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On May 7, the Taliban issued a statement making their version of the hijab - a full face covering - mandatory for all women of Afghanistan. The recommended form is a burqa, though this full-body covering is hardly a traditional Afghan garment. Since taking control of the country following an agreement with the United States, the Taliban has banned girls from secondary education and prevented women from working or traveling long distances without a male escort, among many other restrictions.

Meanwhile, the world watches as the Taliban commits constant human rights violations, raising the question of why the world cares less about the rights of women in Afghanistan than elsewhere.

More than 20 years after 9/11, there is once again talk of "saving Afghan women" - but Western good intentions will not necessarily improve their lives. Used in this context, "Afghan women" has become a political-economic construct coined by several actors that instrumentalize the women of Afghanistan for political ends. In the last two decades, Western powers, Afghan strongmen, and (to some extent) the women of Afghanistan have contributed to amplifying this term to serve the political and economic needs of the parties involved.

The term "Afghan women" has become a box. To fit in this box, women must be victims; they need to have experienced violence at the hands of men, wear specific clothing, and appeal for help, but - most importantly - they should be ambitious enough to be saved by Westerners. Today, the women of Afghanistan have become a business opportunity once again.

The instrumentalization of women in Afghanistan for political and economic ends is not a recent development. "Women's rights" has been deployed as a tool starting from the era of Afghan King Amanullah Khan in the early 20th century. Inspired by reforms from the Turkish leader Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, King Amanullah sought to modernize Afghanistan by giving more freedoms to women.

Women got the right to vote in 1919. Two years later, Queen Soraya Tarzi opened the first girls school. These and several other freedoms for women in Afghanistan were short-lived because Britain accused King Amanullah of supporting the uprising in India against the British Raj. In response, Britain supported Afghan tribal leaders and religious clerics in Afghanistan in their revolt against the king's policies, resulting in the removal of King Amanullah in 1929.

The second wave of instrumentalization involved the politicization of Afghan women's bodies during the civil war of the 1980s. Mass atrocities and sexual violence took place all over Afghanistan when the mujahideen, supported by the United States, took power from the communist government.

Today, the women of Afghanistan have again become a business opportunity.

Growing up as a kid in Helmand province, I remember gunmen each night entering one of our neighbors' homes - everyone could hear the cries of women that followed. Those families belonged to the communist government or followed their ideology. The next morning, the assaulted family would leave the community. Each night, the whole neighborhood would stay awake, fearing who would be next. In the last few years of the civil war, sexual violence against women once again became a key strategy. As a result, suicide among women and girls became common.

The most recent instrumentalization of the women of Afghanistan took place after 2001. Beginning with 9/11, "saving Afghan women" was made one of the main justifications for the U.S. invasion. Western governments, the United Nations, and global humanitarian groups included the term "Afghan women" in their documents to appeal for an extension of their so-called intervention in Afghanistan each fiscal year.

To many Afghan women, including myself, it became a full-time job not only to represent Afghanistan at all times but to do so as an "Afghan woman" and constantly act like one, which has its parameters. I have lost count of the number of consultation meetings by donor agencies and countries where the main topic is "Afghan women" but the participants of these meetings are predominantly Western white men. Often, their main suggestion is to fund women's organizations, and that funding does not come without conditions; what Afghan women actually want was never the concern of these stakeholders.

The intention is always to help, but that help comes with the baseline presumption that "we the developed" and "civilized" people know what is good for you. To operationalize these good intentions, policies must be quick and generalizable, and that is how more than 15 million women of Afghanistan were put in a box and labeled poor, hapless victims.

This is not to say that the wealthy countries of the world should not support poorer ones like Afghanistan when they are desperate for help, but rather that the population receiving the support should have a say in how they want to fix their problems.

In our own voices

Much has been written about "Afghan women," but very little has been written by the women of Afghanistan themselves. I spent the last several years interviewing fellow women from Afghanistan who do not accept the identity that has been created for them.

When people hear the term "Afghan women," the image that comes to mind is a poor victim, someone with very little agency who is not allowed to participate in the public sphere and lacks equal rights. Unfortunately, the women of Afghanistan have done too little to break out of this box designed for them.

Being an "Afghan woman" is a responsibility to be carried and does not feel natural to most Afghan women I interviewed. However, staying within the box of victimhood also brings certain opportunities. For example, Western institutions and aid organizations take pride in saving Afghan women from their miseries by offering them support through scholarships, vocational training, and platforms to talk about their suffering. To benefit from these opportunities, the women of Afghanistan must show that they are in need of help. Aid organizations, in turn, need Afghan women to be victims. They can run their projects, create jobs, and sustain an enterprise only if there are women who are victims to be reached.

Fatima Airan, an Afghan economics student, told me she had been concerned that her decision to portray herself to admissions offices as a strong woman who has never experienced physical violence - rather than a "poor Afghan woman" - would hurt her chances of getting into college.

Salma Alokozai, a former Afghan government official, said: "The term 'Afghan women' suffocates me because it represents misery and refers to a business that its stakeholders benefit from. It neither describes the women of Afghanistan nor what they entail."

Meanwhile, Afghan strongmen - including politicians, tribal leaders, and even the terrorist Taliban and other mujahideen factions - have successfully incorporated "Afghan women" as a useful business tool in their dealings with the West. For example, at the state level, in the past 20 years, there have been very few institutionalized programs for women within the Afghan government; those that existed were only established to attract donor funding.

Afghanistan's national budgets set aside up to 30% for projects that support women. Similarly, women were part of Afghan police forces, not for law enforcement purposes but rather to fulfill donor requirements. At the societal and community level, many civil society groups and community programs included in the leadership of their initiatives the names of the women family members of male staffers in order to get access to funding and resources.

We are a commodity to be traded by power brokers to seek support and favor in the international community.

In the year since the Taliban took power, they too have made "Afghan women" one of the primary focuses of their negotiations with Western governments. They demanded a seat at the U.N. and, in turn, offered to allow girls to attend primary school. They urged the United States to unfreeze aid money and offered women the chance to work in Afghanistan's ministries as cleaning staff or attend universities - but with conditions.

The Taliban does not mind if women are begging in the streets - that does not violate their interpretation of Islamic rules - but they prohibit women from working in offices. They allow girls in primary schools - and in some universities - but only if they wear a black full-body hijab. But they have banned girls from secondary education, making it impossible for the next generation to pursue higher education. There is no logic to Taliban policies, but they manage to ensure the topic of "Afghan women" remains alive because that is the only way to get the world's attention. We are a commodity to be traded by power brokers to seek support and favor in the international community.

Some women in Afghanistan have contributed to this commodification - keeping the victimhood box intact. For the last 20 years, projects were not designed based on the needs of women; instead, the needs of Afghan women were shaped according to the requirements of the donors' projects.

Women, including myself, have held leadership positions within government and development enterprises, donor organizations, and the security sector on both the Afghan and international level. However, little changed after we assumed our roles. Most positions filled by women existed for symbolic purposes, without giving them substantial authority over decision-making. Women rarely protested for fear of losing opportunities.

The few women who had access to international platforms advocated on behalf of the entire country's female population, creating a static and unified image of the women of Afghanistan. The whole world started to see the women of Afghanistan through the same monolithic lens, as if all roughly 15 million women of Afghanistan have unified political views and the same vision for their country. Those women of Afghanistan who had access to the "box" helped keep this narrative alive.

If the women of Afghanistan do not play the roles designed for them, they lose their membership in the tribe called "Afghan women." Once a woman from Afghanistan is educated, for instance, she is not someone who needs help and is labeled a "diaspora Afghan."

When I speak my mind or share analytical assessments, I am often told that I do not know what it's like to live in Afghanistan by media outlets, in donor consultation meetings, and at conferences designed for so-called Afghan women. In fact, I have lived and experienced the war and trauma firsthand in repeated waves since the 1980s and have been exiled in the region.

Because of the commodification of Afghan women over the last 20 years, very little was done to broaden the scope of their political work. The focus of a woman's activism was solely directed to women's issues, ignoring their perspectives on other sociopolitical and conflict-related developments.

Rina Amiri, the U.S. special envoy for Afghan women, girls, and human rights, tweets mostly about the Taliban's violation of women's rights. But separating women's issues from nationwide issues - such as economics, human rights, and destabilizing state institutions - is the same mistake that has been made over the last two decades. The women of Afghanistan cannot be separated from Afghanistan. The Taliban are violating everyone's rights.

As I write this article, the Afghan women's box is again in the making to serve a new era. The "Afghan women" of the last 20 years were becoming empowered, getting an education, leading households and communities, and competing in sports. They were breaking the box of victimhood and seeking membership in a global community of empowered women.

