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From Our Own Correspondent
The price of dissent in Belarus
00:29:11
Activists on trial in Minsk; plus tales from Nigeria, Australia, Singapore and Costa Rica
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- [00:01]
Narrator/Host
BBC Sounds Music radio podcasts.
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Main Presenter
Today in Nigeria, multiple security threats crowd in and unnerve even some of the country's most privileged. Another pandemic lockdown in Sydney. Isolation alone couldn't protect Fortress Australia from COVID In officially multi ethnic Singapore. People from some backgrounds feel they're being treated less, less equally than others. And a night walk reveals some of Costa Rica's natural wonders, including a mind controlling fungus, a twerking frog and a scorpion, which might help cure cancer. First to Belarus. Its repressive tactics have been back in the news this week and from all over the map. The Olympic Games in Tokyo were shaken by sprinter Kristina Timanowskaya's row with her coaches. She ended up seeking asylum in Poland, while some of the team staff were expelled from the Olympic village in Ukraine, the head of a group helping Belarusian emigres was found hanged in a park in Kiev. His death is still being investigated. And in Belarus itself, it's nearly a year since the disputed election of August 2020, which sparked mass protests. Since then, the government of Alexander Lukashenko has been going after people who were involved in the demonstrations with every means to hand, freezing, closing media outlets and bringing serious legal charges. This week, one of the faces of the protests went on trial, accused of plotting to overthrow the state and facing up to 12 years behind bars. Sarah Rainsford was in Minsk and has been speaking to the family and friends of Maria Kolesnikova.
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Sarah Rainsford
Alexander Kolesnikov carries a bag full of letters from his daughter with him wherever he goes. Maria has been in prison now for almost 11 months, in a cell that's two and a half metres by three and where the lights are dimmed but never go out. Her father has never been allowed to visit. For him, that's extra punishment. But Maria writes every day and her positive energy is keeping Alexander from despair. I saw her prison for myself this week. A 19th century castle right in the center of Minsk, with crumbling turrets behind more modern outer walls. It's known locally as Valadarka, which sounds oddly affectionate for a place where more than a hundred political prisoners are now being held. Human rights activists, protesters and even journalists, who've all been arrested since last year's giant demonstrations. Maria Kolesnikova is the best known inmate, a classical flautist who in 2020 ran the campaign headquarters of a man challenging the authoritarian leader of Belarus, Alexander Lukashenko, for power. Her candidate was soon thrown in jail, so Maria teamed up with Svetlana Tikhanovskaya, a housewife who ran for president when her own husband was Arrested. It's now almost exactly a year since Mr. Lukashenko claims he won that election by a landslide, and Maria and Svetlana became the leaders of the mass protests that erupted. Svetlana Tikhanovskaya eventually fled the country after death threats from the security forces. But Maria refused to run, convinced she'd be betraying other activists who were already behind bars. When the authorities tried to deport her, she ripped up her passport at the border and climbed through the car window. She's been locked up at Valadarka ever since. I first met Maria's father in the yard of her old block of flats, where Alexander remembered her throwing open the windows to play loud classical music. She'd wanted the KGB agents opposite to listen to that instead of her conversations. Alexander smiled a lot as we talked, which surprised me. He even admitted feeling guilty every time he got sad because his daughter is so determined to stay upbeat. The letters he pulled out of his bag to show me were all covered in smiley faces and love hearts. Her lawyers say she laughs loudly even when she walks through the prison towards them, Alexander told me. We met again the next day outside court as Maria and a fellow activist, Maxime Znag, went on trial. The charges they face include plotting to overthrow the regime. Amongst the small group of family and friends gathered beside metal police barriers were several lawyers who've been barred from their profession after defending the activists. The trial itself was closed even to the defendants families. Only a few state television cameras were allowed inside as the pair were brought to court. When those reporters emerged, one approached Alexander with a smartphone and an aggressive line in questioning. Look around you, she sneered at one point. There is no one here. Belarusians don't need Maria. They don't care. Only they clearly do. The taxi driver who dropped us off at court told us to say hi to Masha and worried about her likely sentence. And the reason there was no crowd of supporters is fear, not apathy. Maxime's sister told me the clampdown on opposition is so severe now, many of her friends have left Belarus. Big gatherings like last year are impossible now. Irina shook her head when I wondered whether there might be protests to mark a year since the disputed vote. It would just mean more people go to prison, she said. Everyone I met outside court thinks Maria and Maxime will get the full 12 year sentence. Their family's main hope is that they won't actually serve all that. That either political change will somehow come to Belarus or the pain of sanctions will force President Lukashenko into a deal with the EU that includes the release of prisoners. Alexander says Maria keeps telling him she'll see him soon. Everything will be ok, she writes. And he's clinging to that. That and extraordinary footage that emerged from the opening day of her trial. It showed Maria, lips painted her trademark bright red, dancing behind bars. That just shows how free she still feels inside, alexander told me, holding back tears as he watched his daughter shape her hands into a heart sign and flash a defiant, cheerful smile at the camera. I just wish I could actually see her, alexander said. And make the same heart shape back.
