Thursday, June 16, 2022

Globally, a Waning Gun Culture: Is It a Lesson for America?

Mass killings in other corners of the world have led to serious restrictions and fewer incidents

Muhammad Idrees Ahmad
June 1, 2022
People visit a memorial for the 19 children and two adults killed on May 24th during a mass shooting at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas
 / Yasin Ozturk / Anadolu Agency via Getty Images


The sparrow that had alighted on the wall was full of avian vitality. It chirruped as it scanned the sky full of brightly colored kites. Its feathers ruffled in a breeze fragrant with the scent of orange blossom. Springtime in Peshawar is full of exuberance, a welcome respite between harsh winters and infernal summers. The city is alive with birdsong.

I noticed none of this as I stared at the bird through the sight of my pump-action air rifle. All I could see was an elusive trophy. I was 11. I had been handling guns since I was much younger. Back in my hometown, my not-always-responsible father had let me carry my own, a folding-stock AK-47 assault rifle. At weddings, I would take my turn with Afghan mujahedeen shooting at static targets. It was the late 1980s, and Chitral in northwest Pakistan was home to many Afghans, a staging post for their operations across the border in Kunar. The place was awash in guns, from cheap Chinese knockoffs to finely crafted German assault rifles. I became an enthusiast. I could dismantle my Kalashnikov and put it back together with my eyes closed.

But unlike my brother, who was a first-rate hunter, I was a failure at the game. I could never hit anything that moved. That is, until the day I saw the sparrow on the wall. I pulled the trigger, and the sparrow toppled over. I had finally scored. But my sense of triumph lasted only the few seconds it took me to reach the bird. The pellet had broken its leg, which was dangling on the side. The bird was in shock, its wings flapping listlessly. I picked it up and felt it struggle in my hand. I had seen plenty of dead game: I had even had “pakoras” (spicy fritters) made of sparrows in Peshawar’s Namak Mandi bazaar. I probably wouldn’t have given a dead bird a second thought. But this one was suspended between life and death, and each quiver of its body made me more conscious of the life that was ebbing away.

I had never felt so small. I bandaged the bird’s leg with a strip of Scotch tape and tossed it into the air. It flew away, heavy and languid. That was the last time I fired a gun. It was the end of my fascination.

In the 1980s, Pakistan’s northwest had been transformed by the war next door in Afghanistan. Unlike the rest of Pakistan, with its feudal hierarchies, the northwest is egalitarian and unruly. People prize their autonomy, and every home has a gun. But before the Afghan war, the gun served mostly a symbolic function: more a defensive necessity than an actual instrument of violence. All we had at our home was a .303-caliber, Lee Enfield rifle and my grandfather’s sword.

But things changed in the 1980s. As guns became freely available, their display became as important as their possession. Public events turned into veritable gun shows. Celebratory gunfire at weddings or childbirth was always a tradition. But it now became a competition — for the loudest, biggest, fastest gun. Even the shooting became more ostentatious. At one wedding, a man accidentally killed both bride and groom when the muzzles of the two AK-47s he had raised on each shoulder dropped on recoil and sprayed the stage with bullets. Deaths from stray bullets became common. My sister was hit by a falling bullet as she sat on her college lawn. A bullet from a neighborhood wedding hit the wall just above our heads one evening as we sat on a friend’s terrace. At one wedding I attended, the gunfire cut the electricity lines.

We didn’t have mass shootings, but the gun culture was a menace. Every sporting victory, every childbirth, every wedding celebration could mean grief to someone else. This culture persisted into the decades after the end of the anti-Soviet jihad. Outside of the tribal areas, where the law offered you little protection and weapons were a necessity, guns were a symbol of status and power. They were to a man what jewelry is to a woman. Ironically, they became less visible when a real threat emerged in the mid-2000s with the rise of the Pakistani Taliban. In the mortal combat between the Pakistani Army and this ruthless new force, there was no room for a third party with guns. But as this threat subsided, men have returned with their lethal jewelry. On New Year’s Eve in Karachi, an 11-year-old was killed and 17 injured in celebratory gunfire.

I’ve been away from the country for two decades. On my first Guy Fawkes Night in Glasgow, in 2004, when fireworks lit the sky, I did not have to hurry indoors as I would have in Pakistan at the sound of explosions. This event was joyous, it didn’t externalize the cost of celebration to others. But — to paraphrase Joseph Conrad — this, too, had been a place of darkness. For the past eight years, on the drive to work, I’d exit the M9 highway toward Stirling University at the roundabout near Dunblane. It is impossible to look at this picturesque Scottish idyll and connect it with one of Britain’s most traumatic events.

On the morning of March 13, 1996, a 43-year-old gunman had entered the Dunblane Primary School and killed 16 children and a teacher, injuring 15 others. The man was carrying four handguns — two Browning Hi-Power pistols and two Smith & Wesson Model 19 revolvers — all purchased legally. The massacre horrified the country and united both major parties. Following an official inquiry, the Conservative government of Prime Minister John Major introduced the Firearms (Amendment) Act 1997, which banned virtually all citizens from owning guns; a year later, Tony Blair’s Labour government expanded the ban to also include.22-caliber, single-shot weapons. There have been no school shootings in the U.K. since, and Dunblane today is better known as Andy Murray’s hometown. (The two-time Wimbledon champion was an 8-year-old pupil at the Dunblane Primary School at the time of the massacre.)

Six weeks after Dunblane, Australia, too, was struck by tragedy when a 28-year-old went on a rampage in Port Arthur, killing 35 and injuring 23. Two children, aged 3 and 6, were killed along with their mother, execution style. The defense psychologist claimed that the shooter had been inspired by the notoriety of the Dunblane killer. The Australian government, however, needed no foreign inspiration. Prime Minister John Howard’s Conservative government was even quicker than Britain’s in introducing highly restrictive gun laws, passing the National Firearms Agreement within 12 days of the massacre, buying back 650,000 guns within a year. Howard defied his own base and Australia’s gun lobby, which was being secretly supported by the National Rifle Association (NRA) and the Christian Coalition to mobilize Australians against the restrictions. The measures proved effective enough that in the years since, there have been no mass shootings (some have tried to define incidents of family homicide as a “mass shooting” to downplay Australia’s success). The numbers of suicides and homicides also dropped. There were 521 deaths from firearms in 1996; by 2019, the number had fallen to 219.