Aid organizations have shut down projects because they were not able to justify their women's empowerment programs to help Afghan women who no longer needed to be saved. However, that meant the doors of their benefactors were closing behind them. Similarly, Afghan strongmen could no longer use Afghan women as their bargaining chip because the women of Afghanistan were facing them at negotiating tables as equals.

It was shocking to see in 2021 that the entire world handed over the same Afghan women they once wanted to save to a terrorist group who stripped away their rights. It has been a year since these empowered women have been prohibited from going to work, school, or participating in political and public life. Yet, this time, foreign leaders aren't clamoring to save us.

Mina Sharif, an Afghan activist, believes the "Afghan women" narrative needs to suit the budgets of donor countries. "There must be enough violence allowed upon women in Afghanistan; they need to be oppressed for some time to become an enterprise again for the aid economy," she said.

"In 2001, the Americans and their allies invaded Afghanistan to empower Afghan women, and 20 years later, it seems we are too empowered for them to listen to us," Afghan artist Rada Akbar said.

It is not that the women of Afghanistan do not need support from the world. The problem is that the support comes at the price of degrading us and depriving us of agency.

It has been more than a year since the latest round of a dark era in Afghanistan - we, the women of Afghanistan, appeal for the support of the world. But first, we want to be considered equals by the leaders of the international community so we can demand equal rights from the Taliban. As long as we are viewed as victims and a commodity, our country's political stakeholders will seek to trade us for political advantages.
A version of this story was originally published by Foreign Policy.

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'Afghan Women' Have Something to Tell You

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On May 7, the Taliban issued a statement making their version of the hijab - a full face covering - mandatory for all women of Afghanistan. The recommended form is a burqa, though this full-body covering is hardly a traditional Afghan garment.

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How Tattoos Saved These Women from Sexual Slavery

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Mongol women enjoyed, or some would say endured, a vital role in the often times harsh nomadic life. In recent decades, women saw greater equality in education and the workplace. As Mongolia continues to shape its identity in the modern world, this essay examines some of the issues and opportunities facing women today.

Because women in pre-twentieth-century Mongolia assumed such vital roles in the livestock economy, a few among the elite enjoyed more rights and privileges than their counterparts in other East Asian lands. The capriciousness of the Mongol environment and the demanding lifestyle of the steppe pastoral nomads necessitated hard work and assumption of responsibilities by all household members, and women often had the heavier loads. They not only had domestic duties but also assisted in tending animals, milking sheep and goats, producing dairy products, shearing wool, and tanning hides. They could manage the herds on their own, permitting total male mobilization for hunts or warfare. Their vital economic roles translated into considerable power for a few elite women. It is no wonder that some achieved prominence beyond Mongolia. For example, the Persian historian Rashid al-Din wrote that Khubilai Khan's mother Sorghaghtani Beki was "extremely intelligent and able and towered above all the women in the world." She, together with Khubilai's wife Chabi, exerted considerable influence on the policies the Mongols pursued.

Yet ordinary Mongol women probably did not benefit from their vital roles, particularly after the Mongol empire collapsed. They returned to a life of drudgery, with limited, if any, possibilities, for leisure and education and almost no access to proper health care. Qing China's conquest of Mongolia in the late seventeenth century exacerbated women's difficulties and indeed generally pauperized the Mongol peoples.

Socialist Mongolia and Women

Even the fall of the Qing in 1911 did not lead to improvement, as chaotic conditions prevailed until 1921. In that year, Mongol nationalists, with the help of the Soviet Union, gained power and began to set up a socialist regime, which lasted for about seventy years. Attempted collectivization of the herds, dictatorial rule, purges of Buddhist monks and others considered to be dissidents, severe limitations on all forms of literary, artistic, and political expressions, and deprivation due to some economic mismanagement followed. To be sure, the period of socialist governance also witnessed gains, particularly in education, health, and social welfare.

Women often benefited from government policies, which in theory guaranteed equality in education, the workplace, and the political system. By the late 1980s, most women had entered the labor force in such sectors as trade, medicine, and education, but a "glass ceiling" frequently prevented promotion to leadership at work or in the professions. Government initiatives in modernization of health care provided medical services for women, who in fact constituted about three-quarters of the doctors by 1990. A pronatal policy from the 1960s on led to improvement in facilities for pregnant women and thus lowered infant mortality (though the government at the same time banned abortions). Maternity leave was generous, and crèches and nursery schools facilitated women's working lives. Welfare benefits, such as pensions for the elderly and subsistence payments for widows and the disabled, also assisted women because they were often responsible for these groups. Moreover, in the rural areas, women herders were eligible for pensions, a unique policy in Asia.

Opportunities for women's education and for participation in politics increased. The government initiated compulsory education for girls in both urban and rural areas, resulting in a dramatic growth in literacy and in access to higher education. Although the government's figures on literacy may have been overstated, still even the lower estimates devised by independent specialists were impressive. Herder parents strove to ensure education for their daughters so that they could avoid the hard life endured by women in a nomadic pastoral society. Success of these government policies can be gauged by the fact that, by 1990, more than forty per cent of university and technical college graduates were women. In the government itself, women registered gains. They constituted about one-quarter of the Parliament (or Khural), but none reached the most important levers of government, including Prime Minister or Foreign or Defense Minister.

Women in Post-Socialist Mongolia

The 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union and government policies since then have generated opportunities and problems for women. The Soviet Union and the Eastern European bloc had been Mongolia's virtually sole trading partners, investors, and suppliers of foreign aid. Sudden diminution of these relationships necessitated a realignment of Mongolia's economy. The government turned to such international financial organizations as the Asian Development Bank, the World Bank, and the International Monetary Fund and such aid organizations as the Japan International Cooperation Agency and the U.S. Agency for International Development, for advice and assistance. The foreign institutions recommended changes from a planned to a market economy, which entailed privatization of State assets, elimination of government subsidies, a balanced budget, reductions in government, and austerity.

These dramatic changes have affected women. On the one hand, the socialist regime's repression has ended, leading to less fear of government purges and to greater freedom and more choice for women. A multi-party political system and more outlets for dissent have expanded their political choices. On the other hand, economic failures have fallen disproportionately on women. Rates of female unemployment and poverty have soared, and despite economic growth since 2002, the percentage of those living in abject poverty (as of this writing in late 2007) remains above thirty per cent. More women than men are unemployed, as private companies, claiming that young women either take extended leaves or simply drop out of the labor force when they become pregnant, have often been reluctant to hire females. If they do, they frequently do not offer the fringe benefits that the socialist State had previously provided. In addition, the latest United Nations Development Program report notes that "there is a wage gap in Mongolia. Women are under-represented in sectors with higher pay." Moreover, many working women spend as much as twenty-five hours a week on household chores, as they "carry a double burden with responsibilities at work and at home." Adding to these difficulties is the substantial increase in female-headed households, which is, in large part, due to male unemployment and the resulting high rate of alcoholism, crime, and domestic abuse. Faced with these difficulties, an increasing number of women have divorced unstable husbands or have opted to have children without marriage. However, female-headed households have been vulnerable and constitute a large segment of those living below the poverty line.

Government cutbacks have also hurt women. The socialist State's support for pastoral nomads (construction of wells, supplying of trucks to bring animals and animal products to market, provision of veterinarians, etc.) have eroded, causing many families to abandon herding and to migrate to the capital where most, with scant economic prospects, live in abject poverty. The social safety net (special care for pregnant women, subsidies for food, energy, and housing, stable pensions, provision of crèches, etc.) has withered away. Health facilities have deteriorated, with State reductions in funding to hospitals for medicines, equipment, and supplies, in support for feldshers in the countryside, and in proper pay for public service doctors and nurses. These social problems have inevitably led to a rise in prostitution, trafficking of women, and street children of both sexes.

One encouraging trend is the recognition of the serious problems facing Mongol women. Educated women have banded together to form non-governmental organizations to criminalize domestic abuse, to improve conditions for women in the labor force, to conduct research on employment, prostitution, child labor, and inequalities in wages for women. One such organization concluded that "there is a clear need for government policies and schemes to improve the position of women in the labor force..." Foreign agencies, such as the United Nations Development Program and the World Bank, have experimented with provision of micro-credit for women seeking to increase their incomes and have issued reports on gender gaps in employment and sexual harassment in the workplace.

An important change in the government has been the first appointment of women to significant positions in the Cabinet. Since 1999, two women have filled the post of Minister of Foreign Affairs. Finally, education favors women in future. More than seventy per cent of students in higher education are women, offering hope for their rise to managerial positions in the economy, health, education, and government and to attempts to address the problems faced by Mongol women.

Footnotes

1 John A. Boyle, trans., The Successors of Genghis Khan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), p. 168.

2 United Nations Development Program, Mongolia Human Development Report 2007: Employment and Poverty in Mongolia: Executive Summary (Ulaanbaatar, 2007), pp. 26, 28.

