Re·frac·tion (/rəˈfrakSH(ə)n/) Noun. Physics: Change in direction of propagation of any wave as a result of its traveling at different speeds at different points along the wave front.

Josefa Barliza gazes off into the distant deserts of La Guajira, Colombia during a midday stroll. With an arid and scorching desert for hundreds of kilometers, La Guajira is one of the driest regions of Colombia with less than 400mm of rain per year. However, life always finds a way.

I wake up with the sunrise. The warm sunbeams start filling up the gaps in the palm roof of the artisan center of an Indigenous village at the doorstep of the Caribbean. As I roll over inside a hand-woven, red and green chinchorro (hammock) I can feel the temperature start to rise. With every degree increase, the intensity of the light touching my eyes becomes more unbearable. So I wake up. I put my feet down on the sand, and walk. Just a couple of meters off the wooden gates of Arema, I find myself being struck by the high-speed salty winds coming from the East. As my hair covers my face and the strength of the sun pierces through my skin, I make my way forward.

Not even 100 steps from my hammock I find myself on the beach, surrounded by nothing but desert, shrubs, cacti and sand. The only water that I am certain to see for kilometers is in front of me; and the only light I will have for the rest of the day is above me.

Light and Water

The region is home to the Indigenous Wayuu people. Dressed in colorful attires they live their lives trying to tame the desert and reaping every benefit they can from the inhospitable environment. Josefa Barliza is one of the most outspoken members of the community. Her goal is to use technology and social media to put Arema and Wayuu culture on the map.

Refraction is the phenomenon physicists attribute to the shifting direction of waves when they change mediums. It applies to light, water, and metaphorically, to people. As new challenges arise or progress is made, environments and circumstances change, which leads people to go in different directions, and sometimes, change their lives entirely. Arema embodies this. A paradigm shift. A radical change in the way they will live for generations to come.

The small coastal indigenous Wayuu community of Arema, located in La Guajira, Colombia, is about to get a new set of solar panels and batteries installed. This will change the way the community interacts amongst themselves, with nature and others in the region.

However, this is not the first time Arema faces change. The directions of the village and its inhabitants as individuals shift with the landscapes and nature, coexisting, embracing and adapting to change; just like the waves around them.

Light and water are critical for the survival and progress of Arema and surrounding communities. However, the lack of accessibility to these resources creates uncertainties that locals have to deal with on a daily basis. Not knowing when water shipments will come, when it will rain, when you will be able to take a trip to the nearest town to charge your phone, if you will even be able to finish your work before it gets pitch dark to pay for things.

The roads that lead to Arema are covered in sand, mud and dirt. With no paved roads, most communities are connected by these makeshift streets that allow for access, but severely limit the travel time and size of transportation that can reach these areas.

Houses in Arema are built out of tree branches, and other wood. Roofs are traditionally made of palm, but some have adapted the use of tin roofing, with only the wealthiest being able to afford concrete and bricks. Having a sturdy and durable roof is key to remain safe from the sun and the blazing temperatures that reach average highs of 35 °C.

Water jugs are one of the most precious possessions for the Wayuu. In this inhospitable desert, the only access to drinking water comes from water trucks or rain water, and to store this water, they need several and sometimes massive water jugs around their houses.

Jagüeys are large manmade pools of water that are used by the Wayuu people to store rainwater. Not only do they provide fresh water for their communities, but they also serve as social hangout spots where the community (specially young people) gets together to socialize.

Jagüeys are protected because they are the only places where we have water. If our jagüeys dry up and we find ourselves without water, that is where the drought and therefore our suffering begins.

Josefa Barliza

Despite the heat and sand, a lot of vegetation can be found in La Guajira. Between trees and smaller plants, vegetation feels the empty desert with some color. Important for shade, resources and braking monotony, the flora found close to Arema coexists with the environment alongside its inhabitants.

Taken from the “Cerro Pilón de Azúcar,” one can see the extreme conditions that locals have to endure. Yet, these extreme conditions yield strong character, and the Wayuu people are not the exception. between barren land and untamable oceans, the indigenous communities of La Guajira seek to find stability within these changing times, preserving the past and embracing the future.

Light, for us, is something sacred. The sun’s light accompanies us in this desert, while at night it is with us through the moon; and it illuminates the paths that we have to take while keeping us safe from evil.

