Rio de Janeiro’s New Anti-Abortion Law Sparks National Backlash Amid Rising Threats to Reproductive Rights in Brazil

A newly enacted law in Rio de Janeiro has ignited fierce national and international controversy by requiring all public hospitals and clinics under the municipal government to display anti-abortion signs. Among the mandated messages is the provocative statement: “Did you know that the unborn child is discarded as hospital waste?” This move, critics argue, is part of a broader campaign by conservative forces in Brazil to erode already highly restricted abortion rights.

Reproductive rights advocates and legal experts have condemned the law, viewing it as part of a systemic strategy to stigmatize abortion and intimidate women seeking legal procedures. In Brazil — Latin America’s largest country — abortion is legal only in three cases: when the pregnancy is the result of rape, when it endangers the pregnant person’s life, or when the fetus suffers from anencephaly, a fatal congenital condition. Yet even within these narrow boundaries, access is increasingly obstructed.

Abortion Rights Under Siege in Bolsonaro’s Shadow

In recent years, efforts to curtail reproductive freedom have gained momentum, especially during and after the presidency of far-right leader Jair Bolsonaro. His allies — including politicians, judicial figures, and members of Brazil’s Federal Medical Council — have aggressively pushed to restrict access to abortion, even within the legal framework.

One of the most alarming developments was in São Paulo, where the city’s main public hospital ceased providing legal abortion services. The decision came at the directive of São Paulo’s mayor, a loyal Bolsonaro supporter. Meanwhile, a congressman from Bolsonaro’s political party introduced a bill that would punish abortions after 22 weeks — even in cases of rape — with up to 20 years in prison.

Additionally, the Federal Medical Council banned doctors from using the WHO-recommended abortion procedure for pregnancies over 22 weeks. Although the Supreme Court later ruled the ban illegal, the attempt illustrates the pervasive reach of Bolsonaro-aligned ideologies in Brazil’s medical and legal institutions.

Anthropologist Sounds Alarm on “Scattered Authoritarianism”

Debora Diniz, a professor at the University of Brasília and one of Brazil’s foremost experts on reproductive rights, believes the rise in regional anti-abortion actions marks a troubling evolution. Where once the battleground was largely at the federal level, the fight has now become fragmented — and, in many ways, more dangerous.

“This is a direct result of the Bolsonaro years in power,” Diniz said, noting that his administration’s ideologies have survived beyond his presidency. “Authoritarian governments in Latin America have a particular trait: they don’t just disappear when their leader leaves office.”

Diniz herself was forced into exile in 2018 due to death threats received after her advocacy for abortion decriminalization. She underscores how the ideological capture of institutions like Brazil’s medical council continues to influence policy across states and municipalities.

A Patchwork of Persecution Across Brazil

The patchy and punitive landscape of abortion access is especially evident in cases like that of a 13-year-old rape victim in Goiás. After being denied a legal abortion at a hospital, the girl had to seek help from the courts. A judge initially blocked the procedure by banning any method that could end the fetus’s life. It took a higher court ruling to finally authorize the abortion.

In the same state, another law was enacted requiring women to listen to the fetus's heartbeat before undergoing a legal abortion — an emotionally manipulative tactic frequently condemned by reproductive health experts.

Political Calculations in Rio Spark Outrage

Ironically, the new signage law in Rio was approved not by a Bolsonaro ally but by Mayor Eduardo Paes, a centrist politician aligned with current leftist President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. The law, proposed by three far-right city council members, was not vetoed by Paes — a move widely interpreted as politically calculated ahead of his expected run for state governor next year.

Under the law, hospitals must now display signs that include:

• “You have the right to give your baby up for adoption anonymously … Give life a chance!”
   
• “Abortion can lead to consequences such as infertility, psychological problems, infections and even death.”
   

Medical experts and human rights advocates have slammed the second message as scientifically inaccurate. “There is no evidence that safe, medically supervised abortions cause such effects,” said Diniz. “This law is perverse because it is based on a false narrative of ‘care’ for women and girls, when in fact it is persecuting them.”