3 Liberal Women's Brain Pool, Women's Empowerment and Development (Ulaanbaatar, 1998), p. 49. On one of the women's non-governmental organizations and its activities, see Mones: Mongolian Women's Fund, Annual Report 2006 (Ulaanbaatar, 2007).

4 For additional detail and bibliography, see Morris Rossabi, Modern Mongolia: From Khans to Commissars to Capitalists (Berkeley: University of California Press), pp. 150-160.

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Mongol women enjoyed, or some would say endured, a vital role in the often times harsh nomadic life. In recent decades, women saw greater equality in education and the workplace. As Mongolia continues to shape its identity in the modern world, this essay examines some of the issues and opportunities facing women today.

Because women in pre-twentieth-century Mongolia assumed such vital roles in the livestock economy, a few among the elite enjoyed more rights and privileges than their counterparts in other East Asian lands. The capriciousness of the Mongol environment and the demanding lifestyle of the steppe pastoral nomads necessitated hard work and assumption of responsibilities by all household members, and women often had the heavier loads. They not only had domestic duties but also assisted in tending animals, milking sheep and goats, producing dairy products, shearing wool, and tanning hides. They could manage the herds on their own, permitting total male mobilization for hunts or warfare. Their vital economic roles translated into considerable power for a few elite women. It is no wonder that some achieved prominence beyond Mongolia. For example, the Persian historian Rashid al-Din wrote that Khubilai Khan's mother Sorghaghtani Beki was "extremely intelligent and able and towered above all the women in the world." She, together with Khubilai's wife Chabi, exerted considerable influence on the policies the Mongols pursued.

Yet ordinary Mongol women probably did not benefit from their vital roles, particularly after the Mongol empire collapsed. They returned to a life of drudgery, with limited, if any, possibilities, for leisure and education and almost no access to proper health care. Qing China's conquest of Mongolia in the late seventeenth century exacerbated women's difficulties and indeed generally pauperized the Mongol peoples.

Socialist Mongolia and Women

Even the fall of the Qing in 1911 did not lead to improvement, as chaotic conditions prevailed until 1921. In that year, Mongol nationalists, with the help of the Soviet Union, gained power and began to set up a socialist regime, which lasted for about seventy years. Attempted collectivization of the herds, dictatorial rule, purges of Buddhist monks and others considered to be dissidents, severe limitations on all forms of literary, artistic, and political expressions, and deprivation due to some economic mismanagement followed. To be sure, the period of socialist governance also witnessed gains, particularly in education, health, and social welfare.

Women often benefited from government policies, which in theory guaranteed equality in education, the workplace, and the political system. By the late 1980s, most women had entered the labor force in such sectors as trade, medicine, and education, but a "glass ceiling" frequently prevented promotion to leadership at work or in the professions. Government initiatives in modernization of health care provided medical services for women, who in fact constituted about three-quarters of the doctors by 1990. A pronatal policy from the 1960s on led to improvement in facilities for pregnant women and thus lowered infant mortality (though the government at the same time banned abortions). Maternity leave was generous, and crèches and nursery schools facilitated women's working lives. Welfare benefits, such as pensions for the elderly and subsistence payments for widows and the disabled, also assisted women because they were often responsible for these groups. Moreover, in the rural areas, women herders were eligible for pensions, a unique policy in Asia.

Opportunities for women's education and for participation in politics increased. The government initiated compulsory education for girls in both urban and rural areas, resulting in a dramatic growth in literacy and in access to higher education. Although the government's figures on literacy may have been overstated, still even the lower estimates devised by independent specialists were impressive. Herder parents strove to ensure education for their daughters so that they could avoid the hard life endured by women in a nomadic pastoral society. Success of these government policies can be gauged by the fact that, by 1990, more than forty per cent of university and technical college graduates were women. In the government itself, women registered gains. They constituted about one-quarter of the Parliament (or Khural), but none reached the most important levers of government, including Prime Minister or Foreign or Defense Minister.

Women in Post-Socialist Mongolia

The 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union and government policies since then have generated opportunities and problems for women. The Soviet Union and the Eastern European bloc had been Mongolia's virtually sole trading partners, investors, and suppliers of foreign aid. Sudden diminution of these relationships necessitated a realignment of Mongolia's economy. The government turned to such international financial organizations as the Asian Development Bank, the World Bank, and the International Monetary Fund and such aid organizations as the Japan International Cooperation Agency and the U.S. Agency for International Development, for advice and assistance. The foreign institutions recommended changes from a planned to a market economy, which entailed privatization of State assets, elimination of government subsidies, a balanced budget, reductions in government, and austerity.

These dramatic changes have affected women. On the one hand, the socialist regime's repression has ended, leading to less fear of government purges and to greater freedom and more choice for women. A multi-party political system and more outlets for dissent have expanded their political choices. On the other hand, economic failures have fallen disproportionately on women. Rates of female unemployment and poverty have soared, and despite economic growth since 2002, the percentage of those living in abject poverty (as of this writing in late 2007) remains above thirty per cent. More women than men are unemployed, as private companies, claiming that young women either take extended leaves or simply drop out of the labor force when they become pregnant, have often been reluctant to hire females. If they do, they frequently do not offer the fringe benefits that the socialist State had previously provided. In addition, the latest United Nations Development Program report notes that "there is a wage gap in Mongolia. Women are under-represented in sectors with higher pay." Moreover, many working women spend as much as twenty-five hours a week on household chores, as they "carry a double burden with responsibilities at work and at home." Adding to these difficulties is the substantial increase in female-headed households, which is, in large part, due to male unemployment and the resulting high rate of alcoholism, crime, and domestic abuse. Faced with these difficulties, an increasing number of women have divorced unstable husbands or have opted to have children without marriage. However, female-headed households have been vulnerable and constitute a large segment of those living below the poverty line.

Government cutbacks have also hurt women. The socialist State's support for pastoral nomads (construction of wells, supplying of trucks to bring animals and animal products to market, provision of veterinarians, etc.) have eroded, causing many families to abandon herding and to migrate to the capital where most, with scant economic prospects, live in abject poverty. The social safety net (special care for pregnant women, subsidies for food, energy, and housing, stable pensions, provision of crèches, etc.) has withered away. Health facilities have deteriorated, with State reductions in funding to hospitals for medicines, equipment, and supplies, in support for feldshers in the countryside, and in proper pay for public service doctors and nurses. These social problems have inevitably led to a rise in prostitution, trafficking of women, and street children of both sexes.

One encouraging trend is the recognition of the serious problems facing Mongol women. Educated women have banded together to form non-governmental organizations to criminalize domestic abuse, to improve conditions for women in the labor force, to conduct research on employment, prostitution, child labor, and inequalities in wages for women. One such organization concluded that "there is a clear need for government policies and schemes to improve the position of women in the labor force..." Foreign agencies, such as the United Nations Development Program and the World Bank, have experimented with provision of micro-credit for women seeking to increase their incomes and have issued reports on gender gaps in employment and sexual harassment in the workplace.

An important change in the government has been the first appointment of women to significant positions in the Cabinet. Since 1999, two women have filled the post of Minister of Foreign Affairs. Finally, education favors women in future. More than seventy per cent of students in higher education are women, offering hope for their rise to managerial positions in the economy, health, education, and government and to attempts to address the problems faced by Mongol women.

Footnotes

1 John A. Boyle, trans., The Successors of Genghis Khan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), p. 168.

2 United Nations Development Program, Mongolia Human Development Report 2007: Employment and Poverty in Mongolia: Executive Summary (Ulaanbaatar, 2007), pp. 26, 28.

3 Liberal Women's Brain Pool, Women's Empowerment and Development (Ulaanbaatar, 1998), p. 49. On one of the women's non-governmental organizations and its activities, see Mones: Mongolian Women's Fund, Annual Report 2006 (Ulaanbaatar, 2007).

4 For additional detail and bibliography, see Morris Rossabi, Modern Mongolia: From Khans to Commissars to Capitalists (Berkeley: University of California Press), pp. 150-160.

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Mongol women enjoyed, or some would say endured, a vital role in the often times harsh nomadic life. In recent decades, women saw greater equality in education and the workplace. As Mongolia continues to shape its identity in the modern world, this essay examines some of the issues and opportunities facing women today.

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Lady of the Gobi: trucking coal across the desert to China

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On Mongolia's coal highway to the Chinese border, truck driver Maikhuu dreams of a better life and financial security for her three children. However, the road from the mines to China is riddled with accidents, toxic pollution, poor hygiene and now, amid the Covid crisis, drivers face days of quarantine on the border.

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Here is a comparison between the protests in 1980 and those happening now.

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Women in Iran have been at the forefront of protests that have swept the country for more than two weeks.

