Rethinking debt through the lens of hunger

 Note: This blog post is based on the intervention of Juan Echanove at the event "Addressing the Debt and Development Crises in Developing Countries", co-organized by the Pontifical Academy of Social Sciences and Columbia University, on 20 June 2025.

The opinions expressed here are personal and do not necessarily reflect the official position of FAO.

Today, over 735 million people suffer from hunger. This figure has been increasing for eight consecutive years. Despite global progress in many areas, hunger remains a growing crisis, and its roots are not only climatic or agricultural. One of the most urgent, yet under-discussed, drivers is sovereign debt.

In many developing countries, the burden of debt is limiting—if not entirely disabling—the ability of governments to provide for their populations. The result is not just slower development or missed targets. It is hunger. When food programs are cut, when subsidies for rural communities are removed, and when nutritional safety nets collapse under the weight of austerity or fiscal conditionalities, people go hungry.

Many in the policy world speak of the need to “do no harm.” But hunger is already happening. We must be willing to acknowledge it as a direct harm linked to the current structure of debt responses. And if we are serious about development, then food must be treated as a non-negotiable element of any economic strategy.

Protecting food-related public spending

Public investments in food systems—school meals, nutrition programs, rural safety nets, agricultural support—must be explicitly protected in debt restructuring processes. These are not peripheral items. They are central to public health, social cohesion, and basic dignity.

Loan agreements and adjustment frameworks should contain built-in safeguards that prevent cuts to food-related budgets. Just as some sectors (like security or debt servicing itself) are shielded from austerity, food should be granted the same protection. It is a matter of survival, not discretion.

Requiring food security impact assessments

Debt sustainability frameworks must evolve. It is no longer acceptable to assess a country’s repayment capacity purely through fiscal indicators. Any debt strategy should also consider whether repayment can occur without pushing people into hunger.

Is the debt burden compatible with feeding the population? Will a given restructuring measure result in higher malnutrition or reduced access to basic food? These questions must be central—not optional—in any analysis.

Including food security as a core dimension of sustainability would shift the discussion away from abstract macroeconomics and anchor it in the lived reality of millions. Because if a country cannot feed its people under a given debt plan, then the plan is not sustainable in any meaningful sense.

Promoting debt-for-food swaps

Finally, it is time to think creatively. One promising avenue is to adapt the logic of debt-for-nature swaps to the food domain. In countries facing both high debt and high hunger, partial cancellation of debt could be exchanged for concrete, verifiable investments in food systems.

These could include sustainable agriculture, school feeding programs, nutrition-sensitive social protection, or the construction of local food infrastructure. This is not about easing debt for its own sake. It is about transforming financial relief into long-term human security.

Conclusion

The question we must ask, again and again, is simple: Are people eating?

If the answer is no, then the system is not working. No economic strategy can claim success if it undermines the basic conditions of human dignity. The right to food is not an abstract idea. It is a legally binding obligation, recognised by more than 170 countries in international treaties.

Debt responses that ignore this right are not just incomplete—they are unjust. And if a financial system fails to protect the most basic human needs, then it is the system—not the rights—that must be reformed.

 

 

Reclaiming the Right to Food:

 Why Law, Dignity, and Accountability Must Anchor Food Systems Transformation 

This article stems from my intervention at the launch of the FAO Right to Food Thematic Dialogue Series on 16 April 2025 in Geneva — but it is not a summary of a presentation. It is a reflection on the deeper meaning, legal grounding, and transformative power of the human right to adequate food. 

What follows is not a briefing but a call to reimagine how we think about food, justice, and governance in our time.

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What is the Right to Food? It is one of the clearest, most operational rights in international law. Defined by the UN Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights in General Comment No. 12 (1999), it states:

"The right to food is realized when every man, woman and child, alone or in community with others, has physical and economic access at all times to adequate food or the means for its procurement."

Every word in that sentence matters — and every one has practical, measurable implications. "Every man, woman and child" means universality: this right applies everywhere, from a favela in Brazil to a refugee camp in Chad. “Alone or in community” recognizes that food is accessed both individually and collectively.

 “Physical access” asks whether infrastructure exists to reach food; “economic access” asks whether people can afford it. “At all times” refers to sustainability across seasons and shocks.

 “Adequate” means not just calories, but nutrition, safety, and cultural appropriateness. And "the means for its procurement" can mean employment, land, or social protection — like India’s Public Distribution System.

The Right to Food is not the same as food security. Food security is a status — a condition. The right to food is a legal entitlement. It answers different questions: not only do people have food, but why don’t they? Who is responsible? What legal recourse exists?