Josefa Barliza

La Guajira is the ultimate embodiment of juxtaposition. Where big desert dunes meet the clear turquoise Caribbean Sea. Where there’s so much water, yet none to drink. Where there is so much light but no way to keep it. Every day lived is a fight won, and the way that locals brave the extreme and unfavorable conditions to not only survive, but thrive, is a sight to behold.

Salt

Although ocean water and sunlight are not easily accessible to use, they both come together to provide for the community through their mutual collaboration.

Maria Luisa Barliza Ipuana is the leader of Arema. As the head of the village her days mostly consist of passing down what she has learned through decades of experience. When she is not sewing or taking care of her grandchildren, her mornings start at 6 a.m. She heads into the salt flats.

Salt is created by the evaporation of salt water that gets trapped inland when the sea level rises. These large plains contain tons of salt to be harvested by Maria Barliza and other Wayuu people for both self consumption and commerce.

Salt is one of the main sources of income for the community, alongside textile manufacturing and fishing. Although the least profitable of the three, Maria Barliza believes that the practice is key to the communities cultural heritage and economy.

Maria Barliza takes younger girls from the village, such as her grandkids, to the middle of the salt flats to teach them the process, one she hopes will remain alive through generations to come.

To harvest salt, it is first scrapped off the ground with bare hands. The salt is then thrown into the ever growing piles for it to dry.

Once the salt is dry, it is packed into bags of 50 kilograms, which after hours and hours of hard labour under the sun will pay just $4,000 Colombian Pesos (COP) or the equivalent of $1.

Textiles

The major source of income for Arema is the production of textiles and handcrafts, usually made by Wayuu women. From giant hammocks called chinchorros that can take up to four months to complete and go for COP $2,000,000 (≈$500), to small handbags called mochilas that are a hit with tourists, handcrafts and textiles are the lifeblood of the community.

Without electricity, their production hours are massively cut to the times of day where the sun is shining, submitting the artisans to extreme heat and strict time frames. With no ability to work through the night or aid their craft with sewing machines, their productivity is subjected to nature’s will, and so is their income.

Most women in the community gather in Arema’s artisan center to start sewing and crafting at 6 a.m. Mati Barliza takes about one week to finish a mochila, but depending on the type of threads used, they can take even longer.

Mochilas can be widely seen all around touristic spots in Colombia, but for Indigenous women, most of the sales go to other members of the community and surrounding towns. Most of the sales are also made in Uribia or Cabo de la Vela, the biggest cities close to Arema.

Wayuu women learn to sew from a young age, and although someone like Josefa Barliza doesn’t necessarily focus on this art, the techniques and skills are still something that are kept sharp and alive.

Chinchorros are the other major handcraft that is made by Wayuu people. Made in a loom, high quality chinchorros can use as much as 6 kg of string to manufacture.

Chinchorros are made with designs drawn from nature, the lines, spirals and colors come from the cacti, oceans and animals that surround the communities. Symbols can range in meaning, going from dreams to light.

The last major product are “mantas” or the traditional dress of Wayuu women. These dresses are made in different materials, as different occasions require different materials. Red is a sacred color for the Wayuu, and therefore it is reserved for the most luxurious and/or ceremonial attires.

Being from an Indigenous community should not be shameful, in the contrary, it is a sign of strength. We are people that are born with this incredible ability to fight and survive.

Josefa Barliza

Intricate geometric designs, bright colors and a looser fits are trademarks of more traditional mantas used for religious and cultural ceremonies. Designs and colors which beautifully stand out against the monochrome desert sand.

Textiles and handcrafts not only amount for a good portion of the livelihood of the community, but they also represent the historical and cultural heritage of the Wayuu people; a heritage that is imperative to pass onto younger generations.

The Future Generations

The Wayuu people place a lot of importance and meaning on passing knowledge down through generations, preserving their culture. From legends about how Wereke, the spider, taught their ancestors how to sew, to beautiful rituals that exhume their dead so they can find peace amongst the mountains. This is why children are taught traditional customs from an early age, including these stories, dances, handcrafts and the Wayuunaiki language.

However, these traditional teachings are coming at odds with the introduction of 21st century technology and the imminent interconnectedness that has started to reach the village. From social media and technological influence to younger people leaving the village to study around the country, reaching a balance between tradition and progress is more important than ever.