So successful was this policy that two decades later, when an Australian terrorist resolved to kill a large number of Muslims, he had to move to New Zealand to enact his plot. On March 15, 2019, the 28-year-old shooter shot and killed 51 worshippers and injured 40 at two mosques in Christchurch. The six guns he used were all legally purchased. A week later, Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern announced a ban on semi-automatic weapons, and, on April 10, the Arms (Prohibited Firearms, Magazines, and Parts) Amendment Act 2019 was passed by the New Zealand Parliament with support from all parties except one.

A year later, in April 2020, a 51-year-old Canadian dressed as a police officer went on a killing spree through rural Nova Scotia, killing 22 before being killed himself by the police. Three of the four guns he used had been smuggled from the U.S. But within two weeks, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau had announced a ban on assault weapons.

From Britain to Australia, New Zealand and Canada, mass atrocities have been followed by public outrage and political action. The responses were rational, necessary, inexorable. The link between a public issue and political action seemed obvious. But even as the U.S. mourns the victims in the most recent of its painfully frequent mass atrocities, the grief feels enervated by the certainty of inaction. Even the angriest seem resigned to the fact that a country that could live with the killing of 10 people at a supermarket in Buffalo, New York, 10 days earlier can also live with the murder of 19 children and two teachers at a primary school in Uvalde, Texas. Republicans — the main obstacle to political action on guns — require the bereaved to be content with “thoughts and prayers.” Those who fail are accused of making the tragedy “political.”

“Now is not the time for politics,” they say. But given the frequency of mass shootings in America, where every “now” is preceded by tragedy, this precludes any political action lest it profane the moments whose solemnity the Republicans are eager to preserve. The debate has a theological quality, and its presiding deity is Moloch, the malign God from the Old Testament to whom children were sacrificed in fire. The analogy was used to describe America’s consecrated gun by historian and classicist Garry Wills in the aftermath of the Sandy Hook massacre. Wills was perhaps resorting to an emotive reference because with all his careful reasoning and prodigious knowledge, he had failed to penetrate the wall of unreason that surrounds the gun debate.

In a September 1995 essay for the New York Review of Books, Wills had eviscerated the emerging body of scholarship from a group of lawyers, historians and criminologists interpreting the Second Amendment as guaranteeing the right to private ownership of guns. Wills had used etymology, historical context and legal exegesis to show that the amendment guaranteed people’s right to “keep and bear arms” only in a military context, as part of a “well-regulated militia.” But when the Supreme Court dealt a blow to gun reform in District of Columbia v. Heller (2008), for the first time interpreting the Second Amendment as protecting individuals’ rights to possess firearms, the conservative justices drew on the same revisionist scholarship that Wills had criticized.

This has added to the already considerable obstacles to sensible action on guns. A year earlier, the Clinton administration had introduced a 10-year assault weapon ban, which coincided with a fall in murder rates and, according to a 2019 New York University School of Medicine study, saw a 70% decline in mass shootings. But in 2004, the Bush administration allowed the ban to lapse, and the number of mass shootings tripled in the following decade. Things got even worse. According to data collected by the Gun Violence Archive, 2,858 children were affected by gun violence in 2014; the number had risen to 5,692 by 2021. According to the FBI, there were three active shooter incidents in 2000; by 2020 there were 40. (“Active shooter” incidents are only a small fraction of America’s overall firearm deaths, which last year totaled 20,920.)

America today has more guns than there are people, and over half of the guns are owned by just 3% of the population. There is a direct correlation between levels of gun ownership and gun violence, a statistic that holds true within and beyond the U.S. And states with relaxed gun laws have higher incidences of mass shootings, a 2019 BMJ study found.

It all seems obvious. Why the inaction?


It is doubtful that the resistance to regulation by a milksop like Ted Cruz or a sybarite like Donald Trump is based on an unusual devotion to firearms. Even the NRA’s millions don’t fully explain the resilience of the GOP’s opposition to sensible gun laws. But gun possession has become a vector in the culture wars, the racialized politics from which the GOP has historically benefited. It is unlikely to cede this advantage. Republicans exploit resentments by railing against the “elite” who are out to rob law-abiding citizens of their means of self-defense, while simultaneously pathologizing the violence, blaming mental illness for it.

After the Uvalde tragedy, Republican Texas Gov. Greg Abbott claimed the shooter had a “mental health challenge” and suggested that greater investment in mental health could address the crisis. It is possible that he genuinely believes mental illness leads to mass shootings and is committed to addressing this. But as Abbott had to acknowledge, the killer had no history of mental illness or a criminal record. And more broadly, an FBI analysis of 63 active shooter incidents from 2000 to 2013 found that mental illness was diagnosed in only a quarter of the killers; only three were known to have a psychotic disorder. There is reason to doubt Abbott’s commitment to mental health since just last April, he had cut $211 million from the department that oversees the state’s mental health programs. His state ranks last in the U.S. for access to mental health care.

Stigmatizing mental illness, calls for arming teachers, demands to fortify schools have all been used as deflections by the GOP. Yet, despite having facts on their side, Democrats have made little progress. In contenting themselves with rational arguments, they have allowed the GOP to control the narrative with emotional appeals to their base. For any change to occur, Democrats must get more confrontational and seize the narrative. They’ll have to stop making concessions to the Republican framing about America’s supposedly unique culture and history. But more important, Democrats will have to address their broader weakness and learn to wield power. Because when politics changes, so does culture.

America’s love of guns is not unique, unlike its gun culture. The pathology is not so much the perpetrator’s mind as a culture that sees the possession of an assault rifle as something so unexceptional that it shouldn’t even require a background check. In most places, including the country where I grew up, the culture changed with changes in politics. One day when America has finally had enough and the government outlaws combat weapons, even the most committed gun owner will adjust to the new reality, as Brits, Aussies, Kiwis and the Canucks did before them. They’ll discover that they are far more secure surrendering the assault weapons they kept for a hypothetical threat than to use them and be confronted with a real one: the might of the world’s most powerful state.

There is nothing fixed about culture. Cultures evolve; traditions are abandoned. Many once-cherished traditions are abhorrent to us today. It is a measure of our moral evolution. In the end, it is a spell cast over us, through socialization or propaganda, suppressing thoughts, turning actions into reflexes. It can be broken. In Peshawar, I shot a bird thoughtlessly, because it is what boys did. Until then, a gun had felt integral to my identity. But the incident led to an epiphany: A world without the rapport of guns is infinitely more livable than a world without birdsong. Given the link between the easy availability of guns and the proliferation of school shootings, Americans, too, will have to decide what they prize more: the crackle of gunfire or a schoolyard’s rhapsody.

