Ryan Bomberger was 13 years old when his adoptive parents first told him he was conceived after his birth mother was raped.

He grew up in a devout evangelical family with 15 children, 10 of whom were adopted by his parents, who were committed to providing a loving home for his diverse array of brothers and sisters. “We all had our different stories, and our parents always shared with us the stories of our birth moms – it was a way to honor our birth moms – since we were toddlers.”

But learning about the horrific experience of his own birth mother left him reeling. “You know, 13 is a crazy time for any child, a tumultuous time of life,” says Mr. Bomberger, who, with his wife Bethany, runs The Radiance Foundation, a faith-based anti-abortion organization in Purcellville, Virginia. “So it was shocking. It was painful. It kind of rewrote the narrative I had of myself in my mind.”

Today, however, the narrative of his life has become a focal point in what has been a dramatic shift in the politics of abortion. In the recent past, Republicans and GOP lawmakers who opposed abortion generally made exceptions for cases of rape and incest. But for a growing number of those who have long battled legalized abortion, Mr. Bomberger’s life highlights what they see as a wrenching truth: innocent, unborn lives have value and purpose, even when they are conceived in violence.

Rogelio V. Solis/AP

Longtime anti-abortion activist Barbara Beavers hands a leaflet to an incoming patient outside the Jackson Women's Health Organization, May 3, 2022. Also called the "Pinkhouse," the organization is Mississippi's last remaining abortion clinic.

“I was loved like crazy by my parents, so finding the truth of my origin didn’t destroy me – it strengthened me and made me realize I have a story to tell,” says Mr. Bomberger, who worked as a creative director in advertising before launching his foundation. “And I found that even more powerful that she went through what she went through, and that I had a birth mom who was courageous enough to give me life and give me the gift of adoption.”

In some ways, this is the inescapable ultimatum of the movement’s focus on the dignity of the unborn. And it has been gaining ascendancy as Republican-dominated states anticipate the overturning of Roe v. Wade, which held that abortion is a constitutional right. This seems even more likely after the publication of a leaked draft of a Supreme Court decision expected in June.

Since 2021, at least 12 Republican-controlled states have passed bills that would severely restrict or ban abortion. Only three include exceptions for rape or incest, according to the Guttmacher Institute, which tracks abortion legislation.

“The humanity of the preborn is not measured on a sliding scale,” says Kristan Hawkins, president of Students for Life of America, which seeks to abolish abortion. “It either does or does not exist. That’s the key issue. ... We reject shaming children for things beyond their control, and mourn a current culture that tells people conceived in rape that they should not exist, causing them great pain.”

For some who support abortion-rights, however, the growing Republican opposition to exceptions for rape and incest only strengthens their conviction that the anti-abortion movement is more deeply about the role of women in society.

“In the end, what they want is a total ban on abortion, because I don’t think they believe that women are individuals – they think that women are essentially mothers,” says Kimberly Hamlin, professor of history at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. “So they believe fetal rights, fetal personhood should be covered under the 14th Amendment and should trump the rights of living, breathing girls and women.” 

This question was central to the earliest iterations of the women’s rights movement. “It was the quest for bodily autonomy that really brought women to meetings, to organize for reform in the 19th century,” Dr. Hamlin says.  

Women had no power over their bodies, she adds. Men had conjugal rights within marriage, which meant there was no such thing as marital rape. The Comstock Act of 1873 muzzled frank discussions of spousal sexual abuse and made the dissemination of contraceptives illegal. With few exceptions, women were not able to divorce their husbands. 

Even the temperance movement “was really the MeToo movement of the 19th and 20th centuries,” Dr. Hamlin says. “Women have always understood, whether or not they could say it or not say it, bodily autonomy and political autonomy are two sides of the same coin.”

One study of Americans’ attitudes toward abortion, which included in-depth interviews, found 63% who oppose abortion on legal grounds support a rape exception, while 58% who are morally opposed believe abortion may be justified in rape cases. Sociologist Tricia Bruce, who led the study for the University of Notre Dame’s McGrath Institute for Church Life, says that’s closer to half when you look specifically at Republicans who oppose abortion.

Hal Yeager/Alabama Governor's Office/AP/File

Alabama Gov. Kay Ivey signs a bill that virtually outlawed abortion in the state, in Montgomery, Alabama, May 15, 2019. A few months later, U.S. District Judge Myron Thompson blocked the ban, which would have made abortion a felony at any stage of pregnancy in almost all cases.

The report revealed a desire to delve more deeply into moral discussions over the issue, says Dr. Bruce. Most Americans feel an ambivalence and moral uncertainty that polls don’t necessarily capture, she adds. Republicans were outliers in opposing traditional legal exceptions.

