The resolution, UNGA A/80/L.48, sponsored by Ghana on behalf of the African Group, was adopted on March 25 with 123 votes in favour, three against (Israel, the United States and Argentina) and 52 abstentions. It urges states to pursue “reparatory justice,” including steps such as apologies, restitution and the return of looted cultural artefacts.  

Israel’s position is similar to concerns raised by other Western delegations that did not back the text. The United Kingdom, for example, abstained and warned against language that could be read as ranking crimes against humanity.  

“The UK continues to disagree with fundamental propositions of the text and, therefore, regrettably, cannot vote in favour of it. Firstly, the UK is firmly of the view that we must not create a hierarchy of historical atrocities.  Doing so simplifies the complexity and vast scale of suffering endured in different contexts. It risks diminishing the experiences of communities whose trauma and suffering was felt just as strongly. No single set of atrocities should be regarded as more or less significant than another,” the UK noted in an explanatory statement.

Israel said its “no” vote was not a denial of slavery’s historical harm, but a protest over the final wording, and it expressed regret that negotiations did not produce changes that might have allowed broader support.  

The US said it does not accept the resolution’s suggestion that historical slavery from the 15th to 19th centuries amounted to violations of jus cogens, the highest norms of international law, “as that term is understood in contemporary international law.” It also rejected the idea that there is a legal right to reparations for historical acts “that were not illegal under international law at the time they occurred.”

Washington also challenged the resolution’s practical implications. It said the text was unclear about who would qualify as recipients of “reparatory justice,” arguing that supporters appeared to be using past wrongs as leverage to “reallocate modern resources” to people and states “distantly related to the historical victims.”

The US further criticised what it called an attempt to create a hierarchy of crimes against humanity, saying any ranking “diminishes the suffering” of victims of other atrocities and is “simply incorrect as a matter of law .”

Beyond the substance, the US argued that the process and scope were misplaced. It said the UN’s purpose is maintaining international peace and security, not “advancing narrow, specific interests,” creating new international days, or adding “costly meeting and reporting mandates.” It also complained that its proposed changes and those of other delegations were ignored during drafting.

In the same statement, Washington rejected claims circulating online that sponsors of the resolution questioned President Donald Trump ’s support for Black Americans, saying such suggestions were “fake news” and asserting that Trump had “enjoyed historic support” from Black voters in the 2024 election.

In their letters, they said the issue is about accountability as much as history, “This is not only about the past…until the remains of our ancestors are accounted for and returned, the suffering continues,” the Guardian quotes.

The families say they were dismayed after the museum and Cambridge said in 2022 they had not identified any remains in their collections as belonging to the resistance fighters, an answer the descendants and some Zimbabwean officials say is hard to accept without deeper research.

Among those seeking answers is Chief Makoni, Cogen Simbayi Gwasira, a descendant of Chief Chingaira Makoni, who fought British settler forces and was later captured, executed and beheaded. “We are very aggrieved…for the dehumanisation that took place,” he said, adding that British institutions “should be honest and return those things that they took.”

The renewed push comes as wider scrutiny grows over the scale of human remains from Africa held in UK institutions. A Guardian investigation found at least 11,856 items of human remains from Africa across UK universities, museums and councils, with Cambridge and the Natural History Museum among the largest holders.

He said the healing of historical wounds caused by centuries of slavery and colonial exploitation requires structural reforms and stronger cooperation among AU member states. According to him, progress cannot rely solely on symbolic gestures.

The panel, held under the theme “Reparations, Memory and Sovereignty: Common African Position on the Restitution of Heritage Resources,” focused on the return of African artefacts currently held in foreign museums. President Mahama stated that these objects were “unjustly held” and stressed that their return is central to African dignity.

His address came as the AU marked 10 years of formal demands for reparations. He noted that, despite a decade of advocacy, tangible outcomes have remained limited. He urged participants to move beyond the “moral aspiration” of seeking apologies and instead pursue concrete steps toward “civilisational repair.”

President Mahama said Ghana ’s role in the continental reparations agenda aims to connect historical justice with present-day economic sovereignty.

The meeting preceded the launch of the “Decade on Justice for Africans and People of African Descent through Reparations.” The initiative is expected to produce a formal “Common African Position” to guide negotiations with former colonial powers and international cultural institutions.

That moment says a lot about how English really works.

English spread through colonisation: through schools, churches, government, and media. But once it arrived, people didn’t just copy it. They adapted it, mixed it with local languages, humour, food, music, and everyday life. Over time, those local versions became the most real forms of English in those places.