Muhammad Idrees Ahmad is the director of the International Journalism program at Stirling University


Germany plans to tighten gun control

The German government is planning to make background checks for potential gun owners even tighter. But questions remain over whether authorities are even equipped to carry out such controls.

One million people in Germany own a total of five million firearms

The German government is seeking to impose even stricter background checks on gun ownership in an attempt to prevent political extremists and the psychologically disturbed from buying guns.

The latest call for restrictions comes partly in response to the killings in Hanau in February 2020, when a racist attacker Tobias R.* murdered nine people of color before killing his mother and himself.

He was able to buy guns legally even though he had been diagnosed with paranoid delusions in 2002 when he told police he was being spied on and "psychologically raped" through the power outlets in his walls. Tobias R. legally owned three guns at the time of the killings, and was able to borrow another from a gun trader.

In a statement to DW, an Interior Ministry spokeswoman confirmed that a draft bill is currently being drawn up, whose intention is to expand the scope of the background checks authorities can and must make before granting or renewing a gun license.

Mental illness and gun ownership

Around one million people in Germany legally own a total of more than five million firearms. Most of them are sport shooters, hunters, or foresters. Though gun violence is relatively rare in Germany, an average of 155 people are killed by gunfire every year.

Marcel Emmerich, a member of parliament for the Green Party and domestic policy spokesman, is convinced that recent incidents show that Germany's rules for gun ownership need to be restricted further. "Fewer weapons being privately owned means more public safety," he said.

The government's plans include requiring authorities that grant gun ownership licenses — often the relevant state police — to check with health authorities whether applicants have a record of mental illness.

A 19-year old who legally owned a gun, shot 16 people at his school in Erfurt in 2002

But the issue of mental illness raises several problems, according to Dietmar Heubrock, professor of forensic psychology at Bremen University, and once an expert witness on gun control for the German parliament. Health authorities don't necessarily have complete records on mental illness, he argues, and no database can cover the variety of psychological issues that could lead to violence. "Do we even have the right procedures to recognize the potential psychological dangers that might develop in later life?" he said.

"Let's say I already own a gun and then hit a personal crisis — my livelihood gets taken away, and I start developing violent fantasies: I want to avenge myself on society, and I want to go out and kill everyone I see," he tells DW. "No health authority would know about that."

The solution, according to Heubrock, is developing new psychological tests that each applicant for a gun ownership card would have to pass. "The current tests are 20 years old, and any test, whether it's an intelligence test or a personality test, has to be re-standardized after a time," he explains.

Green Party MP Emmerich agrees, saying that the new law could, for instance, require all applicants to pass a psychological assessment test — not just those under the age of 25, as the law demands now.

But the German Shooting Sport and Archery Federation (DSB), which numbers some 1.3 million members, doubts whether gathering sensitive health data will be legally viable and whether anyone without medical expertise is qualified to interpret it properly.

"For example, an official in a regulatory authority can surely not judge whether an entry in a health file is even relevant to weapons law," DSB spokesman Thilo von Hagen told DW in an email.

Politician Walter Lübcke was shot and killed by a neo-Nazi who had been a member of a gun club

Several amendments to gun law

Germany has consistently tightened gun laws following mass shootings. Age limits for gun ownership were raised following a school shooting in Erfurt in 2002, and random spot checks on gun owners, to ensure they were storing guns according to regulations, were introduced following a mass shooting in the town of Winnenden in 2009.

Following terror attacks in Paris in 2015, the EU amended its firearms directive, which was incorporated into German law in 2020, the last amendment to date. Since then, the firearms authorities have been obliged to check with the domestic intelligence agency whether an applicant is known to them as an extremist.

Since 2020, authorities are also obliged to check every five years whether registered German gun owners have a legitimate "need" to own a gun: In practice, that often means police will check whether the gun owner is still a member of a shooting club or has a hunting license.

But there have been reports of neo-Nazis joining shooting clubs, and Germany has been shocked in recent years by stories of so-called Reichsbürger (conspiracy theorists who believe the Federal Republic of Germany is not a legitimate state) hoarding firearms. Two recent far-right perpetrators, the Hanau perpetrator Tobias R., and Stephan E., the neo-Nazi who murdered a local governor Walter Lübcke in 2019, both joined shooting clubs.

Gun owners in Germany see no need for more regulations. Torsten Reinwald, the spokesman for the German hunting Association (DJV), which represents some 250,000 registered German hunters, says the problem is the implementation of current laws, rather than the laws themselves.

"Hanau could have been prevented," Reinwald tells DW. "The facts were on the table: It was known that this person was mentally ill, but no action was taken. If the authorities had been better connected, this person could've been pulled out of circulation. That's the basic problem. To make new demands now — they're just 'placebos,' nothing more."

In 2009, a 17-year-old stole his father's gun and killed 15 people in Winnenden

Personal freedom, privacy, and privilege

Authorities already have relatively wide-ranging powers to check gun owners: If they have any suspicions about applicants, they can require an additional health certificate. Reinwald says police spot checks are already "a severe intrusion in personal freedom."

Another concern is privacy. The neoliberal Free Democrats (FDP), the government party most sensitive to personal freedom issues, has already flagged concerns over the Interior Ministry's plans.

Green Party MP Emmerich acknowledges that medical data is "highly sensitive," but added that this will be considered in any new law. "The challenge is handling data responsibly, but also ensuring that certain people don't get their hands on weapons," he said.

Historian Dagmar Ellerbrock from the Technical University of Dresden told Deutschlandfunk public radio that in her view the debate on restrictions was misleading: Owning a gun, she said, is not a basic right that is now being restricted by law. "It's a privilege," she said. "A privilege granted to certain people. And whoever wants to be granted this privilege has to qualify for it."

*DW follows the German press code, which stresses the importance of protecting the privacy of suspected criminals or victims and urges us to refrain from revealing full names in such cases.

Edited by: Rina Goldenberg

If you are suffering from serious emotional strain or suicidal thoughts, do not hesitate to seek professional help. You can find information on where to find such help, no matter where you live in the world, at this website: https://www.befrienders.org/


'This time is different': Tens of

 thousands protest gun violence

 in US

At rallies held across the US, protesters made it clear to politicians they want better gun control. DW was at the Washington march, where a false alarm scattered the crowd and pro-gun demonstrators were escorted away.

Protesters were sick of 'thoughts and prayers' after each mass shooting

"As we gather here today, the next shooter is already plotting his attack while the federal government pretends it can do nothing to stop it," David Hogg, a survivor of the Stoneman Douglas High School shooting, told a crowd of tens of thousands in the US capital, Washington, on Saturday.