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Main Presenter
Sarah Rainsford in most countries, the kidnapping of dozens of school children for ransom would be considered an outrage and a national emergency. But this is Nigeria, where the mass abduction of children has become a grim and recurrent news story. 80 taken in one incident, over 120 in another just in the past few months. But it's not just crime which is destabilizing Nigeria right now. There's the continuing insurgency of the jihadist group Boko Haram in the north and a crop of separatist movements around the country. It seems as though every region has its own crisis or crises to tackle. And as Marney Jones reports, the insecurity is now touching people who previously managed to shield themselves from the worst.
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Marney Jones
My phone keeps pinging. It's the same message being forwarded to me by different WhatsApp groups. Afternoon ladies. I know a lot of you go for walks and other exercise, but let's be mindful, it's becoming dangerous. The message is followed by graphic pictures of a large cut on a woman's thigh as well as her bloodied face. She's reportedly been attacked by armed robbers while on a run in the early hours of the morning. The message goes on to explain that the incident happened on a popular road in Lagos Mosop Market neighborhood Ikwyn, the rest of the message reads. The attackers jumped off on a cada, that's the local name for motorbike taxis, and attacked her mercilessly despite her willingness to give them everything. It's the third in a week in that vicinity. Apparently another guy had machete wounds to his head. Affluent Nigerians are used to hearing about violence in other parts of the country and even in other parts of Lagos. But an attack on a lone woman so close to home is seen by many as evidence that the country is in a security crisis. As Nigeria's economy has worsened, more rumours of attacks in wealthy parts of Lagos have spread. Often I receive this quote, unquote news via WhatsApp groups made up of young middle class Nigerians who are usually online looking for recommendations for the latest trendy restaurant or where to buy good children's shoes. There's a palpable fear that the insecurity which has rocked the rest of the country could disrupt their relatively comfortable lives too. I think it's safe to describe myself and other members of these groups as privileged. We're all professionals with a disposable income, a luxury in Nigeria. But the daily insecurity, which feels new to wealthy Lagosians, has been a daily reality for Nigerians from other cities for years. Whenever I go to Port Harcourt in the oil rich delta in the southeast where kidnappings have occurred for decades, locals tell me to remove my jewelry before leaving my hotel and never to sit in a parked car. Their daily lives are dictated by security concerns. A cursory look at newspapers headlines on any given day paints a picture of a nation in crisis. It's not just about street robberies and burglaries. There's the decade long insurgency by the Islamist group Boko Haram in northeastern Nigeria. The group gained notoriety after they abducted almost 300 schoolgirls from the town of Chibok in 2014. But mass kidnappings of children are now happening so often that they barely register and they spread to the northwest of the country and even to the central state of Niger, right next to the capital Abuja. Kidnappers demand eye watering ransoms from poor rural families who often have to sell everything they own to get their children back. And let's not forget the daily smaller scale abductions on Nigeria's roads, which get less media coverage right across the country. Travelling has become more dangerous as criminals look for easy targets and quick profits. Yet another security crisis that's received little attention in international media is the clashes in southeastern Nigeria. The armed wing of a proscribed separatist group, the indigenous people of Biafra, has been attacking police stations and killing officers in the region. The group accuses the government of neglecting the southeast and of torturing and persecuting separatists. There have also been calls for the southwest of the country to break away because of clashes between local farm and herders who are Fulanis, the same ethnic group as Nigeria's president Muhammadu Buhari. Agitators in the southwest claim the government is showing favoritism towards the herders. The sheer volume of conflict around the country is leading to a siege mentality. More and more young Nigerians are talking about leaving. I'm attending goodbye parties for people moving abroad every week. One of my friends recently mentioned that the taxi driver who took him to the airport announced proudly that he was relocating to New Zealand. Nigerians have always moved around the world, but a growing insecurity could mean the country loses its brightest talent. As an expatriate, I always knew my days here were numbered. But part of me feels sad at the thought of one day leaving this vibrant and wonderful country. Despite the insecurity and other challenges, Nigerians always find a way to thrive. They are this country's true wealth.
