’t doing that work alone. Her oldest sister Pouran Nazemi was at the forefront of the movement in Tehran. The renowned human rights defender has been in and out of Iranian prisons throughout her life. Nazemi said it was Pouran’s sacrifices that encouraged her to become an activist, too.
A selfie of Pouran (left) and Mahshid Nazemi nine years ago in Iran. The sisters haven’t seen each other in-person for a decade.Courtesy of Mahshid Nazemi
The sisters participated in previous uprisings in Iran, demanding democratic rights for women and minorities. They were both arrested in 2016, but Mahshid Nazemi was released. Her family told her to flee, so she went to neighboring Turkey and applied for asylum to a third country. When Pouran was also released from jail, she remained in Iran. But the sisters worked as a team online across the border. They talked to the opposition media, like Voice of America Farsi, making a case for regime change and a revolution.
Instead, the hardline clerical government arrested 22,000 protesters, including Pouran once again in 2022. The government also killed about 550 people inside Iran, calling them traitors and agitators. Then the regime came for those in the diaspora.
“Iran continues to target women human rights defenders abroad, and among the typical and easy-to-use methods are digital threats, such as phishing and hacking attempts, smear and defamation campaigns, as well as threats against family members in Iran,” said Michael Michaelsen, who studies Iran and transnational repression at the Citizen Lab at the University of Toronto.
Nazemi has been the victim of all these tactics but she said the regime went a step further in sending their thugs to threaten her in person that evening in 2022. She reported the incident to the Turkish police, but they didn’t believe her until they found CCTV footage of the incident. A few days later, a Turkish immigration agent called and asked her to come to their office. She thought she might be getting asylum to a third country, somewhere safer than Turkey. But instead, the agent accused her of making a fake ID card, which Nazemi denied. It’s a scene she remembers vividly.
“I didn’t make a fake card. I’m not going to admit to something I didn’t do. If you want to deport me, do so,” Nazemi told the agent. Nazemi was detained and moved into a deportation camp. “The Islamic Republic must have informants in Turkish immigration offices. Otherwise, how would I have ended up in a deportation camp, right after reporting what happened about that night,” she said.
In the camp, Nazemi said the guards beat her, pulling out half of her hair. Another Iranian migrant, who was also detained, accused her of being transgender and threw soup in her face. Nazemi said she had to disrobe in front of the other detainees to prove she was a biological woman to prevent more abuse. She said the camp almost broke her. She had medication with her and one day she took a lot of pills at once. “I didn’t take them to die, actually, but to prove something, how badly they treated us that it got me to this point,” Nazemi said. Nazemi was hospitalized outside the camp, doctors pumped her stomach and she recovered. Police released her and she returned to Isparta and appealed the deportation. Turkey denied the appeal again, but by this time Nazemi’s story was out in the Western press.
The World shared her story, along with press coverage she received in the French newspaper Le Monde — that attention helped her get a visa to France after eight years of being stuck in the Turkish asylum system. She resettled in a French village in December 2023, and continued her activism — Nazemi has expanded her cause to advocate for Afghan migrants as well.
She still gets death threats on social media. Many of the senders say they are the “soldiers of the Islamic Republic.” The direct messages in her inbox on Instagram threaten her with execution, drowning, even rape. Nazemi is under French police protection and reports all the threats.
Cyrille Traoré Ndembi, 61, is the President of the Vindoulou Residents’ Collective, a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Pointe-Noire in the Republic of Congo. This retired community development specialist has been fighting to defend the residents’ right to a healthy environment since he moved there in 2019.
His house is located just ten metres from the Metssa Congo plant run by a subsidiary of the India-based Metssa Group. This recycling plant produced lead bars for export from 2013 to 2024, 50 metres from a school and in the middle of a residential area. Cyrille noticed severe health problems in his family including respiratory and digestive disorders. Blood tests on some residents showed lead levels far above the alert level set by the WHO.
Following Cyrille’s campaigning, and with the help of Amnesty International, the authorities ordered the plant’s closure in December 2024. Cyrille continues to fight for justice for his community.
“When I arrived in Vindoulou, I quickly realized the danger we were in. The air was unbreathable!