Legal Challenge Filed Against Rio’s Anti-Abortion Law

On Tuesday, a public prosecutor filed a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of the new law, urging the courts to block the city from enforcing it. The case is currently awaiting judicial review. If upheld, it could set a legal precedent for countering similar local laws in other regions of Brazil.

As the court battle unfolds, the law continues to stoke anxiety among reproductive health providers and rights defenders. With only 4% of Brazil’s municipalities equipped to offer legal abortion services, such symbolic — and misleading — signage could have far-reaching effects on public perception and access to healthcare.

 The Victorian Liberal Party has approved a $1.5 million loan to former party leader John Pesutto to help cover legal costs awarded to fellow MP Moira Deeming in a high-profile defamation case. The move is aimed at preventing Pesutto’s financial ruin and avoiding a potential by-election in his marginal seat of Hawthorn, which party insiders fear they could lose.

The decision, reached by a 19-member administrative committee on Thursday night, followed a secret ballot—an unusual step taken to avoid factional fallout within the deeply divided Liberal Party. The funds will be drawn from the party’s investment arm, Vapold, and provided under strict conditions.

Moira Deeming successfully sued Pesutto after he falsely implied she was sympathetic to neo-Nazis and white supremacists. The court ordered Pesutto to pay Deeming $2.3 million, a sum that was largely funded by New South Wales property developer Hilton Grugeon. The Liberal Party’s loan will cover most of this amount, with the rest secured through private donors whose identities have largely remained confidential.

Deeming criticized the party’s decision to step in financially, calling it a violation of Liberal principles. "It’s against the grain of everything we believe as Liberals," she said. However, Pesutto’s supporters defended the move, arguing that his actions as opposition leader should have been indemnified by the party and that the financial support will prevent a costly political crisis.

According to the loan agreement, Pesutto must offer his superannuation savings as collateral, secure personal guarantors, and commit to long-term fundraising to repay the debt. The loan will carry a commercial interest rate of around 6%, and some supporters believe the party may earn nearly $1 million in interest over the repayment period.

The decision was not without controversy. Some committee members expressed strong opposition to the loan, arguing party funds should be reserved for campaign efforts rather than internal legal battles. Sources noted that those opposed to the loan were not informed about the proposal ahead of the meeting, a move that further fueled tensions.

Matthew Guy, Dan Tehan, Greg Mirabella, and party treasurer Karyn Sobels—also a Vapold director—were among the committee members involved in the decision. In a letter to party members following the vote, committee chair Richard Davis said the resolution was in the party’s best interest. “Settling this matter once and for all will end the ongoing commentary that is letting Labor get away with their appalling performance,” he wrote.

Meanwhile, opposition spokesperson Brad Battin declined to comment on the issue during a press conference, emphasizing that he was more focused on issues like crime, which he said mattered more to Victorians than party infighting.

Last week, Deeming had offered to delay payment collection on the condition that her preselection for the 2026 state election was secured. The Liberal Party rejected the offer. Sources within the party say Deeming may face a challenge for her spot on the Western Metropolitan ticket when preselection begins later this year.

Notably, Hilton Grugeon had separately offered Pesutto a $1 million loan with monthly interest repayments, secured by Pesutto’s family home, under the condition that he not challenge for party leadership during the loan term. Pesutto declined, citing the offer as inappropriate.

Despite the political and ethical complexities surrounding the case, the Liberal Party’s move to shield Pesutto from bankruptcy underscores the broader internal strife and looming electoral challenges facing the opposition ahead of the 2026 Victorian state election.

In a highly choreographed operation cloaked in secrecy, the Kremlin staged an alleged drone attack on President Vladimir Putin’s helicopter during his recent visit to the Kursk region, according to multiple Russian government insiders. The incident, broadcast through state media as a dramatic brush with death, was carefully designed to portray Putin as a wartime hero willing to share in the sacrifices of ordinary Russians.

Sources speaking to The Moscow Times on condition of anonymity revealed that the stunt was orchestrated to improve Putin’s image and counter rising public dissatisfaction with the war in Ukraine, now grinding through its third year with no clear end in sight. “The message is clear: if the president himself is risking his life, so must the Russian people,” one government official explained.