“The kinds of things that people said were, ‘Well, it’s not the baby’s fault,’ ‘We’ll love the baby no matter what,’ or ‘The child has done nothing wrong,’” she says. “Republicans also use language like, ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right.’”

They were also the most likely to express skepticism about a woman’s claim of being raped – that it was used as justification to get an abortion. 

The shift against exceptions for rape and incest has presented a challenge for some Republican leaders, including former President Donald Trump. In 2019 he tweeted: “As most people know, and for those who would like to know, I am strongly Pro-Life, with the three exceptions – Rape, Incest and protecting the Life of the mother – the same position taken by Ronald Reagan.”

In 2019, both House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell said they opposed an Alabama law that did not include these exceptions.

States such as Oklahoma have moved to ban abortion entirely, and many in the anti-abortion movement are working for a federal ban that would encompass the entire nation. But for now, most new Republican state laws still give women 6 to 15 weeks of pregnancy to make the decision on an abortion.

That is something of a political compromise. Florida state Sen. Kelli Stargel, a Republican, sponsored the state’s new abortion law, which bans the procedure only after 15 weeks, though that doesn’t reflect her own moral views.

“Having once been a scared, teenage mother myself, I understand the anguish of a woman facing an unplanned pregnancy,” she tells the Monitor via email. “While the challenges surrounding an unplanned pregnancy would certainly be made exponentially more difficult when the pregnancy is the result of the crime of incest, rape, or human trafficking, the human life carried in the mother’s womb is the same. I believe that life begins at conception, and we have a duty to protect innocent life, even in the most difficult circumstances.”

Jose Luis Magana/AP

Abortion-rights activists protest outside the U.S. Supreme Court, May 11, 2022, in Washington. A draft opinion suggests the Supreme Court could be poised to overturn the landmark 1973 Roe v. Wade case that legalized abortion nationwide, according to a Politico report.

The issue emerged in several of this year’s Republican primaries. During a Republican primary debate for Pennsylvania’s open U.S. Senate seat, candidate Kathy Barnette proclaimed, “I am the byproduct of a rape. My mother was 11 years old when I was conceived, my father was 21. I was not just a ‘lump of cells.’ As you can see, I’m still not just a ‘lump of cells.’ My life has value.”

For many who oppose exceptions to abortion bans, their view is rooted in deep religious beliefs. The Notre Dame survey found that many say, even amid tragedy and heartbreak, God’s goodness can still burst through.

“I meet a lot of rape survivors, and some of our colleagues and some of our friends are rape survivors,” says Mr. Bomberger. “And I didn’t expect there to be this common thread with those who’ve chosen adoption, or those mothers who chose to parent – that the child is the only redemptive part of such a horrific act.” 

“That’s what compels me to share my side of the story,” he says. “I want to say to those who experienced rape, or those who are trying to work out in their minds whether to have an abortion after rape, I’m just saying, I’m the other side of the story – that triumph can come from these moments of tragedy.”

Editor's note: This story was changed to clarify the period of time some states now allow to obtain an abortion.

Heikki Saukkomaa./Lehtikuva/AP

Finnish soldiers take part in the Army mechanized exercise Arrow 22 at the Niinisalo garrison in Kankaanpää, Western Finland, on May 4, 2022. Finland, which on Thursday announced intentions to apply for membership in NATO, is a well-established democracy with a strong military and respect for rule of law. Its application is expected to move quickly.

In a picturesque pine forest some 60 miles north of Helsinki, members of the Finnish Reservist Association crouch behind a wooden bunker barricade, shooting at torso-shaped targets in a trailer-sized trench, dug out to keep bullets from ricocheting off the region’s ubiquitous granite rock.

It is late afternoon Thursday and these reservists have come from their day jobs, ready to drill in the drizzling rain until 9 p.m. or the ammunition runs out. 

Their training has taken on a new sense of urgency: Just hours before, Finnish leaders announced that their country, which shares an 800-mile border with Russia, intends to join NATO. For the Finnish people, this doesn’t mean a retreat from their long tradition of self-preparedness, but it does portend a future with the benefit of formal backup from their neighbors.

“This has been a long time coming,” says Antti Kettunen, who served as a peacekeeper in Kosovo, accompanying Finnish officials investigating mass killings carried out by Russian-backed Serbian forces. “Now NATO is the only way to go.”

Less than three months ago, this was not the prevailing view. Support among Finns for joining the alliance hovered at 20%. But that figure skyrocketed nearly overnight to 76% – along with demand for military training – after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. 

Nelli Pylkkaenen, who served in the Finnish Army in 2003, decided to sharpen her skills four years ago after feeling unsettled by “the way Russia was treating its own citizens, jailing people with different opinions.” 