Black dust and fumes were spreading and invading our homes. Sometimes, when we went out, we couldn’t even see our nearest neighbour. The plant staff discharged oil and wastewater in front of our houses. Metal debris from the plant’s chimney fell onto our roofs. Once, I went to walk along the wall of the plant and debris fell on me like hail.
Right from the start, I had doubts about the legality of this activity in the middle of a populated area. I couldn’t understand how a substance as dangerous as lead could be recycled using processes that were, in my view, contrary to the standards and regulations in force.
‘My whole family was ill’
We arrived in Vindoulou in August 2019 and by January 2020 my whole family was ill. Our children were found to have the beginnings of pneumonia, bronchitis and bronchopneumonia. We also had diarrhoea and abdominal pains.
Across the neighbourhood, people had the same problems. I was told that the children who had moved away from Vindoulou no longer suffered from those symptoms.
The residents believed that nothing could make this company leave. For the community, it was David against Goliath. Some even called me King David.
I went door-to-door to convince people that something serious was going on. Everywhere I went, I reminded people of article 41 of our Constitution: every citizen has the right to live in a healthy environment.
I explained to people the benefits of getting organized together and taking up the fight. Today, our collective has over a hundred members.
From survivor to human rights defender
We tried to meet the directors of Metssa Congo. We met the plant’s manager, who said he was not authorized to comment on the subject. He promised us an audience with the CEO, but it never took place. They wouldn’t talk to us, simply saying that they had authorization to operate. We couldn’t even consult their environmental impact report, which is a document that we were entitled to access under the current legislation. After calling in a bailiff, I was finally able to consult another type of document, their environmental audit report produced after they had already begun operations.
In 2022, I went to meet Amnesty International’s representatives to alert them. From 2023 onwards, Amnesty investigated and provided funds to carry out blood tests on a sample of the population. We then had proof that people tested had high levels of lead in their blood.
At the time, the workers were against what I was doing. Now, most of them have joined us in our fight.Cyrille Traoré Ndembi
I took two blood tests, in March and September 2023. They showed blood lead levels above 400 µg/L. For the 17 other people tested, the levels were alarming. When the ministry carried out other tests in 2024, some ex-workers had levels of 1,000 µg/L – that’s enormous!
My youngest daughter just turned four. Of the nine children tested, she had the highest lead level, above 530 µg/L. I’m worried about her. She’s running fevers even though she has no infection.
Amnesty also helped us take legal action in 2023, to publicize our situation and, in the face of the administration’s inaction, to make a plea to the authorities. As a result, the minister [of Environment] came here and spoke to the population in December 2024. We as a collective did not have a formal audience with the minister. The authorities received Metssa Congo’s managers for an audience in Brazzaville [the Republic of Congo’s capital] several times, but never our collective! I’m not being heard. Ideally, we should be able to talk directly to the authorities.
I’ve been under pressure. Metssa filed a complaint against me alleging defamation in May 2024. I went to court, but Metssa didn’t show up. They were bolstered by the decision of the Supreme Court’s public prosecutor that allowed them to resume their activities after a suspension ordered by an administrative judge in April 2024.
One night, some young people came and threatened me. It was stressful, but I didn’t back down. At the time, the workers were against what I was doing. Now, most of them have joined us in our fight.
When the company’s operations were suspended again in June 2024 by the Ministry of Environment, we continued to fight because the word suspension meant nothing to us. We wanted to hear the word closure. When the decision was taken on 11 December 2024 to close and dismantle the plant, we were relieved, but the fight was far from over.
In a Q&A on 16 April 2026 with Abdulhakim Idris, head of the Center for Uyghur Studies, Freedom Housediscusses his work exposing the Chinese Communist Party’s repression and how Chinese authorities have menaced him and his family in an attempt to prevent him from speaking out. Here some excerpts:
Abdulhakim Idris (Photo Credit: Center for Uyghur Studies)
The People’s Republic of China conducts the world’s most sophisticated and comprehensive campaign of transnational repression, targeting human rights defenders, journalists, students, artists, and members of religious and ethnic minorities. Uyghurs, an ethnic group from the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, have fled repression in China for decades. Abroad, many members of the group face the threat of transnational repression via detention, unlawful deportation, rendition, coercion by proxy, surveillance, and digital harassment. Uyghur individuals are involved in over 20 percent of the incidents in Freedom House’s transnational repression database, which catalogues direct, physical cases around the world from 2014 to 2025.