Arema, alongside other adjacent communities, have found a way to merge both currents of thought together and create a constructive equilibrium where one helps the other. Embracing modern technology to make traditions more vibrant and shareable.

As the head of the community, Maria Barliza is in charge of teaching the kids, specially young girls, the traditions of Wayuu culture. However, she also leads the way in facilitating the inclusion of newer technologies, such as solar panels and electricity in the village. She has set in motion the exponential growth that the village will have, not only economically, but socioculturally.

Abraham is one of the several children that constitute the future of Arema. In contrast to his siblings and cousins however, he will spend the majority of his life in an environment where electricity and all of its benefits are easily accessible. This will fundamentally change the way he experiences and approaches the world, spearheading a new generation of Wayuu for the 21st century.

The Wayuu are one of the biggest Indigenous communities in Colombia, and we are known for being warriors and fighters. It has been able to maintain their customs and traditions. Even as years pass, and our Wayuu nation is joined by outsiders, we prevail.

Josefa Barliza

Kids however, still have to be kids. Regardless of technology or tradition, playing is still a fundamental part of a life, and Wayuu games are certainly a part of Arema. Children play traditional “Carrera de cardón,” where kids race with makeshift cars made out of cactus and push them around with a stick.

Another popular game, specially amongst boys is wrestling. Girls usually make Wayunkerras, which are dolls made out of clay.

Education beyond cultural traditions is also a key pillar in Wayuu life. Students and teachers from around the Satsapa community find their home away from home further into the desert. Satsapa is a school project that recently got access to electricity through solar panels. This has allowed the school to thrive and grow, using its four batteries to power fridges, freezers, outlets, and even an IT room.

Satsapa went from having around 60 students to more than doubling to 140 in a couple of months after gaining electricity. The classes became more engaging, food was able to be stored and preserved for better nutrition, more information and knowledge could be accessed. The possibilities grew exponentially.

Fishing

Water is a sacred element for Wayuu culture, as it is defined in several different terms. There’s water that comes from rain, which allows us the opportunity to enjoy it inside our Jagüeys… But we are also beach Wayuu, and the sea gives us a lot of benefits such as fishing in the form of food or money.

Josefa Barliza

Fishing is the other major source of income and livelihood for the Wayuu. Not only does it provide money but is also a direct source of food for their diet as farming within the desert is not a viable option. Despite the dangers that navigating the Caribbean brings, children as young as 11 are already spending days at sea, training and learning so they will be able to provide for the community.

Fishing in La Guajira takes several forms. With a varied sea life, anything from fish to lobsters can be caught in the water. This creates the need for several different fishing methods tailored for the desired catch. Wide nets are cast for schools of fish, while wooden traps are left overnight for lobsters and crabs.

Pablo Barliza and his father Agustin Barliza are one of the father and son duos that fish for Arema. Usually in a group of two or three, they usually leave before sunset and spend the night on the boat sleeping on its floor with only a blanket to keep them dry and warm.

Navigation is done via mountains and landmarks that can be seen with the naked eye in the horizon as there is no access to GPS or any sophisticated navigation techniques. Pablo is usually one of the people that does the fishing while his dad, the captain, would be calling the shots.

A night out fishing can go two main ways. Either they catch just enough to feed themselves for a day, or they have a “miracle catch,” where they have enough to sell in Uribia or Cabo de la Vela for a profit.

Fish caught range in selling price depending on the species and size of the fish, they can go for a couple thousand Colombian pesos to around tens of thousands ($1-$10). Some popular fish species are Groupers, Pargos, Barracudas, Red Snappers and Blue Runners.

This specific catch only provided a couple of fish that would be used to feed the village for a day. Pablo starts these preparations by cutting and gutting all the fish as soon as he got off the boat. At the moment, the community will have to eat all the fish today, as there is no refrigeration, and therefore, the village can’t stockpile food or fish to sell and are at the mercy of the ocean. That is soon to change with the addition of two freezers to Arema’s community center. Here fishermen will be able to store fish, as well as make ice cubes to sell.

Although not a source of drinkable water, the ocean has been key to the survival of the Wayuu people. They have been able to brave the uncertainty, and adapt to its changing yield of success and defeat, following its waves, wherever they may lead. Today, more than ever, they will be able to tame the ocean a little bit more, with access to electricity.