She wanted to be ready “to defend Finnish values,” if it comes to that. 

There are worries that it may. Finland and Sweden – expected to announce its intentions to join its neighbor in applying for NATO membership next week – will now be entering a “grey zone,” as defense analysts call it, before their security is guaranteed by the bedrock promise of the alliance: that an attack against one is an attack against all.

The question in the weeks to come will be how Russia will respond now that the precise scenario it was hoping to avoid by invading Ukraine – having NATO at Russia’s doorstep – is coming to fruition in Finland.

“They could do anything from blocking our postal deliveries to a nuclear bomb,” Mr. Kettunen says. “But we’re not scared – we’re prepared.”

Russia at its doorstep

Helsinki has been on the receiving end of Russian aggression throughout its history. Part of czarist Russia up until its independence in 1919, Finland was invaded by Russia once again in 1939, after a false flag attack staged by Moscow. 

As with Ukraine today, the world was in awe of the fighting spirit and unexpected hammering that the Nordic nation was able to muster against the Red Army.  

It was Finland that introduced the world to “Molotov cocktails” as Russian bombs reigned down on their cities – punishment for refusing to cede territory demanded by Moscow.

In an audacious early disinformation campaign, then-Soviet Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov denied the siege was happening. Moscow was merely airdropping humanitarian aid to starving Finns, he told a Russian radio audience.

Retaining their sense of humor under bombardment, the Finns dubbed these attacks “Molotov bread baskets.” Their soldiers served up to Russian tanks “a drink to go along with his food parcels.” 

Finnish fighters trapped and bogged down these tanks in part by exploding 143 of their own bridges and viaducts and using white-clad skiing “ghost soldiers” hidden in snow banks as snipers who targeted officers and tow truck drivers. 

“Only Finland – superb, nay, sublime in the jaws of peril – Finland shows what free men can do,” Winston Churchill marveled. The Finns liked to joke that the British prime minister’s words were nice, but they didn’t explode – in other words, they weren’t desperately needed forces or weapons.

Indeed, though Finnish forces humiliated the Soviet Army in the Winter War, as it came to be known, Finland’s allies did not come to its aid. The scenario seemed to echo the 18th-century warnings inscribed on Helsinki’s beloved Suomenlinna fortress: “Future world, stand here on your own two feet and don’t rely on outside help.”

“It reinforced this sense of admonition of don’t expect foreign assistance – and don’t trust it,” says Charly Salonius-Pasternak, senior research fellow at the Finnish Institute of International Affairs.

Finland was ultimately forced into a 1948 pact with Russia and a policy of staying neutral but allowing Moscow to exercise some influence over its affairs. The setup came to bear their country’s name – Finlandization – and was raised as a possible model for Ukraine in the run-up to Russian President Vladimir Putin’s invasion. 

Next door, in Sweden, “It was never an issue to join NATO, because if they did, the Soviet Union would take a much firmer grip on Finland,” says Magnus Petersson, who heads the Department of International Relations at Stockholm University.  

Frank Augstein/AP

British Prime Minister Boris Johnson (left) and Sweden's Prime Minister Magdalena Andersson exchange files as they sign a security assurance, in Harpsund, the country retreat of Swedish prime ministers, May 11, 2022. Finland announced plans to apply for membership in NATO on Thursday; Sweden is expected to follow suit next week.

“This would create a situation similar to the situation in Europe, with extreme tensions between East and West and increased risk of crisis and war.” 

Though Sweden’s 200-year-long tradition of neutrality has been pragmatic, it has also been “an ideological position that was very important” to national identity, says Björn Fägersten, director of the Europe Program at the Swedish Institute of International Affairs.

“It was part of our general foreign policy – neutral but very activist,” criticizing nuclear proliferation, the USSR, and the U.S. in the Vietnam War.

Declassified documents have also shown that Finland and Sweden closely coordinated with the U.S. during the Cold War, sharing intelligence, “which was not widely known, but also a very clear indication of where we belonged ideologically,” Dr. Fägersten says. 

The two countries officially became partners of NATO after the fall of the Soviet Union in 1994, and, during the years since, both nations have been “as close to NATO as you can be without being a member,” he adds.

And that’s just how the Finns and Swedes liked it in recent years. But as Finland’s leaders officially endorsed NATO membership Thursday, Sweden is expected to follow suit.

“You don’t want to be left alone if all your friends are joining,” Dr. Fägersten says. “Also out of solidarity: It would be difficult for NATO to protect Finland – and indeed the Baltic states – if it didn’t have access to Swedish territory.” 

NATO applications on fast track?

Well in advance of this week’s announcement, Finnish officials had been making diplomatic rounds, collecting security assurances from NATO allies that they will come to Finland’s aid against Russia if necessary. 