Putin’s visit to Kursk — his first since Russian forces pushed out Ukrainian troops — was not announced until after he returned to Moscow. Despite reports claiming his helicopter came under fire from Ukrainian drones, insiders insist that Putin was never in real danger. On the contrary, security protocols were “off the charts,” with every aspect of the trip meticulously planned to eliminate any real threat.

“No one would ever allow such criminal negligence. Not even in a nightmare,” said a source familiar with the president’s security detail.

In recent weeks, Russia has seen an uptick in Ukrainian drone strikes, flight cancellations, and mobile network outages, particularly since the May 9 Victory Day celebrations. In this context, the Kremlin’s PR maneuver served to reinforce Putin’s persona as a resilient, hands-on leader despite the escalating domestic toll of the war.

The Russian Ministry of Defense leveraged the event, declaring via state media that Putin’s helicopter had been at the “epicenter” of repelling a massive drone attack. But The Moscow Times found discrepancies in the reporting. For instance, longtime Kremlin correspondent Andrei Kolesnikov covered the trip without actually being in Kursk. His article, based on secondhand accounts and video footage, failed to clarify his absence.

Unlike standard presidential visits, Putin’s press pool and professional videographers were excluded. Instead, footage was captured by unnamed individuals — one of whom was identified as a security officer. Analysts noticed a sharp drop in production quality, with shaky camera work and poor sound quality—highly uncharacteristic of Kremlin-released material.

“This wasn’t your usual state-crafted visual propaganda,” a state television cameraman said anonymously. “You could tell this was a rush job — the visuals and sound were clearly off.”

Behind the scenes, Putin’s security apparatus is known for being deeply secretive and multilayered. According to former Russian officials, each trip involves hundreds of personnel from the Presidential Security Service (SBP), Federal Security Service (FSB), National Guard, and Interior Ministry. Tactics include decoy convoys, parallel travel routes, and even backup aircraft to mask the president’s movements.

Vitaly Brizhaty, a former Federal Guard Service (FSO) officer who defected after the Ukraine invasion, stated that even top officials are often kept in the dark about Putin’s exact location. “He doesn’t even trust his own people. Only his inner circle knows where he really is.”

Security measures are so extreme that anyone meeting Putin must pass comprehensive health screenings. “In 2025, I had to take a PCR test for COVID, the flu, and acute respiratory infections before I could be near him,” one attendee recalled.

Putin never flies alone, and particularly not near active conflict zones. In peaceful regions, his aircraft is typically accompanied by military jets — highlighting the implausibility of an unprotected trip into a zone vulnerable to Ukrainian drone strikes.

Military and security experts believe the entire episode was a calculated media performance. Former Ukrainian Security Service officer Ivan Stupak called the claim of a near-miss “absurd” and said it would amount to a massive security failure if true. “Everyone in the SBP and FSO should’ve been fired,” he said.

Instead, he believes the Kremlin achieved its goal: manufacturing a narrative of heroism for Putin, while glorifying the security services as working under extreme pressure. Andrei Soldatov, a renowned expert on Russia’s intelligence agencies, added, “They are inflating the risks to boost their own status — and they’re selling it beautifully.”

As Russia’s war in Ukraine drags on, with mounting military and civilian casualties, morale within the country has been waning. By constructing such narratives, the Kremlin appears intent on repositioning Putin as a national symbol of sacrifice and endurance, even if the danger is fictional.

A Mother to Many: Edith Lukabwe’s Fight for Disability Rights in Uganda

In the heart of Jinja District, Uganda, Edith Lukabwe is doing what few dare to imagine — singlehandedly transforming lives in a society where disability is often met with silence, stigma, and shame. At the Home of Hope, her registered community-based orphanage, Edith has taken in and is raising 98 abandoned children with disabilities, offering them a home, medical support, and above all, dignity.

Surrounded by lush sugarcane plantations and rolling green hills, the compound is filled with laughter and love. But behind the cheerful ambiance lies the pain of children who were left behind — some at birth, others as toddlers, victims of abandonment born from deep-rooted Ugandan cultural taboos against disability.

Edith's journey into disability advocacy began in 2000 with the birth of her first son, Derrick, who developed cerebral palsy after a misdiagnosed case of meningitis. Like many parents in Uganda, Edith and her husband Richard were shunned by their community, blamed for birthing a "demon-possessed child."

