Writes International Relations student, Ed Inglis.

*The views in the following article are the personal views of the author and are not an official position of the School.*

A unique visit

Thursday 27 March saw the University of Sussex’s International Relations Society second Embassy visit of 2025, this time to the Austrian Embassy in London. Rather unusually, the Ambassador’s Residence is conjoined with the Embassy, both located at 18 Belgrave Square.

This is in large part due to the historic nature of the building, having been designed and built in the early 19^th century, before Austria took residence in 1866. As a result, it is the singular Embassy building remaining in use from the Imperial and Royal-Austro-Hungarian Foreign Service, who had reestablished their diplomatic mission in the UK in 1816 following the Congress of Vienna in the year prior.

However, 18 Belgrave Square was not continually occupied by Austria during this period. Indeed, Austria was officially at war with the UK during both the First and Second World Wars, where the US and then Sweden, and Switzerland were all charged with its temporary safe keeping.

A warm welcome and a tour

So, we arrived not at the entrance to the Embassy, but at the Ambassador’s Residence. Here we were warmly welcomed by Ms Anna Pernegger, the Press and Public Diplomacy Officer for the Austrian Embassy in London. She gave us a wonderful tour of the historic building and its contents, including ornate chandeliers, grand rugs, and oil paintings of former kings, queens, ambassadors, and the like.

One of which was Austria’s first Ambassador to the UK, Paul Anton III (see below), who served in this post for 27 years from 1815 until 1842. Nowadays, much like other foreign embassies, Austrian Ambassadors usually serve for a period of four years in one country.

The current Ambassador

For the current Ambassador, H.E. Bernhard Wrabetz, the UK will be his final diplomatic post after a successful, storied, and much-enjoyed 35-year career. Before training to become a diplomat, His Excellency studied History and French at the University of Vienna and briefly taught these subjects afterwards.

Using these skills, His Excellency served in a wide range of diplomatic posts, inter alia in Mauritania, Portugal, and India, and held various roles not only in the Austrian foreign service but also in the United Nations and other multilateral organisations.

Thus, the Ambassador is himself a strong proponent of Multilateralism, reflecting a core value of Austrian Foreign Policy. This was something Ms Pernegger outlined in her informative presentation on the fundamental elements of Austrian Foreign Policy including Neutrality.

We also participated in a friendly Question & Answer session with the Ambassador himself, where we discussed Brexit, Neutrality, Culture, and Identity. On the first issue, Austria is hopeful that the UK’s government can and will position itself closer to the European Union, without the baggage of Brexit.

The fundamental principle of Neutrality

What primarily stands out in Austrian Foreign Policy is their fundamental principle of Neutrality. This ideal initially took the form of an obligatory commitment following the Allied occupation of Austria in the decade after World War Two, where in return this occupation would cease. Nowadays, Austria is under no international legal or political obligation to maintain this commitment; though, the principle of Neutrality, as enshrined in the Austrian constitution, has become entrenched in the Austrian National Identity. Thus, Austria is unlikely to abandon this ideal.

In practise, Neutrality means that Austria does not host any foreign military’s base on its soil, does not participate in wars abroad and joins no military alliances. In order to promote peace and security, Austria pursues an active and committed neutrality policy, through multilateral diplomacy for example, acting as a mediator and hub for dialogue and via deploying troops to UN, EU and OSCE peacekeeping missions.

Austrian servicemen and women currently serve in eleven missions abroad and the largest Austrian troops, with around 200 personnel respectively, are in Bosnia and Herzegovina (EUFOR), Kosovo (KFOR) and Lebanon (UNIFIL). This keenly illustrates what the Ambassador described as the ‘Avocado’ of Austrian Neutrality. In other words, at the core, there sits an unshakeable commitment to no military involvement. However, around this core sits other elements of neutrality, such as political, that remain soft and malleable.

Indeed, prior to Austria’s accession to the European Union 30 years ago, Austria largely believed in broader political neutrality, especially following the collapse of the USSR, and projected global stability. However, events over the last two decades have firmly shifted this attitude towards strong political alignment with Multilateral institutions such as the EU and the UN, as well as Austria’s neighbours and allies. This is exemplified by the status of Vienna, Austria’s capital, as an international hub.

As a prominent European city, it hosts the headquarters of many organisations, including the UNOV Secretariat, the IAEA, the OSCE and the ODCCP. Furthermore, much like other European Nations, Austria has recently proposed a multitude of defence spending increases in response to the continued Russian invasion of Ukraine, including a 2023 commitment to spend €17 Billion on defence by 2032, and a 2025 proposal to achieve a defence spending rate proportional to 2% of GDP by the same date.

This 2% figure is an ostensible requirement of NATO membership (although many members fail to meet this); yet, Austria is not a member due to its principle of Military Neutrality. It seems unlikely that Austria would seek to join NATO given the strong sense of identity associated with the ideal of Neutrality, but these spending increases illustrate how much Austria has diverged from political neutrality in their quest for security. Unfortunately, the isolationist foreign policy of America under Donald Trump has resulted in the slashing of US funding for UN institutions, which in some cases represented up to 50% of their overall budget. As a consequence, UN institutions in general, including those in Vienna, are not ideally equipped to be as effective. In light of this, direct political alliances and relationships are even more important in achieving security. Though, the relationship between Austria and the UK may not be the best representation of this.