They've been fighting for their basic freedoms and demanding an end to the mandatory headscarf.

But their battle did not just begin now.

The BBC's Rana Rahimpour has pulled up archive footage from the wake of the Iranian revolution of 1979, which shows a striking similarity between the streets of Iran back then, and the scenes in many of its cities today.
Video produced and edited by Lina Shaikhouni.

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The generations of Iranian women fighting for freedom

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Women in Iran have been at the forefront of protests that have swept the country for more than two weeks. They've been fighting for their basic freedoms and demanding an end to the mandatory headscarf. But their battle did not just begin now.

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In response to the Iranian women's display of defiance, countless women around the world follow suit and cut their hair.

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Around the world women are uniting in protest against the Iranian government by cutting their hair.

The protests started after the death of Mahsa Amini who was arrested by Iranian morality police.

Demonstrations of haircutting include actresses such as Juliette Binoche and Marion Cottilard.

Abir Al-Sahlani, a Swedish Member of the European Parliament also cut hers during an EU Parliament speech.
Video edited by Gem O'Reilly

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Women around the world cut their hair for Iran

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Around the world women are uniting in protest against the Iranian government by cutting their hair. The protests started after the death of Mahsa Amini who was arrested by Iranian morality police. Demonstrations of haircutting include actresses such as Juliette Binoche and Marion Cottilard.

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The protests in Iran that are led by girls and women against the male-dominated authorities.

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The death of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini after being detained by Iran's morality police has sparked unprecedented protests across the country.

Videos have emerged across social media showing young protesters, often women, demonstrating in defiance and often facing a violent response from the police.

The Iranian government says protesters are a dangerous threat, and has blamed the US and Israel for spreading the unrest.

The BBC's Rana Rahimpour looks at why this movement is unlike any Iran's seen before.
Research by BBC Persian and BBC Monitoring Video produced by Olivia Lace-Evans and Soraya Auer Additional reporting by Taraneh Stone, Shayan Sardarizadeh, Daniele Palumbo Data analysis by Sarah Habershon Graphic design by Jacqueline Galvin

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The protest videos Iran doesn't want the world to see

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The BBC has analysed over 1,000 videos of unprecedented protests following Mahsa Amini's death in custody.

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Sheema is a dancer of Indian classical dances, Bharatanatyam and Kathak. Dancing in public is considered unislamic in Pakistan, yet a year after a blast killed scores of Sufi followers at the Lal Shahbaz Qalandar's shrine, she performed in public.

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SEHWAN - Theatre artist Sheema Kermani on Saturday performed dhamaal at the shrine of Sufi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar, where a suicide blast claimed 86 lives and left more than 350 injured last year.

A group of artists and Kermani swayed to beats of traditional Sufi poetry as they performed in front of a packed courtyard in the shrine.

On Friday, the first anniversary of the February 16, 2017 suicide blast at the shrine of Hazrat Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in Sehwan, Jamshoro district was commemorated with Sindh Chief Minister Murad Ali Shah and hundreds of devotees in presence.

https://www.facebook.com/GeoUrduDotTv/videos/1669124153137070/

The time of dhammal, the ritual of an ecstatic Sufi dance which attracts devotees, was presumably selected with the intent to maximise the casualties. Although the incident claimed many innocent lives, the devotees remained undaunted as the saint’s 765th urs in May, 2017 recorded a historic attendance of more than two million people.

Talking to the media after laying a chaddar at the shrine, CM Shah claimed that the law enforcement agencies successfully tracked the terrorists involved in the attack. “All the culprits, including the mastermind, have either been arrested or sent to hell. On November 17, 2017, the Counter-Terrorism Department announced the arrest of Nadir Ali Jakhrani alias Murshid in a raid in the Manghopir area of Karachi. The suspect later told the interrogators that he and his group worked for the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria.

He identified his associates as Ghulam Mustafa alias Doctor, suicide bomber Babar Brohi, Saifullah, Aijaz Bangulzai, Tanveer, Farooq Bangulzai and Zulqarnain. Mustafa, who was earlier killed in a security operation in Balochistan’s district Mastung, is said to be the mastermind.

The Sindh government released a sum of Rs248 million as payment of compensation to the victims and their families. Each family of the people who were killed was paid Rs1.5 million while Rs500,000 was given to each critically injured person and Rs200,000 to those who sustained minor injuries.

Video courtesy: Geo News

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Sheema Kermani performs dhamaal at Lal Shahbaz Qalandar’s shrine in Sehwan

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Theatre artist Sheema Kermani on Saturday performed dhamaal at the shrine of Sufi saint Lal Shahbaz Qalandar, where a suicide blast claimed 86

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Uganda’s new dress code for civil servants is another “decency” campaign aiming to control women’s bodies.

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Uganda’s new dress code for civil servants is another “decency” campaign aiming to control women’s bodies.

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Shahzia Sikander is a citizen of the world. Over the course of three decades, Sikander has developed a multi-media practice that embraces the production of compelling objects that practically and theoretically transcend borders. Her meaningful artistic and social collaborations probe contested histories of colonialism, mechanisms of power, notions of language and migration. Sikander is internationally renowned for a pioneering practice that takes classical Indo-Persian miniature painting as its point of departure, and inflects it with contemporary South Asian, American, Feminist and Muslim perspectives. Sikander's work stands in opposition to the idea of homogenous and authentic national cultures; instead, Sikander asks that we understand terms such as "tradition," "culture" and "identity" as unstable, abstract and constantly evolving. Her interdisciplinary practice offers a different and more inclusive way that delimits the arbitrariness of geopolitical borders and radically disrupts assumptions around national, political, and art historical boundaries.
Born in Lahore, Pakistan, Shahzia Sikander took up the traditional practice of miniature painting during Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq's military regime, at a time when the medium was deeply unpopular among young artists. Sikander earned a B.F.A. in 1991 from the National College of Arts (NCA) in Lahore, where she received rigorous training from master miniaturist Bashir Ahmad, becoming his first student and artist from the miniature painting department to challenge the medium's technical and aesthetic framework. Sikander's breakthrough work, The Scroll, 1989-90, received national critical acclaim in Pakistan, winning the prestigious Shakir Ali Award, the NCA's highest merit award, and the Haji Sharif award for excellence in miniature painting. Sikander started teaching miniature painting at NCA in 1992, alongside Bashir Ahmad. Her work launched what is now globally called neo-miniature into the forefront of NCA's program in the early 90s, encouraging students on the sidelines weary about prejudices around craft-based work to engage miniature painting with experimentation. In the late 90s to early 2000s Sikander's work in the international arena brought recognition to this medium within contemporary art practices across the world.

The artist moved to the United States to pursue an M.F.A. at the Rhode Island School of Design from 1993 to 1995; from 1995 to 1997, she participated in the CORE Program of the Glassell School of Art at The Museum of Fine Arts, Houston. In the 1990s, Sikander continued to be a technical pioneer, engaging with miniature painting in novel ways to include large-scale floor and wall drawings, installations, multimedia works and collaborations with other artists. The innovative work led to her international meteoric rise, as she participated in prominent exhibitions at leading venues in New York, including The Drawing Center (1997); Queens Museum (1997); Whitney Museum of American Art (1997); and Deitch Projects (1998).

Her work was the subject of important survey exhibitions, in 1998 at the Renaissance Society at the University of Chicago, Illinois and the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art, Kansas City, Missouri; and in 1999 at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C. Following a residency at Artpace in Houston in 2001, she began experimenting with video and animation, marking a critical turning point in her career.

Since that time, major solo exhibitions of Sikander's work have been held at the Whitney Museum of American Art at Altria (formerly Philip Morris) (2000); The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum, Ridgefield, Connecticut (2004); The Frances Young Tang Teaching Museum and Art Gallery at Skidmore College, Saratoga Springs (2004); The San Diego Museum of Art, San Diego (2004); Otis College of Art and Design, Los Angeles (2005); Miami Art Museum, Miami (2005-06); Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin (2007); Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney (2007); daadgalerie, Berlin (2008); IKON, Birmingham, U.K. (2008); Linda Pace Foundation, San Antonio (2012-13); Nikolaj Kunsthal, Copenhagen (2014); Bildmuseet, University of Umeä, Umeä, Sweden (2014); Guggenheim Bilbao, Bilbao, Spain (2015); Asia Society Hong Kong Center, Hong Kong (2016); MAXXI | Museo nazionale delle arti del XXI secolo, Rome (2016- 2017), Honolulu Art Museum, Hawaii (2017) and Weatherspoon Art Museum, North Carolina (2019).