The event, which featured speeches from other survivors, the families of victims and educators, drew an estimated 50,000 attendees, according to the organisers, March for Our Lives. The group was founded by Hogg and other children from the school in Parkland, Florida, to advocate for stricter gun control.

Parkland shooting survivor, David Hogg, said the killings of children in Uvalde 'should fill us with rage'

Addressing the crowd near the Washington Monument, he urged the crowd to imagine seeing the name of a loved one appear on the ever-growing list of gun violence victims in the US. 

"This time is different," Hogg said, before asking the crowd to chant the sentence repeatedly. 

Simultaneous protests look place in around 450 locations across the US, calling for an end to inaction from political leaders.

The marches followed deadly mass shootings in Uvalde, Texas, where a gunman killed 19 children and two teachers, and a supermarket shooting in Buffalo, New York, that left 10 people dead, as well as a shooting at a Taiwanese-American church in Southern California, in which one person was killed and five injured. All those events took place within one month.

"I speak as a mayor, a mom, and I speak for millions of Americans and America's mayors who are demanding that Congress do its job. And its job is to protect us, to protect our children from gun violence," Mayor Muriel Bowser told protestors in Washington. "Enough is enough.''

Re-living the fear

During a moment of silence held for the Uvalde shooting victims, a loud voice pierced through the calm, causing panic among the crowd. People in the front reported hearing the word "gun" and dozens ducked to the ground, while others fled in fear.

"I saw other people running, and people telling others to run. So I ran," Milton Gardner, a 23-year-old student at Virginia Commonwealth University, told DW. "It gave me a flash of how … every second of the day is a risk in this country, no matter where you are and what you are doing."

Gardner added that he had been afraid to even attend the rally after the Buffalo shooting.

Teacher Margaret Tice (middle) was shocked by a false alarm in the middle of the protest

"Everybody hit the ground and I was just standing there because I was in shock," said Margaret Tice, a 63-year-old teacher from West Virginia.

"This woman in front of me broke down and she was sobbing on the ground. It’s real. People are fearful of that every day," she added. 

A man obscuring his his face with a US flag scarf and dark sunglasses sparked fury by unfurling a large banner reading “Guns'n'bacon.”

March for Our Lives supporters quickly blocked the banner from view with their signs calling for gun control, before the man was escorted away by police. 

Stephanie Birch, a university librarian, covered the word “guns” on the banner with black tape.  

A man holding a pro-gun placard is led away from the protest by police

"When you have a protest you can expect agitators," the 33-year-old, who flew to the protest from Florida, told DW. “Fortunately there was no violence, and he had no gun. I think that’s something a lot of us have been worried about — the possibility of a shooting happening here today.”  

House passes new gun controls, but Senate holds out

On Wednesday, the Democrat-controlled House of Representatives passed a sweeping set of gun safety measures, but the legislation has little to no chance of advancing in the Senate, where Democrats would need the support of 10 Republicans for the requisite super majority.

Republicans there believe gun limits violate the US Constitution's Second Amendment, the right to bear arms.

At the Washinton rally, Hogg led the crowd in chants of "vote them out," referring to Republican politicians. 

"This time is different because this isn't about politics. It's about morality. Not right and left, but right and wrong, and that doesn't just mean thoughts and prayers. That means courage and action," Yolanda King, granddaughter of Martin Luther King Jr., said.

Protesters like Rebecca Toronto (far right) and her family blocked pro-gun placards at the march

Rallies also took place in Atlanta, New York, Los Angeles and Chicago.

In New York, the state's Attorney General Letitia James, who is suing gun lobby group, the National Rifle Association, joined activists crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Nothing happens in this country until young people stand up, not politicians,'' James said.

Hundreds gathered at an amphitheater in Parkland, where Debra Hixon, whose husband, high school athletic director Chris Hixon, died in the Buffalo shooting, said it is "all too easy'' for young men to walk into stores and buy weapons.

President Biden 'mildly optimistic' about reform

President Joe Biden backed the protests, urged demonstrators to "keep marching" and added that he was "mildly optimistic" about legislative negotiations to address gun violence.

A bipartisan group of Senators had hoped to reach an agreement this week on a framework for addressing the issue and held talks Friday, though they have yet to conclude a deal.

March For Our Lives has called for an assault weapons ban, universal background checks for those trying to purchase guns, and a national licensing system that would register gun owners.

At the same time, opponents of tougher regulations have sought to cast mass shootings as primarily a mental health issue, not one of access to firearms.

More than 19,300 people have died in gun-related incidents in the US so far this year, according to the Gun Violence Archive. More than half of those deaths are due to suicide.

lo/msh (AP, AFP, Reuters)


How Nigeria’s Igbo highlife music provided hope after a devastating civil war

An Igbo young man playing the Abia (drum). Image from Ou Travel and Tour, used with permission

Read the first part of this series on the pioneers of Igbo highlife music here.

Igbo highlife provided comfort and hope for the Igbos, an ethnic group living mainly in southeastern Nigeria, after a devastating civil war that ended in 1970. In face of this agony, highlife musicians brought solace by encapsulating the trials of their times with a call to trudge on, despite the prevailing difficulties. Through the 80s and 90s, Igbo highlife continued to evoke the peculiar mood of the times.

The Nigerian civil war broke out after the 1966 failed coup tried to overthrow a northern head of state, which was led by Igbo officers. The backlash from the coup ignited a massacre of Igbos and other southerners living in northern Nigeria. The violence immediately afterward resulted in “deaths ranging as high as 30,000” forcing “more than 1 million” Igbos to flee back to “the Eastern Region,” according to a study by Helen Chapin Metz, a researcher with the American Library of Congress. The Igbos reacted with secession from Nigeria, creating the Republic of Biafra. This culminated in the 1967-1970 Nigeria/Biafra civil war that resulted in the death of “over one million ethnic Igbos and other Easterners,” asserts Chima J. Korieh, a professor of African History at United State’s Marquette University.

Post-civil war Igbo highlife music

The civil war sent more than a million Igbos, scattered around Nigeria, back home to the eastern region. This entrenched highlife in the east, asserts Oghenemudiakevwe Igbi, a Nigerian scholar. The lyrics code-switching from Igbo to English language made the highlife genre “an acculturative product of the folk music” of the Igbo culture, from where it blossomed, asserts Ikenna Onwuegbunna, a Nigerian music scholar.