The UK-Austria relationship

Indeed, Bernhard Wrabetz characterised Austria’s relationship with the UK as one founded on culture, that is “very good, but largely superficial”. The surface-level nature of this relationship is attributable in part to Brexit, which as previously mentioned removed the infrastructure necessary for a deep association. Despite this, the UK remains Austria’s 10^th largest trade partner (as of 2022).

A large factor in this relationship is tourism, in particular the ski industry. Indeed, Brits were involved in the creation and promotion of skiing as a leisure activity in Austria, something that now forms a major proportion of Austria’s tourism industry. Tourism itself, now accounts for over 8% of GDP in Austria (and even in this general article on Austrian Tourism, British holidaymakers are directly mentioned).

Thank you to the Embassy for opening their doors

Maybe this is why the embassy were particularly hospitable to our society’s visit. I suspect not.

Since 2023, the Austrian government has operated a scheme that allows “descendants of Nazi victims to obtain citizenship through a declaration”. Upon the completion of the process, new Austrian citizens in the UK are hosted in the Austrian Embassy to celebrate this.

As a result, the Embassy staff, and the Ambassador himself are more than used to hosting events and providing hospitality to their guests. One of these staff was Ms Naomi Hattam, who also works in the Press and Public Diplomacy Office. She, however, is not Austrian – she is one of the many local British staff who work at the embassy.

I was not aware that this was possible – I think I might start learning German!

Written by Sussex alumna, Jamila Travis, (BA International Development 2024)

Food as a means to mobilise against the ‘environmental Nakba’

“What we can do is a small stone in the large mosaic, you add another stone, and we add another one, then we can hopefully complete the whole picture”
(Damir, cited in Simaan, 2017, p. 519)

My most vivid memories of Haifa come in the form of food. Sitting outside one of many Arabic restaurants adorning the road that runs down the slope below the beautiful Bahá’í Temple, lit up at night and shimmering in its full glory. In front of me, a feast for the eyes in the form of labneh, hummus, foul, mujaddara, fattoush, bamieh, warak b’zeit, to name a few. Sitting at a table filled with people drinking, laughing, chatting, and eating, dipping into the huge spread in front of us with fresh, warm flatbread while the sun slowly dips beneath the horizon. The space around us ringing with the echoes of music, and of laughter from other tables – other small communities coming together to share food, to break bread, to talk, and to reconnect. That is what I miss the most.

I myself am not Palestinian. My dad is from Israel; a statement more politically charged than ever since the devastating events on and following October 7th of last year. I often feel the need to follow it up with explanations of his origins and my political standing. His family is not from Israel or Palestine, nor is he Jewish or Arab, but he grew up in Nazareth. When I was 13 he moved back to Israel, after which I would travel twice a year to visit him until the COVID epidemic hit. I have family friends from across Israel, and from a variety of different backgrounds, Palestinian, Jewish, and other. I feel deeply lucky to have grown up with my eyes open to a land filled with so much culture and history. Nevertheless, it is heartbreaking to see how a people whose history, culture, and livelihoods are so wrapped up in the food and land that surrounds them, have been continually removed from both. And yet, I have also seen the many small ways food continues to be a focal point around which seemingly insignificant, yet radical resistance is enacted everyday.

As with so many cultures, food has always been a big part of Palestinian life. Historic Palestine encompassed the land between the Mediterranean Sea and the Jordan River, comprising part of the ‘Fertile Crescent’ where agriculture is supported by the mild climate and productive soil close to water, and where historians think the first farming societies emerged (Albert, 1998). The significance of food is not just its importance in sustaining life. Local food and eating habits are tightly linked to the culture, traditions, and identity of Palestinians. An example is the traditions surrounding marriage in Palestinian culture. Weddings are customarily carried out in the summer after harvest, with harvest fields a common venue for the ceremony. The whole community participates, sharing in the expenses and preparation of food and drinks (Shomali, 2002). Similarly, food and agricultural practices are significant in building community and wellness.

Another example is the communal nature of society, often presenting itself through the sharing of food. For example, Abu-A’ttallah and Um-Yasin describe the ancient practice of leaving some fruit on the trees to be picked by local families who are without land (Simaan, 2017). This generosity is clear to all who visit a Palestinian community, as I myself have experienced, having been heartily welcomed by so many families who want to share their homes and food. In this way, the degradation of Palestinian land is not just an act of war, but also a question of cultural and social environmental justice.

Food and Justice

A fundamental aspect of local Palestinian food is the olive, and the cultivation of olive trees that live for hundreds of years, thus being passed down through the generations. Abu-Nedal poignantly reminisces on the nostalgia linked to the olive: “When the first rain came people knew it was olive harvest season. A beautiful season with memories of everyone helping and sharing food” (ibid., p. 517). Few examples thus show the devastating environmental and cultural impacts of occupation as clearly as the olive tree. As of 2020, almost 1 million olive trees in historic Palestine had been damaged or destroyed (Asi, 2020, p. 212), a campaign which has only grown more intense in light of the recent war. This is not only a threat to traditional cuisine and culture, for which the olive tree has become an important symbol, but also hits local livelihoods, as many are dependent upon the income that olive yields bring. However, the impact for communities is far greater than this.