Sikander's work is included in the permanent collection of prestigious institutions worldwide, including the Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, Australia; Asian Art Museum, San Francisco, California; Blanton Museum of Art, The University of Texas at Austin, Austin, Texas; Bristol City Museum & Art Gallery, Bristol, U.K.; Brooklyn Museum, New York; Burger Collection, Hong Kong, China; Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford Museums and Galleries, Bradford, U.K.; DESTE Foundation for Contemporary Art, Athens, Greece; Fukuoka Art Museum, Fukuoka, Japan; Hammer Museum, Los Angeles; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, D.C.; Kiran Nadar Museum of Art, New Delhi; Linda Pace Foundation, San Antonio, Texas; MAXXI | Museo nazionale delle arti del XXI secolo, Rome; The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; Museum of Contemporary Art Tokyo, Tokyo; Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; The Museum of Modern Art, New York; National Portrait Gallery, Washington, D.C.; Newark Museum, Newark, New Jersey; Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia; Princeton University Art Museum, Princeton, N.J.; Rhode Island School of Design Museum, Providence; Royal Ontario Museum, Toronto; The San Diego Museum of Art, San Diego; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, San Francisco; Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York; and Whitney Museum of American Art, New York.

In 2016, Sikander completed a site-specific animation, Disruption as Rapture, commissioned by the Philadelphia Museum of Art on the occasion of the reopening of their South Asian galleries, and her first major public art commission, a 66-foot mosaic and 25-foot glass painting at Princeton University, unveiled April 2017. In 2019, Sikander created a 28-foot fountain in mosaic which is now installed permanently in Mid-Town Park, Houston, Texas. She is the first Pakistani-American to be inducted in the National Portrait Gallery Smithsonian (2017) and the first Pakistani to win the inaugural US State Department's National Medal of Art (2012). Sikander has been appointed to the Mayoral Advisory Commission on City Art, Monuments, and Markers in New York City, where she currently lives. She also serves on the boards of Art 21 and the Rhode Island School of Design.

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Shahzia Sikander is a citizen of the world. Over the course of three decades, Sikander has developed a multi-media practice that embraces the production of compelling objects that practically and theoretically transcend borders. Her meaningful artistic and social collaborations probe contested histories of colonialism, mechanisms of power, notions of language and migration.

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The words "Indigenous feminism" can be triggering in Indigenous communities. I've read op-eds in the Navajo Times saying " feminism is against our culture," and when I do workshops on the topic, audiences are often defensive and push back on the phrase. I get it. I cringed the first several times I heard the phrase when I imagined strong Diné matriarchs like Juanita or my own grandmother transforming into powerless, basic "Karens," like "before and after" photos at Carlisle Indian School.

We tend to associate it with mainstream feminism, an out-of-touch white worldview that devalues reproductive work-"women's work"-and reinforces white supremacy and capitalism. But those of us Indigenous women who are privileged to be raised by our grandmothers and matriarchs know that the creation and caretaking of home is of the utmost sacred importance. And how could we be a part of a movement that does not value or even understand this?

Decolonization and Radical Indigenous Futures

This series, presented in partnership between NDN Collective and SSIR, will explore the many ways Indigenous people are working to successfully solve issues that benefit their communities and, ultimately, all of us. FOLLOW THIS SERIES

Indigenous feminism can change our world, if given the chance. The particular words aren't the important thing, and if others would rather call themselves "matriarch" or "matriarch-in-training," or a word in their Indigenous language that means more to them, I say go for it. My goal is not to debate words or force everyone to use the same ones, but to insist that Indigenous feminism, like all solutions to problems in Indian Country, is about decolonizing. It's about recognizing, naming, and discarding the worldview forced, reinforced, and enforced by this colonial experiment called the United States of America, and picking up the teachings and practices of our ancestors.

Indigenous feminism, or whatever you want to call it, is a part of that, or it should be.

Beyond Words, Beyond Theory

Loosely defined, Indigenous feminism is an intersectional theory and practice of feminism that focuses on decolonization, Indigenous sovereignty, and human rights for Indigenous women and their families. In my experience, unfortunately, it's mostly theoretical and relegated to opinion pieces and books by professors. But we should go beyond definitions and theorizing: there is feminist work happening in Indigenous communities that I'd consider part of a uniquely Indigenous feminism (even if it isn't explicitly named that).

For example, in 2019 as executive director of the Black Mesa Water Coalition, I hosted the Indigenous Feminist Organizing School with the Grassroots Global Justice Alliance and Indigenous Environmental Network. Our goals were to build relationships and develop a shared understanding and analysis of patriarchy in Indigenous communities. The school brought together ~70 Indigenous people from across the Americas, representing 35 different tribes doing various types of work. Some participants, like those representing Planned Parenthood and Rez Condom Tour, do feminist work in Indigenous communities. Others, as with Coalition to Stop Violence Against Native Women, address issues unique to Indigenous women. Others, like Indigenous Pride L.A. and Grownup Navajo, aim to bring Indigenous perspectives into the mainstream. And the work of groups like Black Mesa Water Coalition and Indigenous Environmental Network was rooted in protecting Mother Earth. Participants included birth workers, business owners, students, educators, and clan mothers.

The IFOS was a microcosm of the work of Indigenous feminism, and we learned a lot from the experience. We realized that we are at a stage of recognizing and naming patriarchy in our communities, and that we are hungry to continue the conversations with each other and get to a place of collective action and power. We learned about aspects to this developing feminism that are uniquely Indigenous, key issues like the disproportionate sexual abuse of Indigenous women and missing and murdered Indigenous women epidemic, priorities like our responsibility to Mother Earth and our homelands, and key barriers like the reality of colonization and its ongoing attempts to assimilate and terminate us (or rather, assimilate us to terminate us). And since decolonization requires we not only seek rights but reclaim and uphold our traditional roles and responsibilities, our feminism is as diverse as the hundreds of tribes across Turtle Island, each at their own stage of post-colonial evolution and with their own beliefs and practices.

Building on Matriarchal Foundations

Most importantly, our feminism remembers and can call upon a history in which our matriarchal systems-something mainstream feminism hasn't yet achieved-not only actually existed but were practiced as essential aspects of our cultures. In some cases, this was just a few generations ago. Our cultures have survived in large part due to the strength of Indigenous women, and it is women who continue to lead today, despite not receiving credit or support.

However, we need to face it: The respect we hold for our grandmothers and matriarchs, and their roles in our culture, are not reflected in mainstream society. They're not even reflected in our own communities, where you see patriarchy in our mostly-if not completely-cis-gendered and male tribal councils and leadership. You see it when male egos appropriate and impair movements created by the hard work of women's organizing, when four out of five Native women are victims of violence, and when that violence is extended to the people of our queer communities. You see it when women are expected to put themselves last, and shamed if they don't. You see it when we allow the destruction of Mother Earth so that rich people can be richer. You see it when we put our current comfort ahead of future generations' survival.

Patriarchy gives men power and privilege at the expense of women and acts as the framework for the domination and oppression of gay, queer, and transgender people, as well as the stunted development of men. In Indigenous communities, it also erases and twists Indigenous teachings and worldviews on gender and sexuality, namely the diversity and power of these aspects and experiences. After all, Diné people traditionally have four genders based on the role a person plays in the larger community. The roles of naadheeh (feminine man) and dilbaa' (masculine woman) have a unique ability and responsibility to act as translators between asdzáá (feminine woman) and hastiin (masculine male, and they have a unique ability to bring about balance between the masculine and feminine.

Patriarchy, Colonialism, and Capitalism

However, patriarchy isn't just entwined with the systems of colonization, white supremacy, and capitalism. Colonization, white supremacy, and capitalism need patriarchy to work.

Women's work is the original subsidy for capitalism. Reproductive labor is necessary for social reproduction [everything it takes for a labor force to replicate itself]: purchasing household goods, preparing and serving food, laundering and repairing clothing, maintaining furnishings and appliances, socializing children, providing care and emotional support for adults, and maintaining kin and community ties. It involves manual, mental, and emotional labor. As more and more people have come to realize during the COVID-19 pandemic, every human being needs this kind of essential work to live. Yet, reproductive work rarely even counts as work at all. Patriarchy teaches that it's the "natural" role of women, and so, where it is paid at all, it is underpaid.

This kind of capitalism and patriarchy goes hand in hand with colonialism. In Dinétah-my homelands now reduced to the Navajo Nation-we still practiced our traditional customs while we resisted the Spanish and were warring with the US, including our traditional matriarchal society that gave matriarchs the final say over land and resources. But when the US government force-marched ~9,000 of us to the Bosque Redondo internment camp in New Mexico, where we remained from 1864 to 1868, a time known as Hweeldi or the Long Walk, women were subject to new atrocities, commonplace rape, and forced into prostitution to survive.

This was the beginning both of institutional sexual violence against our women and of a transformation of how women were viewed by our own people. Imagine witnessing this violence and not being able to do anything about it; imagine having to encourage it in order to get food and other necessities.

