Of COVID-19’s many lessons, one is most critical to our collective next steps:

Business as usual in global health is no longer possible.

The pandemic exposed weaknesses in health systems across the world, and particularly in the delivery of equitable, high-quality reproductive, maternal, newborn, adolescent, and child health (RMNCAH) services. It also reinforced that effectively addressing these challenges requires rapid, responsive approaches driven and owned by countries and local institutions.

I knew from a young age that I saw myself differently from the way others perceived me. Just as quickly as I noticed this difference, I also learned about the unforeseen complications of being different.

In Iraq, climate change is adding stress to an already precarious situation. Weak public services,  growing unemployment, fossil fuel-related environmental and health hazards, and other factors have generated high levels of social vulnerability and contributed to recent protests. In the top post for May, Dylan O’Driscoll and Shivan Fazil write about how, against this fragile backdrop, insecurity is heightened by increasingly deadly flash floods and more frequent dust storms that pose a public health threat.

Reducing maternal mortality is key to promoting population health. It is also a main priority of the UN General Assembly’s Sustainable Development Goals. And the reasons for concern are clear. Globally, 800 women and 6,500 infants die during pregnancy and birth every day. More than 94 percent of these deaths occur in low-and-middle-income countries (LMICs).

Many researchers have documented the impact of the Global Gag Rule (GGR) around the world—and what happens when the policy is in place. “But we don’t know enough about what happens when the policy is revoked,” said Bergen Cooper, Director of Policy Research at Fòs Feminista at the launch of the organization’s new report, Chaos Continues: The 2021 Revocation of the Global Gag Rule and The Need for Permanent Repeal.

It was time to take a stand. That’s the conclusion Sharon Day, an Ojibwe and Two-Spirit elder, came to after hearing that the Minnesota Department of Transportation intended to transform Hiawatha Avenue into Highway 55, linking the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport with downtown Minneapolis. The proposed expansion, Day worried, could pollute Coldwater Spring, a natural spring that both Dakota and Ojibwe people consider sacred and of immense cultural significance.

As the world reels from the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the pandemic, climate shocks, and other crises, strategic future planning is more important than ever. In April’s most-read article, Steven Gale points to a source of hope in the suite of inclusive, “future-forward” initiatives that are unfolding under UN leadership, from risk reporting to impact assessments and youth engagement. These activities, encompassed by the UN’s Our Common Agenda, represent a global collaborative effort to map future risks and identify policy options in service of long-term well-being for people and the planet.

Every month, young women and girls in the villages of Nepal make their way into makeshift huts where they will reside for the week until their menstruation has finished. Some of them will turn to nearby sheds whereas others will travel through dense forests to reach these huts. Venomous snake bites, asphyxiation, and rape are just a few of the harsh realities of living in these poorly ventilated and weakly protected menstrual huts. This practice of self-isolation called “chhaupadi” is an ancient tradition of “untouchability” rooted in the belief that menstruation is sinful and impure. Considered bringers of misfortune, menstruating girls and women are forbidden from taking part in any household, religious, and social activities under this tradition, forcing them to distance themselves from their family and community during this time. Although chhaupadi seems like an extreme case or isolated custom, it actually represents a common global issue—menstrual stigma.