Climate Change is Fueling the Food Crisis in Chad

By: Anna Douglas Piper

Global food insecurity has surged since 2022, and the problem is not going away. Around 345 million people are impacted across 82 different countries. 

Chad is the third hungriest country in the world, and it is only getting worse. 

From flooding, to drought, to wildfires, climate change directly impacts food security. Geographical features drastically change, crop yields fail, and production levels decrease. The consequences are not limited to agricultural zones themselves. Agricultural chains are intricately connected, so effects in one region can lead to consequences that ripple across the entire market. In fact, in 2021, rising food commodity prices overall were a main driver of approximately 30 million people in low-income countries facing increased food insecurity. 

As climate change continues to impact food production, the most at risk continue to suffer. 17% of Chad faces food shortages, and in 2024, the Government declared a “food security and nutrition emergency.” 

Out of the hundreds of millions of people who face high levels of acute food insecurity, the United Nations estimates that “over two thirds…are there because of climate and conflict.”   

António Guterres, Secretary-General of the United Nations stressed that climate and conflict were the main causes of acute food insecurity for around 174 million people in 2022. “A global food crisis is creating a hellscape of hunger and heartache for many of the world’s poorest people.”

Food insecurity exacerbates conflict, driving regional instability and threatening the entire world order. Hunger, especially driven by climate change, is a risk to international security. Beth Bechdol, Deputy Director-General, Food and Agriculture Organization, agrees, arguing that “there is no food security without peace, and no peace without food security.”

The U.S. has direct interests in maintaining global order and peace, and therefore direct interests in promoting the stability of Chad. This can be done by mitigating the impacts of climate change on food security in the region.

Questions remain over what is to be done. Some argue for sustainable agricultural practices, like effective water usage, drought-resistant crops, and policies to manage demand for certain products. Others point more to the harm of the global food system itself, noting that the industry is responsible for around a third of greenhouse gas emissions–second only to the energy sector. Food harvesting, storage, and transportation, can all be improved, in a multitude of ways. Additionally, many call for the increased usage of climate-smart technology, like precision watering and early-warning systems. Whatever solutions are implemented, it is important to consider the context of Chad itself in order to successfully mitigate the issue. 

According to Simon Stiell, Executive Secretary of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, “1 in 10 people on Earth already suffers from chronic hunger — a reality that will worsen with accelerating climate change.  In the not-too-distant future, there could be huge supply shocks, and if heating continues, food production will decline across many countries.” 

To increase food security and avoid conflicts, he called for increased investment in adaptation, resilience and clean energy, declaring that “done right, climate action can help build peace.”

“It is in places like [Chad] where violence and weather shocks drive hunger,” stresses The World Food Programme. “More than one third of the families living in Chad are worried about the same thing right now: ‘when will we eat the next meal?’”

Purity Culture is a Vehicle for Sexual Violence

By: Priya Buddhavarapu

I was in New Delhi this August when a 31-year-old female trainee doctor in Kolkata, West Bengal, was found half-naked, brutally raped and murdered, on the fourth floor of the government-run RG KAR Medical College and Hospital.

Reading the news that day, pure disgust ran through me. As a woman, I was immersed in an acute fear that lashed at my core every time I roamed the streets of New Delhi in the days after. As an Indian-American, I felt overwhelming loathe towards the culture that I had always known as vibrant and joyous. Perhaps the most chilling aspect of my reaction, however, was my complete lack of surprise as I read the harrowing details of the victim’s experience. 

The majority of Indian women would be able to tell you firsthand about the catcalling, staring, and vulgar body language that they are accustomed to when walking down a local street. I couldn’t even escape this unwanted attention in broad daylight with my dad, a fully grown man. The majority of Indian women would be able to tell you of the rules imposed onto them by their families–don’t walk alone, don’t stay out past dusk, don’t make eye contact with strangers, don’t go out without a specific destination. 

Their daily experiences, I believe, are indicative of a much more threatening, parasitic force preying upon Indian society. From the 1992 Ajmer rape case, where over a hundred schoolgirls were sexually molested, to a more recent case in Thanjavur, Tamil Nadu, where a 23-year-old woman was gang-raped by six men, it is clear that institutionalized injustice against women has plagued India for decades. 

What could be the root of the systemic sexual violence Indian women face? Why does the world seem to hate Indian women?

 I believe the source of the problem is this: India’s sickening commitment to purity culture. 

The term purity culture refers to an ideal, often in a religious and traditionalist context, where a person’s value is contingent upon their chastity and sexual abstinence. In societies where purity culture is prominent, the burden of keeping a community chaste typically falls to women. This also means that in cases of abuse or harassment, women are the ones who are left accountable for the actions of men–whether it be because of what they wore, what they did, or where they were. 

