← From Our Own Correspondent
From Our Own Correspondent
Trump, the G7, and the Iran Deal
00:28:37
Donald Trump once again dominated the agenda for the latest G7 summit in France.
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Hello. Today we're in drc, where aid agencies have issued stark warnings that the Ebola outbreak is running out of control. Peru is divided over two vastly different visions for its future. But who will be its next president? In South Korea, the manosphere's backlash against the MeToo movement has inspired a golden age of women's literature. And finally, we're in Jamestown, Ghana, where Love for the Beautiful game is on full show as the Black Star prepare to take on England. But first, the Group of Seven summit in France this week saw the US pledge unwavering support for Kyiv and agree a preliminary deal with Iran to reopen the Strait of Hormuz and chart a path towards peace. Considerable progress on the face of it. And yet, after signing the initial Iran agreement in the palace of Versailles, President Trump issued a sharp reminder that he would go right back to dropping bombs right smack in the middle of their head if Iranians did not behave. James Waterhouse was in Evian Les Bains, where he watched world leaders try to keep up with the President's evolving agenda.
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International summits take organisation, and this year's G7 gathering was no exception. It first became apparent as we glided through the French countryside on the train from Paris to the French Alps. As a brief sidebar, I've become quite fond of French trains. The chairs are comfy, the air conditioning and WI fi actually work, and the onboard cafe often rustles up a decent croque monsieur lunch. Choices aside, I browse the PDF documents sent to us journalists by this year's G7 host, France. the top was an address by the soon to be outgoing President Macron, who is evidently in legacy mode with frequent references to convergence. Mr. Macron is seeking to unite Europe. The official agenda included meetings on economic inequality, cancer treatment, artificial intelligence and online safety for children. The G7 would start, however, with war. Two of them Russia's invasion of Ukraine and the us, Israeli conflicts with Iran. They would be discussed in two different conferences, and any meaningful outcomes again hinged on one guest, Donald Trump. Preparations for the summit went far beyond the online brochure. More than 16,000 police had been deployed as we waited for a special connecting train 25 miles from the venue. Every passenger's ID was checked and luggage searched. A security zone was established where only those with accreditation could roam. On a map, it looked like a small Mediterranean island. It was hypothesized by some observers that this G7 would be defined by the Middle powers, the likes of Canada, France, Germany, the uk, and how they would unite against an upended World order and economic coercion by the White House. The framework was there. The scene was set. Was this the moment America's allies said, no more pushing us around? Before the summit even started, it was obvious this was not to be. That moment, Donald Trump announced what he called a memorandum of understanding with Iran to end the war he had started with Israel four months ago. There wasn't much other detail other than at that point at least, it was to be officially signed in Switzerland at the end of the week. The the rest of the G7, who had spent the build up denying it was more of a G6 plus one, suddenly had to shift their focus to try and understand what Iran was willing to give up in relation to its nuclear ambitions and what concessions were being offered in return. The US President was often late to meetings. In one, he left most of the other leaders to make small talk for 20 minutes. In another, there was a hushed silence as Mr. Trump walked in. He broke it by saying, I'm the boss, which was met with an awkward laugh. Perhaps he was joking, but there is also a geopolitical truth to it, if indeed the war in Iran was over. The other members also had hopes of trying to convince Donald Trump to change his strategy on Ukraine and get tougher with Moscow and force it to negotiate. I spent the last couple of years watching Volodymyr Zelenskyy, with the encouragement of his European friends, try to nurture some kind of working relationship with the US President. Whilst he did secure an informal chat, he never got the official bilateral format he and his team wanted from the White House. Nevertheless, a joint statement, which therefore included the US reaffirmed the G7's support for Ukraine and an alleged agreement to produce more ammunition for Kyiv. But I've never heard Donald Trump actually utter those words himself. The more optimistic parts of the media called this an American shift in tone on Ukraine. Maybe it will prove to be. But the rest of the political airtime in Evian was consumed by the war with Iran. The so called memorandum was suddenly confirmed by Washington and in it were several American concessions, like complete sanctions relief on oil and a recovery pot for Iran worth $300 billion. The final day of the summit was one where the media struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of announcements. I mistakenly thought events had wound down for the day once Donald Trump arrived at the palace of Versailles near Paris for dinner with Emmanuel Mac. Half an hour after I went to bed, a news flash. The US President had signed the peace agreement. There are still fundamental, gaping questions on whether that war will reignite or not, whether the Strait of Hormuz will remain free for cargo ships to pass through, and whether America's ally Israel will also honour the deal by pausing hostilities in Lebanon. Even by the standards of Donald Trump, this was a whirlwind of a summit. The only sense of familiarity came from Western middle powers and again spending a G7 trying to charm the US President and indulge his agenda while occasionally dispensing with their own.