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Main Presenter
Miami Jones it sounds like the stuff of a military dictatorship. Troops will be out on the streets enforcing a curfew with people forbidden to leave their homes except on essential business. But this is Sydney, Australia, where yet another lockdown has been enforced in an effort to halt a surge in Covid cases. Different parts of this vast country have adopted their own rules. But one thing all parts of Australia share is a reverence for the traditional character of of the larrikin. A rebellious anti establishment type who doesn't take kindly to rules or regulations of any sort. So how has a larrikin loving nation reacted to such draconian measures? Here's Phil Mercer.
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Phil Mercer
Do you fancy meeting for a walking beer? Asked a friend. He was eager to socialise, but not to flout the COVID 19 public health regulations which have closed the pubs and limited outdoor exercise in Sydney to groups of no more than two people. For some, lockdowns feel like a form of house arrest. But for the most part, Australians do comply with the restrictions. A fabled anti authoritarian streak forged in the nation's modern beginnings as a British penal colony is still there, but it's faded in one of the most urbanized countries on earth. There's also a strong desire for order and for the rules to be obeyed. A bit of slang is illuminating. To dob someone into the authorities is considered to be wholly un. Australian dobbing in is for sneaks and telltales. It's a vague concept linked to that spirit of hostility towards authority. Yet a record number of people contacted the police to help identify anti lockdown protesters who recently swarmed into the centre of Sydney. They were derided as selfish buffets or idiots by the New South Wales police minister. Freedom. They chanted as they railed against Australia's strictest stay at home orders. Freedom is what we all want. But for now, this remains a kind of hermit kingdom. Travel into and out of Australia is heavily restricted and the skies are still quiet. Look, Mummy, a plane. I overheard on a walk a week ago a small boy out on his bike squealing with excitement at the Rare sight of vapour trails. Australians wanting to leave the country need permission from the government. But getting back home under strict quarantine border controls isn't easy. Isolation was supposed to be Australia's trump card against COVID 19. It kept infections and fatalities low by many international comparisons, as many other countries suffered. In Fortress Australia, there was relief. We thought distance might have spared us that the worst was over and 2021 started with optimism. Life was beginning to resemble what it was before the pandemic. Our kids played football matches. The beaches and the cafes were busy. Even handshakes were making a cautious return. But as Australia enjoyed its success, there was complacency. The national vaccination rollout here has been slow and disorganised. Many Australians went vaccine shopping, preferring to wait until supposedly better alternatives were available. The Delta variant has changed everything. In recent weeks, it sent more than half of the Australian population into lockdown. The nation has been jolted into action. Inoculation rates are gradually increasing. In the shadow of Sydney's Olympic Stadium, I joined the queue for a Pfizer jab in a busy place with so many people. It was oddly quiet. Offices, shops and building sites have been ordered to close. New South Wales, of which Sydney is the state capital, helps to power the national economy. But a lockdown that includes regions to the north, south and west of the city threatens financial catastrophe after avoiding a recession for three decades. Unlike the rest of the world, Australia is facing two recessions in just over a year. The pandemic has at times fractured Australia's unity. Its six states and two mainland territories have often bickered about internal border closures. The Western Australian and Queensland governments have been rewarded at state elections for their hardline protectionism and willingness to shut themselves off from other virus hit parts of the federation. I did meet that friend for a strolling beer. After all, he said the pandemic was like a war. But rather than being asked to fight overseas, Australians are being urged to be vaccinated and retreat indoors. It may sound straightforward, but stay at home. But life in Australia is spent mostly outdoors. And confinement isn't always easy. There are untold levels of anxiety, loneliness and frustration in this former British penal colony. We're counting down the days until the shackles are removed.