After the Nigerian civil war from 1967 to 1970, the Igbos were totally devastated, having lost their lives and livelihood. The official “no victor, no vanquished” post-civil war mantra, captured the government’s commitment of the reintegration of Biafrans into the Nigerian state. However, the harsh reality was that the same Nigerian government directed that “£20 be paid to all Biafran bank account holders, regardless of the balance of their accounts prior to” the war. This broke survivors of the debilitating war, perhaps even more than the actual conflict.

Igbo highlife music, as personified by the Oriental Brothers International Band, offered a ray of light, amidst this grim reality. 

The Oriental Brothers International Band

Original Nigerian vinyl (Afrodesia label) of the Oriental Brothers International (1976). 

The Opara brothers, Godwin Kabaka Opara, Ferdinand (Dan-Satch) Emeka Opara, Christogonous Ezebuiro “Warrior” Obinna, and Kabaka Opara, along with Nathaniel “Mangala” Ejiogu, Hybrilious Dkwilla’ Alaraibe, and Prince Ichita, founded the Oriental Brothers in 1972. By the end of the decade, the group had released 20 albums.

One of Nigeria’s most successful bands, the Oriental Brothers played a pivotal “spiritual role” in keeping the Igbos “sane,” after the trauma inflicted by a “war so vicious,” according to All Music, a global music database.

Unfortunately, the band broke up with Kabaka leaving in 1977 to form the Kabaka International Guitar Band, following a leadership squabble with Dan-Satch. Three years later, Warrior also went solo, forming Dr. Sir Warrior and The Original Oriental Brothers. Years later, the group reunited to record two albums: “Anyi Abiala Ozo” (1987) and “Oriental Ge Ebi” (1996).

L:R: Dan-Satch and Warrior, Oriental Brothers Album Cover

In March 2015, Dan-Satch Opara gave some insights to the inspiration behind some of the songs by the Oriental Band Brothers, during an interview with the Nitch, a Nigerian entertainment online newspaper. For instance, ‘Ihe chi nyere m, onye a nana m’ is a literal translation of the Igbo philosophical aphorism, “that no one should snatch what God has given me (or someone else).” ‘Ebele onye uwa’, Dan-Satch continues, was a “premonition of the split of Oriental Brothers.”

Another song, ‘Iheoma’ was about the Udoji award of 1975. In 1972, Chief Jerome Udoji, was the head of the commission that was tasked by the government to reform Nigeria’s postcolonial and post-war civil service. The enhanced salary structure for civil servants proposed by the commission was subsequently known as the “Udoji Award.” Therefore, ‘Iheoma’ ridiculed the non-inclusion musicians in the enlarged pay packet. Dan-Scotch explains, “some people got so much money and bought motorcycles or cars. Nothing was given to us musicians then […] despite our contributions to the happiness of the people.” 

The band stood out for their unique blending of Congolese guitar instrumentation with traditional Igbo rhythms. Their soulful and therapeutic musical renditions ruled the radio waves down into the 80s. The Oriental Brothers stressed the need for peaceful and harmonious living. Most of “their song themes were drawn from war experiences diluted with rich Igbo proverbs,” maintains Amaka Obioji, a journalist with Legit, a Nigerian online news site.  

Ozoemena Nsugbe’s egwu ekpili

The Igbo traditional egwu ekpili musical instruments. L-R: Ichaka, ubọ aka, Ichaka and ọkpọkọrọ (also called ekwe nta or ekwe aka). Image by Giovana Fleck/Global Voices.

Egwu ekpili is a genre of traditional Igbo music predominant among Igbos from Ọnịcha, Nsugbe, Nteje, Aguleri, in Anambra State, southeastern Nigeria, is characterised by the call and response repertoire. This Igbo folk music “deploys conventional and conceptual metaphors to articulate salient Igbo identities and ideologies,” notes Ebuka Elias Igwebuike, a Nigerian language and literary scholar. The ọkpọkọrọ (also called ekwe nta or ekwe aka), ịchaka and ubọ aka – egwu ekpili musical instruments – dates back to about 950 AD in traditional Igbo societies. 

Akunwata Ozoemena Nsugbe's album cover.

This genre has been integrated into Igbo highlife music, with the electric guitar and piano featuring prominently, alongside the traditional ekpili Igbo instrumentation. Akunwata Ozoemena Nsugbe who started singing in 1967, and Chief Emeka Morocco Maduka, popularly known as ‘Eze Egwu Ekpili,’ are some of the notable egwu ekpili highlife crooners. The themes of their songs were mostly philosophical and moralistic.

Zigma sound, a fusion of highlife, folk song and vocals

Bright Chimezie’s album cover

Bright Chimezie promoted a mix of Igbo traditional music, highlife, and vocal through his Zigima Sound which was popular in the early 80s. The gap-toothed Chimezie, labeled Okoro Junior by fans, held the Nigerian music scene spellbound with his impressive leg work in numerous live performances. 

Nigerian journalist, the late Amadi Ogbonna wrote of Chimezie:

His breathtaking performance on stage also endeared him to the crowd wherever he performed. A very creative musician, Bright Chimezie was able to infuse comedy into his songs. Songs like ‘Respect Africa,’ ‘Okro Soup’ and ‘Oyibo Mentality’ propelled him to national stardom.

Chimezie, a strong believer “in African culture and traditions” asserts in a 2010 interview that he used music to creatively tell stories. “The message I am trying to get across to the people there is that we should be very proud of where we come from. The kind of food we eat, our type of dresses,” Chimezie said. 

These highlife musicians drawing their inspirations from Igbo identity went deep in their interrogation of existential questions while offering entertainment to their fans. Chimezie maintains that there was “a philosophy” in their music, evident in “the lyrical context” that told the story of the people. The fusion of Western and Igbo musical instruments also gave their songs a popular validity that is still refreshingly unique. 

Find Global Voice’s Spotify playlist highlighting other Nigerian Igbo highlife songs here. For more information about African music, see our special coverage, A Journey into African Music.

Here's a playlist of Igbo highlife music from the 70s to the 90s: 


Xenophobia in South Africa Mimics Apartheid-Era Violence

Experts say it may result from a twisted take on the information given to Blacks during the time of white rule


May 26, 2022
Members of “Operation Dudula” chant anti-migrant slogans as they march in Durban, on April 10, 2022
 / Rajesh Jantilal / AFP via Getty Images


On March 6, Zimbabwean national Elvis Nyathi heard a mob approaching his home in Diepsloot. Nyathi knew the drill. The mob had come looking for him before, and he survived by hiding in the back of his house. But this time would be different. His mutilated body was later found in the same hiding spot, where the mob had caught up with him. They doused his feet with gasoline and lit them on fire, then whipped him with iron cable as he burned to death. Witnesses saw what happened and gave public accounts of the ordeal, and the police have so far arrested seven men who are accused of murdering Nyathi.