In 2019, a 60-year-old Palestinian woman, Doha, woke up to her olive groves in the West Bank going up in flames. She told The Pulitzer Center, “I could only sit, watch and cry as all my trees burned… My olive trees are older than anyone who is alive today.” As Doha’s comments show, olive trees are an important cultural symbol for many. More broadly, our connection to food, land and environment thus runs far deeper than solely their utility for money and consumption.

Dispossession Through Conservation

The burning of olive groves is only one aspect of a much wider campaign to repossess and destroy Palestinian land in the territories of historic Palestine. In areas designated as nature reserves, Israeli settlers are permitted to destroy native trees and shrubs, and to cultivate the land themselves. Official designations of which areas constitute nature reserves are thus often exaggerated. In 2011, only 3% of the West Bank was labelled part of a nature reserve (Friends of the Earth, 2013), while 12% of it had been declared so by the Israeli state (Isaac and Hilal, 2011). Braverman (2009) highlights how the planting of pine and cypress trees is a strategy often used to create these ‘reserves’. These trees have become a popular symbol of Jewish rootedness in the land. However, they have devastating impacts upon Palestinian agriculture and the environment, since cypresses and pines produce acidic needles that cover the soil and prevent other plants from growing (Weizman, 2007, cited in Panosetti & Roudart, 2023, p. 9).

The Israeli state continues to dispossess rural Palestinian communities under laws that claim all uncultivated and unregistered land as state property. This is done through a land mapping which purports to be ‘neutral’ but can easily be manipulated by selecting aerial photos that display landscapes when seasonal crops and livestock are not present (Braverman, 2008). Thus, in Israel and the occupied territories, the landscapes have been irreparably altered by the settlements built upon such repossessed land. Driving from Jerusalem to Jericho, you can see the striking contrast between the imposing Israeli settlements seated like fortresses on the tops of hills in the mountainous desert, and on the other hand the scattered Palestinian and Bedouin settlements below.

Such means of dispossessing Palestinians from their land simultaneously separate them from methods of food production. This is not just characterised by dispossession but also restrictions on movement and exchange. Under the Oslo Accords the West Bank was divided up into different areas of control, of which the Israeli state was given the majority as well as the entirety of the border, leading to the severe limiting of movement for Palestinians (Friends of the Earth, 2013, p. 7). This has prevented many from crossing borders for work or to sell their produce (Asi, 2020, p. 208). Thus, the Palestinian population has suffered a complete loss of food sovereignty – the right of local peoples to control their own systems of food production and consumption (Wittman, 2011, p. 87).

The ‘Environmental Nakba’

Controls on movement, access and use also applies to water resources. In occupied Palestine, water is redirected to Israeli settlements and Palestinians have little access to local sources, further impacting their ability to cultivate food, as well as their health. This presents immense environmental concerns in terms of the fast depletion of water from local water sources as well as the high amounts of pollution, having devastating impacts on the seas, rivers, and springs of this holy and historically biodiverse land. The crisis is clearly visible in the depletion of water in the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River, both being integral parts of the landscape. My most vivid memory from my first visit to the area at the age of 5 is the beautiful streams at the Tel Dan Nature Reserve in Upper Galilee that led into the Jordan River. When I returned as a teenager, however, there was little water left, and the dried-up land left the impression of something once beautiful that had now been lost.

These issues are compounded by ongoing pollution. ‘Friends of the Earth’ find that Israel routinely dumps waste and raw sewage into the Occupied Territories, poisoning water supplies, whilst also enforcing restrictions that prevent Palestinian communities from developing adequate wastewater treatment systems. According to Al Jazeera, Israeli settlements are usually built on hills, meaning their wastewater can – and often does – leak into Palestinian villages below, contaminating water supplies, but also polluting cultivated land. Palestinian farmers near settlements have reported poor yield and crop quality, as well as the loss of livestock that have drunk the wastewater.

In this sense, some areas of historic Palestine have become sacrifice zones, areas from which continuous extraction occurs in order to provide resources to another. Water is one example of this, being funnelled away from Palestinian lands and villages that are left thirsty, in order to provide for the new settlements and cities. Thus, certain land, bodies, and cultures are sacrificed to the benefit of others. This extraction has manifested in many ways, and has over the years culminated in the ongoing slow violence that ‘Friends of the Earth’ (2013) refer to as an ‘environmental Nakba’.

Growing Resistance

International aid tends to prioritise short-term needs rather than long-term sovereignty. Asi (2020) highlights that most international funds go towards tangible food goods rather than investment in mechanisms for food production, keeping local communities reliant on aid and trapping them in a system of economic dependency. Furthermore, while this might provide much needed ‘food security’ (ensuring people have access to sufficient and nutritious food (Wittman, 2011, p. 91), it doesn’t replace the role of food production in cultural life. While the building of food sovereignty in Palestine may appear an unthinkable task in the context of continued occupation and brutality, the many examples of ‘agro-resistance’ that have been enacted over the years provide lessons for movements across the world.