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Main Presenter
Film the city state of Singapore is officially a multiracial, multi faith nation with a strong ethos of unity across ethnic and religious lines. For a tiny country with just over five and a half million people and some very large and powerful neighbours, it's important to present a united front to Project Strength Abroad Nearly three quarters of Singapore's residents are of Chinese descent, just over a tenth are Malay, and Indians make up just under a tenth. As the country gears up to celebrate its National Day on Monday, The There's a lot of public rhetoric about equal rights under single purpose, but minority groups in Singapore have complained repeatedly of discrimination and prejudice. And, says Sharunjit Lail, one recent incident showed how it could play out.
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Sharunjit Lael
When an online video of Dave Prakash and his girlfriend Jacqueline Ho went viral in Singapore a few weeks ago, it shook Singaporean society. It showed the young couple out for a regular evening stroll, which was disrupted when a man confronted Mr. Prakash, who's of Indian Filipino descent, for preying on Chinese girls, demanding that he date women of his own race. It turned out that Tan Boon Lee was a teacher at a local polytechnic. After the video was shared thousands of times, he made a public apology for his comments, calling them bigoted, discriminatory and insensitive. But not before he lost his job and sparked nationwide soul searching from a country that appears racially harmonious. Prod beneath the surface, though, and you'll hear hundreds of similar stories from Singaporeans of Indian or Malay descent like myself. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to be a Singaporean of Punjabi Sikh descent. I've even produced documentaries for the BBC about how extraordinary my city is. But growing up here, kids gravitated to others of the same racial group, and I was aware of always being the odd one out. Sikhs made up a tiny minority of even the small Indian population. I had friends from every race, but my pride in multicultural Singapore comes with the acknowledgement that had I been born Chinese, my life might have been a lot easier. It started with applying for jobs when I returned from North America in the 1990s. Armed with a master's degree and broadcast journalism experience in Canada, I struggled to get my foot in the door at the local news broadcaster. Then I started working with an American financial news agency and one of my duties was to provide currency updates to that very same local channel. They told my bosses they didn't want me doing TV updates for them. I now know the man who runs the newsroom of that same TV channel, who ironically happens to be Indian Singaporean, and I confronted him about why there were still so few Indian or Malay anchors presenting their programs. His response was that viewers didn't like watching darker skinned presenters. What about our national pledge? We said it daily as children in school, and I particularly loved the words. Regardless of race, language or religion, we are one united people what about that? I said to him, Singaporean Chinese landlords are often unwilling to rent their properties to Malay or Indian tenants. It's even touched the highest echelons of politics, where senior ministers have said publicly that the country isn't ready for a non Chinese leader. Racism here is not just a sensitive topic, it's a legal one. Singapore lived through violent race riots in the 1960s that threatened to tear up the fabric of the fledgling nation. To prevent that happening again, it's now a crime to stir up racial hatred. When the British left its colonies in Southeast Asia, the hope was to have Singapore and what is current day Malaysia for function as one country. And so the Federation of Malaysia was born. But it was fraught with political infighting between Singapore's mainly Chinese politicians and Malaysia's Malay leaders, and the city was kicked out of that federation in August 1965. So you could argue that Singapore's very existence as an independent nation was born out of a racial divide. And so here we are, about to celebrate Singapore's National Day, marking that moment when the city was thrust into nationhood. Among the many patriotic songs that will be sung this weekend are ones many of us learnt as children. Stand up for Singapore. One people, one nation, one Singapore. Even though there was much sympathy expressed for Dave Prakash and his girlfriend after the racist taunts of Thanh Boon Lee, the viral video has reignited long buried feelings for Singapore's minorities. So for many citizens like me, the National Day songs that implore us to be one people, one nation just don't ring true. That one nation doesn't appear to include us.
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Main Presenter
Sharunjit Lael, the Central American country of Costa Rica gets a lot of good press and recognition the world over for its efforts to preserve nature. It's famously the only country in the region with no military and a leading mover in international efforts to tackle climate change. With one of the greatest arrays of climates and species on Earth, it's also a hotspot for nature tourists, from bird spotters to sport fishers to those who want to wander into a real live rainforest. But not everything about Costa Rica's government is green, and not all its life forms are friendly. Michelle Yala Chan went for a night walk, which shed light on all sorts of wonders and horrors, too.