Reflections

The changes that Arema is about to experience, as great as they are, are not the norm. Arema is one of the selected communities that have been able to receive the aid from organizations like GivePower Foundation to be able to build these energy and water solutions. Although there will still be a lot of communities throughout La Guajira that will not have access to these services, there are ways in which they can also refract alongside communities like Arema towards a brighter future through mutual cooperation.

As more and more projects are propped up around La Guajira, the domino effect that is created by the mutual cooperation within the wider Wayuu community will reflect on every aspect of life. Creating small nodes all around the department will create a naturally occurring shared economy giving adjacent communities an opportunity to also store their food, get and keep drinking water, expand their knowledge through the internet and have access to technology that will aid in professional and leisure activities. The possibilities are endless.

Communities having access to water and electricity opens them up for sustainable tourism. Windsurfing, boating and all around beach leisure could become sources of income for the communities. Fundamentally turning the driest department in Colombia into a bustling oasis.

The future of the region looks extremely promising. With La Guajira’s prime tourism spot, Cabo de la Vela, being home to a lot of world renowned kite surfers and competitions, the communal effort to put La Guajira on the world stage is only taking off.

None of these feats or milestones, such as putting La Guajira on the map or sharing Wayuu culture with the world, would be possible if not for sustainable and clean access to drinking water. Throughout La Guajira there are some water treatment and desalinization plants such as the one by GivePower Foundation. Costing around $90,000, this water plant can produce 6,000 liters per day and provides water for the adjacent communities for COP $40 ($0.001) per liter.

The six solar panels installed in Arema will be able to generate 2,700 Watts and store this energy in three batteries that can last through the night. This will power: two freezers, a fridge, a television, a sewing machine, and seven outlets. And after the power is on, all their lives will change forever, and they will enter into a reality, where the day doesn’t end at sunset, and ideas can go beyond the horizon.

This entire photo essay was shot on 35mm film, no charging needed. A medium which without a flash, will not be able to take pictures at night. Just like any activity in Arema, photography ended as the sun went down. Now, be it art, entertainment or human connection, will be able to prevail; till the crack of dawn.

For me, regardless of the obstacles and the fact that we aren’t born with everything we would need, that is what helps us become good people. It teaches us how to fight, to cherish what we have; be it light, water, our land or our families.

Josefa Barliza

The post Refraction appeared first on Glimpse from the Globe.

Even though the Colombia ruling marks another of a number of legislative changes around abortion, general mentality in South America has yet to follow this progressive trend. Even as some countries have witnessed a shift in policy wile combatting conservative mentalities, others are firm on their not condoning elective abortions by law or social attitude.

Colombia

Previously, abortions were only legal under limited circumstances: when a woman’s life was at risk, the fetus was nonviable or the pregnancy was a result of rape or incest. However, even in these cases, the processes were drawn-out and difficult. 

As part of the extensive approval process, one woman was required to present herself before a panel consisting of a gynecologist, a hematologist and a psychiatrist. In many cases, women encountered medical pushback preventing their requests from moving forward. 

Now, the new ruling allows elective abortions up to 24 weeks, or about six months, into the pregnancy.

Although this decision comes amid lingering taboos and stigmas preventinh adequate abortion access and education in the country, the ruling should still increase accessibility. It could also indicate  a change in mentality, which now seems to be the biggest obstacle in Colombia for abortion seekers. 

Argentina

Similar to Colombia, Argentina is among the few countries in South America that allow elective abortions. Before a recent ruling in Dec. 2021, women were only able to seek abortions in the case of rape or if the pregnancy caused risk to the mother’s health. Otherwise, women could be charged even if they miscarried. In one extreme case, a woman was sentenced to eight years in prison after a miscarriage. She is now fighting to have her sentence revoked after the recent ruling.

Even though the law passed in December renders the process legal, many Argentinian doctors conscientiously object to the procedure, making it more difficult for women to find locations that will carry it out. Many pro-life activists are also filing lawsuits claiming the law is unconstitutional. 

In some cases, the Catholic church still has significant influence in rural areas, and doctors will attempt to scare patients off of abortions by convincing them their fetus will turn into an elf or the abortion will cause cancer. Thus even if the law provides access to abortions, the social climate works to inhibit it. 

