Outside the army camp in the Nuwakot district of Nepal, people run their fingers down the sheets of paper pinned to the wall, scanning the growing list of those reported missing for news of loved ones. Nepali authorities said nearly 3,000 people are missing, while China reported more than 550 people unaccounted for.
In mid-June, 99 guerrilla fighters were flown by helicopter to a small settlement in a rural area of southern Colombia where they lined up and, one by one, handed their weapons to government officials: rifles, pistols, machine guns and grenade launchers. They also stripped off their heavy tactical vests, field packs and camouflage uniforms, which were each piled into a bonfire to mark the beginning of a new life away from an armed conflict that has claimed nearly half a million lives in the last six decades. That was precisely what the former president Gustavo Petro’s “total peace” plan had sought to achieve: negotiating with and disarming all of Colombia’s criminal groups, which are estimated to have nearly 30,000 members. But the group of just 99 people was the only one to disarm, and did so just three days before the presidential runoff, which was won by the far-right millionaire lawyer Abelardo de la Espriella, who had campaigned on a promise to end “total peace” and return to a full-on strategy of jailing or killing criminals. Now, several weeks after the new president took office – and amid efforts to deal with the aftermath of the 7.4-magnitude earthquake, as his government has already begun the promised airstrikes against criminal groups – the 99 do not know what will happen to them. “We’re in limbo,” said Natalia Bríñez, 29, one of 13 women among the group staying in the temporary location zone, or ZUT by its Spanish initials, a government-controlled zone where, under surveillance and unable to leave, they were supposed to make the transition to civilian life over the following months. The former guerrillas are housed in beige brick buildings decorated with drawings they painted themselves, including doves of peace, with a communal dining hall where three meals a day are served. No weapons are allowed inside and soldiers guard the ZUT from a perimeter less than a mile away. One former combatant built a makeshift gym with weights made from metal pipes and tins filled with cement and sand, and there is an improvised football pitch, but most of them spend their days on their phones. De la Espriella has repeatedly said his government will no longer negotiate peace agreements and has yet to announce what he intends to do regarding the people at the ZUT. The president has not responded to requests for comment. In theory, any arrest warrants against the group are suspended, and they remain under state protection until 25 December, when Petro’s decree establishing the ZUT expires. But De la Espriella could revoke the decree at any time. Armando Novoa, the former government official who led peace negotiations with the group, said “the worst-case scenario would be for the new government to close the ZUT, launch a military operation and try to capture or kill them. That would be a crime against humanity, because these people are unarmed.” Between 2 and 4 August, days before De la Espriella’s inauguration, Novoa led journalists including the Guardian through the ZUT. The Office of the High Commissioner for Peace, where he worked, has since been absorbed into the newly created National Security Commission – a move expected to result in more than 200 job losses – and Novoa has resigned. For now, at least, the ZUT remains in operation and has a small library run by Bríñez, who has a phoenix tattoo on her left shoulder as a symbol of her rebirth away from the armed conflict. “The hardest thing for me has been being away from my children,” said Bríñez, who has a seven-year-old daughter and a 10-year-old son and speaks to them on video calls, but will only be able to see them in person once her “transition” is complete, a process that includes vocational training and psychosocial support. They were also supposed to receive financial support of about £425 a month, which had not yet been paid. In the meantime, some of them were planning to start a chicken-rearing business. The 99 made up a small part of a group of about 1,000 combatants called Commandos of the Frontier – most of whom remain armed – and are part of the National Coordinator of the Bolivarian Army (CNEB), a former dissident faction of the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (Farc) with about 2,500 members which controls the border with Ecuador. The Petro administration said negotiations were also under way with other members of the CNEB, who published an open letter addressed to De la Espriella saying they were willing to continue talks with him. It is not known whether the president responded. The CNEB’s chief “peace negotiator”, Geovany Andrés Rojas, known as “Araña” (Spider), had been in custody since February under a US extradition request for drug trafficking, which Petro had delayed. Last Wednesday, De la Espriella ordered extradition. Although such groups emerged in the 1960s as leftwing rebels fighting government abuses and seeking revolution – followed soon