It’s in the alliance’s interest to take a strong stand: Not doing so would send the signal that Moscow can prevent any expansion of NATO.

At the same time, Finland and Sweden are well-established democracies with strong militaries and respect for rule of law – which is why their applications are expected to move quickly.

In the interim, security assurances are “of course not security guarantees – and we know the Kremlin has obviously been willing to take a lot of risk – but Russia really needs to think about its risk profile if all of these countries have said in advance that if you attack Sweden and Finland, we’re in,” says Mr. Salonius-Pasternak.

It’s not lost on Finland that there are fewer Russian forces at the border than in recent history. “They are really, really busy now in Ukraine,” says retired Gen. Jarmo Lindberg, Finland’s chief of defense until 2019.

Acting as a further deterrent, the Nordic neighbors bring their very capable militaries to the alliance, including fighter jets and submarines.

The cornerstone of Finland’s defense force is its policy of mandatory conscription for men, says General Lindberg. “We never gave it up after the Cold War, though a lot of nations did.” Women are welcome to sign up as well.

That means that there are 900,000 people out of a population of 5.5 million who have received military training. Depending on their speciality, many do additional drilling every one to five years to keep their skills sharp. Conscripts aren’t drafted to fight, because they’re considered trainees, but 280,000 reservists are immediately deemed ready for war should they be needed. 

These troops are trained to make use of Finland’s imposing climate and terrain, much as their predecessors did during the Winter War. This includes building ice caves, orienteering, and skiing straight into freezing lakes – then learning how to climb out of them quickly and warm up without fire. 

Finland has some 100,000 lakes, which means that “it’s difficult to move if you can’t use the roads or bridges,” notes General Lindberg, now a member of his country’s reserve forces. “So it’s common knowledge in Finland that if we need to slow down an attacker, then the means of transport should be destroyed.”

For this reason, underpasses in Finland are equipped with hooks specially made for quickly hanging antitank mines, and bridges have charges pre-inserted into supporting beams.

At the same time, by Finnish law multistory buildings of a certain height must have basements with reinforced doors and working filtration systems to act as bomb shelters. They are also built into the granite of the countryside.

The idea, in short, is “to make it prohibitively expensive for anyone who thinks it would be possible to attack Finland,” General Lindberg says. 

Indeed, there’s a national joke about reserve forces so well-trained and enthusiastic that “the biggest issue would be trying to prevent them all from grabbing their hunting rifles and taking care of business themselves” in the event of an invasion, Mr. Salonius-Pasternak notes. “And the government has to say, ‘Don’t worry, go home – we’ve got this.’”

The humor has basis in truth, says Minna Nenonen, executive director of the Finnish Reservist Association in Helsinki, and the first woman to serve in that role. “Never in our association have we seen anything like this year.”

Her grandfather was a Winter War veteran, forced to relocate from his home in former Finland after it became part of Russia.

In later years, he worked with fellow veterans while a 10-year-old Ms. Nenonen sat at his elbow, hearing their stories. She decided she would join the military, too. 

Now she is getting calls from women looking for training. “They are thinking about what they are seeing happen to women in Ukraine,” she says.

“Do, don’t talk”

All of this preparation, though bracingly extensive, has so far been unnecessary in the post-Soviet era. 

To this end, an equally impressive – and successful – deterrent has been the understated “do, don’t talk approach” of the Finns, Mr. Salonius-Pasternak says. 

In the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, for example, the military released photos showing Finnish forces training on missile systems. The pictures made it clear that the missiles had a yellow stripe, indicating a “we’re no longer kidding missile” rather than an inert weapon, he notes. 

“This means nothing to the greater public – it didn’t create panic or cause headlines saying ‘Finland is arming up,’ but every intelligence agency in Helsinki, including [those of] China and Russia, took note,” Mr. Salonius-Pasternak says. 

It’s an approach that comes with being an adversary of Russia, but also a neighbor, he adds. 

“It’s a practical approach that gets lifted up in the political sense: The same person who’s selling goods to a Russian tourist one week can the next week do their reservist training knowing that the only reason they need to do this is if Russians attack,” he says. 

“The thing is, it’s not a paradox – it’s just how things are done here.” 

Yousef Murad/AP

Richard Norland, the U.S. ambassador to Libya, gives a press conference in Tripoli, Libya, March 17, 2022. He and other U.S. officials are trying to hammer out an oil revenue sharing agreement among Libyan political factions that would restore the country's production, which was halved in April.

A decade after NATO countries helped oust dictator Muammar Qaddafi, the United States is close to getting Libya’s bitterly divided political factions to unite – over oil.

Driven by the Ukraine war-induced energy crunch, U.S. officials have dramatically increased their involvement in the North African country’s internal disputes after years of being largely, and notably, absent.