Last month, Abdulhakim Idris, head of the Center for Uyghur Studies in Washington, DC, and a leading Uyghur scholar and advocate, was detained for nearly a day and subsequently expelled from Malaysia at the behest of Chinese authorities, preventing him from launching the Malay-language edition of his book about how the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) pressures governments in the Islamic world to remain silent about its persecution of Uyghurs. As Idris explains, this act of transnational repression sets a dangerous precedent for every other American advocate, journalist, and researcher operating abroad. Below, Idris describes his work exposing CCP abuses, and how they sought to silence him—in Malaysia and elsewhere.
Freedom House: Could you describe your work as executive director of the Center for Uyghur Studies?
Abdulhakim Idris: As executive director of the Center for Uyghur Studies (CUS), I lead a mission at the intersection of human rights advocacy, academic research, and diplomatic engagement to address the crisis in East Turkistan (known formally as the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region). By producing rigorous, evidence-based reports and briefing global lawmakers, I work to expose Chinese Communist Party narratives and ensure the international conversation on its persecution of Uyghurs remains rooted in scholarly data and cultural expertise. My work translates this research into action, raising awareness through media advocacy and high-level briefings to reach the audiences most capable of effectuating change. I also work to engage Muslim-majority countries where Chinese economic pressure often buys silence. By briefing religious leaders and civil society across the Middle East, Africa, and Asia, I demonstrate that the persecution of Uyghurs is an assault on our shared faith and part of China’s war on religious beliefs.
My advocacy is deeply personal: 24 of my family members have been missing since 2017, including my mother, Habibehan Idris; my brother Abdurehim; my sister Buhedichehan; and all of my nieces and nephews. In August 2023, I learned about my father’s passing in Hotan seven months earlier in January 2023.
As a bridge between the diaspora and the international community, I provide the strategic recommendations and testimony needed to transform our personal data into global action.
How long have you been involved in advocacy on behalf of the Uyghur people?
I was born in Hotan, East Turkistan, in 1968. My journey began with a foundation in faith and scholarship; I studied Islamic Sciences and Arabic in underground madrasas in Hotan before leaving in 1986 to study at Al-Azhar University in Egypt. This background gave me a profound understanding of the religious identity that the CCP is currently attempting to erase.
In 1990, I became one of the first Uyghurs to seek asylum in Germany. Settling in Munich, I balanced my studies in Industrial Management with a mission to organize our people. I am one of the founders of the East Turkistan Union in Europe (1991), the very first Uyghur organization on the continent. Over the next two decades, I focused on building the institutional architecture of our struggle. I am proud to be one of the founders of both the World Uyghur Youth Congress (1996), where I served as chairman of the executive committee, and the World Uyghur Congress (2004), where I have held different leadership roles.
Since moving to the United States in 2009, I have continued this work in Washington, DC, serving on the board of the Uyghur American Association. In 2017, my wife, Rushan Abbas, and I cofounded Campaign for Uyghurs (CFU) to bring more urgent awareness to CCP abuses against Uyghurs.
In recent years, the nature of the struggle has changed. As the Chinese government intensified its repression campaign, our response needed to become more robust. This led me to establish the Center for Uyghur Studies, where I have combined advocacy with the intellectual and scholarly dimension necessary to challenge China’s influence, particularly in the Muslim-majority countries.
Why were you traveling to Malaysia? Can you describe what happened when you arrived?
We have been engaging in Uyghur advocacy in Malaysia since 2022, and since then, I have been there several times, including for a meeting with Malaysian Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim.
The CCP considers me one of the foremost experts on its influence in Muslim-majority countries. My book is now translated into Turkish, Arabic, Malay, and Bahasa Indonesia. It has been an eye-opener about Chinese infiltration into Muslim-majority countries. Following its publication, both my wife and I were subjected to coordinated death threats and digital harassment. When I traveled to Jakarta for the Indonesian launch of the book, the Chinese embassy mobilized local proxies to stage public protests, including the burning of my picture and copies of my book.