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James Waterhouse Next to the Democratic Republic of Congo, where health clinics are battling to bring the latest Ebola virus outbreak under control, the head of Africa's Centers for Disease Control warned this week that the current outbreak, which is also affecting Uganda, could be the worst ever and could cost billions of dollars to contain if weaknesses in the response are not addressed quickly. There are now more than 870 confirmed cases and more than 200 confirmed deaths. Ann Soy has been to the epicenter of the outbreak in Ituri Province.
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The streets of Bunya, the capital of Ituri in the northeast of the Democratic Republic of Congo, are crowded and busy during the day. If you landed here without knowing it was at the heart of one of the largest outbreaks of Ebola ever, you wouldn't be able to tell from driving around. Hundreds of motorbikes buzz around carrying several people, three and four at a time. The market is noisy with traders calling out to customers. The schools are open and even churches are full on Sundays, with mass held multiple times to serve the big population of the city. It's only when you speak to people that you begin to get a sense of the gravity of the devastation Ebola is causing. I buried my father yesterday, joel Makumbu, a man who appears to be in his 30s, tells me. And I have come back to say goodbye to my mother today, he says, sounding exasperated. I find him filling his mother's grave with soil at the Bunya cemetery. Joel says it's the sixth time he's buried a family member in recent weeks. He's also lost three sisters and a brother in law, and several other relatives are in hospital. Ebola is real. I have seen it in my family, he stresses in our short conversation. It's a message he appears desperate to get out to a community where some are still in denial and rumors abound. On some occasions, they've fueled tension and even attacks on healthcare workers and treatment facilities. Shortly after the outbreak was officially declared last month, two Ebola treatment centres were set on fire in Rompara, a 15 minute drive outside Bunia. Relatives of a local footballer demanded to take his body away for burial. They could not understand why medics were asking them to wait for safe burial teams, Red Cross volunteers who have been trained to handle the highly infectious bodies. A month on, I visited the hospital. Things are calmer now. Several new wards have been built for patients and more construction is ongoing in the hospital's grounds. The wards are made of wood painted cream and blue with iron sheet roofs. Inside, they are lined with plastic. It's where I meet Mirelle Gahindo, herself a medic and a mother. Her 11 month old baby developed symptoms of Ebola three weeks ago. After receiving treatment for their symptoms, both Mirelle and the baby were feeling much better. But there's no medicine for this particular strain of Ebola and vaccines are still being developed. I can't wait to leave this place and return to my family, Mirelle tells me, looking strong and defiant. We speak through a glass screen facing a corridor, the designated green zone. That's where visitors can access without the risk of being infected. The ward's door on the other side leads to open, secured spaces that are part of the red zone, which only patients and medics donning full protective equipment are allowed to access. I have covered five outbreaks of Ebola now in West Africa, Uganda and the drc. The glass screens I saw in Bunia are a simple yet significant improvement. Families can now safely visit their loved ones. The patients are humanized and it helps build the trust of the community in these emergency facilities. A two hour drive away in Mumbualo, the other epicenter, I witness a group of medics celebrating the recovery of a patient, only the second in this remote mining town. The doctors tell me that the recovery will help dispel rumors that people only die in this treatment center. That's why they sing and dance as they escort the recovered patient out. A facility here was also burned down earlier in this outbreak. But even as more and more people come to understand the cause of the outbreak and accept the message of prevention, insecurity remains a major challenge. Dozens of armed groups are active across the mineral reach east of the Dr. Congo. A medical mission to Butembo in North Kivu was cancelled while I was in neighbouring Ituri province because of security concerns. Days later, we heard reports that a child who had tested positive for Ebola and their mother were forcefully removed by armed men from a hospital in the town. Medics put out a desperate call to return the child for care and to prevent the spread of the disease. And after two days, she was safely brought back to hospital. This outbreak can only be brought under control if response teams are able to trace every case and offer care to full recovery. And if they don't, the predictions that this could be the worst outbreak of Ebola ever move ever closer to becoming
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a reality and soy.