Their intensified shuttle diplomacy among rival Libyan governments, factions, members of parliament, and warlords is making progress toward a Libyan settlement to share oil revenues and bring production back fully online.

The country’s output was halved in April. To protest the mass transfer of oil revenues to the government in western Libya, eastern warlord Khalifa Haftar and his self-styled Libyan National Army orchestrated a shutdown of oil fields, holding back 600,000 barrels – and costing the country $60 million – per day.

“Half of Libya’s oil is off the market now, which we think is not only bad for Libyans and depriving them of opportunities, but is bad for the global economy,” says a senior Western official, adding, “and at this point, every barrel counts.”

Western officials, pitching the transparent oil revenue agreement they are encouraging as a win for Libyans, hope it can be used as a springboard toward a wider political settlement.

The Russia angle

Yet behind the renewed American and Western focus on Libya is simmering competition with Moscow.

The U.S. and Europe are nervously eyeing the presence in eastern Libya of the Russian paramilitary Wagner Group, which has been there since 2017 but has attracted increasing criticism from the Biden administration.

Petros Giannakouris/AP/File

Libyan Khalifa Haftar, whose forces in eastern Libya today receive Russian support and control vital oil fields and terminals, meets with Greek Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis in Athens, Greece, Jan. 17, 2020.

Even in the wake of the recent reported departure of 400 Wagner mercenaries for the Ukraine battlefield, the Russian government-aligned paramilitary force still retains a large military footprint in eastern Libya. It controls three airstrips, and is using the country as a clandestine launchpad for Russian activities in Africa, experts and analysts say.

Unless the West is able to counter Moscow’s influence soon, U.S. and European officials fear Russia could decide to use its assets in Libya against NATO and Europe – either by facilitating mass migration, exporting extremism, or simply stopping oil flows.

Complicating matters further is the fact Mr. Haftar and other actors have been backed by Russia and relied on Wagner forces.

Noting Libya’s geostrategic position on NATO’s southern flank, the senior Western official says the country is “an area that could be subject to strategic competition in this Russia-Ukraine situation. ... It is a place where the U.S. is putting a good deal of emphasis.”

Yet with America’s disengagement during their recent rounds of civil war fresh in their minds, Libyans remain wary. They wonder whether the renewed U.S. interest in Libya might end in an agreement that sacrifices Libyan democracy and stability for the West’s short-term geopolitical interests. Can American motives be trusted?

Oil revenue sharing

For weeks, U.S. diplomats led by Ambassador to Libya Richard Norland have been meeting Libyan officials and factions, who are broadly divided between eastern and western Libya but also have individual interests, to help hammer out an oil revenue agreement.

The agreement is to set up a Libyan-led, transparent mechanism that would direct the revenues from the central bank to fund national priorities such as salaries, subsidies, and reinvestment in oil industry infrastructure.

After receiving buy-in from Libyan actors, Western diplomats hope the potential deal will resolve a dispute over the use of the revenues to fund militias and patronage networks.

Stressing the benefit of the agreement for average Libyans, Western diplomats have been trying to use windfall-high oil prices resulting from the Ukraine war as an incentive for Libya’s factions.

Esam Omran Al-Fetori/Reuters/File

The Ras Lanuf Oil and Gas Co. in Ras Lanuf, Libya, Aug. 18, 2020.

“Responsible Libyan leaders must recognize that the shutdown harms Libyans throughout the country and has repercussions across the global economy, and end it immediately,” the U.S. Embassy in Tripoli said in a strongly worded statement on April 27.

“The Americans want to end the politicization of oil revenues and the use of oil revenue to pay off militias, which has been a central source of conflict in Libya,” says Verity Hubbard, researcher at the Washington-based Libya-Analysis consultancy firm.

Diplomatic resources

As the U.S. responds to the geostrategic challenges posed by Libya, it is mobilizing human and diplomatic resources toward the North African country, U.S. diplomatic sources say.

Initial steps are being taken to reopen the U.S. Embassy in Tripoli, which has been closed since civil war erupted in Libya in 2014. The U.S. Embassy to Libya currently operates from neighboring Tunisia. A final decision to reopen the embassy in Tripoli requires the approval of both the White House and Congress.  

“There is no question that not having an embassy on the ground since 2014 has significantly impacted our ability to engage with the country, understand the country, and engage with actors,” says Ben Fishman, senior fellow at the Washington Institute for Near East Policy and a former National Security Council official. He calls the planned reopening of a U.S. embassy “the most positive step in years.”

But the U.S. has been absent from Libya for some time, applying no clear policy under the Trump administration, which means that "ultimately other outside actors are playing a more influential role than we are,” Mr. Fishman says.