Our Malaysian partner planned this advocacy trip and invited me to join. We were well prepared with reports and planned to launch the Malay-language edition of my book alongside several new reports from the Center for Uyghur Studies. My arrival in Kuala Lumpur was on March 29, 2026, and my departure was scheduled for April 8, 2026.
I arrived in Kuala Lumpur on March 29 at 7:00 am local time. When I came to the immigration hall, a Malaysian immigration officer pulled me aside, took my passport, and brought me to his office. An officer introduced himself as a Royal Malaysia Police officer and said that I would be denied entry and be deported. Five hours into this conversation, they put me in a temporary detention center at the airport. [Note: US citizens are not required to apply for a visa for a business or tourism stay in Malaysia of less than 90 days.]
My US passport was seized, and I was held without justification for 21 hours in detention, given only one small meal and one small bottle of water, before being escorted by four police officers onto a deportation flight.
After approximately 70 hours of continuous travel and detention, I arrived safely back in the United States. Our partner in Kuala Lumpur confirmed to me that my denied entry was the result of pressure directly from Beijing.
This is not an isolated incident but a pattern of Chinese intimidation. Last year, I was similarly denied entry to Indonesia under pressure from the Chinese embassy in Jakarta, but that time, after intervention by the US government, I was able to secure entry. This time, despite the State Department and the US embassy in Kuala Lumpur escalating the matter to Malaysian immigration, Beijing prevailed. The escalation is alarming.
Beijing’s goal is to silence my research before it reaches Malay-speaking communities. My only “crime” is being a dissident from a community persecuted by the Chinese government and exposing China’s broader threats to humanity, freedom, and democracy. China has now successfully used a third country to detain and expel a US citizen. If this stands, it sets a dangerous precedent for every American advocate, journalist, and researcher operating abroad. This is a clear case of Chinese transnational repression, specifically targeting me as a US citizen.
Has anything like this happened before?
Yes. We held an advocacy trip to Indonesia between July 11, 2024, and July 20, 2024. Our partner in Indonesia organized the events and invited me. The trip involved multiple meetings, seminars, and roundtable discussions with key Indonesian stakeholders, including politicians, NGO leaders, and religious figures. In total, we visited and held activities in five cities, including Jakarta, Pontianak, Surabaya, Yogyakarta, and remotely in Medan.
There were several challenges we faced during this trip. The CCP propaganda campaign is now widespread across Indonesia, including among NGOs and social media platforms such as TikTok, X, and Facebook. The Chinese government’s extensive propaganda campaigns, including social media advertisements and influence on local leaders, have created a significant hurdle.
When we held our event in Pontianak, Indonesian immigration officials showed up, checked my visa, and told me I was not allowed to speak at events on a tourist visa and that I would need a C10 visa for that purpose. We then changed our approach: I gave all my presentations to our Indonesian partners, who then proceeded with the seminars. We could adapt because our Indonesian colleagues were trained and experienced on the Uyghur issue after two years of working together.
On a subsequent trip between April 26, 2025, and May 6, 2025 to Indonesia, I traveled on a speaker visa and was detained at the airport for three hours before being allowed to enter the country after the intervention of the US government.
In both cases, as in Malaysia, the pressure traced back to Beijing. The difference is that in Indonesia, I was eventually able to seek clarity and secure entry. In Malaysia, I was not.
Have you ever experienced any other forms of transnational repression, such as threats, harassment, or coercion of your family?
Transnational repression is not an abstract concept for me. It is a painful, daily reality that has fundamentally reshaped my family’s life. The Chinese government frequently uses the safety and freedom of our loved ones back home as leverage to silence our advocacy in the West. Since repression of Uyghurs has intensified deeply since 2017, I have lost all contact with my relatives in Hotan. In Uyghur culture, family is everything. Being severed from one’s roots is a form of psychological warfare.