Today, when our women are assaulted, we often ignore it. We simply rely on a Navajo woman's strength to get her through it.

The story continued when we signed our treaty in 1868 and returned home to a much smaller homeland. In signing the treaty, we also agreed to have our children educated in the US system. This meant sending them to boarding schools and forcing them to assimilate into western ways of thinking and operating. In addition to learning white supremacy, these schools taught our people the gender binary and the roles associated with it: that women are less than men, that queer people are unnatural, etc.

When oil was discovered on Navajo Nation, a Navajo Nation Business Council was established in 1922, to sign leases and meet the demands of the oil companies. The Secretary of the Interior at the time, a friend to the oil industry, knew he could not open the Navajo Nation to oil development if he approached a diverse and distributed clanship system. So he created a "business council" and selected three Navajo men to serve on it. These men were likely born during hweeldi, and the first to be assimilated in boarding school. Men who were no doubt taught and encouraged to act on the belief that they, simply because they are men, should be decision makers and that fossil fuel development is progress. The business council marked the beginning of the end of traditional decision-making via matriarchal society.

Women still had their livestock, of course, which allowed them economic autonomy and success: In the 1870s, we had 15,000 sheep; in the 1920s, we had 500,000; and by 1931, we had 2 million. But the colonizer doesn't want us to be successful, so the federal government conjured up a policy called The Navajo Livestock Reduction, purchasing, removing, and slaughtering our livestock (and arresting those who opposed it). They also set up a grazing system, which ensured we would not be able to grow our herds again and that system is still used today. While this killed the economic autonomy of the Navajo people, it particularly impacted the women because they owned those herds. Men were away working as laborers, while women and their families still relied heavily on the sheep economy to survive. Killing these herds ensured that Navajo women too would have to depend on the wage labor, decisions, and direction of Navajo men.

If capitalism is the system and colonization is the practice, patriarchy is the foundation of both. In the span of 70 years, the colonizers stole our land and resources and twisted cultural understanding of gender roles and responsibilities. Federal reorganization and assimilation policies continued into the 1960s. My own mother was part of the relocation policies that moved Indigenous people from their homelands to the cities in order to speed up assimilation. So it's no wonder that the fossil fuel economy took over our homelands starting in the early 1970s. It's no wonder that while the cis-male run tribal government signed these deals with Peabody Coal Company, it was the matriarchs of Big Mountain and Black Mesa who fought against it and continue to do so.

Matriarchy Today

Where our culture has remained strong, it's because of Navajo women. And our matriarchs still exist today. Indigenous women are strong leaders, today. People like Enei Begaye-Peter of Native Movement, Wahleah Johns of Native Renewables, and Eriel Deranger of Indigenous Climate Action who have not only dedicated their lives to protecting our homelands but are also advancing real world examples of a just transition away from extractive economies. It's women like Lillian Hill of Hopi Tutskwa Permaculture Project, Linda Black Elk at United Tribes Technical College, and Nicole Gonzales of Changing Woman Initiative who are learning and sharing our traditional knowledge for the health of our people. It's women like Ethel Branch and Janene Yazzie of Navajo & Hopi Families COVID-19 Relief who are supporting and keeping our people safe during the COVID-19 epidemic. And there are many others. Because that is our way. It is our job to take care of our home and homelands. And we continue to do that despite patriarchy's goal to appropriate our autonomy, agency, and power as Indigenous women.

Imagine how much better this work will be when Indigenous matriarchs have autonomy, agency, and power once again. Not power over men or others, but transformative power, which grows from respect for self and equality with others, in all their diversity of identity, experience, and ability. This is the crux of Indigenous feminism.

Indigenous feminism has a lot of growing up to do, especially here the United States, but we are not alone. Sector de Mujeres in Guatemala have already created many political education tools to advance Indigenous feminism in Mayan communities and are willing to work with and support us. Grassroots Global Justice Alliance is hosting Feminist Organizing Schools across the US, advancing grassroots feminism, and developing opportunities for Indigenous, Black, and other women and queer people of color to collaborate and advance together. The World March of Women mobilizes millions of women across the world in collective action and offers decades of knowledge and experience.

Indigenous feminism requires us to not only fulfill our cultural roles but also to correct how those roles have been twisted by colonization and patriarchy. It demands that we ask difficult questions and have difficult discussions. We must question and challenge even what's been taught to us as "traditional."

There is a Navajo prophecy that says that when women are in leadership, many bad things will happen to our people and in the world, that we'll lose our language and culture and children. In practice, I've seen this prophecy used as an argument against electing a woman as Navajo Nation President, and many Navajo people still refuse to do so. But I think patriarchy has layered itself over this prophecy by invoking fear of our future, women leadership, and change. It keeps us right where we are, which is a place of bad things happening to our people and the world, of us losing our language and culture. That time is already here, but I do not choose fear. I look to the matriarchs in my life, to their work defending our homelands, speaking on behalf of the earth, water, animals, and future generations, and realize I believe in the prophecy too. I believe the prophecy means the leadership of women is most needed now.

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Indigenous Feminism Is Our Culture (SSIR)

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The words "Indigenous feminism" can be triggering in Indigenous communities. I've read op-eds in the Navajo Times saying " feminism is against our culture," and when I do workshops on the topic, audiences are often defensive and push back on the phrase. I get it.

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The leader of a fledgling women's militia in northern Afghanistan says dozens of volunteers have joined the fight since a handful of women recently took up arms to rebuff a Taliban attack on their community.

Women in the district of Darz-Aab, in Jowzjan Province, initially fought alongside local forces to prevent the antigovernment militants from overrunning the village of Shahtoot in late October.

Their ranks have since grown to as many as 45 women, locals say, many of whom have sold livestock to buy guns.

Fifty-three-year-old Zarmina, the wife of a local police officer who so far commands the female fighters, said she and the other women had no other choice.

"The number of police personnel was too small, so we had to take up guns alongside our husbands," Zarmina told RFE/RL's Afghan Service. "As the Taliban attacked a police post, I put aside my scarf and fired from different places."

"I had 21 bullets and killed seven Taliban," she claimed.

The force comprises mainly ethnic Uzbeks and Aimaqs, a Persian-speaking minority in Jowzjan, a multiethnic province that borders Turkmenistan to the north.

Darz-Aab Governor Ramatullah Hashar said local officials, tribal elders, and villagers threw a ceremony in a show of support for the women's initiative.

"The area where these women dare to fight against the Taliban is located about 20 kilometers from the district center, and we have encouraged them," Hashar said. "They have been welcomed by villagers and elders of their tribes."
All-Female Militia
Halimah Sadaf, a member of the provincial council, told RFE/RL that some of the all-female militia members in Shahtoot are among the 51 women in the area who fought against Soviet troops in the 1980s.

"Darz-Aab was one of the main areas where the [mujahedin] rose up against the Soviet invasion," Sadaf said, "so the women in this area are able to fight, are able to lead, and they are courageous."

Local officials have urged the government to supply the female fighters with weapons and other equipment.

But more importantly, they said, the local police force needs reinforcement.

"We have 1,600 police in Jowzjan, which is not enough," Mohammad Razaghafori, spokesman of the provincial governor, said. "Conditions have changed now, and [the government] needs to increase the number of local and national police to ensure security in all districts so that women don't have to fight."

Security in the Darz-Aab district has been worsening in recent months, with the Taliban stepping up attacks on Afghan national forces across the country.

The Darz-Aab governor said last month that fighters affiliated with the militant group Islamist State (IS), which controls swaths of Syria and Iraq and claims to be creating a global caliphate, had also increased operations in that district and had captured several villages.

Afghan First Vice President Abdul Rashid Dostum, who is currently leading the military campaign against the Taliban in northern Afghanistan, warned that IS is planning to bring 7,000 fighters to the country's north.

This report was prepared by Alim Rahmanyar, translated by Safiullah Stanikzai, and written by Antoine Blua.

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Afghan Women Take Up Arms Against The Taliban

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The leader of a fledgling women's militia in northern Afghanistan says dozens of volunteers have joined the fight since a handful of women recently took up arms to rebuff a Taliban attack on their community. Women in the district of Darz-Aab, in Jowzjan Province, initially fought alongside local forces to prevent the antigovernment militants from overrunning the village of Shahtoot in late October.

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The Land Where Women Rule: Inside China's Last Matriarchy

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In our series of letters from African journalists, Ismail Einashe considers how Somalia's story-telling tradition has changed since the civil war.

I recently met the award-winning writer Ubah Cristina Ali Farah at a literary festival on the Italian island of Sicily.

She is a member of a handful of globally acclaimed Somali female writers, including Nadifa Mohamed who was recently shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize for her third novel the Fortune Men.

For centuries, Somalia has been known as the "nation of poets" but this tradition has largely been the preserve of men.