Al Jazeera talks about ‘guerilla gardening’ as a popular means of enacting non-violent resistance in Palestine, planting trees to combat illegal land-grabs and reclaim pockets of neglected terrain. Olive tree planting has become a vital component of everyday agricultural resistance, and indeed a broader cultural symbol of Palestinian resistance. They are considered the most effective way of preventing state possession of land through the land-mapping described above, appearing on photos where seasonal field crops and animals may not (Panosetti & Roudart, 2023). They also grow with little labour, while olive oil can be sold on domestic markets, avoiding export restrictions.

This type of resistance is referred to by Simaan (2017) as an example of ‘Sumud’ (ﺻﻣود), meaning ‘steadfastness’, describing actions and values through which people persevere and hold on to their land, communities and culture. Simaan gives the example of when she helped a family plant 500 olive saplings that were uprooted a few days later. However, the next year they planted more trees, determined to continue until their opponents gave up. The trees were still there when Simaan revisited later that year (ibid.). A wide range of agricultural activities have been carried out across Palestine in the name of resistance and food sovereignty. Organisations like the Union of Agricultural Work Committees help Gazans capture rooftop rainwater to counteract water shortages and teach residents to cultivate gardens in their homes to reduce food-spending (Salah, 2018 cited in Asi, 2020). Meanwhile, food cooperatives like the Ma’an (‘together’) Permaculture Center grow food for local populations (ibid.). This variety of everyday forms of resistance provide many an important sense of hope, showing that even seemingly small actions can have big impacts.

However, this spark of hope has diminished for many in light of the conditions in the current conflict. According to the UN, by January 2024 Gazans already made up 80% of all people facing famine or catastrophic hunger worldwide. Additionally, while all Gazans have faced some level of food insecurity, the UN now also estimates that 16% of the entire population will face Phase 5, or catastrophic, food insecurity, with 70% of crop fields having been destroyed. Thus, not only has the level of food sovereignty violently decreased with the destruction of land, but short-term food security has itself become incredibly scarce. This is because Israeli forces have been blocking aid from entering the occupied territories, to the extent that Joyce Msuya, the acting Under-Secretary General for Humanitarian Affairs and Emergency Relief Coordinator for the UN, reported that absolutely no food was able to enter Gaza from the 2nd to the 15th October, and she warned there is now barely any food left to distribute.

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In these conditions, it is unrealistic to look to agro-resistance as the way out of the current situation, but without an understanding of the importance of food we miss a critical aspect of cultural erasure in warfare. This is central to the Palestinian experience, both within historic Palestine and among the diaspora, as is the importance of cultural resurgence and resistance against this form of erasure. In addition to the land, food culture is itself a target of settler repossession. Arabic food sign-posted as ‘Israeli’ tabbouleh, ‘Israeli’ falafel, or ‘Israeli’ arak may seem odd to someone who has grown up eating these delicious dishes, but food and cultural appropriation has played an important role in the ‘return’ of Jewish populations from different backgrounds and cultures to biblical Israel. In this context, retaining, sharing, and discussing food culture is not just nostalgic but also deeply political.

Food as Memory

Stam and Shohat (1994) find that the counter-act to appropriation is for writers, poets, and filmmakers to create texts of their own history. One way this can be done in the realm of food is through cookbooks and food writing. In ‘Palestine Writes’, Anderson gives the example of Assil, who owns a Palestinian restaurant and bakery in San Francisco. “For me, being Palestinian, my food is a political identity. I’m very intentional about calling my food Palestinian because we’re at a point in history in which there’s an intentional erasure, a severing of people from their food ways…” There are now a number of Palestinian cookbooks, certainly more than existed in the past. My own well-worn copy of ‘Zaitoun’ (زﯾﺗون) – ‘olive’ – contains the recipes for all of my favourite Arabic meals, wrapped in a beautiful illustrative cover with flowers, citrus fruits, and pomegranates.

Food provides a unique vehicle for remembering. Transporting displaced people back to their homes and families. This provides more than just nostalgia – it provides hope. By preserving the heritage of Palestine, the dream of returning to one’s land, food, and family is kept alive, and this in turn keeps people determined to fight, sparking other forms of radical activism. The first time my family cooked Palestinian food was with some friends we met at a local community garden, who are refugees from Palestine. Together, we cooked flatbreads, mujaddara, fattoush, and foul. While I’m sure our attempts at these traditional meals were far below the standard they would have been used to growing up, even the semblance of their childhood meals was emotional for them. They had not eaten those dishes in years, nor had they seen their families or mothers who used to cook it for them, who are all still in Gaza today.