afterwards by far-right paramilitary groups – ideology has long since been overtaken for most of them by economic interests, above all drug trafficking (Colombia is the world’s largest producer of cocaine) and illegal mining. “Here in the ZUT, the vast majority were not in the group because of any ideological commitment, but for economic reasons,” said Novoa. “It even surprised us that most of them simply called the group ‘the company’.” Petro repeatedly tried to negotiate peace agreements with larger groups. The armed factions took advantage of temporary ceasefires to continue expanding, a process that had already begun before he took office. They also clashed among themselves for control of territory and illicit economies, which many security experts say contributed to a rise in homicides, kidnappings and massacres. “Total peace” was an attempt to address what the landmark 2016 peace deal between the government and the Farc failed to resolve, as other armed groups and Farc dissidents remained active. Petro’s administration failed to reduce violence, which instead reached its worst levels in a decade, and to reach the disarmament stage with any of the gangs, apart from the 99 former combatants – who handed over their weapons only on the eve of an election that every poll indicated the government-backed candidate would lose. “They [the government] told us: ‘If this works, you’re opening the door for other groups and will set an example,’” said Bríñez. Some security experts saw the agreement as rushed. “It was a somewhat irresponsible decision,” said Paula Tobo, a senior researcher at the thinktank Ideas for Peace Foundation, which published an extensive report on why Total Peace failed. Tobo said the 99 were now in a “legal limbo” because their protection rested on decrees that could be revoked and there is no legal framework for their transition to civilian life. All of the Petro administration’s proposals to regulate surrenders failed in Congress and, under current law, anyone who has committed crimes such as kidnapping or drug trafficking is not eligible for amnesty. “It’s positive that these people wanted to lay down their arms, but it really wasn’t the right time for the government to take that decision … The previous administration clearly put them at risk of this government suddenly deciding to abolish the ZUT and arrest them,” said Tobo. The group wrote a letter to De la Espriella reaffirming its “irreversible decision to commit to peace” and inviting him to visit the ZUT. At the time of publication it had received no response. The youngest member of the group, a 19-year-old who asked to be identified only as Adrián, said they wanted “to have a home, a family”. However, he knows what he will do if things do not go according to plan. “Honestly, I’d take up arms again, because we’re keeping our side of the bargain and the government should do the same, shouldn’t it?” he said. Daniela Díaz travelled to Valle del Guamuez at the invitation of the Colombian government’s former Office of the High Commissioner for Peace.
In the bright early afternoon sun of Kramatorsk’s central and now ironically named Peace Square, Tetiana, in her bridal dress, and Oleksandr, in his military uniform, are holding up their phones at the ready. It is a public holiday, 35 years since Ukraine’s declaration of independence, and a popular day for a wedding, though the open-air location is not obviously ideal. Three days earlier, Kramatorsk, perhaps Vladimir Putin’s principal target, was formally designated part of the combat zone, the front inching towards the city as Russia closes in on the parts of the Donetsk region it does not control. It is quiet at 2pm though; the ceremony brief. There are no guests other than the Guardian team. Tetiana and Oleksandr pose for a wedding photo on Mount Karachun, near Sloviansk, the scene of fierce fighting in 2014. Getting married in Kramatorsk, Oleksandr says, is a necessary act of memory, because soon there may not be much more left to survive. “In this war, all this can just be vaporised, in a few months, in a few days,” the groom explains after the ceremony. “On the battlefield, many cities, towns, small villages where I was two, three years ago, they are now just ruins, just destroyed.” A year ago, Kramatorsk was a functioning city, a regional industrial centre, swollen with the presence of the military. It was possible to slowly sip coffee in the street and talk to local people and soldiers about how the city is an intrinsic part of Ukraine. Now it is covered in anti-drone netting, people and businesses are in short supply; many buildings have been bombed, chipboard replacing windows in those still standing. En route to Kramatorsk. The truck ahead is carrying ‘dragon’s teeth’, concrete anti-tank obstacles used in fortifications. Final preparations for the wedding ceremony in Kramatorsk. Six people were reported killed between Saturday and Tuesday in 51 shelling incidents as the city heads towards becoming uninhabitable for all but the most stubborn civilians. Reports swirl that Russia’s elite Rubicon drone unit has deployed to attack a city that Putin wants captured by the end of the year, though his forces will almost