By External Source
Nov 4 2025 (IPS-Partners)
From the 10th to the 21st of November 2025, the 30th session of the Conference of the Parties (COP30) will be hosted in Belém, Brazil.
The world gathers in the Amazon’s gateway city to chart a course for climate action.
This edition of COP is more than a summit. It is set in the heart of the Amazon, the “lungs of the Earth,” symbolising the link between forest protection and climate justice.
Here, nearly 198 countries under the UNFCCC will negotiate climate policy, financing, adaptation and mitigation.
At the center, the goal to limit global warming to 1.5 °C above pre-industrial levels remains the guiding star of the Paris Agreement and the COP process.
Yet current commitments put us far from that trajectory. The upcoming global stocktake and new Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) will be scrutinized here in Belém.
One of the defining agenda items is climate finance. At COP29, parties agreed to a US$300 billion per year target by 2035 for developing countries. But civil society and many Global South delegates call this “insufficient,” as the real need runs much higher.
For example, in 2022, developed nations pledged about US$116 billion – yet only USD 28 to 35 billion was delivered; nearly two-thirds of that came as loans, often on commercial terms.
Belém offers another unique spotlight: tropical forests and Indigenous rights. The Amazon Basin remains the epicenter of global forest loss. Brazil alone accounted for roughly half of all tropical forest degradation in the basin in recent assessments.
Indigenous leaders and civil society insist that the emerging “Loss & Damage” fund and climate finance models must recognize rights, agency and self-determination—not just top-down flows.
Innovation and technology transfer are also on the table: the UNFCCC has opened submissions for climate technology innovations that will be showcased at COP30.
And the Brazilian COP30 Presidency has launched more than 30 thematic days for inclusion and implementation – a shift toward action-oriented gatherings.
What does success look like in Belém?
Strong, visible commitments on new or enhanced NDCs aligned with the 1.5 °C goal. A credible roadmap from USD 300 billion to USD 1.3 trillion per year by 2035 for climate finance.
Operationalization of the loss and damage fund with meaningful access for the most vulnerable. Forest finance instruments that reward conservation and respect Indigenous stewardship.
Belém is more than a meeting place. It is a moment of choice—for equity, ambition and the planet’s future.
When the delegates leave Belém, the proof will not be in the words. It will be in the changed pathways: more finance flowing, forests standing, and carbon dropping. The world will be watching.
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La Cour constitutionnelle a lancé ce mardi 4 novembre 2025, les visites médicales pour les candidats à l'élection présidentielle de 2026.
Les candidats à l'élection présidentielle de 2026 ont débuté leur visite médicale. Romuald Wadagni et le duo Paul Hounkpè-Judicaël Hounwanou ont répondu présents à la Cour constitutionnelle. Mariam Chabi Talata n'a pu se rendre à l'institution dans la matinée de ce mardi. Les candidats ont été présentés aux médecins assermentés.
Pour cette occasion, la Cour a temporairement transformé ses locaux en centre médical, avec des bureaux dédiés à la psychiatrie, à la cardiologie et à la médecine interne. Les examens sont assurés par les Pr Angèle Azon Kouanou (médecine interne), Pr Léopold Houétondji Codjo (cardiologie) et Pr Francis Tognon Tchegnonsi (psychiatrie).
Des analyses complémentaires seront également faites au Centre national hospitalier et universitaire de Cotonou. Le collège médical est appelé à établir son rapport avant la publication de la liste définitive des duos candidats à la présidentielle de 2026.
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Rajagopal P.V. at the International Civil Society Week (ICSW2025) in Bangkok. Credit: Zofeen Ebrahim/IPS
By Zofeen Ebrahim
BANGKOK, Nov 4 2025 (IPS)
“If nations can have defense ministries, why not peace ministries?” asks Rajagopal PV, the soft-spoken yet formidable founder of Ekta Parishad. “We are told to see issues through a gender lens—why not a peace lens? Why can’t we imagine a business model rooted in non-violence or an education system that teaches peace?”
Founded in 1989, Ekta Parishad—literally Forum for Unity—is a vast people’s movement of more than 250,000 landless poor, now recognized as one of India’s largest and most disciplined grassroots forces for justice.
To Rajagopal, these aren’t utopian dreams—they’re blueprints for a possible world.
Over the decades, Ekta Parishad has secured land rights for nearly half a million families, trained over 10,000 grassroots leaders, protected forests and water bodies, and helped shape key land reform laws and policies in India.
All this has been achieved not through anger, but through disciplined, nonviolent marches that stretch across hundreds of kilometers. Along the way, many leaders have walked beside him—among them, the current Prime Minister of Armenia.
In an age marked by deep disorder—where wealth concentrates in few hands, poverty spreads, and the planet itself trembles under human greed—the 77-year-old Gandhian remains unshaken in his belief that peace alone can redeem humanity.
“We must rescue peace from the clutches of poverty and all its evils,” he told IPS on the sidelines of the International Civil Society Week, standing on the football ground of Bangkok’s Thammasat University.
“And it can be done,” he insists—and his life is proof. In 1969, the centenary year of Mahatma Gandhi’s birth, the Government of India launched a unique exhibition on wheels, a ten-coach train carrying Gandhi’s life and message across the nation. Rajagopal was part of the team that curated and travelled with it.
“For an entire year, we journeyed from state to state. Thousands of schoolchildren would gather at railway platforms, their faces lit with curiosity, waiting to meet Gandhi through our displays,” he recalls.