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Narrator/Host
Turn off your head torch. We have a deadly nocturnal wasp around here that's attracted to light. I was glad Tracy Stice, a renowned biologist in these parts, couldn't see my alarmed expression. I hurriedly clicked off my torch. Don't pick up anything, she said. Deadpan don't rest your hand on anything. Step off the path and you might die. The darkness was creeping into the forests of Drake Bay on the OSA Peninsula. Not far away, I could hear the resounding crash of the Pacific Ocean against the rocky coastline and closer to us, the peeps and chirrups of frogs and the whir of flying insects in the still humid air. Tracey's an entomologist originally from the US who's become known as the Bug Lady. She and her Costa Rican husband, Gianfranco Gomez, strong on snakes and frogs, have been guiding night treks here for over 20 years, revealing the area's extraordinary biodiversity to visitors. Ah, a tree frog, she said, shining a flashlight on a dainty creature sprawled on a frond. The gaudy leaf frog has become a symbol for Costa Rica, its image hijacked for travel brochures and souvenirs. It was mesmerizing with its red protuberant eyes, its delicate fingers and toes tipped by sticky pads. Calling it gaudy might be unkind, but its vivid green colouring is certainly eye catching, with its contrasting pale underbelly and striped sides. Tracey mentioned that some of the males have even been known to twerk, shaking their rumps at rivals in acts of one upmanship. Gianfranco called us over. He's an expert spotter. I'd barely noticed him moving around, setting up scopes and cameras. Above in the branches was the sound of squeaks and cries. Kinkajou, he said, tracking them with his laser pointer as these furry mammals, resembling golden coloured raccoons, lapped on nectar with their long tongues, balancing on branches with the aid of their prehensile tails. They're not well understood, Tracy added pensively. There doesn't seem to be a hierarchy to their social structure. Tracy and Giang Franco relish a biological challenge. The OSA Peninsula is only about the size of the Isle of Skye and but it hosts an astonishing 2 1/2% of the world's biodiversity. It's such an important biological corridor, Tracey told me, and it's been protected by the lack of access. We're fighting to stop a road coming. Costa Rica might be celebrated for its conservation policies, but there's still overdevelopment at the expense of nature and lousy marine protection along the coast. There are short, medium and long term challenges ahead, Covid a global economic downturn and climate change can hit particularly hard if your country relies heavily on tourism, and eco tourism at that. This is the strangest thing you'll see tonight, Tracey said. Showing me a dead cricket. Three weeks ago, this cricket made a tragic mistake. It brushed into a spore which invaded its exoskeleton and traveled to its brain. There it caused the cricket to go insane, brainwashing it to crawl up a tall plant where it consumed the brain and mushroomed out of the cricket's head, jettisoning its own spores far and wide. Mind blowing indeed, Tracy went on to tell me. This sort of parasitic fungi called Cordyceps have been consumed by Chinese Olympic teams to enhance performance and are now for sale in tablet form and pharmacies across the U.S. our last spot was a scorpion. Tracey shone her UV torch on its segmented body and it glowed a fluorescent cyan. She was animated. Did you know that all scorpions glow and that their venom is the most expensive liquid in the world? It costs $39 million a gallon. She exclaimed, enthusing about its possible uses in treating tumors. Medical breakthroughs are often cited as reasons to save the rainforests, that they might hold the cure to cancer or Alzheimer's. But that night, I felt there was no need for bulleted reasons why we shouldn't cut down these trees or encroach on this habitat. It's hard not to get emotional here. A few days later, Tracy emailed me with the news on the fungi sprouting from the dead cricket. She had contacted a Cordyceps expert who believed it was likely an undescribed species. So it's straight into another of Tracy and Gianfranco's projects to survey the cordyceps diversity of Drake Bay. I had a strong sense that even if this pair were out every night here for the rest of their lives, their work would still be unfinished. And that was strangely satisfying.
- [28:07]
Main Presenter
Michelle Yana Chan and that's it from the program this week. We'll be back next Saturday morning as usual. Do join us,
- [28:18]
Sneakonomics Host 1
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Sneakonomics Host 2
From BBC Radio 4, this is Sneakonomics. Across this podcast, we're going to be telling the crazy origin stories of the most well known sports companies and their relentless quest to be the world's number one brand.
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Sneakonomics Host 1
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Sneakonomics Host 2
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- [29:06]
Sneakonomics Host 1
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