Uruguay

Compared to other South American countries, Uruguay has fairly progressive laws, as it has no official religion and the country’s religious institutions have significantly less political influence. Even so, it took many decades of debate to reach a ruling on abortion, which came in 2012. 

According to Women’s Media Center, Uruguay passed a law that legalized elective abortions within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy. There are still a fair share of limitations, such as extensive processes to go through and doctors who conscientiously object; in some areas of Uruguay, 100 percent of doctors claim conscientious objection. 

However, in the four years following the ruling 40,000 safe abortions were performed. As a result of this law, the rate of maternal mortality dropped, indicating that despite obstacles of political attitudes toward it, the change in policy did have a significant impact on women’s reproductive health. 

Ecuador

Ecuador also passed a recent ruling on abortion. In comparison to Colombia, however, Ecuador’s simply allowed abortions in the case of rape for up to 12 weeks. 

Ecuador is traditionally a conservative country, and there has therefore been much debate on the issue. These regulations themselves still have yet to be officially passed, as Ecuador’s conservative President Guillermo Lasso can still block them before they become a law. Even with this power, Lasso has said that despite his personal reservations against the procedure, he will let lawmakers ultimately “regulate” it. 

Abortion rights activists also argue that the time limit is too restrictive and will still result in unsafe abortions. Abortions in cases where the woman’s life is at risk were already legal, but elective abortions are still prohibited. Another obstacle is that much of the country still disapproves of the procedure, because of its largely Catholic and conservative population, so doctors who conscientiously object are commonplace.  

Paraguay

Paraguay has one of the strictest abortion policies in South America and has stirred much debate in the past. In Paraguay, abortion is only legal when the woman’s life is in danger. Otherwise, women are by law forced to continue pregnancy — even in cases of rape or incest, nonviable fetuses and serious but nonfatal health risks to the mother.

According to Human Rights Watch, health ministry data shows an average two girls a day, ages 10 to 14, give birth in Paraguay — even though sexual relations with anyone under 14 is rape under Paraguayan law. Girls at this age face higher risks of health complications but are still forced to carry out their rape-induced pregnancies.

Venezuela

Venezuela has had problems with abortion issues in the past and upholds some of the region’s strictest policies as well. In 2021 a doctor was arrested for helping a 13-year-old end a pregnancy after a rape. As in Colombia, activists argue that this criminalization of the procedure contributes to much dissent and stigma around the issue. 

Echoing Paraguay’s stance, Venezuela currently only allows abortions to save the mother’s life. With a lack of availability of contraceptives and a struggling economy, many women turn to illegal abortions to avoid having a child they cannot properly support. They face six months to two years in prison for such an action.

Across the board, countries in South America have varying degrees of severity in their laws and mindsets towards abortion. While some only allow abortions in the most extreme cases and others have policies that allow for elective abortions, from a women’s rights perspective, there are still advancements to be made in order to make abortion more accessible to those who seek it.

The Colombia ruling represents one of such advancements. From that angle, it can be seen as a victory for pro-choice activists in the country. However, much progress still stands to be made before abortion is openly accessible to women across South America. 

The post The Abortion Debate: What Colombia’s New Law Means for the Rest of South America appeared first on Glimpse from the Globe.

The Colombian Constitutional Court ruled that abortion now be allowed upon request up until 24 weeks of gestation — a historic win for pro-choice advocates in Colombia. The ruling not only marks a momentous victory for Colombian activists, but also reflects a regional shift in attitudes toward reproductive rights in Latin America.

Along with Colombia, Argentina and certain Mexican states, Cuba, Guyana and Uruguay have legalized abortion without restriction within the first few weeks of pregnancy. In 11 Latin American countries, abortion is allowed within a certain set of conditions (i.e. dependent on the health of the mother and/or the fetus). But in four countries, El Salvador, Dominican Republic, Nicaragua and Honduras, abortion is completely prohibited.

The legalization of abortion has remained a continued struggle for activists in Latin America since the 1990s, but a precedent of highly restrictive anti-abortion legislation and the strong political influence of the Catholic Church in the region have made it a challenging endeavor.

For one, the heavily ingrained presence of Catholicism in Latin American culture often entails religious and social taboo associated with sexual health, particularly abortion. Furthermore, a  repressive sexual culture means that conversations about the sexual and reproductive rights of women often go unspoken, leading to stagnation in the progression of women’s rights in the region.