Diplomatic sources say Washington is playing “catch-up,” after years of delegating Libya policymaking to its allies France, the United Arab Emirates, and Egypt, which in turn allowed for Russia’s entrance into the conflict that later led Turkey to intervene.

Hazem Ahmed/AP/File

Forces of the United Nations-supported government in Tripoli, Libya, clash with those led by field marshal Khalifa Haftar, south of Tripoli, May 21, 2019.

The U.S. is now one in a crowded field of international actors with stakes in the country.

Time for elections?

The U.S., Europe, and the United Nations are scrambling to take advantage of a period of peace in Libya to push once again for elections to unite the country, after U.N.-led attempts to hold elections last December fell apart due to disagreements over candidate eligibility, a constitutional framework, and security concerns.

Western officials are quick to point out that 2.8 million Libyans registered for the derailed 2021 elections, highlighting a hunger for democracy.

But Libyans and long-term observers caution that a rush toward elections without a unified government, constitution, or unified military may lead one or more warlords to try to take over the country through the ballot box and impose an autocratic regime similar to that of the deposed Mr. Qaddafi.

“The U.S. continues to promote a position in the region talking about democracy, peace, and stability, but many Libyans see past the rhetoric and diplomacy because they know behind the scenes the U.S. is delegating its interest to partners and actors who do not support U.S. values,” says Anas El Gomati, director of the Tripoli-based Sadeq Institute think tank.

“The irony here is that in their rush to counter the Russians, the Americans are working with individuals in Libya who have worked with Russia, empowered them, and placed them onto NATO’s southern flank.”

Highlighting the potential limits of American engagement, one Libyan says, “So far, America has been talking while other countries have been providing arms, money, or fighters for years. Will talk get people to agree?”

Tsvangirayi Mukwazhi/AP/File

People wait for a bus near graffiti calling on the ruling Zanu-PF party to resign, June 15, 2020. The party has ruled Zimbabwe since independence in 1980, but raging inflation and high unemployment are eroding its popular support.

For years, Gift Ngwarati has led a double life. To his neighbors here in Gotora, a village in Zimbabwe’s eastern Uzumba district, the 40-something is an avid supporter of the ruling Zanu-PF party, so devoted that he is even a local committee member. 

But Mr. Ngwarati’s secret is this: He supports the opposition party. And here in the rural stronghold of the party that has ruled since independence, often through violence, it’s an allegiance he fears could cost him his life. 

“Deep in my heart,” says Mr. Ngwarati, “I support the opposition. I want change.” 

The Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front, or Zanu-PF – has long held sway in districts like Uzumba, rural areas where much of a brutal seven-year bush war was waged against British colonial rule. 

Like many people in Uzumba, Zanu-PF’s founding father, the late President Robert Mugabe, was from the Zezuru clan, which played a key role in freeing Zimbabwe from white minority rule in 1980. Thereafter he rose to power, and during the early years of his tenure, Zimbabwe flourished to become one of the most prosperous and educated countries in Africa. 

Mr. Mugabe, who died in 2019, still casts a long shadow over the country, and the party he helmed for 37 years is still in power. But as decades of economic mismanagement have caused growing hardship for ordinary Zimbabweans, officials have increasingly turned to violence and intimidation to maintain their grip. 

When Mr. Mugabe was ousted by the military in 2017, many hoped for an end to the repression and mismanagement of his authoritarian rule. Instead, his party has further cracked down on civil activists, particularly young people protesting as the coronavirus pandemic has exposed rampant graft.  

As Zimbabwe moves toward elections next year, the battle to bring about the first democratic transition since independence is coming to a boil. For the first time in a decade, Zanu-PF faces a serious opposition challenger. Led by the charismatic Nelson Chamisa, who is in his mid-40s, the Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC) is seizing on the rumblings of discontent that are growing louder by the day.

Jeffrey Moyo

An opposition "Citizens Coalition for Change" rally takes place in an informal settlement just outside Harare, the Zimbabwean capital, in March 2022. In next year's elections, the CCC is hoping to capitalize on widespread disenchantment with the ruling Zanu-PF party's poor economic record.

Ninety percent unemployment

Mr. Ngwarati was just 2 years old when Zimbabwe gained independence from Britain. The same party has been in power his whole life. When he was 19, Mr. Ngwarati became a card-carrying member of Zanu-PF, which was then presiding over a booming economy and expanding schooling for Black Zimbabweans as part of a wholesale dismantling of white minority rule.

But the glory days soon passed. 

In 1997, the government printed and handed out so much money to some 60,000 liberation war veterans that the local currency plummeted. Three years later, in 2000, those same veterans led a violent and chaotic seizure of white-owned farms. 