In search of healing, she turned to traditional healers, but when that failed, a church couple helped her return to medical professionals. Derrick was eventually diagnosed with permanent brain damage. Though devastated, Edith found strength in community therapy sessions and began supporting other struggling mothers. This small act of kindness became a movement.

By 2007, she had formalized her efforts, founding Home of Hope as an official care organization. Despite personal hardships, including a severe car accident and Derrick’s eventual death at age 14, Edith’s mission only grew. The compound now includes a full hospital, staff housing, therapy rooms, and outreach programs—all funded almost entirely by international donations.

In Uganda, where only 1% of the national health budget is allocated for disability support and over 6 million people live with disabilities, Edith’s work fills a massive gap. Her vision extends beyond care; she fights to change community perceptions through education, therapy, and community outreach led by her trusted program coordinator, Peter Osire.

The outreach covers a 30-kilometer radius and brings together social workers, therapists, and nurses who educate rural families and support those hiding their disabled children due to fear or shame. Now, attendance at outreach and therapy sessions has tripled, showing clear signs of changing attitudes.

But systemic injustice looms large. In one recent heartbreaking case, a 13-year-old girl with cerebral palsy was raped and impregnated by a neighbor. Despite clear evidence and a confession, local authorities failed to pursue justice due to the girl’s disability. Edith and Peter attempted to help the family, but their efforts were blocked by corrupt, underfunded law enforcement.

“In Uganda, if you’re disabled, your case is ignored. You’re not seen as human,” Edith laments. This chilling reality reflects a broader pattern: one in four intellectually disabled adults in Uganda is sexually abused, yet most receive no legal recourse.

Even in the face of loss and injustice, Edith presses on. Her sons Denis and Francis now help run the facility. Together with Richard, who oversees the hatchery and maintenance, they form a family committed to care.

A second campus has been opened for those over 18, ensuring that young adults with disabilities aren’t displaced. Therapy volunteers from Europe contribute skills, and local parents now bring their children proudly for therapy, no longer hiding them.

Edith still thinks of Derrick each day. His memory fuels her mission.

“If I’m alive and they are alive, they must live happily. They are human, too.”

Australia’s ambitious Aukus submarine pact—hailed as a historic trilateral agreement with the United States and the United Kingdom—now faces a critical test under Donald Trump’s renewed presidency, as Washington reconsiders the deal through the lens of his “America First” doctrine. The White House confirmed a review is underway to ensure the nuclear submarine alliance aligns with the administration’s new priorities, raising alarm in Canberra about the future of a deal worth A$368 billion (US$239 billion). The pact, signed in 2021 under different global leadership, promised to deliver cutting-edge nuclear-powered submarine capabilities to Australia, enhancing its military reach in the Indo-Pacific in return for a stronger U.S.-UK-Australia front against China.

However, Trump’s Defense Department—under the guidance of Elbridge Colby, a longtime critic of the agreement—questions whether the U.S. should transfer its prized naval technology at a time when American shipyards are already struggling to meet domestic demand. “Why are we giving away this crown jewel asset when we most need it?” Colby remarked in 2023. The U.S. review insists that allies must “fully step up” and prioritize collective defense while ensuring American defense production needs come first. This has reignited long-standing tensions about Australia’s reliance on Washington for national security. Although Australia’s Defense Minister Richard Marles insists the pact remains on course, experts like Sam Roggeveen of the Lowy Institute caution that “no Australian should feel our ally is fully committed to our security at this moment.”

Australia’s fears are compounded by Trump’s earlier moves—such as imposing tariffs on Australian goods—and a broader perception that the U.S. might walk away from key global partnerships. Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has remained publicly silent on the review, likely hoping for direct reassurance in a face-to-face with Trump during the upcoming G7 summit. Meanwhile, past Australian leaders remain divided. Scott Morrison, who helped broker the Aukus deal, dismissed the panic as premature. Malcolm Turnbull, however, called Aukus a “bad deal” and warned of U.S. unpredictability. Paul Keating took it further, calling the pact a rushed and misguided venture by Morrison, Johnson, and Biden, suggesting the U.S. withdrawal might save Australia from its own misjudgment.