Food is also a powerful agent in bringing people together in discussion and in community. It can help people connect, tear down walls, and sometimes it is the start of uncomfortable conversations. While food cannot replace other forms of activism, it can help engender awareness, recognition, and healing. Contrary to how it may seem, this is more important than ever in the context of the current war. Palestinians across the world are facing the draining psychological impacts of the occupation. In The Guardian, Bauck cites Laila El-Haddad, co-author of the 2013 cookbook The Gaza Kitchen, who says the more she wrote about guns the more jaded she became. She argues the importance of food in showing the beauty of Palestinian culture, telling the story in a different way. In the same article, Wafa Shami, the food photographer and recipe developer behind ‘Palestine in a Dish’, similarly says:

I just want to show off the beauty of Palestine, the humanity, the culture, away from the politics. Images in the mainstream media here basically show Palestinians as evil, angry, throwing stones or burning tires. But Palestinians are so much more – our art, our music, our food.

Shami discusses the hesitancy she has had sharing food imagery at a time when many face starvation, but how she has been ‘moved to happy tears’ by how many people have tagged her in pictures of the Palestinian food her recipes have taught them to cook. “When you share a meal with somebody, you are connected on a deeper level. We have a saying back home that goes something like, ‘I’m connected to that person because we broke bread together’” (ibid.).

Cooking is a vital way to connect culture and community, and for me it is an opportunity to reflect on what I have left behind in Haifa. Even more so, it has opened up a new world of activism that I did not know before. I spent a beautiful day in April putting my newly acquired cooking skills to the test in the shed of a local community garden, where I and a few other women spent the day cooking mujaddara, labneh, hummus, falafel, tabbouleh, and tahini from scratch, using organic produce they had grown. All funds were donated directly to the Union of Agricultural Work Committee in Palestine. This would support their seed-sharing programme, helping to give people in Palestine access to food now, whilst offering hope for planting projects in the long-term. I was moved that day by the sight of so many people gathering outside to eat together, talk, and open their minds in support of such an important cause. Breaking bread, sharing stories, and remembering may not offer solutions to our global crises – but there are certainly worse places to start.

This blog was written as part of the third-year International Development module ‘Political Ecology and Environmental Justice’

Bibliography:

Albert, J, et al. (1998) ‘Biodiversity and Sustainable Agriculture in the Fertile Crescent’, Yale School of Forestry & Environmental Studies Bulletin Series, 103(98), pp. 31-57. https://elischolar.library.yale.edu/yale_fes_bulletin/98

Asi, Y. (2020) ‘Achieving Food Security Through Localisation, Not Aid: “De-development” and Food Sovereignty in the Palestinian Territories’, Journal of Peacebuilding & Development, 15(2), pp. 205-218. Doi: 10.1177/1542316620918555.

Braverman, I. (2008) ‘‘The Tree Is the Enemy Soldier’: A Sociolegal Making of War Landscapes in the Occupied West Bank.’ Law & Society Review, 42(3), pp. 449–482. https://www.jstor.org/stable/29734134

Braverman, I. (2009) Planted Flags: Trees, Land and Law in Israel/Palestine. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Friends of the Earth International. (2013) Environmental Nakba: Environmental injustice and violations of the Israeli occupation of Palestine: A report of the Friends of the Earth International observer mission to the West Bank. https://www.foei.org/publication/environmental-nakba-environmental-injustice-and-vio lations-of-the-israeli-occupation-of-palestine/

Forensic Architecture. (2024) ‘No Traces of Life’: Israel’s Ecocide in Gaza 2023-2024. https://forensic-architecture.org/investigation/ecocide-in-gaza

Isaac, J & Hilal, J. (2011). ‘Palestinian landscape and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict’, International Journal of Environmental Studies, 68(4), pp. 413-429. Doi: 10.1080/00207233.2011.582700.

Massad, S & Hmidat, M. (2016) ‘Farming, Water, Food Sovereignty, and Nutrition in Occupied Palestinian Territories’, International Journal of Food and Nutritional Science, 3(5), pp. 1-13. https://doi.org/10.15436/2377-0619.16.932

Panosetti, F & Roudart, L. (2023) ‘Land Struggle and Palestinian farmers’ livelihoods in the West Bank: between de-agrarianization and anti-colonial resistance’, The Journal of Peasant Studies, (November 10), pp. 1-23. Doi: 10.1080/03066150.2023.2277748.

Red Nation. (2021) The Red Deal: Indigenous action to save our Earth – Part III: Heal Our Planet. The Red Nation[Online]. http://therednation.org/environmental-justice/

Shomali, M. (2002) ‘Land, Heritage and Identity of the Palestinian People’, Palestine-Israel Journal of Politics, Economics, and Culture, 8(4). https://www.pij.org/articles/804/land-heritage-and-identity-of-the-palestinian-people

Simaan, J. (2017) ‘Olive growing in Palestine: A decolonial ethnographic study of collective daily-forms-of-resistance’, Journal of Occupational Science, 24(4), pp. 510-523. Doi: 10.1080/14427591.2017.1378119.

Stam, R and Shohat, E. (1994) ‘Contested Histories: Eurocentrism, Multiculturalism, and the Media’. In Goldberg, D (Ed.), Multiculturalism: A Critical Reader. Oxford: Blackwell.