On the other hand, men are held relatively unaccountable, sheltered by the pillars of the patriarchal society in which they were brought up in. They are inadvertently excused from any consequences; hence the burdens of their actions defaults to the shoulders of women. In a world where women are stigmatized, and women shoulder accountability, what might possibly stop a man from catcalling, molesting, raping a woman? Certainly not the fear of facing the consequences of their actions. 

For this reason, I believe that purity culture is a vehicle of sexual violence. 

Historically, an Indian woman’s value as a functioning member of society is contingent upon her perceived adherence to the values of purity and modesty. Her decision-making power over her own bodies, in both a sexual and reproductive context, is traditionally granted to the man who has power over her–her father, and then her husband. Virginity is sacred; sexual activity outside the hallowed bond of marriage is sacrilegious. 

Purity culture, I believe, is also responsible for rape culture. In a world where Indian women increasingly dare to step outside the bubble they have been confined to, the coinciding spike in assault cases is proof of the following: sexual violence is a provoked response to women gaining ownership over their own lives. It is deep-seated, wrathful retribution to the fact that women have refused to exist solely within the roles their fathers and husbands have assigned them to. Sexual violence is an unmeasured, unequivocal response to a deviation from purity culture. 

African Governments Perpetuate Intimate Partner Violence

By: Priya Buddhavarapu

The global average of reported intimate partner violence (IPV) cases is 30%. In Sub-Saharan Africa it’s, 36% and in East Africa it’s 44%. 

IPV refers to abuse or aggression in a relationship, including physical violence, sexual violence, stalking, and psychological aggression. Women in rural areas, as well as marginalized groups, such as sexual minorities, are more likely to face IPV. 

There are three primary stigma components that prevent IPV help-seeking measures. “Cultural stigma” refers to societal norms that put into question the experiences of women facing abuse. “Stigma internalization” refers to the practice of women believing the negative stereotypes about themselves . “Anticipated stigma” accounts for the judgement women believe they will face (i.e. status loss and discrimination). 

However, still underlying these variants of stigma is the perpetuation of “victim blame and deservingness” attitudes. Many victims often hold themselves accountable for IPV if they feel they have violated gender role expectations; have provoked their partners; or feel that they are less deserving of empathy or humane treatment, particularly apparent in racial minority women. 

Even still, other victims lack awareness that what they are experiencing is non-consensual and wrong; it is within the scope of their marriage, they believe, to be treated in such a way. These narratives are only revolutionized by societal stereotypes that IPV is the result of provocation of the partner by the victim. 

Taken together, each of these factors justify the following: when a woman is facing IPV, it is incredibly difficult to seek help. I propose two reasons for why this conclusion is particularly relevant across the African continent. 

First, on average, African nations tend to rank lower on the democracy index than other European, North American, and Asian regions. In 2024, the Democracy Index (calculated by the criteria of the Economist Group) of Sub-Saharan Africa was 4.00,North Africa  was 3.12, while Western Europe was 8.28.  

There also tends to be a relationship between the quality of human rights and a country’s adherence to democratic principles, providing some insight on why women nations with lower Democracy Index scores might face more consequences in pursuing IPV help-seeking measures, particularly when the dominant culture is highly sensitive and conservative. 

Second, rural African women may face even less awareness on issues such as consent and sexual safety; compounded with the conservative tendencies of these rural communities to uphold societal customs and traditions, this may exacerbate IPV and other forms of domestic violence across isolated communities. Furthermore, the lack of infrastructure in rural regions of Sub-Saharan Africa also inhibits a woman’s access to proper reporting networks. 

Thus, due to a lower awareness, societal stigma, and the lack of reporting mechanisms, IPV is particularly grave for the 55%-85% of African women residing in rural areas.

If IPV is a prominent issue across the continent, what, then, stands in the way of government-led preventative measures? 

One argument worth considering regards privacy rights. How is the government supposed to interfere in the affairs of a consensual marriage without infringing on individual privacy rights? This question is particularly relevant for African nations such as South Africa, Nigeria, and Ghana, with comprehensive privacy protection legislation. 

However, in the case of other nations with few established freedoms and low Democracy Index scores, this question seems ironic– why would privacy rights even be of concern? 

The answer might lie not in privacy rights, but potentially in the continuous systemic marginalization of African women. Whether it be through inheritance rights or education policies, women remain at the bottom of the African social ladder, maintaining little access to education, land, credit, and education. If these governments fail to protect these rights, there is little hope that they will address IPV in the near future. 

Thus, in order to effectively combat IPV, legal reform towards the rights of African women must first occur. Until then, our efforts must go towards spreading awareness and changing our own deep-seated negative perceptions of IPV.