The brutal violence that befell Nyathi is becoming more common in South Africa, which is leading the world as one of the most xenophobic places for Black African migrants, who have often fled war and poverty in their own countries in search of a better life in South Africa. The migrants hail from Zimbabwe, Nigeria, Somalia, Mozambique and Congo, among others. And the perpetrators of the violence are Black South Africans, increasingly organized into vigilante groups and etching closer toward the political mainstream in ways that eerily parallel neo-Nazi groups in the West.

The past two months alone have witnessed numerous anti-immigrant demonstrations in the provinces of Gauteng and KwaZulu Natal, with protesters raising banners of any number of the new and mushrooming xenophobic groups. Among the most prominent are Operation Dudula, Put South Africa First, The Patriotic Alliance Party and All Trucker Foundation, which has openly declared that they will “clean the country of immigrants,” whom they accuse of taking jobs from Indigenous South Africans and blame for the country’s rise in criminality. (South Africa has one of the highest homicide rates in the world, with 50 murders per day.)

“Dudula,” which in native Zulu means push out or shove aside, is led by 35-year-old Nhlanhla “Lux” Dlamini, who is usually seen wearing military fatigues with a bulletproof vest.

Dlamini rose to fame when he protected Maponya Mall in Soweto during a looting spree after former President Jacob Zuma was arrested on contempt of court charges in July 2021. He later spread a series of xenophobic comments online warning foreigners against opening “spaza shops” (the popular informal convenience stores) in Soweto.

His group, Operation Dudula, gained momentum in 2021 on the 45th anniversary of the June 16 Soweto uprising, a commemoration of the nearly 200 youths who died while protesting the use of Afrikaans—the tongue of the white-minority establishment—instead of English as the language of teaching in schools.

In the weeks leading up to the anniversary, flyers and posters circulated online with the warning: “We will be removing foreigners by force!!”

Fringe political parties also have become increasingly vocal about their contempt for undocumented migrants, blaming them for society’s ills.

The Patriotic Alliance Party, for example, says it wants all illegal migrants to be forcibly removed because they are “responsible for the high levels of crime” and have destabilized communities.

“When you look at rape, assault, serial killers, the majority of perpetrators are illegal immigrants who live side by side with the locals who now can no longer stand the criminality,” Kenny Kunene, a former convict and vice president of the Patriotic Alliance, told New Lines.

In the township of Diepsloot, in particular, Zimbabweans are being targeted as they represent the largest migrant population. An estimated 1 million Zimbabweans work in South Africa in both the formal and informal labor market. Many undocumented Zimbabweans have settled in Diepsloot, a densely populated township that means “deep ditch” in Afrikaans, because they do not need documentation for cheap accommodation.

Now they are fighting back against the rising rhetoric that aims to criminalize them en masse.

“When one Zimbabwean is caught, it is blown out of proportion by the police, media and community leaders. Is it necessary to announce the nationality? Show me the statistics that say foreigners are the ones committing the crimes,” said Gabriel Shumba, a Johannesburg-based Zimbabwean human rights lawyer. Shumba has been representing both exiled Zimbabwean nationals and the undocumented ones in South Africa.

Indeed, the perpetrators of this violence target the poorest and most vulnerable among immigrants, especially those who peddle or run informal shops.

“The undocumented migrants largely live in townships and therefore bear the brunt of the locals’ frustrations. The other affluent migrants are in the suburbs doing white-collar jobs, so they are not targeted because they aren’t in the same locality,” said Innocent Jeke, a Zimbabwean national who runs the nonprofit group Africa Integrated Platform in Midrand, Johannesburg.

This sense of being targeted is all too real for Congolese national Babeth Kalumba, who runs a spaza shop.

“The violence is happening in the townships where people are poor and suffering, so they are not happy that we are running small businesses. Every day I see their frustrations growing, and I fear for my life,” Kalumba told New Lines.

Such fear translated into reality for 36-year-old Kangolongo Kayembe, an asylum-seeker from the Democratic Republic of Congo. Like hundreds of thousands of Africans, she arrived in South Africa in 2009, fleeing the fighting in her country. In 2021, Kayembe was attacked by a mob while selling food in the streets of Johannesburg East.

“I have learnt my lesson. Last time they attacked me and took my goods and threw them away. Since [the attack on Nyathi] in Diepsloot, they have been terrorizing us for days. I will stay indoors and keep away from them,” she said.

Some experts say that the reason that Black vigilantes target Black Africans might be rooted in South Africa’s apartheid-era education system, which portrayed the rest of the continent as uncivilized and underdeveloped, leaving the majority of South Africans without a sense of pan-Africanism.

Indeed, there has been little education about the critical role that African states have played in supporting South Africans dismantle the apartheid regime, thanks to an archaic education system that continues to teach a Eurocentric history.

“South Africa was disconnected from the rest of the continent, and the whites drummed it into the Blacks’ minds that they were better off than other Black Africans and painted the rest of the continent as being riddled with disease, dictatorship and genocide,” said Savo Heleta, a researcher at Nelson Mandela University in Port Elizabeth.

There has also been a lack of knowledge about anti-immigrant sentiment during apartheid, when Africans from neighboring countries migrated to South Africa to work as cheap labor in the mines and farms and attacks against them largely went unreported.

From the high standards one was welcomed to on arrival at the ultramodern Jan Smuts Airport and the efficient motorways sweeping them into the lavish, world-class hotels adorning the city’s skyline, Johannesburg was as vibrant as any modern American or European metropolis.

While the rest of Africa struggled during their immediate post-independence eras, shrugging off the effects of colonialism and economic underdevelopment, South Africa’s growth as an economic powerhouse differentiated it from the rest of the continent. South Africa’s disinformation machine during apartheid also influenced the global narrative about the continent, painting a bleak picture of Africa as a dark, backward, backwater place riddled with corruption, famine and disease.

During apartheid, the South African government aimed to balance these two sometimes conflicting points. They needed economic migrants to fill in for the Black South Africans purposely disenfranchised from their own economy while maintaining the mischaracterization of Africa as a scary and terrible place so as to discourage South Africans from leaving the country and agitating against the white government.

So Black migrants “were brought in by the white government intentionally to undermine and frustrate Black South Africans by giving the foreigners preferential treatment, but in the same breath they demonized the rest of Africa as a way of discouraging Blacks from going into exile to fight the apartheid regime,’’ said Loren Landau, a lecturer at the Africa Center for Migration & Society at Witwatersrand University in Johannesburg.