Wittman, H. (2011) ‘Food Sovereignty: A New Rights Framework for Food and Nature?’,

Environment and Society, (December 2011). Doi: 10.3167/ares.2011.020106.

Written by Finlay Etherington

kyun banaate ho mujhe mazhab ka nishaana
main ne to kabhi khud ko musalmaan nahi maanaa
apne hi watan mein hoon magar aaj akeli
urdu hai mera naam main hoon ‘khusrav’ ki paheli

Why do you make me a target of religion?
I have never considered myself solely a Muslim.
I am in my own homeland, yet today I stand alone.
My name is Urdu; I am the enigma of Khusro

2 years ago, sat in the foyer of a hotel in New Delhi during the peak of the monsoon season, I was chatting to the reception staff in Hindi over a glass of chai. Half-way through the conversation, the owner of the hotel remarked “You are sounding like a Muslim, and we don’t like Muslims”. I decided to refrain from using too many words which would, in their eyes, be considered alien to Hindi, but are nonetheless popular in Bollywood songs and daily-speech. This language to which they referred was Urdu, a language which is mutually intelligible with Hindi, born in the very area which the hotel was situated, the heart of Old Delhi. Shaped by the confluence of local Indian languages interacting with Persian, Arabic and Turkish, Urdu’s origins are undoubtedly Indian. This interaction has since sparked a desire to understand the Hindi-Urdu nexus, and what effect this kind of rhetoric is having on those who claim it as a native language (Ahl-e-zabaan).

Last spring I was fortunate enough to be awarded the Nicola Anderson Award, which funded the fieldwork, for my thesis I carried out across the Hindi-belt during the summer of ‘24. The purpose of my research was to explore the current and future status of Urdu in Northern India, which I will link to my wider thesis concerning changes to Muslim identity in Northern India. So began a 3 week period of fieldwork stretching from the capital Delhi, across the Punjab, and into Jammu and Kashmir.

 Whilst I knew Northern India well and can speak Hindi / Urdu, this was my first time conducting research, and I felt slightly out of my depth to begin with, wondering how I was going to pull together all of the links. One of the major hurdles was trying to organise semi-structured interviews requiring formal, written consent – it turned out to be quite a nightmare. Through a contact at the University of Sussex, I had been kindly offered a chance to be hosted in Jammu, where I was assured I would have access to participants – however, I was really hoping for at least one interview before leaving the capital.

Whilst acclimatising to the weather in Delhi, I set aside a few days to organise the admin-side of the fieldwork and to get my bearings. To pay my respect, I visited the shrine of one of the greatest Urdu poets, Mirza Ghalib. In the vicinity of his tomb in the Nizamuddin area of Delhi can be found the Ghalib Academy, set up in honour of the 19^th century poet and also the Sufi shrine of Nizamuddin Auliya and his spiritual disciple, Amir Khusrow. Amir Khusrow is known as the ‘father of Qawwali’, a Sufi devotional style of music found in the sub-continent. During this time I ended up meeting countless people with whom I discussed my project and I attempted to invite some of these people for an interview, however, the vast majority of the time people were far happier to simply say ‘yes that’s fine, go ahead’ but weren’t keen on signing formal documents. This would set the tone for much of the trip and I’d often lose the chance of an interesting interview.

However, having left Delhi, I managed to interview 7 people in one day due to a contact I had, which provided me with the momentum I needed to reach my target. The interviewees ranged from esteemed professors and scholars of Urdu, to faculty staff and students, Hindus and Muslims, native and non-native Urdu speakers. The initial shock and confusion of me turning up at a university department for Urdu slowly turned into genuine interest and joy as I explained my reason for coming and the topic of my research. Immediately someone was sent for chai. Soon around 8-9 of us were sat in the professor’s office, quite informally, chatting away. Having spent the whole afternoon in the offices and corridors of that department under a slowly revolving ceiling-fan, it’s fair to say my brain was pretty overloaded. At the time, and even now, I struggle to believe I was sat reciting famous poems (she’rs) with some of India’s leading academics in Urdu. This provided me with the momentum I needed and more interviews followed with a varied selection of participants, ranging from quite pure-Hindi (shudh) speaking Hindu secondary school teachers, friends I have met during my time in India, friends of friends, a Sikh bookstore owner, to teachers at a madrasa in Uttar Pradesh. This variety of perspectives has been extremely insightful. Undoubtedly, the rise of English in the sub-continent and it being synonymous with being well-educated and a language of the elite was a key reference point. Many also pointed to a neglect of Urdu, particularly in the education system.

My methodology could have certainly been improved by specifying for more informal means of obtaining consent, for example verbal consent which would have been more appropriate for several scenarios I found myself in. Despite this, the pre-arranged, semi-structured interviews that I did carry out went well. Only 2 out of 15 of these interviews were in English however, which often left me unable to fully express myself when wanting to respond in my target language to a sometimes 2 minute monologue about a very complex socio-political topic. I realise now that working with a trusted interpreter would have been beneficial to build on my participants responses.