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And now to Peru, which recently held its second round of voting in a presidential election which has pitted two very different candidates against each other the right wing Keiko Fujimori, daughter of the former president Alberto Fujimori, and the left wing Roberto Sanchez. The country has experienced a decade of political uncertainty, and last year saw major Gen Z led protests against rising crime, inequality and instability. This election will likely define how the country aligns with the US With Donald Trump hoping to build a conservative alliance of leaders in the region. Arne Wells has been in Lima.
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For residents living on the slopes of Lima's San Juan de Logancho suburb, daily life can very literally feel like an uphill battle. It is Peru's most populous district, home to more than a million people, and more than half of them are estimated to live in informal settlements. These tapestries of colorful favela like houses, some missing windows or complete roofs, cling haphazardly to the dusty mountains. Homes are sprawled on top of each other in a labyrinthine maze of narrow, steep staircases, with the poorest families living the highest up. I made the climb up its steep staircases a couple of weeks ago to meet with locals ahead of the country's presidential election. It was a day when the right wing candidate Keiko Fuhimori was visiting for breakfast and crowds of supporters had gathered to try to get a selfie with her. Fuhimori is one of the most recognizable faces in Peruvian politics, not just because this was her fourth time running for the top job, but also because her late father, Alberto, was a former president. He was later jailed for corruption and human rights violations during his time in power. But where his critics saw authoritarianism, his supporters remember a man who took an iron fist to violent insurgencies and invested heavily in social programs for the country's poorest to mitigate his neoliberal reforms. This legacy that his daughter has lent into is one that resonates in a region where poverty is stark and at a time when violent crime has soared in Peru. Some presidents don't remember our hillside the needs people have. But her father traveled around walking through the mud, and he fought and caught terrorists, one woman told me. She told me about the increasing number of bus drivers and workers who have been extorted by violent criminals in the last few years, saying it wasn't right that her community goes out to work, not knowing if they'll come back alive. I met one bus driver, Tonio, who knows what that's like. At a bus depot in the same district, he pulls up his T shirt and trouser leg to show me two deep fleshy scars where he'd been shot. His bus company had been threatened by a gang demanding the equivalent of about $15,000, more than £11,000, or their drivers would be killed. If he had the money, Tonio told me, he'd leave the country, but in the meantime, he wants a president who will tackle crime with a strong hand. Insecurity was undoubtedly a top issue for voters in Peru, but while some were supportive of her tough stance, that does not mean everyone was drawn to Fuhimori's pledge to declare a war on criminals. The election result, which is still under review, was so tight that there was less than 1% between Fuhimori and her left wing challenger, Roberto Sanchez. Many voters told me their final choice was a case of picking the least bad option. A week after the election, I found myself making a very different kind of ascent this time not through the crowded neighbourhoods of San Juan de Lurgancho, but up a three and a half thousand metre canyon in the south of the country. Known for its dramatic volcanic Andean landscapes, Sanchez enjoyed much greater support in such bucolic areas, while Fujimori dominated along the coast in Lima and the Amazon. As I stumbled periodically among small kiosks and villages, I heard commentary of the election, still resultless, playing out through the crackle of AM radios as locals clustered around them to hear the latest poll counts drop. The conversation I overheard repeatedly in worried, hushed tones was is Keiko really going to win? Her critics can't or don't want to believe that someone from a family they say has done so much damage to our country could finally be elected. From her father's forced sterilization program that disproportionately targeted rural and indigenous communities to her own party and other conservative coalitions dominating Congress and at times frustrating multiple presidents agendas. While some of the Sanchez supporters I spoke to actively valued his plans to increase state spending, review mining contracts and give the state a bigger role in Peru's rich natural resources, once again I heard how for many, their vote was as much against Fujimori as it was for Sanchez. Whether in the crowded urban suburbs of Lima or the high altitude deserts of Peru's mountainous regions, one thing that unites Peruvians is a desperate desire to end shared problems. Inequality, rising crime and corruption. The problem is many fear. To tackle such problems, a degree of political stability and continuity is needed, something the country has not had for years. Peru has had eight presidents in the last decade alone, and its ninth is still unknown. Once it is, the question is, can they last?