It is unusual for Somali women to be the primary storytellers, yet they are now the ones taking on that mantle in the diaspora.

Ali Farah tells me this is because they have "more space" outside Somalia to pursue their literary ambitions - unshackled as they are from the cultural expectations placed upon them in a male-dominated society.

And what is more, their freedom to write comes from the fact that they are finding their voice in colonial languages such as Italian and English that they have made their own.

Forgotten voices

Ali Farah was born in the 1970s in Verona in Italy to a Somali father and an Italian mother.

Her father had left Somalia to pursue his education, and then returned home to build a new independent nation, taking his new family with him.

Growing up in Mogadishu, Ali Farah was educated in both Somali and Italian.

She was an avid reader and diligently kept a diary of her everyday encounters in the Somali capital.

In 1991, at the age of 18 and with a baby son, Ali Farah was forced to flee the escalating violence as the country descended into civil warfare, which continues to this day.

She first returned to Italy but now lives in Belgium.

Hundreds of thousands of Somalis fled - and their experiences inspired her to write - especially about the stories of women.

She says they have a special "memory" of what happened as they were often on the frontline of the conflict.

My main questions were: 'What happens when everything you are born into has been destroyed? What do you do to root yourself again? What do you do to survive?'"

Ubah Cristina Ali Farah
Novelist

She wrote, she says, so that Somali women would not be "forgotten".

"My main questions were: 'What happens when everything you are born into has been destroyed? What do you do to root yourself again? What do you do to survive?'"

Her first novel, Little Mother, published in 2007, centres on two female cousins who are separated and eventually find each other in Europe.

On a personal level, Ali Farah found that writing fiction was a way to root herself again in a foreign land.

For centuries Somali was a spoken language, only becoming a written one with a Latin script in 1972.

This influenced its literature - poetry was recited, memorised and passed down the generations.

So novels have only really come into fruition in exile, though they often nod to Somalia's rich oral tradition.

In Little Mother there are sensory layers of rhythm and tempo, mimicking the poetic form.

Ali Farah says it includes three classic poems reworked and imagined through the eyes and sounds of women.

Arranged marriages

The author is in Palermo, Sicily's capital, to promote her new book Le stazioni della luna (Phases of the Moon).

Set in the 1950s when Somalia was under a UN Trusteeship, it is about the struggle for independence - and she takes her inspiration from the godfather of the Somali novel, Nuruddin Farah (no relation).

He wrote From a Crooked Rib in English - it was published in 1970 to international acclaim.

It centres on the story of Elba, a young female pastoralist who escapes an arranged marriage, running away to Mogadishu where she finds herself again subjugated by men.

Ali Farah's names her main character after Elba. "It's a tribute to Nuruddin," she tells me.

But her Elba escapes to a more emancipated world with modern possibilities for Somali women.

"Literature is a dialogue with other texts and novels," Ali Farah explains - a conversation between the past and present.

She also explores conversations between the men and women through her work, something that is all too often sadly missing in Somali society.

Her success - and that of her literary peers - has made it clear that Somali women will no longer be silenced.

More Letters from Africa:

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How Somali women are breaking tradition to write novels

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In our series of letters from African journalists, Ismail Einashe considers how Somalia's story-telling tradition has changed since the civil war. I recently met the award-winning writer Ubah Cristina Ali Farah at a literary festival on the Italian island of Sicily.

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The Land of No Men: Inside Kenya's Women-Only Village

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Niger: Christian Womanhood and the Missionaries

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Niger: Christian Womanhood and the Missionaries

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Grete Bergman had long wanted to get traditional facial markings, a practice for Indigenous women in Alaska that European settlers tried to extinguish.

But in 2016, Bergman became one of the first among the Gwich'in Nation - First Nations peoples whose homelands stretch from northeast Alaska to northwest Canada - to get tattooed, in a return to a centuries-old tradition.

"My dad would have hated it," Bergman said. "He would have looked at me and he would have said, 'What the hell you do that for?' "

Her Alaska Native father, she said, was beaten in school for speaking the Gwich'in language, "because being Native was the worst possible thing you could be."

"I didn't know anyone who had their traditional markings," Bergman said, "and every time I brought it up, I always got the same sort of 'This is taboo. We don't do this.' "

The practice is at least 10,000 years old, but - as with language, food and other Indigenous customs - the practice fell out of use following bans and taboos set by European colonizers in the 1900s.

So, when Bergman saw a design that she was drawn to, it felt like a calling from her ancestors to reconnect.

"They are strong lines, bold lines - no-fooling-around lines," Bergman, now 46, said.

Bergman went to see Inupiaq artist Sarah Whalen-Lunn, who she'd heard had just completed a yearlong training to learn the art of facial markings.

Traditional Alaskan Indigenous markings look like three lines - starting from below the bottom lip, drawn down the chin. The meanings and designs vary from one group to another and are specific to the traditions of each group, and the practice is often tied to a rite of passage or significant event.

Bergman was the first person Whalen-Lunn tattooed with the facial markings.

"When I came over to do your markings, I was nervous," said Whalen-Lunn, 43.

During the process, Bergman held hands with her daughter, who was 7 at the time.

"That moment was a changer for me," Whalen-Lunn said.

Bergman inspired her to get her own markings inked the following year.

"A lot of people are still scared," said Whalen-Lunn. "You all of a sudden became this pillar of strength to me."

The two women are carrying on the skin stitching tradition for their daughters - to show them it's OK to take pride in who you are, said Whalen-Lunn, who is a mother to three daughters.

"It's more than just your appearance. It changes the way that you carry yourself. And we're doing it so that our girls can," she said.

Bergman has two young girls of her own.

"I feel like I've given them something that my grandmother had taken away from her," she said.

Since Bergman got her Alaska Native markings, more and more women have come forward to participate in the practice.

Audio produced for Morning Edition by Jey Born and Aisha Turner.
StoryCorps is a national nonprofit that gives people the chance to interview friends and loved ones about their lives. These conversations are archived at the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress, allowing participants to leave a legacy for future generations. Learn more, including how to interview someone in your life, at Copyright NPR 2021. StoryCorps.org.

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With 3 bold marks, Indigenous women helped revive a once-banned tradition

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Grete Bergman had long wanted to get traditional facial markings, a practice for Indigenous women in Alaska that European settlers tried to extinguish. But in 2016, Bergman became one of the first among the Gwich'in Nation - First Nations peoples whose homelands stretch from northeast Alaska to northwest Canada - to get tattooed, in a return to a centuries-old tradition.

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https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/25/world/africa/nigeria-fisherwomen-chevron.html?referringSource=articleShare

Fighting Chevron

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While out fishing with some other women one day, Onitsha Joseph saw oil bubbling to the river's surface, and knew they had found the source of the spill.

The Great Read

Big Oil has a filthy legacy in the Niger Delta region of Nigeria. One prominent environmentalist said: "They are moving out and leaving all the mess behind."

While out fishing with some other women one day, Onitsha Joseph saw oil bubbling to the river's surface, and knew they had found the source of the spill. Credit...

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GBARAMATU, Nigeria - When the tide rose under the rickety wooden house-on-stilts of Onitsha Joseph, a fisherwoman who lives above the twisting rivers of the Niger Delta in southern Nigeria, it brought a slick of crude oil.

Before long, she saw dead fish floating on oil inches thick, and fishing - her livelihood - became impossible. The fumes were so strong at one point that Ms. Joseph fainted. She was rushed to the hospital on a speedboat.

At first, she had no idea where it was coming from. Then, out with some other fisherwomen one day in February, she said they spotted something bubbling up to the river's surface. Ms. Joseph steered her oil-blackened canoe closer.

Far below her snaked a pipe. The American oil giant Chevron laid that pipe 46 years before, according to many neighbors of Ms. Joseph who were there at the time, and now, they said, it was leaking.

So began a battle between Chevron and hundreds of fisherwomen in the Niger Delta. Chevron denies that oil was spilling from its pipes. But the women insisted that this was just another instance of oil companies refusing to take responsibility, and decided to take the fight to the oil company's doors.

"You want to kill us with your oil," Ms. Joseph said, growing emotional. "We'll come to you so you can kill us yourselves. In person."

Oil companies like Chevron, Shell and Eni have made billions in profits in the vast Niger Delta region in the last decades. But now some are pulling out - and they are leaving utter ruin in their wake, according to government monitors and environmental and human rights organizations. The delicate ecosystem of the Niger Delta, once teeming with plant and animal life, is today one of the most polluted places on the planet.

It is the women, who do most of the fishing in the creeks and marshes in this part of the Niger Delta, who are trying to call the oil companies to account.

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Oil fouled Ms. Joseph's house-on-stilts. The fumes were so strong at one point that she fainted and was rushed to the hospital on a speedboat.