In August 2023, I received a devastating message from an anonymous source. I was informed that my father, Abdulkarim Zikrullah Idris, had passed away seven months earlier, in January 2023, in our hometown of Hotan. Because the CCP has cut all lines of communication between the diaspora and our families in East Turkistan, I was not able to be with him, speak to him, or even know he was gone when it happened. The last time I heard my father’s voice was in April 2017. Shortly after that phone call, the mass detentions began, and contact was severed entirely. For six years, I lived with the agonizing uncertainty of not knowing if he was safe, if he was in a camp, or if he was even alive.
This is a form of psychological torture that hundreds of thousands of Uyghurs in the diaspora face every day. Because of the total lack of transparency in the region, the exact circumstances of his death remain unclear. We do not know if he had access to medical care, or if the stress of the ongoing persecution contributed to his passing. What we do know is that he died in a police-state environment where his children were unable to fulfill their final duties to him.
My family was not the only one targeted. In September 2018, just six days after my wife Rushan Abbas spoke publicly about my families’ disappearance while highlighting the Chinese government’s mass detention of Uyghurs, her sister Dr. Gulshan Abbas was forcibly disappeared from her home in Urumqi. The spokesperson of China’s Foreign Ministry officially confirmed on December 31, 2020, that she had been sentenced to 20 years in prison on baseless charges in connection with terrorism. Dr. Gulshan Abbas was a retired medical doctor who had never been involved in politics. Her imprisonment remains an act of transnational repression, intended to terrorize our family, silence us, and force us to stop advocating for our people.
The CCP’s tactics of transnational repression have taken other forms as well. After I gave testimony before the Uyghur Tribunal in London in 2021, which concluded that China was committing crimes against humanity against the Uyghur people, Chinese state television broadcast my photograph and denounced me for testifying. This was meant to intimidate me publicly and to warn others of the consequences of speaking the truth. Before the 2024 General Assembly of the World Uyghur Congress in Sarajevo, my wife and I received an online video message containing direct death threats. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) contacted me and confirmed they were aware of the threat.
We have become targets of dehumanization, smear campaigns, character assassination, and threats against our lives. Even outside China, we live under constant fear and intimidation. Through these tactics, the Chinese government seeks not only to punish individuals but to spread fear across entire families and communities.
Mette Meyknecht on 21 April, 2026, makes us meet up Zuzanna Nowicka Lawyer (Freedom of Expression Programme) at the Polish Helsinki Foundation For Human Rights.
Meet Our Members is a series where Liberties introduces you to our network of human rights defenders. We hear the stories of the people behind the organisations and why they do the work they do. Liberties is an umbrella network which coordinates campaigns with its expanding network of national civil liberties NGOs in 18 EU Member States.
Zuzanna speaks about her work with quiet defiance. No grand declarations or sweeping ideals, but with persistence in the daily decision, to keep going. “I just think it’s important,” she says simply. “I couldn’t imagine doing something that is not for the public good.”
Zuzanna is a lawyer at the Helsinki Foundation for Human Rights in Poland, where she focuses on freedom of expression and strategic litigation. But her path into human rights law wasn’t linear. After studying law and working in various law firms, she realised something wasn’t quite right. “I was simply not feeling it,” she recalls. “I did not find myself comfortable working in those conditions.”
Despite early exposure to human rights work through internships, NGO roles, and advocacy campaigns, it took time to fully embrace it as a career. A formative moment came after graduating, when, uncertain about her next steps, a position at the Helsinki Foundation appeared unexpectedly. Her interview, she admits with a laugh, did not go well. “The internet connection was really bad… I couldn’t hear half of the things,” she says. “But for some reason, they trusted me, and I got hired.”
That was four years ago. She has been there ever since.
Zuzanna’s work today, defending freedom of expression, is deeply personal. She grew up surrounded by journalists: her parents, grandparents, and extended family all worked in the media. She explains that, from an early age, “I was a direct witness of the worsening situation in the media.” Although she initially wanted to study journalism, her parents encouraged her to pursue law instead. Today, her work spans litigation before national courts and the European Court of Human Rights, legal advocacy, training, and public engagement. She drafts opinions on legislation, contributes to coalitions, and even hosts a podcast discussing pressing issues in Poland. It’s everything,” she says of her role. “Litigation, advocacy, writing, training – all of it.”
