environment

'Make emitters responsible': Thailand's clean air activists

BY MONTIRA RUNGJIRAJITTRANON

  • "In Thailand, and particularly in the very highly uncertain political environment, one of the things that Thais are certain of is a huge amount of uncertainty," she said.
  • A finance specialist who struggled after running in smog and a doctor who fears for the health of his children are among the activists spearheading landmark air pollution legislation in Thailand despite political uncertainty.
  • "In Thailand, and particularly in the very highly uncertain political environment, one of the things that Thais are certain of is a huge amount of uncertainty," she said.
A finance specialist who struggled after running in smog and a doctor who fears for the health of his children are among the activists spearheading landmark air pollution legislation in Thailand despite political uncertainty.
Each winter, large parts of Thailand are plagued by haze caused by weather patterns, seasonal burning, vehicle exhaust and industrial emissions.
Years of efforts to tackle the problem, including work-from-home policies and rules on crop stubble burning, have done little to alleviate the issue.
Now, there is a glimmer of hope for fresh action in the form of the Clean Air bill, which would enshrine the right to breathable air, tax emitters and offer public information on the sources of pollution.
Wirun Limsawart, who has helped lead the push for the measure as part of the Thailand Clean Air Network (CAN), grew up in southern Nakhon Si Thammarat.
But it wasn't until he returned to Thailand in 2018 after a decade abroad that he realised the scale of the country's pollution problem.
He began to worry about the impact of the dirty air on his three children.
"It made me question my role as an anthropologist and a doctor," he told AFP.
"What can I do?"
The son of a seamstress and a mechanic, Wirun was a straight-A student who studied at one of Thailand's top medical schools. 
"My parents always showed me what it meant to genuinely care for others in their work, so that kind of embedded in me," the 49-year-old said.
"I chose a career path that allowed me to help people."
His life has been marked by illness.
In his early twenties, Wirun collapsed on a bus and was diagnosed with a brain tumour.
After chemotherapy and years of follow-up tests, the experience deepened his desire to better understand patients.
"My role was switched to become a patient... I wanted to genuinely understand patients from a doctor's perspective."
After eight years as a general practitioner in some of Thailand's poorest and most remote regions, he obtained a master's degree and PhD in anthropology at Harvard University.
He now works at the Ministry of Public Health as an anthropological doctor, blending medical research with studying human behaviour. 

'My problem too'

Wirun's pollution worries led him to a panel discussion in Bangkok on the issue in 2019, and the conversations evolved into CAN, which has spent several years advancing clean air legislation.
More than 20,000 people backed the group's call for action -- surpassing the threshold for public-initiated legislation -- and a draft bill passed the Thai parliament's lower house in October.
"We need to make emitters responsible," Wirun said.
But that goal is facing a new hurdle after Thailand's prime minister dissolved parliament this month, putting the bill on hold.
Still, the measure could be brought back after general elections early next year, if there is political will, according to Weenarin Lulitanonda, CAN's co-founder.
"In Thailand, and particularly in the very highly uncertain political environment, one of the things that Thais are certain of is a huge amount of uncertainty," she said.
"Right now, honestly, it's anyone's guess. We really don't know until general elections are held."
An outdoor run in 2018 drew Weenarin into clean air activism. The experience left her with a piercing headache she later learned was caused by Bangkok's seasonal smog.
More than 10 million people required treatment for pollution-related health problems in Thailand in 2023, according to the health ministry.
Weenarin had previously lived in New Zealand and never worried about air quality, but the more she looked into the issue, the more she was determined to do something about it.
"How is it possible that (in Thailand) someone has no information about what they are breathing?" she said, recalling the question that pushed her into activism.
Having studied finance and worked at the World Bank, Weenarin began contacting experts to understand the problem before helping establish CAN.
She said her motivation is simple: "If there were an alternative to breathing, I wouldn't care."
Clean-air reforms rarely start with governments or businesses, Weenarin said, and she worries too few Thais see the crisis as their problem.
"Don't vote for anybody who doesn't have clean air legislation as a key political manifesto and a commitment... follow them, become the political watchdog that we all need to be," she said.
She is determined to keep fighting though, so "enough Thais wake up and say this is my problem too".
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food