The uncertainty over U.S. commitment has also intensified internal debate within Australia about whether the nation is becoming too dependent on foreign powers for its defense strategy. Australia’s Greens party has called for an independent review, demanding a sovereign defense policy free from the whims of what they called an “erratic and reckless Trump USA.” While the submarine deal remains technically intact, its long-term viability now appears vulnerable. If the U.S. pulls back, Australia could face years of delay, stuck with an outdated diesel fleet while waiting for new models to be developed—potentially leaving strategic gaps well into the 2040s.

Although some believe the U.K. could help salvage the deal if needed, others argue it may be insufficient. France, once involved in a previous submarine contract with Australia, is unlikely to re-enter the picture due to earlier diplomatic fallout. Still, analysts like Roggeveen believe Australia, though anxious, is far from defenseless. With a strong budget and solid strategy, he asserts, the country can protect itself—even without nuclear submarines. “There’s a mental and emotional block—this fear of abandonment—but we absolutely can [defend ourselves] if we have to,” he said. As the Trump administration repositions U.S. global commitments, Aukus is no longer just about submarines—it’s about trust, sovereignty, and Australia’s role in an increasingly unpredictable strategic landscape.

In a dramatic move that reflects the shifting geopolitical alignments in West Africa, Niger’s military-led government has announced the nationalisation of the Somair uranium mine, operated by the French nuclear fuel company Orano, escalating tensions with France and signalling deeper ties with Russia.

The Somair mine, located in northern Niger, has long been a cornerstone of France’s uranium supply chain. Operated since 1971, it has been a joint venture between Orano (63%) and Niger’s state-owned Sopamin (37%). But Niger’s military leadership, which came to power following a coup in July 2023, claims the French company has reaped an “unfair share” of uranium profits, taking 86.3% of the total output over five decades.

The Nigerien government declared it would reclaim full sovereignty over Somair, citing what it called “irresponsible, illegal, and unfair behaviour” by Orano. They further accused the French state—which owns 90% of Orano—of being “openly hostile” toward Niger since the coup. The move is part of a broader wave of nationalisations in West Africa, particularly in Mali and Burkina Faso, where military regimes are similarly severing old colonial ties and looking eastward toward Moscow for support.

In response to the takeover, Orano, which has operated in Niger for over 50 years, has said it will pursue legal action, seeking compensation and asserting ownership over uranium stock already produced. The company stated on Friday that it “intends to claim compensation for all of its damages and assert its rights over the stock corresponding to Somair’s production to date.”

This isn't the first confrontation between Orano and Niger’s new leadership. Last month, the French firm initiated legal proceedings after its director reportedly disappeared and its offices were raided by Nigerien authorities. These events suggest a growing deterioration of relations between France and Niger—a former colony whose military junta is systematically stripping foreign mining assets.

Since the 2023 military coup, Niger has aggressively moved to dismantle French influence, cancelling defence agreements and ousting French troops, while inviting Russian military advisers and exploring deeper energy partnerships with Moscow. The nationalisation of Somair is not just an economic policy—it's a symbol of Niger’s rejection of neocolonial exploitation and realignment toward a multipolar alliance framework.

The uranium sector is vital not just to Niger's economy but also to global nuclear energy markets, with Somair, Cominak, and Imouraren collectively holding some of the world’s largest uranium reserves. The removal of French operational control over these mines—first initiated in 2024—has profound implications for France’s energy security, as it relies heavily on Nigerien uranium to power its nuclear reactors.

Niger is not alone in this assertive policy. A growing number of African nations governed by military rulers, including Mali and Burkina Faso, have started nationalising foreign-operated mines, particularly those run by Western companies. These governments argue that natural resources must benefit local populations, not foreign interests.

This wave of resource nationalism comes amid rising global demand for uranium and rare earths, making control over such assets both an economic and strategic priority.

Niger’s nationalisation of the Somair mine may be the opening shot in a prolonged legal and geopolitical standoff. While Orano gears up for arbitration, Niger’s junta is sending a clear message: resource sovereignty is non-negotiable. As military governments across West Africa redefine their alliances and economic priorities, the region is quickly becoming a battleground for influence between old colonial powers and rising global players like Russia and China.