When asked about her proudest achievement, Zuzanna does not point to a specific case. Instead, she speaks about endurance. “I think what I’m most proud of is the persistence,” she says. “I just keep going.” It is a job that demands constant adaptation, from juggling multiple areas of law, responding to rapidly changing political developments, and managing a heavy workload. At any given time, she may be handling around 20 ongoing cases, alongside urgent advocacy work.
Zaira Navas, woman human rights defender from El Salvador.
In recent years, civic space has significantly reduced in El Salvador, under a state of exception, a state of emergency that suspended several constitutional rights. Human rights defenders have faced increasing threats and criminalisation, forcing many into silence or exile. Zaira Navas is a lawyer and human rights defender at Cristosal, partner of OMCT and the SOS-Torture Network. She is also a member of OMCT’s Latin America litigators’ group, part of four regional litigators’ groups that bring together lawyers and human rights defenders working at the front lines of the fight against torture and ill-treatment. Last year, Zaira Navas was pushed to flee El Salvador, after her colleague, Ruth López, prominent Salvadoran activist, was arrested. In Geneva to attend the Human Rights Council, she tells us about her experience being a woman human rights defender in exile, and where she still finds hope in her work.
What was it like to make the decision to leave El Salvador?
I am currently in exile due to repression under the state of exception in El Salvador imposed by President Nayib Bukele, which intensified in 2025. In May, my colleague Ruth López was detained on absurd corruption charges. That same week, I learned I could also be arrested. Our organisation, Cristosal, asked us to protect ourselves. There was no time to think about it. We left the country believing we would return in 15 days, but I have now been outside El Salvador for nine months.
How has exile affected you, as a woman and as a human rights defender?
The first months were filled with uncertainty. Violence and aggression against defenders increased, and our organisation was forced to close its operations in the country. There was no turning back.
There was a period when I felt depressed. Not only for being away from my country, but because I thought I could not continue my work. I am now separated from my family, but I am working, and that is a very important source of encouragement….
What actions should the international community take to ensure a safe environment for defending human rights in El Salvador?
The international community must closely monitor human rights violations in El Salvador and must pay close attention to what is happening in our country, questioning the anti-democratic methods and internal policies. International cooperation allows us to keep working. It is important that organisations that support human rights groups look for new ways to cooperate so that the work can continue from outside the country.
Nathalia Bonilla is an environmental human rights defender from Ecuador who works in the protection of the rights of Nature. She told ISHR about her country’s sharp policy turn in favour of extractive activities and spoke about the ‘utopia’ she and her peers would like to see in its place. ‘A revolution where you can’t dance is not my revolution,’ Nathalia said, in arguing for an ‘environmentalism for the people’.
On 2 February2026 Exile Hub, one of Global Voices’ partners in Southeast,Asia, published this story on How Kant Kaw turned a dream into a 15-year fight for equality in Myanmar.
Kant Kaw’s journey into journalism officially began in 2009, but her story started long before that. As a child, she devoured books of every kind, captivated by the power of language. She dreamed of becoming a writer, yet understood early that writing alone could not sustain her. So she pursued practical jobs while holding on to her passion. Everything changed the day she discovered journalism. For her, it was the perfect convergence of purpose and livelihood. It allowed her to write, to witness, and to serve the public. Fifteen years later, she remains in the field, saying that she never stopped loving the work.
Kant Kaw soon realized that her calling extended beyond reporting events as they unfolded. She felt compelled to disclose the struggles that women in Myanmar face every day. “I met women who had to carry their fear in silence, yet still found the strength to protect their children and families. They wake up every morning choosing survival. In our conversations, I saw not weakness, but extraordinary strength — especially during moments of political upheaval.”
Through Kant Kaw’s work, stories that might otherwise have remained untold reached wider audiences. For example, she shone a light on the realities of a young mother in a conflict-affected township who begins each day calculating risk, choosing safer routes to buy food, wondering whether her child’s school will be open, and navigating military checkpoints.
Years of reporting, especially in post-coup Myanmar, have taken a toll. These days, she practices intentional self-care to sustain her work: music, hiking, friendships, and proactive emotional problem-solving. She gives care as much as she receives it, offering support and presence to friends who struggle. She knows the stakes:
Her dream of becoming a writer did come true — just not in the way she first imagined. She writes for the public, for women whose voices have been muted by injustice, and continues to write as an act of resistance, a record of truth, and a source of hope.