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Irony wells the women of South Korea have experienced an anti feminist backlash in recent years following the global MeToo movement's breakthrough in 2016. One of the responses has been a rise in book clubs and writing rooms for women, offering a space to gather and talk freely, and it's heralded something of a revolution in South Korean literature. This year, women swept the country's most prestigious literary prize, the Yi Sang Awards, winning in all six categories for the first time. Lee Hyun Choi reports from Seoul.
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When I arrived at author Ha Mina's book launch in Daegu, I found myself amongst dozens of women, all eagerly waiting in line for the talk to start. Like me, many of them had traveled some distance to be there. My two hour journey on a bullet train heading south from Seoul paled in comparison to those who had come from the country's furthest corners. Interestingly enough, there were no men in sight, while I could see women of all ages and even one young mother who had brought her toddler daughter along. This has become common in South Korea, where the literary scene is increasingly dominated by women. There's no denying that structural gender inequality persists here. Korean women are amongst the most educated in the world today, but on average earn a third less than their male counterparts. Feminists here have been labeled extreme man haters and female supremacists. So what triggered this shift? The author Kim Ji Yong, who writes under her pen name Eun Yoo, traces it back a decade ago to 2016, when the country saw a new wave of feminism, known today for sharing undertold stories of undocumented migrant workers and orphaned children in Korea. Eun Yoo first started her writing career in her 40s with a critical reflection on her personal motherhood. In her gentle, assured tone, she recalls how Korea's publishing industry and literary spaces used to be reserved mostly for male writers with prestigious titles. But the MeToo movement challenged that perspective in Korea. It encouraged ordinary women to speak up, she told me At a book cafe in Seoul A few years prior, Eun Yu had launched her writing room, or gulbang as it's known in Korean, to facilitate weekly book discussions and peer writing workshops. When I sat in her Gul Bang gathering one spring evening, the room was filled with around 20 women from all walks of life young students, working moms, full time homemakers and recent retirees joined by just one married man who worked in the publishing industry. Back when Eunyu first launched her gulpan, it was still extremely rare for a woman to lead these courses. Now, she says, woman led gubangs are everywhere and many of the attendees have gone on to become published authors themselves. Ha Min Ah was one of them. As an aspiring writer, Ha had taken a number of writing classes led by male poets and novelists. In the pre MeToo era, toxic predatory behavior was commonplace, she told me. Years down the line, she joined another writing class taught by a female writer who went on to become her mentor. It changed my life, she said. Ha points out that women today are gravitating towards these literary spaces, just as Korea has more recently been rocked by a wider anti feminist backlash. In Korean society, the feminist label is so stigmatized, you're treated like a freak. These writing communities are offering one of the few safe places for women to share their experiences, make mistakes and grow, she tells me. At Ha's Book Talk in Daegu, one woman tells me she feels safe and at ease as there's no need to censor herself here. Another 36 year old Choi Suun, told me she appreciates that women aren't just bonding here because they're women. This is the most diverse community I've found myself in. I met my first queer friend here. I've also never met a stay at home dad until I started attending gubangs, she went on. She appreciates how these literary spaces have broadened her worldview. I feel a deep sense of liberation when I write, she told me, her voice resolute, piercing through her quiet, unassuming aura. Back at the Book Cafe in Seoul, Eun Yu tells me she firmly believes in the power of writing. It changes people, she says, explaining that she's seen countless examples of these quiet transformations over the years. She takes her writing workshop with survivors of sexual assault as an example. People can find their own voice through writing. For many of them, that means they're regaining a sense of control, a sense of agency over their lives, perhaps for the first time, whatever their personal pain. I very often see people restoring their sense of self and confidence through the act of writing, eun Yu says. We get inspired by other people's bravery, she went on. In that sense, what we're witnessing here is a slow but sure revolution.
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Lee Hyun Choi and finally to Ghana, which is set to take on England in the World cup next Tuesday. Ghana is one of 10 African countries playing in this year's tournament, which includes Tunisia, Algeria, Senegal and Minnows Cape Verde, who held tournament favourites Spain to a surprise draw last week. Sarah Wheeler has been in Jamestown, where she heard more about football's cherished place in Ghanaian life.