We’ve seen this before. Words from Latin America and Asia have been part of English for years: macho, gringo, taco, guacamole, ceviche, reggaeton, cartel. These words stayed because English needed them. There was no better way to say what they meant.

In March 2025, the OED leaned fully into this idea with a “World English” update . It added everyday words like gigil from the Philippines, which means the urge to squeeze something cute, and alamak from Malaysia and Singapore, an expression of surprise or frustration. English didn’t have words for these feelings, so it borrowed them.

Then came December 2025, and a big moment for West Africa. The OED added words people already use daily: abeg and biko for polite requests, amala and moi moi for staple foods, mammy market for women-run community markets, and Ghana Must Go.

These words carry stories of migration , survival, humour, and community. And once they’re in the dictionary, no one can say they’re “not proper English.”

What’s changing is power. English is no longer shaped by one centre. It’s shaped by how people live. For years, speakers from the Global South were told their English was wrong. Now the same institutions are saying: this is English too.

Maybe English was never really “king.”Maybe it’s just a shared language constantly remade by the people who speak it. Global South isn’t just speaking English anymore. It’s rewriting it.

Click here to watch our previous episodes

World Reframed is produced in London by Global South World, part of the Impactum Group. Its editors are Duncan Hooper and Ismail Akwei.

ISSN 2978-4891

Linguists note that English has never been static; it has always absorbed words from other languages. French, Latin and Norse, for example, left early marks on English centuries ago. As English spread through colonialism and global communication, speakers around the world adapted it to local contexts, creating new expressions that eventually entered mainstream use.

Today, English is spoken by about 1.75 billion people worldwide, not just in the UK or the United States , but across Africa, Asia, the Caribbean and beyond. Words that emerge from daily life in these regions often travel globally through media, migration, music and the internet.

The recent OED additions were drawn from everyday speech, food culture, music and social contexts. For example:

These words entered the dictionary not because they are “foreign” but because they are widely used across English-speaking communities in West Africa and increasingly beyond through digital and cultural exchange.

The OED updates its entries quarterly, adding new words and new meanings of existing terms based on evidence of their broad use in spoken and written English. This can come from books, newspapers, social media, broadcast media and other large language databases monitored by lexicographers. In this case, West African English was increasingly represented in global discourse, prompting its inclusion.

Experts say this process shows English’s adaptive nature: it is a language shaped not only by historical ties but also by how people actually speak it worldwide. As more voices from Africa, Asia and other regions influence global communication, English continues to evolve.

Words that once might have been seen as local or informal are now recognised as part of English’s living vocabulary because they reflect real usage across diverse societies.

The country became the first Black-led republic, the first independent nation in the Caribbean, and the second independent state in the Western Hemisphere, following the United States .

The Haitian Revolution, which spanned from 1791 to 1804, involved a series of conflicts between enslaved Haitians, colonial forces, and foreign armies, including those from Britain and France . 

This revolution resulted in the abolition of slavery in Haiti and the establishment of a sovereign state.

On social media, Haitians shared images of the national flag, family photos, and messages of peace. Many also posted chants of resistance in recognition of the country’s revolutionary past and ongoing challenges.

Haiti continues to face significant political and social instability . Following the assassination of President Jovenel Moïse in 2021, the country has experienced worsening insecurity. Throughout 2023, gang-related violence escalated, with criminal groups taking control of over 80% of Port-au-Prince, the capital.

In April 2024, Prime Minister Ariel Henry stepped down from office, leading to the formation of a transitional presidential council. As law enforcement capacity weakened and incidents of vigilantism increased, the United Nations Security Council approved the deployment of a Kenya-led multinational security mission to support the Haitian police in curbing gang violence. The mission officially began on June 25, 2024, after several delays.

Originally worn by high court judges in Britain, the wigs were symbols of legal authority and tradition. 

In contemporary African courtrooms, however, many argue that such attire no longer reflects national identity. Critics say the tradition is outdated and unsuitable for local contexts.

In Nigeria, calls to abolish the use of wigs are growing within the legal community. 

“We cannot identify with this type of legal system attire because it is not part of our culture . It is something that is adopted, and it's also taking us back to the colony,” Emmanuel Olusola Grace, a lawyer, told Viory. 

“Each time we put all these chairs together, it makes us not look like Africans,” he added.

Barrister CJ Okereke described the wigs as a remnant of colonialism, stating, “This is one of those unfortunate legacies that were bequeathed unto us by the British.”