Not only does religion affect ideological stigmatization of reproductive and sexual health, but it also has extensive real-life impacts. Representatives of both the Catholic Church (which accounts for 57% of all Latin Americans) and the Evangelist Church (19%) work at the local level, occasionally in alliance with right-wing groups, to maintain legal restrictions on abortion. 

Some of the strategies employed by these groups include instituting ideological goals, such as creating local holidays commemorating “the Unborn Child” and censoring of abortion and other sexual health resources. Others are more material, legislative steps such as the codification of the rights of the unborn and the political targeting of other reproductive rights like in-vitro fertilization.

This pro-life alliance between Catholics, Evangelicals and right-wing political groups — inspired in part by American conservative Christian groups — has had a significant influence on national politics. It appeals to the large number of devout Christians that make up both governmental and civilian entities. 

One tactic the group uses is to put pressure on politicians on every rung of the political leader to clearly define their policies on abortion —  often forcing them to quickly “pick a side” in a highly nuanced and controversial conversation. Historically, they have been able to maintain a strong grip on abortion regulations by positioning their own members in positions of power throughout Latin American bureaucracy and lobbying for stricter regulations on abortion. However, Latin American pro-choice activists have, in recent years, been able to slightly turn the tide due to the decreasing influence of the Church and by using the tactics that have worked for women’s groups in similarly structured Latin American countries.

Yet for these Latin American activists, abortion is not just an ideological issue. The movements in Colombia and Argentina were motivated by specific cases in which lack of access to abortion led to death. These cases were emblematic of the larger, violent implications of keeping the practice illegal in Latin America. 

Statistically, unsafe abortions account for an estimated 4000 deaths in Latin America and the Caribbean every year and at least 10% of all maternal deaths. The fight for safe and legal abortion in Latin America is not just a fight to grant women the ability to make that choice, but also a fight to protect those who are already making it.

The right to legal and safe abortion, in this context, becomes a human rights issue. In 2008, a Salvadoran woman known as Manuela was sentenced to 30 years in prison on suspicion of attempting to terminate her pregnancy. She died only two years after the conviction. 

Soon after, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights declared El Salvador responsible for her death. The public outrage that followed led many Salvadorians to question whether the government was prioritizing culturally-ingrained dogma — like the Christian “family values” that Latin American far-right religious groups have been fighting to protect — over the lives of their citizens. Cases like these, in which either abortion is entirely forbidden or can only follow a strict set of health conditions, are not uncommon in Latin American countries. 

Colombia,  which boasts both the largest economy and Spanish-speaking population in Latin America, has significant cultural influence across the continent. The wave of protests across Latin America in 2021 showed how easily social movements can spread from country to country within the region, and Colombia’s involvement in the demonstrations was able to raise the situation to international attention. When pro-abortion activists in Argentina fought for the legalization of abortion in 2018, an entire movement was launched despite its eventual failure. The recent legislative wins in both countries have proven the ability to change a culture that once seemed unchanging. 

Colombia and Argentina, guided by the voices of thousands of young Latine activists who take to the streets in defense of female autonomy, are paving the way for a massive culture shift in Latin America. As many countries in the region experience an ideological pull left, an opportunity arises to change the narrative surrounding women’s rights in Latin America. Colombia’s historic win points to a possible new future across the continent in which the sexual and reproductive rights of women are not only discussed openly but prioritized in important political conversations.

The post What Colombia’s New Abortion Law Means for Latin America appeared first on Glimpse from the Globe.

With relatively painless set up and easy-to-use interfaces, peer-to-peer payment networks become increasingly popular. After all, services like Zelle, Venmo and its parent company PayPal all enable the instant transfer of funds from one account to another. Money that once took days to move from one account to another now disburses in a matter of minutes. 

However, like many bi-products of the digital age, government regulation has not kept up with the high speed expansion of online payment networks. As a result, digital payment platforms create massive vulnerabilities in global financial systems. In some instances, P2P payment networks enable terrorism financing. In the United States in particular, consumers sacrifice financial security in favor of instantaneous economic transactions. In order to fully understand the destabilizing power of peer-to-peer payment networks, it’s important to first understand its relationship to classic money laundering techniques. 