The takeover of these commercial farms, many of which ended up in the hands of Mr. Mugabe’s cronies, spurred hyperinflation, joblessness, and a political crisis from which, some experts say, the country has never truly recovered.

In theory, Mr. Ngwarati’s position as a well-known foot soldier of the ruling party should have granted him some measure of status and perks.

Instead, he has never had a formal job, putting him among the 90% of working-age citizens who are unemployed, according to the Zimbabwe Congress of Trade Unions. Nor has he benefited from handouts periodically given to war veterans, considered a key demographic by the government.

With annual inflation climbing to 96% last month, the economic devastation is visible in other ways. Two of Gotora village’s three shops have been shuttered and have fallen into disrepair. One recent afternoon, Mr. Ngwarati drove past the sole functioning shop, watching villagers counting out change to buy their goods. A few sat on the storefront veranda, taking turns sipping beer from a single shared jar.

With each passing year bringing more economic hardship, Mr. Ngwarati says, he slowly became increasingly disillusioned. Two years ago, as the COVID-19 pandemic whipped through the country, he was horrified by news reports that the health minister had illegally skimmed millions of dollars during a deal intended to buy medical equipment to fight the virus. That year, he threw away most of his Zanu-PF regalia. 

Last year, when the government began cracking down on street protests, arresting key activists and shutting down the internet, he began secretly attending opposition rallies, hoping no one would spot him in the crowds. Recently, he began going door to door in villages in Uzumba on foot to canvass neighbors he knows are equally disgruntled.

“This year, I have made up my mind to support CCC, like many others here who are doing so secretly," Mr. Ngwarati says. “[I] will express myself when I vote, come elections next year.” 

Still, when he saw a fellow villager approaching on the road, he covered his face with his cap. “He must not see me here,” Mr. Ngwarati says, fearfully.

Jeffrey Moyo

(Left to right) Lynnette Karenyi, co-vice president for Citizens Coalition for Change; party President Nelson Chamisa; and Job Sikhala, deputy national chairperson, attend an opposition CCC rally outside Harare, the Zimbabwean capital, in March 2022. In rural areas of Zimbabwe, many opposition supporters are afraid to identify themselves in public for fear of violent retribution by the ruling Zanu-PF party.

Costly exit

Zanu-PF officials appear sanguine even as the rumbles of discontent continue to grow. “People will naturally get discouraged; it’s the new generation,” says Christopher Mutsvangwa, the Zanu-PF national spokesperson. “People are allowed to leave Zanu-PF as much as they are allowed to join it; this country is a democracy.”

But leaving the party has come at the highest cost for many. 

In 2008, sky-high inflation drove a groundswell of support for Western-backed former trade union leader Morgan Tsvangirai. That June, after an electoral runoff that Mr. Tsvangirai was widely believed to have won, an orgy of government-sponsored violence left hundreds dead, and the opposition all but collapsed.

In Mukonzi, a village near Gotora, Rangarirai Kaseke, a lifelong Zanu-PF supporter, returned home after losing his job in the capital, Harare. He said he was severely beaten by Zanu-PF thugs, who were allowed to roam with few consequences.

“I lost loved ones that were killed by Zanu-PF supporters; I was almost killed. I will not go back to Zanu-PF,” says Mr. Kaseke  

"Nothing has come out of my support for Zanu-PF over the years,” adds Mary Mtegude, Mr. Kaseke’s wife. “I only work as a housemaid from one household to the other to try and raise some money for us to survive.” 

Let’s go rural

Earlier this year, the CCC party launched a campaign it called handei kumusha, meaning “let’s go rural” in the local Shona vernacular. 

“We have developed a strategy to penetrate rural areas,” says Fadzayi Mahere, the CCC national spokesperson.

In strongholds like Uzumba, she adds, “Zanu-PF weaponizes food aid, unleashes intimidation and violence, and captures traditional leaders to rig elections in its favor.”

But Ms. Mahere was reluctant to share the CCC’s rural strategy, saying to do so might give away its tactics to “the enemy.”

Some analysts say the opposition will need all the help it can get to unseat the government, which still has ardent followers.

Taurai Kandishaya, a 30-year-old from Nhakiwa, another village in Uzumba, says he could not imagine supporting any other party. “There is no way a sane Zimbabwean can leave Zanu-PF,” he says.

Mr. Kandishaya and his family members acquired land during the farm seizures in 2000, he explains.

“I will support Zanu-PF to the grave. I benefited from it,” he explains. “I can't afford leaving.”

But the government no longer counts on voters such as Mr. Kandishaya, says Farai Gwenhure, an independent analyst based in Harare.

“Zanu-PF has shifted its reliance from popular support ... to the military, businesses, and other powerful institutions like the judiciary,” he says.