Ozempic Meals? Restaurants shrink portions to match bite-sized hunger

BY MAGGY DONALDSON

  • But "I still wanted to maintain my social lifestyle, and I still wanted to be included in dinners," the Swedish 41-year-old who works in the tequila industry told AFP. One of her favorite restaurants, Manhattan's Le Petit Village, made that easier: it's among the dining establishments in the city offering smaller portions at lower prices, as the prevalence of medications that reduce hunger like Ozempic grows.
  • A self-described foodie, social butterfly and New Yorker for 20 years, Lina Axmacher has long loved exploring the city's famed restaurant culture.
  • But "I still wanted to maintain my social lifestyle, and I still wanted to be included in dinners," the Swedish 41-year-old who works in the tequila industry told AFP. One of her favorite restaurants, Manhattan's Le Petit Village, made that easier: it's among the dining establishments in the city offering smaller portions at lower prices, as the prevalence of medications that reduce hunger like Ozempic grows.
A self-described foodie, social butterfly and New Yorker for 20 years, Lina Axmacher has long loved exploring the city's famed restaurant culture.
Then she started Ozempic.
She lost her appetite -- "my desire for cocktails and desserts and anything sweet" -- and also more than 20 pounds (9.1 kilograms) in less than two months.
But "I still wanted to maintain my social lifestyle, and I still wanted to be included in dinners," the Swedish 41-year-old who works in the tequila industry told AFP.
One of her favorite restaurants, Manhattan's Le Petit Village, made that easier: it's among the dining establishments in the city offering smaller portions at lower prices, as the prevalence of medications that reduce hunger like Ozempic grows.
The West Village restaurant decided to shrink a corner of its brunch menu, including French toast and a smoked salmon tartine, not least to accommodate diners on GLP-1s who want to go out but can't eat much.
Approximately one in eight American adults are currently taking drugs from the class of GLP-1 agonists that are increasingly popular for weight loss, according to a November poll by the non-profit health policy tracker KFF.
And one in five say they've taken the medications whose brand names include Ozempic and Wegovy -- which are also prescribed to manage chronic conditions like diabetes -- at some point.
On Monday, Danish pharmaceutical giant Novo Nordisk announced US authorities had approved Wegovy to be administered in pill form for weight loss, potentially making it even more accessible.
Some in the restaurant industry are taking note.
"I was going out and seeing people eat a lot less and take one bite of their food and one sip of their drink and that was it," said Aristotle Hatzigeorgiou, who owns Clinton Hall, which has five locations across New York.
And on top of that, much of the dishes his kitchens prepared ended up in the trash -- "a mass amount of waste," he said.
So he developed the "teeny-weeny mini meal" -- for $8, diners get a bite-sized burger, a small portion of fries and their choice of a 3-oz beer, martini or glass of wine.
It's a stark contrast to some of the beer hall's other offerings, which include a "doughnut grilled cheese" and a "fondue burger" (they are what they sound like.)
But the mini-meal has proven a hit, Hatzigeorgiou said, not only for those dropping weight but for those cutting costs.
"I think people are definitely strapped with rents going up and inflation," said the restaurant owner.
Offering "a cheaper option to come out," he said, has "been working."

'Vast human experiment'

For now, GLP-1s for weight loss purposes remain too expensive for many Americans.
But experts expect that will shift; even US President Donald Trump has promised affordable options.
And researchers are starting to examine how wider GLP-1 use is shaking cultural connections to food.
"Food is your enemy, instead of your great pleasure in life? I mean, that's very different," Marion Nestle, a professor emerita of nutrition at New York University, told AFP in an interview. "I think the jury is out on all of it."
Side effects of GLP-1s can include unpleasant gastrointestinal issues, but for some people, Nestle said, the medications have proven "miraculous."
The nutritionist said it's far too soon to have a grasp on long-term impact, physiologically or socioculturally: "It's a vast human experiment."
Axmacher told AFP she's taken Ozempic on and off. 
When she first decided to take a break, "I was ready to feel like I could enjoy life a little bit more again."
"I do enjoy the sense of hunger and satisfaction when I get to eat something I'm in the mood for," she said, adding that on Ozempic, "I missed that."
But using the medication also helped her develop positive and sustainable habits, she said: Axmacher cut down on alcohol, exercised more, and focused on eating enough protein.
Ozempic or not, a trend of smaller restaurant dishes in the wake of America's 1990s-2000s Super Size Era can only be positive, Nestle said.
Le Petit Village management told AFP they're considering expanding their menu of half-sized portions to dinner service, and Clinton Hall is working on developing a mini-meal featuring chicken.
Some customers, Hatzigeorgiou said, have noted that "this is what meals used to look like."
"We think it's something different, but maybe it's not so different," he said with a chuckle. "Maybe it's the right-sized meal."
mdo/md/aha/sla