The idea behind money laundering is relatively simple. Criminals and kleptocrats alike must find ways to disguise ill-begotten funds in order to use them openly on the market without arousing suspicion about their origin. Traditional money laundering schemes like the Black Market Peso Exchange allowed drug cartels in Columbia to launder over $5 billion worth of profits from drug sales in the United States every year. In order to convert drug profits from U.S. dollars to pesos the cartel concocted an intricate scheme involving drug money couriers, money launderers, electronics exporters and importers as well as money brokers. All of these actors worked together to enable drug cartel members to openly spend drug profits without any ramifications.

The scheme starts with on-the-ground cartel agents in cities like Miami that have millions of dollars’ worth of profits from illegal drug sales lying around. The agents then purchase millions of dollars’ worth of consumer electronics like laptops and computers under the guides that the products would be exported for sale abroad. The agent would pay for the products in U.S. dollars and then transport the exports to Columbia. The cartel converts their illicit U.S. dollars into pesos via offloading electronic products. The Columbian electronics importers pay the cartel for the products in pesos and in doing so avoid excessive currency conversion fees. The cartel manages to cleanse its profits of a criminal past and can now freely spend pesos on the free market. Electronic importers are just one example of industries used to launder U.S. dollars into Columbian pesos. The cartel also dealt with cigarettes, liquor, and dishwasher importers. 

The Black Market Peso Exchange represents just one of many run-of-the-mill money laundering schemes. Money laundering remains necessary for the continuation of criminal activity everywhere and so methods constantly evolve to stay ahead of law enforcement. Unlike money laundering of the old world order, today’s digital economy allows criminals to move money legally via thousands of small cash transfers rather than huge lump sums. Peer-to-peer payment providers enable widespread money laundering due to their relatively lax account creation requirements and lightning fast payment transfers. 

Although companies like PayPal explicitly forbid the use of its services for illegal financial transactions, in reality, the company has few means of enforcing such rules. This enforcement failure allows terrorist groups to move money in and out of countries in order to finance attacks. Consider the case of Mohamed Elshinawy, an American citizen who in 2015 was convicted of assisting ISIS coordinate a terrorist attack in the United States. Although the FBI arrested Elshinawy before the attack came to fruition, his ability to procure funding from ISIS via eBay and its payment partner PayPal speaks to the vulnerabilities of online payment methods. 

According to the FBI report, Elshinawy pretended to sell computer printers on eBay and, in return, received funds from ISIS for “operational purposes” via PayPal. Law enforcement intercepted Elshinawy before he could execute an attack, however, his experience points to glaring flaws in the digital financial system primarily the ways in which it promotes anonymity and reduces accountability. Elshinawy’s experience using PayPal is not a unique and similar terrorism financing schemes have been uncovered in places like Indonesia in 2017. 

Despite acknowledging the growing threat posed by digital asset exchange platforms in the documents like the“National Strategy for Combating Terrorist and Other-Illicit Financing” the government has done little to stop the expansion of digital payment platforms. Social norms broaden P2P range and visibility as consumers increasingly turn to apps like Venmo and PayPal for every day transactions. It then becomes more difficult for law enforcement and financial regulators to identify and uncover illegal activities. 

In short, if terrorism financing is the needle in a haystack, P2P platforms quadruple the size of the haystack. Even more alarming is the fact that there are no signs of digital payment trends slowing down. In 2020 alone the use of Venmo has increased by 52% compared to the same time last year. The coronavirus pandemic will only increase consumer dependency on digital payments as individuals and businesses seek contactless payment methods. 

The post Unorthodox Economics: Using PayPal to Finance Terrorism Worldwide appeared first on Glimpse from the Globe.

The earth’s rapidly warming temperatures are not only affecting the life of the coffee plant, but the lives of farmers in coffee exporting countries — the three major exporters being Brazil, Colombia, and Vietnam. These three countries have built entire economies and cultures around coffee. As many as 25 million smallholder farmers worldwide depend on coffee as their staple crop. Unfortunately, monocropping is disastrous in the face of climate change, and many farmers have incorporated bananas or vanilla into their crops in order to protect their livelihoods. Some farmers have left the industry altogether, in search of more reliable work, such as construction.