Aside from cultural misalignment, there are also concerns about practicality. Many Nigerian courtrooms lack adequate ventilation, making the heavy and layered court dress uncomfortable.

“The ventilation in those courts are very poor. So, it's a bit difficult to wear that type of attire, you know, suited with tie, your belt, and you'll be in an environment where there's lack of ventilation. So, that type of dressing, I would say, in that circumstance, does not really suit the environment that we are expected to dress in," said lawyer Bashir Idris.

The financial implications also add to the concern. Maintaining these colonial-era uniforms can be costly. In 2019, Zimbabwe’s Judicial Services Commission placed an order for 64 wigs from a London-based supplier, Stanley Ley Legal Outfitters, for £118,400, despite the country’s economic challenges.

In a speech delivered on Thanksgiving Day, Trump announced he would seek a “permanent pause” on immigration from what he called “third-world countries.”

This rhetoric echoes a now well-known moment in 2018 when Trump reportedly called Haiti and several African nations “shithole countries.” Trump’s worldview and his language have hardly shifted.

The U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services later clarified that Trump’s new reference targets a group of 19 countries, including Afghanistan, Eritrea, Haiti, Iran, Myanmar, Somalia, Sudan, Venezuela, Sierra Leone, Togo, and others previously listed under a travel ban.

Where “Third World” actually comes from

In 1952, French demographer Alfred Sauvy coined the term “Third World.” Contrary to modern usage, it had nothing to do with development or poverty. Instead, Sauvy was drawing an analogy to pre-Revolutionary France:

During the Cold War , these became metaphors for:

Over time, however, the meaning shifted incorrectly to denote poor or “backward” nations. Today, it functions mainly as a political shorthand, often deployed for emotional effect rather than accuracy.

From language to policy : Fear as a strategy

Trump’s use of vague terms is not incidental; it is strategic. By refusing to clearly define which countries qualify as “third world,” he creates an atmosphere of uncertainty.

This tactic parallels the proposed $100,000 fee for H-1B visas earlier this year, a sweeping announcement that caused panic among thousands of legal U.S. residents before details were even released.

The impact is real: cancelled travel plans, families afraid to leave the U.S., and long visa queues in cities from Accra to Nairobi.

Terms like “third world” shape global aid, security cooperation, and public perception. They inform who is seen as a threat and who is seen as worthy.

For millions of Africans seeking educational or professional opportunities abroad, the implications are personal and immediate.

Should the media repeat the phrase at all?

A critical question arises: When reporting Trump’s speeches, should the media repeat his terminology verbatim?

Repeating language that is vague, outdated, or prejudicial can unintentionally reinforce harmful narratives.

While Trump’s comments followed a horrific killing in Washington, such incidents have become political tools. Whether Trump’s new “third world” designation becomes a formal list remains unclear. But the ambiguity alone shifts behaviour and fuels anxiety.

Trump’s language isn’t just rhetoric. It powerfully influences global mobility, international relationships, and how billions of people understand their place in the world.

Click here to watch our previous episodes

World Reframed is produced in London by Global South World, part of the Impactum Group. Its editors are Duncan Hooper and Ismail Akwei.

ISSN 2978-4891

The imposition of these laws was not merely legal but also ideological; colonial authorities sought to justify their dominance by portraying African cultures as "primitive" and in need of "civilisation." By criminalising same-sex relations, colonisers framed themselves as moral guardians, erasing indigenous practices and stigmatising LGBTQ+ identities. For instance, in pre-colonial Buganda (present-day Uganda), same-sex relationships among men were recognised. British colonial administrators labelled these practices as "deviant,” punishable by law. This pattern repeated across the continent, where colonial laws were used to enforce a heteronormative agenda that aligned with European Christian values.

French and Portuguese colonies also experienced the imposition of similar laws, though often under different legal terminologies. In French-speaking Africa , the Napoleonic Code criminalised "indecent acts" or "acts against nature," which were broadly interpreted to include same-sex relations. In Portuguese colonies , such as Mozambique and Angola, laws inherited from the Portuguese penal code similarly targeted LGBTQ+ individuals. These laws were not only punitive but also served to reinforce colonial control by disrupting local social structures and imposing foreign moral standards.

Today, 31 of Africa’s 54 countries criminalise same-sex relations, a figure reinforced by Burkina Faso’s new law enacted last month. Public opinion surveys underscore the social context for these laws: across 39 African countries surveyed by  Afrobarometer , only 24% of respondents expressed comfort living next door to someone in a same-sex relationship. In nations such as Uganda and Ghana, the figures are far lower, with 94% and 89% respectively, reporting discomfort or disapproval.