certainly take far longer, smashing it as they try to do so. The day before the wedding, Russian quadcopter drones had repeatedly tried to target the vast Ukrainian flag atop an 80-metre (262ft) pole in the city’s central park, just under a mile to the south. There were at least 10 attempts, such is the pettiness of the war at times, and a small tear was visible in the standard afterwards. Yet the couple were determined to marry there, regardless of the threat. Tetiana and Oleksandr cross a street beneath anti-drone netting in Kramatorsk. Tetiana says it is “about preserving memories of the Donetsk region, if only in this way”. Oleksandr is from Mariupol, captured after a bloody siege at the beginning of the war, while Tetiana spent “every summer” at her grandmother’s home, now in occupied Donetsk, until she was 15. On her right forearm is a bucolic tattoo, the dacha taking pride of place, its blue tones signifying the Ukrainian region split by over a decade of conflict. A volunteer combat medic – “I don’t want to say no to military service, the number of wounded isn’t getting any smaller”, she says – Tetiana had been based in Kramatorsk until a few days earlier, but her Hospitallers crew was redeployed to Kyiv. Undeterred, she travelled back east the day before to meet Oleksandr, a battle captain on deployment. On the day itself, the pair drove for several more hours, the final miles beneath anti-drone netting, to reach their chosen wedding location on time. *** Ukraine introduced online weddings in 2024, a necessity in a war in which soldiers and their partners can be physically separated for months on end. The service has rapidly gained popularity in a digitally literate country – 38% of marriages were conducted online in the first half of the year, according to Ukraine’s justice ministry. Though Tetiana and Oleksandr were together, the officiant was on a video call. The two met as recently as February, after she had reached out online, offering to treat him. Each already looks sure of the other. Oleksandr believes their shared understanding of the war, forced on to their country, will bind them close, at a time when “there is a big gap between military and civilians”. Her “experience in battlefield medical evacuations and so on makes it easier for us to understand each other,” he says. Tetiana and Oleksandr pose for a photo outside a railway station in Kramatorsk, where trains have not stopped since early November 2025 because of security concerns. Their adult lives have been dominated by the conflict. Tetiana and Oleksandr are the same age as Ukraine itself – 35 – meaning they would have been in their early 20s when Russian-backed separatists captured Kramatorsk and neighbouring Sloviansk in April 2014, beginning fighting in eastern Ukraine that has never ended. Both cities were liberated that July, and only now has the frontline returned. Proceedings begin promptly. Bride and groom hold their phones forward; the town’s already battered Palace of Culture, a five-storey museum and landmark in the Soviet classical style, behind. They place a white, traditional embroidered cloth, a rushnyk, in front of them, though it will not stay down in the wind. Oleksandr carries loose tiles to hold the rushnyk in place for the ceremony. Oleksandr brings over two loose tiles, taken from the square’s flooring, to hold the rushnyk in place. The newlyweds will take the tiles with them afterwards. It is not an act of vandalism but rather one of preservation, taking tiles from a square that was relaid six years ago as part of the decommunisation of what had been Lenin Square. Tetiana plans to break the tiles and make a mosaic with them. Tetiana and Oleksandr before the ceremony. The empty central square is surrounded by ‘dragon’s teeth’ and anti-drone netting. Tetiana and Oleksandr step on to the wedding rushnyk, a traditional embroidered cloth. The ritual symbolises the start of the couple’s life together. Rings and vows are exchanged, a bridal kiss is shared, and the couple step on the rushnyk together. This is an act of egalitarianism; tradition holds that whoever steps on the embroidered towel first has the last word in the family. After a few more photographs, it is time to head indoors to the nearby Sweet Coffee House Bakery, one of the few businesses still open, though its owner, Kateryna Seledtsova, has relocated to Kharkiv and the cafe feels more like a shelter, albeit one with cream cakes inside. There is a moment of worry in the cafe, because a drone has been spotted above while Tetiana is outside. But she is quickly found and, over wedding cake, the newlyweds focus on their plans for children. “Starting a family during the war is about hope. I think it’s important to build something new, to build something beautiful, in a world that Russia is trying to destroy,” she says. The newlyweds in Sweet Coffee House Bakery, one of the few businesses still open. “I think that at a time when Russia is trying to spread gloom and darkness, destroy us and frighten us, it is important to create something beautiful, to wear beautiful clothes, to do kind deeds, to help and look after one another, and to love one another. That is what Russia wants to take away from us.”