At its core, this right is about dignity and entitlement. It is about respecting people’s agency to access food with autonomy, not as a favor. It recognizes individuals as rights-holders — and governments as duty-bearers, legally bound to act.

A rights-based approach to food systems is structured by the PANTHER principles, which stand for Participation, Accountability, Non-discrimination, Transparency, Human dignity, Empowerment, and Rule of law. These are not abstract ideals — they are principles grounded in action. 

Participation means communities must have a say in shaping policy, as in Nepal’s Right to Food Act. Accountability implies people must be able to file complaints or seek justice — like India's grievance systems. 

Non-discrimination has been reinforced by courts in Colombia, which upheld the rights of Indigenous children to adequate food. 

Transparency is exemplified by Mexico’s front-of-pack labeling law that empowers consumers. 

Human dignity underpins elder care in Scotland, which includes food access that respects autonomy. 

Empowerment takes form in Brazil’s CONSEA, which involves civil society in food policy decisions. 

And rule of law is evident in South Africa, where courts upheld school meal programs during COVID-19.

Everyone is a rights-holder, but particular protection is owed to vulnerable groups: women, youth, children, Indigenous Peoples, persons with disabilities, and the elderly. 

Duty-bearers include States at all levels, but also international donors, trade actors, and the private sector. Each actor bears responsibilities to respect, protect, and fulfil this right.

Respect means not interfering — for example, not evicting communities from land where they grow food. Protect means regulating third parties, like preventing corporate land grabs or environmental harm. Fulfil means ensuring that laws, social protections, and services are in place to enable food access for all.

Beyond these, States must also eliminate discrimination in food systems; use their maximum available resources to realize this right; prevent violations before they occur; prioritize the elimination of hunger as a non-negotiable, immediate obligation; and cooperate internationally to support realization abroad and avoid harm through foreign policy.

When the right is violated, there must be remedies — at national, regional, and international levels. People should be able to turn to courts, ombudspersons, and human rights bodies to claim justice. These mechanisms are real, and they have delivered change.

Let us also confront the myths. The Right to Food is not vague — it is precisely defined. It is not about handing out food — it is about enabling access and equity. It is not just law — it is policy, practice, and transformation. It is not the same as food security — it is a legal framework. And it is not one issue among many — it is cross-cutting, touching health, climate, trade, gender, and more.

The Right to Food offers a coherent framework to repair fragmented policy and restore agency to those most affected by food insecurity. It is a tool for systems change, grounded in law and animated by justice.

We must act not out of charity, but obligation. Not out of policy convenience, but legal duty. And not in silos, but through integrated, participatory, and accountable systems.

Because food is not just about survival. It is about freedom, dignity, and power. And the right to food is the path toward realizing them all. 

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The views expressed in this article are solely my own and do not necessarily reflect those of the FAO or any other organization.

 

 

Pesticide management and the duty to protect the Right to Food

(c) FAO, 2024

The right to food is the backbone of FAO’s mandate. And this is not just a moral commitment — it is a legally recognized human right, enshrined in Article 11 of the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights, and binding on 173 States to date. 

This right is not an abstract idea. It means that every person, everywhere, has the right to adequate food — food that is available, accessible, safe, culturally acceptable, and sustainable. It also means that states have an obligation to respect, protect and fulfil this right — including from the threats posed by unsound pesticide management. 

And here lies the problem. 

When pesticides contaminate soil, water, and air, they don’t just disrupt ecosystems — they undermine the resilience of entire food systems. They compromise the nutritional quality and safety of food, and in many cases, put the long-term sustainability of food production at risk. This is not only a technical failure — it is a human rights violation. 

 Let me give you a few real examples for us to get a concrete perspective of what we are talking about. 

In Guadeloupe and Martinique, the prolonged use of chlordecone, a pesticide banned elsewhere, contaminated soil and water so deeply that exposure levels remain dangerously high. Thousands have been exposed for decades. The result? According to many sources long-term damage to local agriculture and fishing communities. 

In India, a tragic incident some years ago in Bihar saw 23 children die after eating a school meal prepared with cooking oil stored in a container previously used for monocrotophos — a highly toxic pesticide banned in many countries but still widely accessible there. 

And in Costa Rica, aerial spraying over banana plantations has led to repeated complaints from nearby rural communities about contaminated water.  

These communities — often low-income and Indigenous — are being exposed to chemicals that, as already mentioned, are not even allowed in the exporting countries. These examples speak to a deeper systemic failure. For too long, responsibility for managing the risks of pesticides has been placed mainly on end users — the farmers, the workers, the communities — instead of where it belongs: on states. States, as Shalmali highlighted, have the duty to regulate, to inform, to monitor, and to protect people from harm. 