As institutional support for the development of Urdu in India continues to decline, its speakers are left grappling with a cultural landscape which is rapidly changing. My research results are yet to be properly analysed and solid conclusions drawn, and there are certainly worrying trends which I observed. What I can say now for certain, however, is that this trip has highlighted the resilience of the individuals I’ve met who are actively engaged in keeping this language and its linguistic heritage alive, even in the face of rapid technological changes to how language and literature is read and consumed.

I look forward to beginning my thesis and piecing together the interviews I carried out as I come to the end of my time at the University of Sussex.

Written by Gabriel Cavalcante (MA Environment, Development and Policy)

The expansion of livestock farming in the Brazilian Amazon has transformed one of the world’s most crucial ecosystems into a global beef supplier. This economic growth has come with significant environmental and social costs, as livestock farming remains a principal driver of deforestation, biodiversity loss, and greenhouse gas emissions in the region. This article examines the political economy of livestock expansion in the Amazon through the lens of Degrowth theory.

Global demand and government incentives have driven the expansion of this sector, making Brazil one of the largest greenhouse gas emitters due to deforestation in the region. This growth model has far-reaching consequences: it not only accelerates environmental degradation but also threatens Indigenous land rights and displaces rural communities. By examining these dynamics, we can explore how Degrowth theory challenges the prioritisation of economic expansion at all costs, offering alternative models that centre on ecological conservation and social equity.

The Amazonian livestock industry is significantly shaped by the global neoliberal model, which promotes GDP growth as an ultimate benchmark of progress. Global demand for beef—primarily from Global North nations—drives large-scale cattle production in the Amazon, incentivizing extensive deforestation to create pastures for livestock. In 2023, Brazil exported a record 2.29 million tons of beef to 157 countries across all continents, reinforcing its position as a major global supplier (ABIEC, 2024). This demand is underpinned by a complex web of international trade agreements and corporate interests that prioritise low-cost production. The ongoing trend of resource extraction from developing regions, historically rooted in colonial exploitation, persists under globalisation. This dynamic enables wealth accumulation and consumption in developed nations while imposing ecological burdens on regions like the Amazon, which serves to supply commodities such as beef to the global market.

The resulting dynamic pressures Brazil to cater to these markets by scaling up livestock output, often at the expense of its environmental commitments. These policies and practices reflect a broader failure to recognize the ecological cost of this model, where the value of ecosystems is reduced to their immediate economic outputs rather than their role in sustaining life and climate stability. This paradigm supports the intensive exploitation of natural resources, often with little regard for the ecological degradation and social inequities it incurs. As Sullivan (2009) critiques, this capitalist approach treats environmental crises as opportunities for profit, where ecosystems are commodified for market gains, despite the long-term harm inflicted on both biodiversity and the communities that depend on these lands.

The expansion of livestock in the Amazon is evident, with states like Pará and Rondônia showing significant increases in herd size—Pará saw an 8.1% growth between 2013 and 2023, while Rondônia reached approximately 13.8 million heads in 2023  (ABIEC, 2024). This expansion shows that more areas are being converted into pastures, a process often associated with deforestation in the Amazon. According to Amazônia 2030, over 65% of deforested land in the Amazon is now dedicated to low-efficiency pastures, supporting fewer than one head of cattle per hectare. Moreover, in major livestock-producing states such as Mato Grosso, Pará, and Rondônia, around 30% of Brazil’s national cattle herd is concentrated within the Amazon biome (A Concertation for Amazon, 2020). The environmental impacts of this expansion are profound. Deforestation linked to livestock farming has positioned the Amazon as the largest emitter of greenhouse gases in Brazil. In 2022, deforestation accounted for 97% of Brazil’s total gross emissions, reaching 1.081 billion tons of CO2e. of these emissions from deforestation, 75% (837 million tons) originated from the Amazon (SEEG, 2023).

Figure 1: Annual Total Deforestation in the Amazon (1987–2023)

Figure 2: Accumulated Deforestation in the Amazon (1986–2023)

The government of Brazil, historically incentives for agribusiness, with subsidies, tax breaks, and favourable land-use policies for large agricultural corporations create a growth-friendly environment that overlooks forest. While the concept of “green growth” is often promoted as a middle ground—suggesting that economic growth and environmental preservation can coexist—these policies reveal a fundamental contradiction. As Jacobs (2013) argues, the green growth model, while claiming to align economic expansion with environmental care, often serves as a rhetorical device to justify continued exploitation under the guise of “sustainability”​. Policies like REDD (Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation), promoted by the Brazilian government under the guise of sustainable development, aim to create financial incentives for forest conservation by monetizing carbon sequestration. However, these approaches often reduce forests merely to their carbon storage potential, overlooking broader ecological and social values while failing to address the root causes of deforestation (Humphreys, 2013). Humphreys argues that although REDD recognizes the public good nature of forests, it still prioritises economic metrics over the preservation of complex ecosystems. This lack of enforcement allows agribusinesses to operate with near impunity, thereby advancing growth in a way that prioritises economic gains over ecological limits.