For a long time, the prospect of becoming the third generation to run his family farm was an exciting one, says Davíð Clausen Pétursson. Icelandic farmers were starting to get higher prices for their meat and milk, debt was no longer an occupational prerequisite and innovation was on the rise. Now the 29-year-old is anxiously awaiting the result of a referendum on Saturday, when Icelanders will be asked whether or not they want to restart accession talks with the EU. Davíð believes joining the bloc could have negative ramifications for farmers all over Iceland, slowing down progress made in the sector and reducing profits. Across Europe small and medium-sized farms have struggled, with thousands closing each year because of brutal economic circumstances. In Iceland, however, the picture has been somewhat brighter for some farmers who have been able to make a profit and innovate. Since the government announced that it was bringing forward the planned vote, amid Donald Trump’s efforts to take control of neighbouring Greenland, debate has taken in everything from food security to national identity, defence, housing, inflation, language, and natural resources. The latest polls show the two sides – which cut across the political spectrum and generations – are neck and neck. According to Thursday’s Gallup poll, the no campaign is slightly in the lead with 51.6% of the vote and yes at 48.4%. While the yes campaign has strong support, critics of the EU have in some ways been louder in part because a yes vote is less decisive: it is agreeing to begin negotiations, not saying yes to joining the EU. “Of course I am quite invested in how it goes,” says Davíð at his remote farm in Hvammur, south-west Iceland, overlooked by a mountain that features in the Icelandic sagas. “I want at least to build my life around farming for the next 30-40 years and I would also like my kids to be able to do that as well. I am just not sure that it will be possible if we go that route.” He says a “yes” win would lead to the years of negotiations before the nation votes again on any deal reached, and he fears the resulting uncertainty would put a halt to all the progress and the momentum in farming. Then, they would have to deal with the repercussions of the outcome, where he fears farmers’ interests, drowned out by the more valuable and noisier fishing lobby, would not be prioritised. As Davíð explained to his nine-year-old son – the vote has been a big talking point at school – a litre of milk currently costs them about 100 ISK to produce, which they can sell for 145 ISK. He worries that joining the EU would mean he would have to significantly decrease the price of his milk and other products. “It is not that I am against anything in the EU at all. I am half Danish, my mother is Danish and we of course buy a lot from Europe,” he says. “The regulations they have there are suitable for countries that live next to each other, but I am fearful that if it is a yes, the uncertainty will make it quite hard for us to see where we are going, so that will put everything at a bit of a halt.” Iceland’s current farming system was built on the country being a lone independent state in the Atlantic with unique weather conditions, he says. “We can figure it out ourselves. We make trade agreements with everyone around us, we try to take off the tariffs and have free trade with the products we really need, we put tariffs on the products we are trying to produce here.” He understands that high food costs are frustrating for consumers, but believes it is worth it. “There is a high cost to food security in Iceland. But there is an even bigger cost to losing that and being dependent.” The EU vote taps into a sense of lament among some in Iceland that in a globalised, highly connected world the country’s foundation in agriculture and fishing – central to life there until a few decades ago – is being rapidly forgotten. Davíð says that 30 years ago children came to work on the farm in the summer, but machinery and specialisation mean that is no longer possible. Sigurrós Birta Jóhannsdóttir, 22, visited the farm on an educational visit with a coach load of other agriculture students. Jóhannsdóttir, who works on a farm that she will take over in the future, will be voting no on Saturday because she believes that negotiations will only slow down progress and cost money. Supporters believe joining the EU could help bring down the high cost of living and inflation in Iceland, and would be good for the country’s security. At his home by the sea in Þorlákshöfn, Kári Böðvarsson, 79, says he plans to vote yes, despite being right-leaning politically. “It doesn’t matter if you’re on the right or on the left, what your opinion is, people are just voting across politics,” the retired fisher says. He is an outlier at the gym among his training buddies, where discussions can get quite heated. He enjoys provoking them but he will be glad when the debate is over. “We have to trust these people to negotiate well for us because why shouldn’t they?” he says. “But the ‘no’ people don’t trust them.” When it comes to fishing, there is not much the EU can do to win back power over fishing quotas from the big fishing companies to individuals, Kári says. But perhaps it could help with housing costs. At a public meeting in Reykjavík, the prime minister, Kristrún Frostadóttir, told a packed Icelandic-flag-waving house that joining the EU was a “unique opportunity”. “Iceland’s sovereignty is not a museum piece that we keep in a cupboard while isolating ourselves from other countries,” she said, to cheers. She said it was also “good timing” for Iceland’s security – not just in light of the US and its unpredictable economic and geopolitical moves, but also China. “This isn’t about being afraid,” she said. “It’s about being prepared and seizing opportunities when they arise.” But at the University of Iceland in Reykjavík, Kristrún and the yes campaign still have some convincing to do before polling stations open at 9am on Saturday. The first results are expected between 10pm and midnight. Student Saga Gautadóttir, 20, is considering spoiling her ballot because she agrees with arguments on both sides. Anna María Magnúsdóttir, 20, has not made up her mind yet how to vote, she says, sitting in the sunshine on campus with friends. “I just want the best for our country, whichever one it is.”