Political leaders find it difficult to ignore such statistics when drafting policies on the issue. Such measures reflect deeply held domestic values rather than mere state coercion, making LGBTQ rights a flashpoint where law, culture, and politics intersect.

Given the widespread social rejection of homosexuality across much of the continent, other nations may follow suit.

Law, culture, and politics intersect 

In 2015, then Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe strongly criticised the  “politicisation of this important issue”  and  declared :  “We equally reject attempts to prescribe ‘new rights’ that are contrary to our values, norms, traditions, and beliefs. We are not gays! Cooperation and respect for each other will advance the cause of human rights worldwide. Confrontation, vilification, and double-standards will not.”

His words reflect attitudes that have long persisted across the continent, translating into restrictive laws. These laws often reflect not only expressions of sovereignty and moral authenticity; they mirror colonial-era penal codes once imposed by European colonial powers.

From a religious perspective, opposition to homosexuality among faith leaders -- Christian and Muslim -- is not merely political posturing; rather, it reflects deeply held theological convictions. Reverend Enoch Adeboye of Nigeria’s Redeemed Christian Church of God has  stated ,  “Same-sex marriage cannot be allowed on moral and religious grounds. The Muslim religion forbids it. Christianity forbids it, and the African traditional religion forbids it.”

Similarly, Sheikh Ahmed El-Tayeb, the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, has  condemned  calls to legalise homosexuality, describing them as a  “dangerous”  trend that contradicts Islamic teachings. While some politicians draw on this moral authority to advance their own agendas, this should not always be seen as cynical exploitation; many genuinely share the religious and cultural worldview of their societies. Ultimately, Africa’s stance on LGBTQ rights is shaped by a complex interplay of legal, moral, religious, and cultural factors.

External influence

Western governments and international organisations increasingly tie economic assistance, trade, and political engagement to recognising LGBTQ rights, framing them as universal human rights. Yet, such pressure has often produced the opposite effect in Africa. Leaders view these demands as neo-colonial interference, reinforcing the idea that the West still seeks to impose its own social values.

In Malawi, aid from some Western partners has already been reduced due to anti-LGBT legislation, illustrating the tangible stakes of such conditionality. And in 2023, Kenya’s president  criticised  a court ruling that LGBTQ can be registered as a civil organisation. He asserted,  “our culture and religion do not allow same-sex marriages”; The Kenyan penal code criminalises same-sex relationships.

Western actors view “conditionality” as a moral responsibility; African leaders see it as an imposition of foreign values – a contradistinction that deepens resistance rather than fostering dialogue. Promoting homosexual rights in Africa is not only a legal or political challenge – it is also a question of reconciling competing cultural, historical, and moral frameworks.

The legacy of colonial laws

History is often filled with irony. The British Empire that once exported anti-sodomy laws to its colonies now attempts to coerce their repeal. Former British Prime Minister David Cameron had linked UK aid to human-rights reforms , warning that countries criminalising homosexuality could face  cuts  in British assistance.

The very laws denounced were born of British imperial rule and moral codes; yet, no British leader has issued an outright apology for colonialism’s deep cultural harm inflicted by its moral policing. This selective morality continues to fuel resentment across Africa.

Throughout Africa, Western efforts to have rescinded the laws (and orientation) they first imposed upon the African populace yield — at best -- inconsistent and often unintended results. There is resistance from some states, adaptation in others, and scepticism (often tinged with contempt) everywhere towards external, foreign intervention. The intersection of historical, cultural, religious, and certainly geopolitical factors places African policymakers in the position of negotiating a complex landscape. External admonitions -- cloaked as “incentives” – confront deeply ingrained domestic views and cultural traditions, affording Western powers only limited leverage and unforeseen consequences in their efforts to promote LGBTQ rights.

The opinions and thoughts expressed in this article reflect only the author's views.

Dr. Wolf is director of The Fulcrum Institute, a new organisation of current and former scholars, which engages in research and commentary, focusing on political and cultural issues on both sides of the Atlantic. Our interest is in American foreign policy as it relates to the economic and foreign policies of the NATO countries, the SCO, the BRICS+ nation-states and the Middle East.

After service in the USAF (Lt.Col.-Intel) Dr. Wolf obtained a PhD-philosophy (University of Wales), MA-philosophy (University of S. Africa), MTh-philosophical theology (Texas Christian University-Brite Div.). He taught philosophy, humanities and theology in the US and S. Africa before retiring from university.