This political economy is also marked by a disregard for the local and Indigenous populations affected by livestock expansion. Indigenous territories and protected lands are increasingly threatened by encroachment, as the push for cattle production reshapes land use across the Amazon. As Sullivan (2009) underscores, this “crisis capitalism” exploits not only the land but also the labour and livelihoods of local communities, leading to displacement and the disruption of cultural ties to the land​. The prioritisation of export-driven livestock production manifests in an inequitable distribution of benefits, where profits are funnelled to large agribusinesses while the environmental and social costs are borne by local communities. Moreover, this approach disregards the ecological value of the Amazon as a carbon sink, which is crucial for mitigating climate change globally.

Hickel and Kallis (2020) argue that the Degrowth framework underscores the incompatibility of continuous economic expansion with the ecological limits of our planet, advocating for a shift from growth-centred policies to ones prioritising ecological and social well-being. From this perspective, the Amazon’s role should transition from a production zone to a preserved ecosystem, where the forest’s value is derived not from its capacity for cattle grazing but from its ecological functions and cultural significance. Degrowth proponents call for reducing dependency on global markets that exploit natural resources, advocating instead for local economies that respect ecological boundaries and prioritise community well-being.

An analysis of livestock farming in the Amazon reveals that, although its expansion is promoted as an economic strategy, it has not yielded significant development gains for the region. Productivity remains low, characterised by suboptimal land use and limited employment and income generation. Data shows that less than one-third of the potential production capacity is utilised, making the current model unsustainable both environmentally and economically (Barreto, 2021).

Degraded pastures present a further challenge, the study notes that 59% of pastures in Brazil are degraded, affecting profitability. Restoring these areas requires investments that many rural landowners either cannot or choose not to make, given the abundance of land and economic incentives for deforestation. Rather than reinvesting in the land, owners often opt to clear new areas, perpetuating a cycle of degradation and expansion that fails to foster economic progress for local populations. This is reflected in low formalisation rates and lower-than-average earnings for sector workers—34% below regional averages, according to the Amazonia 2030 report.

Livestock expansion also does not significantly improve socioeconomic indicators, such as education, health, and sanitation, which remain precarious in the Amazon. The lack of investment in rural infrastructure, technical assistance, and education limits innovation and productivity improvements, leaving most Amazonian municipalities among the lowest-ranked in these indicators (Barreto, 2021). This reality reinforces that a development model based on pasture expansion fails to deliver the anticipated economic benefits.

The Amazonia 2030 report further highlights that deforestation is unnecessary for economic growth. From 2004 to 2012, as policies reduced deforestation by more than 80%, the Amazon’s agricultural GDP still increased by 45%. This shows that enhancing productivity in already deforested areas could support production without further expansion—a core Degrowth principle, which critiques growth pursued at the environment’s expense. Efforts should focus on improving efficiency and intensifying production within deforested areas, avoiding additional forest destruction.

To reduce deforestation in the Amazon, a multifaceted approach must prioritise sustainable land use, robust monitoring, and local community involvement, aligned with Degrowth principles that advocate for ecological and social prioritisation over relentless economic expansion. According to Barreto (2021), it is crucial to implement public policies that encourage the intensification of livestock practices, ensuring that current agricultural lands are used more efficiently to curb the need for further land clearing. Enforcing the Brazilian Forest Code (Law 12,651/2012), alongside securing land tenure, could help curb illegal expansion and deforestation— an issue due to unclear property rights across 30% of the Amazon. This law establishes protections for native vegetation through Permanent Preservation Areas (APPs) and Legal Reserves on rural lands, aiming to balance sustainable land use with environmental conservation while promoting land tenure regularisation and economic incentives for preservation.

It’s necessary developing comprehensive regional planning that involves traditional and Indigenous populations along with local governments is critical for sustainable management. This recommendation supports Degrowth’s call for decentralising economies and empowering local governance to uphold environmental protection. The promotion of sustainable land use, such as restoring degraded pastures and forest lands, provides a pathway to maintain ecological functions without expansion into untouched areas. Payments for Environmental Services (PES) to Indigenous communities and legal recognition of these territories can strengthen forest conservation, ensuring that these lands contribute to climate regulation and biodiversity conservation​. But, without immediate action, the continued exploitation of the Amazon Rainforest for short-term gains risks pushing this critical ecosystem beyond the point of recovery.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

A Concertation for Amazon. (2020). Sectorial Overview of Livestock Farming in the Amazon. Available at: here (Accessed: 31st October, 2024).

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Brazil. Law No. 12,651, of May 25, 2012. Provides for the protection of native vegetation, Official Gazette of the Union, Brasília, DF, May 28, 2012. Available at: here (Accessed: 31th October, 2024).

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Humphreys, D. (2013). Forest Politics and the Global Climate Regime: Reducing Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation (REDD+). In The Handbook of Global Climate and Environment Policy.

Observatório do Clima. Analysis of Greenhouse Gas Emissions and Their Implications for Brazil’s Climate Goals. SEEG, 2023. Available at: here (Accessed: 31th October, 2024).

Sullivan, S. (2009). The Natural Capital Myth, and Other Tales of Conservation, Capital Accumulation, and Scarcity. Radical Anthropology.