Volodymyr Zelenskyy said he has ordered his military to increase its long-range drone strikes against Russia to 1,000 per day, up from about 300 currently. “There needs to be more: there is a concrete goal, and we will fulfil this task,” the Ukrainian president declared on Friday in his evening address. Russia’s gasoline production fell to about 70% of domestic consumption levels by the end of August after a series of drone attacks forced major refineries to suspend operations, according to two industry sources who spoke to Reuters. After a brief respite at the end of July, when some local authorities began easing or lifting restrictions on fuel sales, shortages returned to Russian regions in August. Over the past week, drones struck and halted operations at several major refineries, including plants in Perm, Nizhny Novgorod and Yaroslavl, all significant producers of motor gasoline. Russia is losing about 6,000 more troops in Ukraine each month than it can recruit, western officials have said. While Russia is still acquiring new battlefield recruits at speed, with an estimated rate of 1,000 a day, in the past two months even this has not been sufficient to replace those killed or injured, Peter Walker writes. Recent Russian air attacks have destroyed about 90% of retailers’ food logistics in Ukraine, Kyiv’s agricultural minister said on Friday. Both countries have stepped up strikes in recent weeks on economic targets such as major retailers, with Russia targeting warehouses for Ukraine’s premier supermarket chains, top postal service and home-goods stores. “As of today, roughly speaking, 90% of food logistics operated by retail chains have been destroyed, but that doesn’t mean Ukrainians will be left without food,” farm minister Taras Vysotskyi was cited by the Ukrinform agency as saying. His comments to reporters in Kyiv are the most frank official assessment of the damage Russia’s escalating strikes have brought on Ukraine’s increasingly fragile economy in the fifth year of war. Ukraine has stored 14.6bn cubic metres of gas in underground storage, enough for the upcoming winter season, the country’s energy minister said. “Ukraine has stockpiled natural gas for the baseline scenario for getting through the winter,” Denys Shmyhal said on Friday. Authorities in Russia’s Rostov region declared a state of emergency on Friday, saying port closures and disruptions to navigation in the Azov-Black Sea basin had led to a significant accumulation of agricultural products at farms. The regional government said on Telegram an emergency response had been introduced across the region, without going into more detail. Ukraine’s former defence minister Mykhailo Fedorov has accepted a role as innovation adviser at Italy’s Defence Ministry, officials said on Friday. Italy’s defence minister Guido Crosetto had disclosed the offer shortly after Fedorov was dismissed in July. Fedorov, 35, was fired six months after his appointment, having initiated reforms around procurement and mobilisation that put him on a collision course with the military establishment and political rivals. The UN nuclear watchdog said on Friday it had been informed of three drone incidents at Russian-held Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant in south-eastern Ukraine earlier this week. The International Atomic Energy Agency said a drone attack on 25 August reportedly occurred near the plant’s cooling pond, injuring two plant employees, while two other drones on 26 August reportedly struck the site’s dry spent nuclear fuel storage area and the sprinkling device of the power units system. Radiation levels at the Zaporizhzhia plant remained normal, the watchdog added. Russian forces on Friday resumed their drone barrage of Ukraine’s Kyiv region, hitting more than a dozen apartment buildings and storage depots in a second straight day of aerial attacks, officials said. Russian strikes in the Kyiv region damaged 14 warehouses, 16 private houses, three apartment buildings and 16 vehicles, Tymur Tkachenko, head of the Kyiv regional military administration, said Friday.