“A ruling elite which is not in power because of an election is not accountable to the people,” Mr. Gwenhure says. “The country will therefore continue to straddle from one crisis to another with no solution in sight, unless the deep state self-destructs or the citizen finds a formula to deal with it,” he predicts.

The Titanic sinks. Again. But this time no icebergs are involved. Instead of night in the North Atlantic, it’s a sunny 90-degree day in southern Florida, and the fatal flaw is soggy cardboard. It’s all part of the fun at the annual Cape Coral Cardboard Boat Regatta, which got its start in 1994.

Boats made of cardboard? Yes, and they do float (for a while). The Rotary Club of Cape Coral, which sponsors the event, has extremely detailed instructions for boat building with corrugated cardboard on its website. There are lots of rules and pointers. One of the secrets, it seems, is paint. 

On race day, spectators fill the stands and line the hillside around a small lake in Seahawk Park to watch teams and individuals compete in timed heats around a short course. There is talk of the police boat having to encourage an alligator to move away from the action. (This is Florida, after all.) Events are divided into boat size, team size, and age of, and/or number of, paddlers.

Before the boats hit the water, spectators, participants, and judges view the 14 entries on dry land and vote – on design, team spirit, construction, and decorations. The most impressive is the paddle-wheel boat created by the New Residents’ Club. Tony Fonzi, captain of said boat, says it took 30 people working hundreds of hours to build it.

Pat Wood, when asked why he participates, says, “We’re just a bunch of old guys with disposable income and some time on our hands,” as he shows off the decorative snake, gator, and fish that “the wives” made for his team’s airboat, The Polar Bear Express. 

Rotary Club President Bob Welsh declares, “It’s just a good family day.” Everyone gets a medal or trophy. 

Pat Collins, another of the boat builders, says, “The best thing is bragging rights!"

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

The Titanic’s captain, Tony Marchese, and mate Pat Hayes go down with the ship.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

The Liquid Assets boat competes in the first heat of the Cardboard Boat Regatta in front of a cheering crowd. The regatta is sponsored by the local Rotary Club, which has strict rules about building with corrugated cardboard.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Patti Shields wears an “I voted” sticker after making her selections for the people’s choice awards. Ballots are loaded into a real voting machine that tallies the winners.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

The Queen of the Gulf paddle-wheel boat was built by 30 members of the New Residents’ Club. They won the people’s choice award in the group-build category.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

The cardboard Mid Channel Ferry, with tiny vehicles made of the same material, awaits judging before its creators take it into the water.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

John Solaroli and his daughters, Gwendolen (left) and Charlotte – who was captain of their boat, The Thunder Speed – pose with their first-place medals. Mr. Solaroli and Charlotte won the parent-child event. They were the only entrants. In the regatta, every competitor goes home with a medal or trophy.

Melanie Stetson Freeman/Staff

Teams destroy each other’s boats in the "free-for-all" as the regatta comes to a close.

AP

A customer pumps gas at an Exxon gas station in Miami May 2.

Is trust in tatters? The pandemic, inflation, and climate change have shaken public confidence in the ability of governments to solve serious threats. Long stretches of social distancing and remote work have undermined trust between people – the recent trends following a longer decline. According to the United Nations, global faith in government peaked in 2006.

As the world emerges after the pandemic, however, a “trust recession” might possibly give way to a trust renaissance. That is because the common challenges of humanity are driving societies to rethink and reclaim the values around which they cohere. “Competence and integrity are the main ingredients for building trust,” wrote Ryan Wong, CEO of Canada-based Visier business consultancy, in a recent newsletter.

One place to look for trust-building is business. As Blackrock CEO Larry Fink noted, the pandemic “deepened the erosion of trust in traditional institutions and exacerbated polarization in many Western societies. ... Employees are increasingly looking to their employer as the most trusted, competent, and ethical source of information.”

That shift is reflected in growing demands among investors for greater transparency and social responsibility. Those factors motivated the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission in March to propose new rules for disclosing climate-related impacts in corporate reports to shareholders. The bar of expectations is high. Even as the public turns to the private sector for societal leadership, this year’s Edelman survey on levels of trust found 52% of respondents worldwide said business was not doing enough to reverse climate change and 40% said business was falling short on fixing economic equality. As employees and investors reflect shifting public priorities toward environmental and social concerns, they are putting greater pressure on corporate leaders to balance the goal of higher share prices with nonfinancial objectives.

“Today business must be the stabilizing force, the institution delivering tangible action on wages, climate change, re-skilling and diversity,” wrote CEO Richard Edelman in an essay accompanying the annual survey. “As business steps up, we need to move from outrage to optimism, fear to confidence, insinuation to fact. We must create a system that once again works for all.”