Yet somewhere along those long railway tracks, Rajagopal began to feel that displaying Gandhi’s ideals wasn’t enough. “The exhibition was beautiful,” he says, “but what was the use of preaching non-violence if we couldn’t live it, breathe it, and bring it to life?”
That realization led him to one of the most daring experiments in peacebuilding India had ever seen—negotiating with the feared bandits of the Chambal valley. “It was 1970,” he recalls. “We moved cautiously, first meeting villagers on the periphery to build trust. Once we had their confidence, we sent word to the dacoits: we wanted to talk. With the government’s consent, we ventured into what we called a ‘peace zone’—often by night, walking for hours through deep ravines—to meet men the world only knew as outlaws.”
The dialogues continued for four years. Eventually, as many as 570 bandits laid down their arms before a photograph of Mahatma Gandhi—a sight India had never seen before. The government, in turn, promised they would not face the death penalty and would receive land and livestock to rebuild their lives. Rehabilitation took another four painstaking years, but it was a victory of conscience over fear.
“They didn’t just surrender their weapons—they surrendered their anger,” Rajagopal says quietly. “There was real repentance, and that takes time—but it lasts.” His commitment came at a cost. At his ashram—a spiritual retreat he had founded—he was threatened, beaten, and ordered to abandon his peace efforts. He talked them through to accepting his presence.
“Today that same region is heaven,” he smiles, his eyes crinkling with memory. “Fifty years ago, people trembled at sunset—terrified of the bandits. Today, you can travel at 2:00 pm in the night, where fear ruled once.”
The mass surrender may have looked like a triumph for the state, but Rajagopal urges people to look deeper. “It’s the invisible violence—poverty, injustice, and oppression—that breeds the visible one: dacoities, kidnappings, and killings,” he explains.
Though Rajagopal and his companions had ended one form of violence, the deeper, quieter kind—born of poverty and neglect—still festered. Until that was confronted, he knew, peace would remain incomplete.
Years of working alongside the poor had taught him one truth: non-violence needs structure. If India’s Indigenous and landless communities were to be heard, they had to be organized.
“We began training young people from dozens of villages,” he says. “They went door to door, teaching others not only about their rights—especially the right to land—but also how to claim them peacefully.”
With that foundation, a five-year plan took shape. Each village home chose one member to take part. Every day, the family set aside one rupee and a fistful of rice—a humble but powerful act of commitment.
They even created a “playbook” of possible scenarios—how to stay calm under provocation, how to respond to setbacks, and how to practice non-violence in thought and action. “In one of our marches, a truck ran over three of our people, killing them,” he recalls softly. “There was grief, but no retaliation. Instead, they sat in silence and meditated. That was our true test.”
In 2006, 500 marchers walked 350 kilometers from Gwalior to Delhi, demanding land rights. Nothing changed. But they didn’t stop.
A year later, in 2007, 25,000 people—many barefoot—set out again on the national highway. “Imagine that sight,” Rajagopal says, eyes gleaming. “Twenty-five thousand people walking for a month, powered only by hope.”
The march displayed not just India’s poverty but also its power—the quiet power of the poor united. It was among the most disciplined mobilizations the country had ever seen. “There was one leader for every hundred people,” Rajagopal explains. “We walked by day and slept on the highway by night. Those in charge of cooking went ahead each morning so that by sundown, a single meal was ready for all.”
In a later march, Rajagopal recalls, the government sent a large police force. “I was worried,” he admits. “I called the authorities to tell them this was a non-violent protest—we didn’t need protection. The officer replied, ‘They’re not there for you; they’re here to learn how disciplined movements should be.’”
Along the route, villages greeted them like family—offering bags of rice, water, and prayers. “There was never a shortage of food,” Rajagopal smiles. “When your cause is just, the world feeds you.”
By the time the march reached Delhi, the government announced a new land reform policy and housing rights and agreed to enact the Forest Rights Act.
The government dispersed the marchers with hollow promises and the reforms never happened.
So Ekta Parishad planned an even larger march—a Jan Satyagraha of 100,000 people in 2012.
“Halfway through, the government came running.”
Rajagopal’s face lights up as he recalls the event. “They agreed to our ten-point agenda and signed it in front of the people. That moment was historic—governments almost never do that; the Indian government certainly never does it!”
The agreement included land and housing rights, a national task force on land reform, the prime minister’s oversight of policy implementation, and fast-track courts to resolve land disputes.
Today, because of these long, barefoot marches, more than three million Indigenous people in India now have legal rights to land and housing. The struggle also gave birth to India’s Land Acquisition, Rehabilitation, and Resettlement Act—a landmark in people’s movements.
“The Act also safeguards fertile land,” Rajagopal explains. “Before the government can acquire any area, a social impact study must be done. And if farmland is taken, the owners receive four times its value in compensation.”
“The purpose of our marches,” Rajagopal says, “is not to fight the government, but to win it over. The government is not the enemy; injustice is. We must stand on the same side of the problem.”
For Rajagopal, peace is not a sentiment but a system—something that must be built, brick by brick, through dialogue and respect. “Non-violence,” he says, “isn’t passive. It’s active patience—listening, accepting differences, never policing thought.” The same principle, he believes, can heal families, neighborhoods, nations—and the world itself.
His next mission is to create a Youth Peace Force, ready to enter conflict zones and resolve disputes through dialogue. He has also launched the Peace Builders Forum, or Peace7, uniting seven countries—South Africa, Japan, Costa Rica, Switzerland, Canada, India, and Armenia. His dream is to expand it to Peace20, where, as he smiles, “wealth will never be a criterion for membership.”
IPS UN Bureau Report
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