Shortly after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, freelance photographer Jang Jinyoung crossed from Poland into Lviv and travelled on to Kyiv, where he spent a fortnight documenting the war. South Korea’s foreign ministry had designated Ukraine off-limits days earlier, making unauthorised visits a criminal offence. He knew he was breaking the law but went anyway, as no Korean journalist had yet reported from inside the country. “Everything back home was being relayed through foreign outlets. I wanted to see it more directly for myself,” Jang told the Guardian. On his return he was placed under criminal investigation. After refusing to accept a summary fine, a court north-west of Seoul this month convicted him and fined him 5m won (US$3,600). Many countries release travel advisories for their citizens, but South Korea is one of the few developed democracies that criminalises visits to blacklisted countries. On Friday, the country’s maximum penalty for such an offence tripled – from a year in prison or a 10m-won (US$7,200) fine to three years or a 30m won (US$21,700) fine, at the court’s discretion. The government says the system is necessary to protect citizens’ lives and safety, but critics argue the restrictions go beyond what’s required, and those with a genuine need to travel, including journalists and aid workers, are being unfairly caught out by the law. The foreign ministry says it grants 5,000 to 6,000 exceptions a year, including about 50 to journalists. But permission is discretionary and decided case by case. In Jang’s case, the application process for Ukraine specifically had not opened when he departed for the country. His case has been condemned by domestic and international press groups, and he is appealing against his conviction and plans to challenge the law at the constitutional court. He wants the permit system replaced with one where journalists simply notify the authorities of their plans. “Permission is control, and control over what gets covered reaches into editorial territory. The ban is the biggest barrier there is for anyone trying to report what is really happening in a conflict.” Aid workers and activists The travel ban in its current form began in 2007, when 23 members of a South Korean church travelled to Afghanistan against government warnings and were seized by the Taliban. Two were shot dead, and the remaining 21 returned after Seoul negotiated directly with their captors. Within weeks the government designated Afghanistan, Iraq and Somalia as travel-ban areas, making unauthorised visits a crime. The current restrictions currently cover 10 countries in their entirety, including Ukraine, Iran, Iraq, Sudan and Haiti, with partial bans on a dozen more, among them Myanmar and Gaza. The decision to impose stricter penalties followed 2025 revelations that hundreds of South Koreans had been lured to Cambodia by fake job adverts and held in compounds run by fraud syndicates. The areas banned by the government in Cambodia were downgraded in July, after the ministry recorded a 94% fall in reports of Koreans being confined against their will. But the law has entangled people travelling for reasons far removed from the scam compounds, including journalists, rights activists and aid workers. Data released to the office of opposition lawmaker Kim Gunn shows the ministry reported 22 people to police in the first seven months of this year – more than double the total for 2025 and the most since 2020. Over the past decade, it has reported 120 people. All but one of this year’s cases concerned Europe, where the travel ban covers all of Ukraine, along with stretches of Russia and Belarus on the Ukrainian border. Earlier this month, police opened a criminal investigation into six South Korean activists who had travelled to Kyiv to lobby against the forced repatriation of two North Korean prisoners of war. The law also allows the ministry to invalidate passports without any criminal case. It used this in March against Kim Ahyun, a peace activist known as Haecho, as she prepared to join a Gaza aid flotilla. On Thursday the Seoul administrative court rejected her challenge. Unless it is overturned, she cannot travel abroad at all. In a statement, the foreign ministry said that by restricting passport use, the law had played an important role in protecting Korean lives over two decades, and denied that it amounted to censorship. “It is the minimum measure necessary to secure the lives and physical safety of citizens in dangerous areas”, it said. Jong-Chul Kim, a public interest lawyer who has been assisting Haecho, said the system was disproportionate, punishing people after they travel and stripping passports before they go. “The travel ban system, which has a strongly paternalistic character, not only infringes on individuals’ freedom to make their own choices regarding movement, but also seriously reduces the space for international civil society activities”, he said. Aid agencies working out of South Korea face the same restrictions and have long pressed for overseas relief work to be recognised as a category in its own right, saying they cannot get permission under the current system. A bill to do that has sat before parliament since 2024. Jun Mo Lee, who runs the Korean office of the Irish aid agency Concern Worldwide, said that with proper security systems, risk assessments and guidelines in place, there were many countries where humanitarian workers could safely be allowed to travel. “What we need is not less protection, but a more practical and proportionate system that balances safety with humanitarian access,”Lee said.