justice

'Help me, I'm dying': inside Ecuador's TB-ridden gang-plagued prisons

  • Ecuador has gone from one of South America's safest countries to a major cocaine trafficking hub, plagued by gangs with ties to Mexican and Colombian cartels.
  • In gang-plagued Ecuador, being sent to prison is increasingly a death sentence, whatever the crime.
  • Ecuador has gone from one of South America's safest countries to a major cocaine trafficking hub, plagued by gangs with ties to Mexican and Colombian cartels.
In gang-plagued Ecuador, being sent to prison is increasingly a death sentence, whatever the crime.
In a bid to free the country from the clutches of drug traffickers -- some of them operating from their jail cells -- President Daniel Noboa sent the military into 19 prisons in January 2024 to restore order.
The takeover not only failed to stop gruesome gang massacres in the country's overcrowded penitentiaries, but it also worsened humanitarian conditions, prisoners' families and rights groups say. 
"A crime against humanity is being committed against the prisoners," said Billy Navarrete of Ecuador's Permanent Committee for Human Rights (CDH).
Inmate deaths in the South American country rose 137 percent between 2024 and 2025, according to Human Rights Watch's Americas director Juanita Goebertus, who denounced a "failed system" in a post on X last month.
At Ecuador's biggest prison -- Litoral Penitentiary in the port city of Guayaquil -- some 600 inmates have died so far this year due to a lack of medical attention for injuries or illnesses such as HIV/AIDS and tuberculosis (TB), according to the CDH. The facility, filled far beyond capacity, has nearly 7,100 inmates.
With prisoner visiting rights suspended for over a year in the name of keeping drugs and weapons out, and no cellphones allowed, loved ones on the outside are kept in the dark.
Santiago Hidalgo, 29, who was arrested in 2024 on suspicion of drug trafficking, died of TB in July at the Litoral Penitentiary.
“When I arrived at the morgue, I found my son on top of more than five other corpses. He was so thin, just skin and bones," his mother Benigna Dominguez, 57, told AFP at her home in an impoverished neighborhood of Guayaquil. 
Dominguez, who was never allowed to see her son during his seven months in prison, said his body was covered in bruises.
At least 663 inmates have died in violent incidents in prisons in Ecuador since 2020, according to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR). 

Highest murder rate

The last call Ana Maria Pin had with her son in Guayaquil's infamous prison was unnerving.
"Mommy, help me, I'm dying... get me out of here, this is hell," she said he told her. Pin clutched a photo of her son sitting, clearly ill, on the floor of his cell.
Ten prisoners died from TB at Litoral in November alone.
AFP contacted prison authorities about the spiraling death rate but received no response.
Noboa, re-elected in April on the back of his iron-fisted anti-gang policies, built a maximum-security prison for Ecuador's most dangerous offenders. It was modelled on El Salvador's brutal Terrorism Confinement Center (CECOT).
On his X account last month, the 38-year-old president posted pictures of inmates at the facility, reminiscent of those of Venezuelan migrants held at CECOT earlier this year: shorn heads, shackles, orange jumpsuits.
"Welcome to your new home," Noboa quipped. 
Ecuador has gone from one of South America's safest countries to a major cocaine trafficking hub, plagued by gangs with ties to Mexican and Colombian cartels.
Soldiers have been withdrawn from eight of the 19 prisons to which the military was deployed last year, but remain in those considered most dangerous, including Litoral.
Desperate for news of their loved ones, relatives pay imprisoned gang leaders as much as $20 a pop to contact family via WhatsApp.
Prisoners at Litoral describe TB raging out of control. Those infected are kept in beds outdoors to try and prevent spreading disease, while corpses pile up in the prison yard, according to accounts relayed by their families.
Sanitary conditions are also dire and drains overflow with sewage. 
"They want them to die," the sister of a TB-infected prisoner told AFP bitterly.
Another woman, who gave her name only as Elizabeth, was waiting to recover the body of her brother who died of tuberculosis.
"He's been lying like a dog in a cellblock since yesterday, and they won't let him out," she said. 
Human rights organizations question the effectiveness of Noboa's crackdown.
Ecuador ends the year with the worst homicide rate in Latin America: 52 per 100,000 inhabitants, according to Ecuador's Organized Crime Observatory.
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