In Colombia’s Zona Cafeteria, one of the world’s most abundant coffee production regions, coffee cultivation is considered an art. Yet, climate change has wreaked havoc on their Arabica coffee plant. The warmer environment produced by climate change has allowed pests like the Coffee Berry Borer (CBB) to thrive. The CBB beetle has already destroyed approximately 75% of Colombia’s crops, resulting in $550 million worth of damage per year. To dodge the infestation of CBB, farmers have been clearing natural borders and moving to higher elevations, furthering deforestation. Another approach is increasing the use of pesticides, but this may endanger the health of farmers, negatively impact the environment, and lead to greater pesticide resistance.

Prior to the onslaught of climate change, Colombia’s coffee culture was thriving. Coffee production and consumption was booming in the 1920s, and as a result, Colombia enjoyed higher prices of coffee and integration into the international economy. 

Yet, because the coffee market is subject to many booms and busts, international economic cooperation was needed to keep coffee prices stable. To protect major coffee exporting countries like Colombia, the United States proposed the International Coffee Agreement in 1962 to set a price minimum on coffee. As the world’s largest coffee consumer, the U.S. understood that sustaining coffee production relied on stabilizing its supply and demand by providing a price floor to incentivize farmers to keep producing. 

Unfortunately, the volatile coffee market soon fell victim to the effects of climate change as Brazil suffered extreme frosts in the 1970s, causing producers to abandon the ICA. Brazilian farmers could no longer meet their supply quota, resulting in incrementally higher prices. In turn, coffee farmers around the world capitalized on the higher prices by revving up production. In hindsight, this was a poor decision. They overproduced crops, and the market eventually stabilized, leading to lower prices and wasted coffee beans. 

Southeast Asian coffee producing countries have experienced similar repercussions when faced with climate change. The rapidly warming climate has driven away Timor-Leste’s mists and rain, which are vital to growing coffee at higher altitudes. With inconsistent rainfall, the coffee fruit cannot grow properly and may flower at the wrong time. These coffee farmers only harvest once per year, indicating that the irregular rainfall is extremely detrimental. Timor-Leste’s economy depends on coffee, making up 80% of its agricultural exports. Although farmers there work tirelessly to cultivate their beloved coffee plant, they only receive $0.35 USD per 1 kg of coffee, discouraging them from sticking with coffee production. 

Similarly, Vietnam struggles to find solutions as rising temperatures slowly ruin the lush, central highlands ideal for the coffee plant. The Robusta plant grows well on these elevated farms, however, scientists predict the altitudinal range will shift drastically by 2050— from today’s 300-900 meters to 600-1,000 meters. Like Colombia, Vietnam’s warming climate allows the Coffee Berry Borer pest to thrive. Vietnam’s equatorial location has allowed about 600,000 smallholder farmers to build their livelihoods around coffee, but climate change has already caused around 100,000 coffee farmers to transition to other crops or industries.

One potential solution for Vietnam’s central highland coffee farmers is halving their water irrigation use. Oftentimes, these farmers use more than double the water necessary, further depleting their resources. The latest research shows that water consumption for irrigation can be cut down to 400 liters per tree from the typical 1,000 liters, while still producing an equivalent yield. 

Farmers may also need to abandon monocropping and integrate a variety of high-value crops, such as Black Pepper, fruit trees, and vanilla. Although other crops may not be as lucrative as coffee, intercropping is more environmentally and economically sustainable in the long run, as it increases crop resistance to climatic conditions and requires less pesticide and fertilizer use. Additionally, intercropping allows farmers to diversify their income, making them less vulnerable to market volatility.

In addition to intercropping, farmers may need to adopt more scientifically advanced methods of protecting their crops from the effects of climate change. NGOs such as the Commonwealth Agricultural Bureaux International have partnered with scientists from Cafexport, a company focused on sustainable coffee production, to establish an early warning system to escape the blight caused by CBB. By implementing a system that measures temperature, humidity, and berry maturity, farmers can anticipate CBB infestations and apply biopesticides to save crop losses. Yet, many questions remain on how to educate and equip farmers with the knowledge and technology needed to protect their livelihoods from climate change. But technological innovation can only take us so far in a world threatened by environmental degradation and climate change. Ultimately, the fate of the coffee industry, and the fate of the planet as a whole, lies in the hands of governments, corporations, and global citizens. Unless the international community can effectively combat climate change, the future of coffee looks bleak.

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