The number of Australians who were reported missing in the catastrophic Nepal flooding disaster has risen to 41, as one family celebrates after an unaccounted-for woman made contact with them yesterday. It means three additional Australians were confirmed missing overnight – up from 38 who remained unaccounted for on Friday evening. The Australian government’s Department of Foreign Affairs has been urgently working with local authorities to contact Australian woman Cara Severino, 25, who became the first Australian reported missing who has been confirmed safe. Severino contacted her parents, Debbie and Frank Severino, on Friday morning, informing them she was hiking away from the disaster zone to Kathmandu with a group of Nepali hikers – a trek of more than 110km. Sign up for the Breaking News Australia email The Red Cross has said about 600 people are dead and as many as 93,000 people may have been affected by Wednesday’s flash floods on the Nepal-Tibet border, with a huge rescue operation that is being hampered by fears of new flooding. Dfat has received more than 450 calls in relation to the disaster. Nepal’s disaster management agency says there are 1,924 people unaccounted for – 517 of those people are foreign tourists. About 7:30pm on Friday evening, the authority said 121 foreigners had been rescued – none of them were Australians. View from Kathmandu hospital Outside the hospital in Kathmandu yesterday, there were scenes of anxiety as families put up posters of loved ones, and authorities hung pictures of the dead that need to be identified. One woman said her cousin was on his way back from Australia because his brother had gone missing. Like many others, she was putting pictures of him up, in case he was brought back to the hospital. Australian charities are starting to pump in aid, with the Emergency Action Alliance – a peak body representing major Australian charities – raising funds to build emergency shelters, get food and safe drinking water, hygiene supplies and medical care to communities. But conditions on the ground are difficult and unpredictable owing to the scale of the damage and the heavy monsoon. Rescue operations in Nepal and China resumed as of Saturday morning after being suspended due to the risk of further flooding. “The gravity of the situation is worse now because whole towns have swept away,” Australian Nepalese Multicultural Centre vice president Keshav Kadel said. “Now there is nothing, it’s just a mudslide.” Four Dfat crisis response team officers are expected to arrive in Kathmandu later on Saturday to support consular efforts on the ground. Four rapid response team members are also expected to arrive in Kathmandu – humanitarian response specialists with expertise in communications, logistics and planning. These extra deployments add to about 20 personnel Australian already has on the ground with the Australian embassy in Kathmandu. On Friday night, the foreign affairs minister, Penny Wong, spoke with the Nepali foreign minister, Shisir Khanal, to affirm that Australia would provide further humanitarian assistance, including to aid rescue and recovery efforts, where required. Australia has pledged $5m in aid and support for the disaster, with $2m going to the World Food Programme to provide emergency food and water provisions, and the remaining to the Emergency Action Alliance. Australia’s assistant minister for foreign affairs and trade, Matt Thistlethwaite, said on Saturday morning that the aid was being provided on request of the Nepalese authorities. Speaking to ABC News Breakfast, Thistlethwaite said Australian officials in Beijing were also working with the Chinese Government, but that China had not so far requested support. “We’re doing our best to support both the Nepalese and Tibetan diasporas here in Australia,” Thistlethwaite said. “Yesterday I held two online forums, one with the Nepalese community one with the Tibetan community to outline the latest situation, to advise of the support that Australia is providing, the $5m in humanitarian aid, and the best way for us to keep in contact with them. We’re providing them with the latest information through our officials. “I also attended a vigil last night with the Nepalese community in Strathfield and obviously there was quite a bit of despair and anxiety in that community, but we’re doing our best to support the Tibetan and Nepalese communities here in Australia.” The Australian government’s 24-hour consular emergency centre can be contacted on 1300 555 135 within Australia or +61 2 6261 3305 from overseas.