This dissonance resulted in waves of African migrants to South Africa, only to be met with a rising tide of Black-led xenophobia and violence against them.

Ephraim Banda was one of the migrant workers who made South Africa his new home in the quest for a better future for his family, before he found it wasn’t all that he had hoped it to be.

“We came here in the ‘50s to work in the mines from Nyasaland [now Malawi], and even then, we were mistreated by our fellow Blacks. It’s as if they never appreciated what our countries were doing to fight apartheid,” Banda said, referring to the support given to South African exiles during the struggle for Black majority rule.

In the late 1970s and throughout the 1980s, the Mozambique civil war and Somalia’s descent into a failed state triggered the initial major waves of xenophobia, as hundreds of thousands of displaced Mozambicans and Somalis settled in South Africa.

In 1985 in Alexandra, a township in the city of Johannesburg, a campaign named Buyelekhaya (go back home) was launched by armed gangs who forcibly marched immigrants to the police station where they were detained and accused without proof by locals of sexually assaulting women. More incidents followed with the horrific deaths of a Mozambican and two Senegalese immigrants in September 1998. The victims were thrown from a moving train in Johannesburg after being attacked by a mob who were on their way back from a tense rally at which foreigners were blamed for the country’s high unemployment rate.

Sporadic violence as such gained momentum until it culminated in an infamous attack in July of 2006 in the Cape Flats, where 21 Somali immigrants were killed at various locations and times, though the police have denied that this was part of an organized attack.

When Nelson Mandela took up the mantle as South Africa’s first Black president in 1994, he captivated millions of Black South Africans dreaming and hoping for a better life. But the jubilation was short-lived, as poverty and corruption persisted despite the government’s intervention.

This period also precipitated an exodus of white South Africans, appalled as they were at the prospect of being ruled by a government led by people they had previously considered good enough for menial work and nothing else. This exacerbated the country’s brain drain, which had been ongoing since the final years of apartheid, when young, skilled, white South Africans left the country for greener pastures.

To fill the economic void left by white flight, Mandela’s government encouraged educated Black Africans to migrate to South Africa—a departure from apartheid-era migration to the country by unskilled labor meant to further disenfranchise Black South Africans. Under Mandela, it didn’t take much to attract Africans of all backgrounds and talents. South Africa was fast becoming a favored destination for Africans looking to earn a decent living, conceivably even better than the possibilities in Europe, at a time when the United States and European countries were making it increasingly more difficult for African nationals to travel there.

This wave of migrants arrived in South Africa and started taking up the less-desirable jobs increasingly shunned by young, up-and-coming South Africans—jobs like waiting tables as well as janitorial and domestic work.

In the late 1990s and 2000s, after Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo) and Zimbabwe imploded, another large wave of migrants poured into South Africa. Not to be left behind were Nigeria’s eager and entrepreneurial economic migrants looking to escape the lack of opportunity in the continent’s most populated country.

Trading became another avenue of income for new immigrants. After initially hawking their wares on the streets, they set up small shops and found opportunities in the mainly Black communities that locals either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t adequately served.

But the country’s economy continued to suffer. Rising unemployment, wholesale corruption and lack of services ignited a wave of despondency and disillusionment in Black society.

On May 12, 2008, the growing tension and increasing number and ferocity of attacks on immigrants finally reached a boiling point. It happened in Alexandra, where mobs attacked Zimbabweans, Mozambicans and Malawians who were living there. South Africa’s ill-trained and notoriously corrupt police appeared incapable of containing the violence, making only cursory attempts to clamp down on the rioters as the situation spiraled out of control. More violence flared in other townships around Johannesburg and then spread to Durban and into the provinces of Mpumalanga, Free State and the Southern Cape.

By the time a semblance of normality was restored, 62 people had been killed. No one was brought to justice.

A few months later in September, President Thabo Mbeki was ousted and replaced by Zuma. But this made little difference in the lives of many South Africans, even as the country continued to attract migrants from as far away as South Asia.

Soon came an influx of Bangladeshi and Pakistani citizens, who first arrived as visitors and then overstayed their visas and worked in the informal sector. In 2015, Statistics South Africa estimated that from 1.2 to 1.5 million immigrants were living illegally in South Africa.

Attacks continued to flare up across the country, targeting immigrants with more organization and precision.

“The 2008 attacks were very localized and started in Johannesburg then quickly spread to other parts of the country. It was not planned. What we see today is massive planning by disgruntled people,” Heleta said.

As for the groups perpetuating hate speech and violence against immigrants, the anger is palpable.

Zandile Dabula, who is Operation Dudula’s national spokesperson, often says that small business owners like her are “losing opportunities due to foreign competition,” leaving her and many of her compatriots without jobs or income.

“It’s a ticking bomb, and it’s about to explode because South Africans are angry. We can’t be called xenophobic because what we are doing is ensuring the law is followed,” she said. “We are trying to reclaim our South Africa.”


Kwangu Liwewe is a freelance multimedia journalist covering Africa


‘We Have Been Invaded by Fascists’

Viktor Marunyak, the ‘sheriff’ of Stara Zburievka in southern Ukraine, survived abduction and torture at the hands of Russian occupiers. He tells New Lines why his native Kherson region will never be controlled by Russia


A woman from Kherson arrives at Zaporizhia Center for displaced people accompanied by a woman with dog who went to Kherson to rescue her / 
Rick Mave / Sopa Images / LightRocket via Getty Images


Olga May 25, 2022
May 25, 2022

Viktor Marunyak, a village head of Stara Zburievka in Ukraine’s southern Kherson region, has been known not only as one of the longest-serving mayors, but also as a movie star. His international visibility helped save his life after he was abducted by Russian soldiers during the invasion of Ukraine.

Marunyak was one of the protagonists of “Ukrainian Sheriffs,” a documentary directed by Roman Bondarchuk, winner of several international awards and Ukraine’s 2016 Oscars entry. The movie tells a story of a remote village in the Kherson region, 50 miles from Crimea, where two local men assume the functions of “sheriffs” because the police rarely come to the village to settle disputes. They are given this mandate by the village head, Viktor Marunyak, who trusts them to enforce law and order.

Marunyak, a historian by education, has been reelected as a mayor of Stara Zburievka four times since 2006, thanks to his efforts to reform the village and fight corruption. When the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine began on Feb. 24, Stara Zburievka immediately fell under occupation. For the first several weeks, things were quiet: Russians mostly bypassed it. In mid-March, the invaders came to Stara Zburievka knocking on people’s doors, looking for local collaborators willing to help install the Russian administration there.