Through her writing, she pushes back against silence, against injustice, and against anyone who dares to underestimate what a woman can do.
Nathalia Bonilla is an environmental human rights defender from Ecuador who works in the protection of the rights of Nature. She told ISHR about her country’s sharp policy turn in favour of extractive activities and spoke about the ‘utopia’ she and her peers would like to see in its place. ‘A revolution where you can’t dance is not my revolution,’ Nathalia said, in arguing for an ‘environmentalism for the people’.
Salvino Oliveira was honored as a 2025 Young Activist Summit Laureate. | Courtesy of Jefferson Teófilo
On 22 December 2025, Global Citizen published the story of how at 27, Salvino Oliveira went from being a street vendor in Rio’s Cidade de Deus to a city councilor leading education reform. This was followed by him starting his first social project: making tuition free for poor children at 15 years old. In recognition of his efforts towards making education more accessible, Oliveira has been honored as a 2025 Young Activist Summit Laureate. Here, Oliveira shares how education transformed his life, and why he’s committed to making that transformation accessible to every young person in Brazil’s favelas.
My name is Salvino Oliveira, and I am everything I’ve been.
I say this because my story begins in a tiny house in Cidade de Deus, meaning City of God, a favela in Rio de Janeiro. At 13, I started working to help my family survive: selling water bottles at traffic lights, candy on buses, working as a street vendor, upholsterer, construction helper — anything honest that could put food on the table.
But Cidade de Deus is more than poverty. It’s the Rio neighborhood with the most public squares, making it a natural place for culture, leisure, and community gathering. It’s the birthplace of funk carioca — the soundtrack of favela resistance and joy. It’s also home to Olympic athletes and artists. These public spaces and that cultural richness shaped who I became, the friends I made, my first loves, the things I believe in.
Then I got lucky. I was selected by lottery to study at Colégio Pedro II, one of Brazil’s most prestigious tuition-free public schools. In Brazil, elite families typically send their children to private schools, while public schools serve the poor; a few exceptional public institutions, like Pedro II, offer quality education through competitive lottery systems. That education changed everything. It opened a door that seemed permanently locked for someone from my background. At 15, even while working and living with gun violence all around me, I understood that if this access had reached me, I had a responsibility to give it back.
At 15, I created my first social project: free tutoring for children in Cidade de Deus.
When I entered Brazil’s federal university system to study Public Administration at Universidade Federal do Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ), a tuition-free institution, like all public universities in Brazil, that social project grew into AfroEducando (later renamed Mais Nós), a community prep course for university entrance exams. Within one year, we had 22 units across Rio’s metropolitan region, all volunteer-run, helping first-generation Black students from favelas access higher education.
When the “social bug” bites you, there’s no going back — and so the projects continued. I co-founded Projeto Manivela to train community leaders to engage with the government and turn demands into policies. Then came PerifaConnection, a media platform where young people from favelas across Brazil write columns in major national newspapers about politics, economics, culture, climate, and human rights. The idea was simple and radical: we refuse to let other people tell our story for us. Mainstream Brazilian media have historically portrayed favelas primarily through the lens of crime and poverty. Today, favela youth occupy editorial space in national media, changing how Brazil sees its peripheries.
I became an activist in 2018 during the federal military intervention in Rio’s security forces. Working at the Public Security Observatory, I saw firsthand how policies treated favelas like war zones, with heavily armed police operations causing civilian casualties. As I became more visible in my community, friends warned me: “Be careful, you’re an activist now. This can put you at risk.” That’s when I understood that fighting for education and rights in Rio means challenging power structures involving politics, money, and organized crime that often operate in contested urban territories.
Cressida Kuala lives in a small gold mining town in the Highlands Region of Porgera District in the Enga Province of Papua New Guinea. In 2011, Cressida founded the Porgera Red Wara (River) Women’s Association, and she started speaking out about issues such as environmental degradation, chemical waste, pollution, expropriation of land, and the impact on the local community.
Hans Thoolen on Human Rights Defenders and their awards 