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We have Ghanaian players in your Premier League learning England's defensive secrets and that's a big, big advantage for us. We are going to destroy you, my friend. Ricki stopped to talk to a woman he called Auntie, who was presiding over a barrel of smoking fish. Jamestown beach stretched out to the west, spiked with the mass of fishing boats. And beyond, the Atlantic Ocean dissolved into an iridescent horizon. On Tuesday, Ghana takes on England at American football's Foxborough Stadium in Boston. Both teams second World cup match in the group stage. Emotions run high in Jamestown, among the oldest districts of the Ghanaian capital Accra, as well as the most football crazy Ricky, like the majority in those parts, is Ga, an ethnic group that Overall represents about 7% of Ghana's 35 million people. As we walked on, he ran through the list of proud GAA players who've kicked a football for their country. Meanwhile, the sun shone. Young boys with containers waited in an orderly queue to buy water dispensed from a privately owned polyethylene tank. Besides piles of tyres and tarpaulin tents, a jumble of old humpback televisions awaited dismemberment on the red earth of public land. Goal posts and a net posed a serious risk to the windows of the two storey Bible Society of Ghana. All through the mazy lanes, murals of footballing greats smiled from walls between clapboard houses and across the stone floors of the courtyards. Washing lines flapped with the tiny shirts of aspiring black stars. The national team takes its name from the star in the centre of the Ghanaian flag. Everyone in Jamestown was keen to tell me that the Black Stars have won the Africa cup of Nations AFCON four times. Their last victory was 44 years ago. It wasn't necessary to mention that European traders introduced football to what they called West Africa's Gold coast at the end of the 19th century. It quickly gained traction. Arthur Wharton, Britain's first professional black footballer, was born in Jamestown in 1865 and went on to play in goal for the likes of Sheffield United and Rotherham Town. A statue of Wharton leaping to palm away a ball stands at St George's Park, England's national training ground. The Ghana Football association enjoys a metaphor. It named the under 23's youth team the Black Meteors, the under 20s, the Black Satellites and the under 17s, the Black Starlets. It took a different tack with the Black Queens, the women's team. The under 20s are called the Black Princesses. We take football seriously, ricki said as we strolled towards the red and white striped Jamestown Lighthouse. He pointed out photos of current players that fans had torn from newspapers and pasted on the walls under the murals. The sport can even feature at funerals. The GA enjoy a tradition of fantasy coffins. I had just seen one being made for a former seamstress with a sculpted sewing machine on top. Families of departed fans regularly commission football boot shaped coffins. I recognised amid these collective hopes and sorrows in Jamestown football's ability to foster community spirit. Growing up in Bristol in the 1960s, my dad used to push me under the turnstiles at Ashton Gate, the city ground. Mother's tribe supported the Gas, also known as Bristol Rovers. They played then next to the Eastville Gasworks where many of my family worked. Ghana's disastrous exit from the 2010 World cup seared itself into the national consciousness. Deep into extra time. A goal line handball by Uruguay's Luis Suarez stopped a potential match winner in the last minute penalty. Ghana hit the crossbar and Uruguay went on to win the final shootout, sending the Black Stars home last time round in 2022, Ghana went out at the group stage, but expectations are high for North America this year, especially after Caleb Yarenki fired in a 94th minute winner in Toronto on Wednesday to secure a dramatic first match victory over Panama. This weekend. Almost everyone, it seems, is busy decking out chop bars and open spaces to turn Jamestown into what Ricky called a vast open air arena, ready for kick off against the Three Lions at 8pm Tuesday, Ghana time. As one fan said, My fellow Ghanaians, tighten your seatbelts, grab your headache balm and prepare for 90 minutes of unnecessary stress in Ghana, football is not just a game, it's who we are.
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Sarah Wheeler and that's all for Today from Our own Correspondent was produced by Serena Tarling and Ellie House. The editor was Richard Fenton Smith. I'm Kate Adye and you can hear more stories from around the world on from our own correspondent on BBC Sounds, including a dispatch from Myanmar on the deserters from military conscription and what's behind reports of xenophobia in South Africa. We'll be back with a new episode next Saturday.
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So Alice Loxton, I'm here for the history.
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Well, Ben Henderson, I like the formality
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and that's perfect because we have a
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lot of history to share.
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1.
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Why did tea become such a British obsession?
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How did English turn into the language we speak today?
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And yes, why do women's clothes still not have pockets.
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Well, in our new podcast Here for the History, we're investigating how stories from the past shape everyday life today.
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Basically, the things we've all noticed but never stopped to question.
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Listen on BBC Sounds or watch on YouTube. Just search for Here for the History.