Let us also not forget the procedural rights that are often neglected: the right to participation -, which in the case of Indigenous Peoples takes the form of Free, Prior and Informed Consent -, the right to access justice, the right to be heard. Decisions on pesticide policy must be informed by the voices of those most affected — women working in the fields, Indigenous farmers, and rural youth. 

 This brings me to the International Code of Conduct on Pesticide Management. It is a powerful tool — but today, we must ask whether it goes far enough in protecting human rights. And I believe that to truly safeguard the right to food, maybe some key improvements are needed: 

 The Code, I do believe, could be reviewed to recommend mandatory Human Rights Impact Assessments before any pesticide is registered or imported. This would ensure that we’re not just looking at chemical risk, but also at impacts on people’s health, livelihoods, and access to food. 

 The Code should also prohibit the export of pesticides that are banned in the country of origin. As Marcos Orelalna already mentioned, allowing their manufacture for use elsewhere creates a double standard — and violates the principle of non-discrimination at the heart of international human rights law. 

 I do think too that the Code should strengthen accountability systems and effective remedies, as Marcos was also refiring to. One way to do this could be by integrating in the Code a recommendation for countries to establish independent grievance mechanisms at the national level, so that communities harmed by pesticide exposure can report violations and access justice. 

 Protecting the right to food is not an add-on. It is the starting point. So, let’s make sure the Code of Conduct reflects that. Let’s ensure that no one’s plate comes with a price tag of pain or poison.

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​This intervention was delivered by Juan Echanove, Right to Food Team Lead at FAO, during the online event "Addressing the Impacts of Pesticides on Human Rights" held on 3 April 2025. The event was co-organized by the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO), the Special Procedures of the UN Human Rights Council, and the Geneva Environment Network.

La orilla de esta rabia

La orilla de esta rabia 

es una tristeza infinita, 

inmensa como el número 

de niños muertos, 

destrozados bajo las bombas 

de la caterva maligna. 

Es una rabia infinita, 

aunque contenida 

en el territorio nimio 

de una franja arenosa 

frente al mar. 

Me come por dentro, 

me muerde el dolor. 

Todas las guerras son brutales. 

pero esta es diferente: 

Ha sido bendecida 

por los nuestros y es, 

según nos dicen, por causa justa.

Nos explican 

que destripan a los niños 

para defenderse. 

No queda otro remedio, 

que extirpar a esa ralea, 

a los bebés y a sus madres, 

para que no se multiplique 

su estirpe terrorista. 

Y nosotros, que somos 

gentes de bien, guiadas 

por valores altos, 

mostramos cierto reparo,

les rogamos que dejen 

a alguno que otro vivo, 

y que hagan pocas fotos 

 porque es desagradable 

ver un hospital bombardeado, 

un olivar ardiendo, 

un adolescente apaleado 

o un niño descuartizado 

 por nuestros drones. 

Así que por favor háganlo rápido 

y limpien bien la sangre.

Escribo en los aviones

Escribo en los aviones. 

Sí: me inspira el ronronear 

sordo de los motores 

y el silencio del vecino de mi asiento. 

Escribo aquí, en lo alto, a muchos pies, 

con las dos manos y en un portátil. 

Que mísero momento creativo,

presurizados versos, 

volátil poesía pasajera. 

El universo cabe en la aeronave. 

La humanidad es solo este pasaje 

y fuera queda el éter ignorado, 

de todo lo demás, del mundo enorme. 

No hay nada ajeno ya del fuselaje;

un útero metálico en el cielo, 

 en busca del poema aterrizado.

Hoy no he perdido nada

Es un espectáculo interesante

asistir al sumergirse de un domingo 

bajo el manto de la mañana. 

El tiempo pasa sin transcurrir 

de veras (quiero decir: sucede, 

pero de un modo torpe). 

Minuto a minuto, 

lapso a lapso 

se desvanecen en aire 

las ganas del domingo 

de seguir adelante. 

Sin aristas, deslizándose 

como el zumbido que bulle 

bajo el silencio, 

el domingo circula 

mudo por el reloj. 

El cielo parece filtrado 

con el tono ambiguo 

de una película mal conservada. 

Los muñones de las ramas 

en el árbol duelen de solo verlas. 

Suena una canción banal: 

Noventa y nueve globos rojos 

(el alemán es una lengua hermosa). 

Silencio, alegría tenue. 

No hables escucha: 

Ich hab' heute nichts versäumt 

(hoy no he perdido nada).

Se filtra la calma dolorida 

de un domingo más, 

de un domingo menos.