On March 21, Marunyak’s 60th birthday, they knocked on his door too.

“Russians arrived at my house in the evening in several cars. They said they will take me with them, and then will bring me back home,” Marunyak told New Lines. “They took me to a building in the village where three local men have already been detained. They were young boys and they had signs of beating. Russians asked me to confirm that these boys were from our village. They started interrogating me about local ‘sabotage groups’ and weapons storages. For some reason, they were obsessed with the idea of finding a lot of Kalashnikovs. When I didn’t answer, they just beat me up.”

Marunyak wasn’t released the following morning, nor in the next three weeks. He was held by Russian occupiers first in Stara Zburievka and then in Kherson, where he was beaten and tortured for his refusal to collaborate.

“The first night, they didn’t let us lie down, we slept on our feet,” he said. “A Russian soldier prevented us from speaking to each other. They [the Russians] stripped us naked and made us freeze for two or three hours. They tried to suffocate us by putting their hands on our necks: and only released their grip when someone was about to pass out. They pressed pistols to our heads and threatened to shoot us.”

The torture continued in Kherson, where Marunyak was taken on the fourth day after his kidnapping. He was put in a basement of a pre-trial detention center, where Russians already held about 30 other people, some from his village. There, he and other arbitrarily detained Ukrainians were again interrogated, beaten up and tasered.

As a result of the beatings and torture by Russians, nine of Marunyak’s ribs were broken. “It was hard to sleep because of the pain. I was trying to do some exercises, to take deep breaths, but it was getting more difficult every day.”

“The hardest thing during torture was not to lose my mind. Your body and your brain react in very unexpected ways,” Marunyak recalls. “It was very hard when I was put in solitary confinement. I didn’t know which day of the week it was. What helped me was concentrating on thoughts about my family, that I had to survive to see them.”

While Marunyak was in captivity, Russians visited and searched his house several times. They took away everything, from their modest savings to food and socks. They also interrogated and pressured his wife, threatening to harm their children who live outside the Kherson region.

Similar things are happening across Stara Zburievka and elsewhere in the region, Marunyak said. Russians are going door-to-door, hunting and kidnapping Ukrainian officials, activists, journalists, veterans of war in Donbas and even people who rented their houses to Ukrainians soldiers of the 57th Infantry Brigade, which was stationed in the Stara Zburievka village before the Russian invasion.

“My story is not unique, these human rights abuses are happening on a large scale,” Marunyak said. But his story is unique in a sense that he was eventually released, unlike many other Ukrainians arbitrarily detained by Russians. According to the assessment of Natalia Bimbiraite, a human rights defender who fled Kherson after the Russian invasion and is currently helping to evacuate people from there, about 200 people, including local officials, journalists and teachers, have been abducted by Russians in the region so far. The whereabouts of many of them are still unknown.

Filmmakers who made “Ukrainian Sheriffs” and knew Marunyak personally sounded the alarm about his kidnapping at the international level. “We immediately wrote a letter to the head of Ukrainian Helsinki Human Rights Union, contacted Ukrainian and foreign journalists and filmmakers,” Darya Averchenko, the producer of the film, told New Lines. She reached out to international human rights organizations, such as Amnesty International, and her colleagues from the U.S. film industry wrote about the kidnapping of Marunyak in the media. Marunyak is sure this international outcry was fundamental to secure his release.

“After three weeks in detention, on April 12, a young Russian intelligence officer in a mask told me that he had no orders to keep me detained and that I was free. But on one condition: I had to return to the village, do my duties and inform them about anyone who organizes protests. It was clear for me that Russians wanted to keep me ‘on a short leash’. But I had no desire to work for them so I decided to flee.”

In early May, after being treated for pneumonia and broken ribs in a local hospital devoid of most medicines because of a Russian transport blockade, Marunyak was able to escape from the Kherson region. Filmmakers helped to raise the money and volunteers took him and his wife out via a safe route bypassing Russian checkpoints.

“It was a real special operation to take them out,” says human rights defender Natalia Bimbiraite who helped to secure Marunyak’s evacuation to a safe location in Ukraine. “Basically, we took the last available escape route from the Kherson region, because all other ways have been blocked by Russians.” After transiting through Odesa, Marunyak has now safely made it to Latvia, where he stays with the family of a filmmaker from the “Ukrainian Sheriffs” team.

“I want as many people as possible to know my story, and to know that we [Ukraine] have been invaded by fascists,” Marunyak said. Temporarily away from his village, he hopes to be back soon. “I am in touch with the people from the village and I plan to continue my work for its development. It’s all my life.”

Marunyak is worried about the fate of two of his “sheriffs” from Stara Zburievka. “One of them has joined the Ukrainian army and is currently fighting in the east. But there is no connection with another one; I know he was hiding [from Russians] in a village, in a forest, in a cemetery. I hope he managed to escape.”

What did his experience of life under occupation and in detention teach him? Marunyak reflects on his conversations with Russians who held him. “Russians and Ukrainians are from different planets. They are surprised that streets in our villages are lit, that there are WCs and showers in our houses. They are surprised that we have a decentralized system of governance, that mayors and village heads are elected, not appointed, that there is no top-down hierarchy when everyone follows orders from above.”

Marunyak says he thinks this bottom-up organization will ultimately be a decisive factor in Ukraine’s victory. Like he and his fellow “sheriffs” who took the initiative in their own hands to establish order in their village, many Ukrainians are voluntarily contributing to the resistance effort. In the city of Kherson and across the region, people are still taking to the streets protesting against Russian occupation, despite arrests and kidnappings. Those who do not go to protest sabotage the occupation authorities, preventing them from taking full control over the region.

“Russians were unable to organize a bogus referendum on the self-proclaimed Kherson Republic because the local population was totally opposed to it,” said Natalia Bimbiraite. “People took to the streets on April 27, when Russians planned to conduct it, and disrupted these plans. The ‘Crimea scenario’ is impossible in the Kherson region.”

Marunyak estimates that only 10 to 15% of the local population supports the occupation forces. Russian attempts to annex the Kherson region will not be legally recognized and the occupiers will struggle to govern here, he said.

“In fact, Russians use repression because they are afraid of us. Those sent to Kherson are scared to death of fighting with the Ukrainian armed forces so they take revenge on civilians,” he said. “I am sure Ukraine will be able to recapture the Kherson region. People are waiting for the Ukrainian army to come and liberate them. There is already an insurgency movement against the occupiers, even in my village.”


Olga Tokariuk is an independent journalist based in Ukraine