When they found the ominous bubbling, the fisherwomen alerted local leaders, who informed Chevron's Nigerian subsidiary. At first, Chevron ignored them, the local leaders said, and oil continued to flow through the line.

Soon, black oil stained the roots of the mangroves - saltwater-loving trees that act as nurseries for fish and shellfish.

The fisherwomen decided it was time to occupy Chevron.

Hundreds of women from 18 communities, including Ms. Joseph, arrived at three Chevron facilities on March 26. There were new mothers with babies on their backs, and great-grandmothers in their 80s. In this riverine world, some zoomed in on speedboats. Others paddled to fortresslike flow stations on hand-carved canoes.

They climbed up Chevron's ladders.

They scaled Chevron's wire fences, dropping down on the other side.

They shook palm fronds and banged plastic bottles, singing protest songs.

Then they settled in to wait.

They vowed to occupy the facilities until Chevron did a proper investigation into the spill's cause.

Years of living with oil pollution made them resolute. Nigerian government agencies have counted tens of thousands of oil spills from many sources in the Niger Delta in the past 15 years - though data on spills varies widely. Tens of millions of barrels were spilled since production started in the 1950s, a 2011 study said - quadruple the volume spilled in the 2010 Gulf of Mexico disaster.

For years, the women had felt cheated by Chevron, the dominant oil company in their immediate area. Their villages were poor. Houses of zinc and wood barely kept out the elements. Bathrooms were flimsy shacks over the river.

By contrast, the Chevron facilities they were occupying were like small cities. They even produced electricity, though they didn't share it.

"From here to Chevron, it's less than two miles. If they weren't wicked, they'd have brought electricity here," said Akasaere Mila, an 82-year-old community elder in Kokodiagbene, a village near the spill site. "Chevron's a very rich company, but they're very wicked to us."

Once, Mrs. Mila visited Chevron's office in Warri, a city several hours away by boat. It is a low, unremarkable office block - but to Mrs. Mila, it seemed the height of luxury.

"It's a very fantastic building, with air conditioning, light 24 hours a day," she said. "Water comes out of the faucet. You don't have to go out to buy food, they have it right there. And they're getting the money for that from this place."

This wasn't the first time a mass-scale all-women protest had shut down company infrastructure and caused a commotion.

In 2017, over 100 miles southeast of Gbaramatu, across a vast tangle of mangroves and rivers, the women of Belema protested against Shell. After years of underdevelopment and unemployment, they wanted Shell to hand over its oil field to a local businessman, Tein Jack-Rich.

They occupied Shell facilities for nearly two years. It worked. Mr. Jack-Rich's company, Belemaoil, took over operations and maintenance from Shell.

The women there did not get rich. But before Covid-19, Mr. Jack-Rich employed over 1,000 local people, awarded scholarships and built roads and wells, said Anabs Sara-Igbe, a prominent chief, asserting that the investment in the community "far exceeds what we have seen from Shell and Chevron throughout all the years they've operated."

Those years may be drawing to a close.

The world is moving on from fossil fuels. After decades of extraction, major oil companies are gradually leaving the Niger Delta altogether or going offshore - but, environmentalists said, often without decommissioning their aging infrastructure, which is done to restore the environment and prevent pollutants from leaching.

"They are moving out and leaving all the mess behind," said Celestine AkpoBari, a prominent environmentalist. "They are happy to sell the liability to whoever wants to buy, and run away."

The fisherwomen didn't want Chevron out. They could barely imagine life without Chevron. The company extracts oil in partnership with Nigeria's federal government, which is heavily dependent on oil revenue. The government and the oil companies were seen as almost synonymous - sometimes benevolent, sometimes malevolent - doling out crumbs of the national cake, or not. But not something that could be gotten rid of.

The women just wanted the company to stop the pipe from leaking, to investigate - which could lead to compensation - and some sacks of cassava or rice to tide them over until they could fish again.

At night at Chevron's flow stations, the fisherwomen slept on hard metal walkways, plagued by mosquitoes. Occasionally, they paddled home to change clothes. Their lives were on pause.

Their impact was plain, though. Chevron says it shut off the flow of oil to its pipes in the area. The leak stopped, the women said.

After about 10 days, local male leaders asked them to leave. They said officials at Chevron had promised an investigation as soon as the women got out.

Their hopes raised, they got back on their boats, and left.

Ms. Joseph went back to her house-on-stilts, where the camp's toddlers played in crude-slicked mud. She tried to clean her sticky nets.

Mostly, she sat on her deck, waiting for Chevron staff to arrive for the promised investigation.

But nobody came.

Fumes seeped up through her floor. Helicopters buzzed over her head. She presumed they were Chevron's. Every night, two local men were posted to stand guard on her decks, watching over the suspected site of the spill, in the distance. They were there because community members feared that Chevron would secretly repair the pipe, or worse, commission militants to blow it up so they could claim vandals or oil thieves had caused the spill. Environmental advocates say that oil companies are often accused of this in the region.

Ms. Joseph had no idea why the investigation was taking so long. But she heard of alarming things happening. First, all the members of a particular ethnic group, the Itsekiris, were thrown out of several villages down the creek.

Then, reports came that an Itsekiri village had been attacked, and a man killed. Villagers said the attackers were men from Ms. Joseph's ethnic group, the Ijaws.

There had long been conflict between the Itsekiris and the Ijaws, some of it caused by British colonialists' divide-and-rule tactics. But now they seemed to be heading for all-out war - and the catalyst was the elusive "joint investigation visit" into the spill - a process that is often problematic, with oil firms having undue influence on the outcome, but is the first step toward determining compensation.

Joint investigations are supposed to be conducted by the company, state regulators and community representatives. The question was, which communities?

The Itsekiris wanted to be part of the investigation. The Ijaws thought the Itsekiris were trying to use the investigation to lay claim to their lands. They refused to let the Itsekiris take part.

At the biggest annual festival in Gbaramatu, women danced and genuflected before the king. On the sidelines, an Ijaw youth leader, Godswill Doubra, said of the Itsekiris, "If we want to kill, we can kill dozens."

Two days later, in his quiet city home, Gabriel Yomere, an Itsekiri leader, threatened the Ijaws: "We are not going to rest on our oar and allow them to be slaughtering our people."

The conflict was impeding the joint investigation and with it, the prospect of compensation. Both sides said that ultimately, others stood to gain from the dispute.

"Who benefits if the Ijaws and Itsekiris are in crisis and killing each other?" asked Godspower Gbenekama, the spokesman for Gbaramatu. "It's Chevron." "When we have destroyed ourselves, they will come in and eat," he said.

Both Chevron and Chevron Nigeria Limited, the firm's local subsidiary, refused an interview. But a spokesman for Chevron said in a statement that no joint investigation visit had been done because of these community "disagreements." Aerial surveillance it carried out showed that no spill had come from its facilities, it added. "So far, there has not been any indication that the oil sheen emanated from C.N.L.'s assets," the statement read.

Women from the protest drifted back to their nets in mid-April. Their catches were pitiful.

"Before, I'd have fish up to here," said Idukedoumeme Koko, her long net pulled halfway out of the water. She wrung it out. "Look at that black oil."

"This is not enough to feed us," said Deborah Emiko, looking at the day's catch in her basket, worth about 50 cents.

They began to talk about returning to protest.

Ms. Joseph looked at the oil in the creases of her hands. She looked at the bags she once filled with crayfish to send to her children. They'd been empty for months. Compensation seemed a distant prospect. Some women bought frozen fish shipped in from Russia and the U.S. to eat, but she couldn't afford that. Oil or no oil, she would have to go fishing.

"I'm hungry," she said. "I want to try."

Picking up her paddle, woolen hat slightly askew, she loaded stained nets into her canoe and headed out into the river.

Ben Ezeamalu and Enaibo Asiayei contributed reporting.

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The Fisherwomen, Chevron and the Leaking Pipe

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The Great Read Big Oil has a filthy legacy in the Niger Delta region of Nigeria. One prominent environmentalist said: "They are moving out and leaving all the mess behind." While out fishing with some other women one day, Onitsha Joseph saw oil bubbling to the river's surface, and knew they had found the source of the spill.

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https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-asia-57614836
The Sacred Forest for Women

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In Papua, Indonesia, there is a mangrove forest that only women are allowed to enter.

It's a special place where generations of women have gathered clams and shared stories.

If men are found inside the forest, they are fined. BBC Indonesia's all-female crew was granted permission to enter.
Video produced by: Ayomi Amindoni, Yulika Anastasia, Alfonso Dimara Edited by: Anindita Pradana and Kevin Kim

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In Papua, Indonesia, there is a mangrove forest that only women are allowed to enter. It's a special place where generations of women have gathered clams and shared stories. If men are found inside the forest, they are fined. BBC Indonesia's all-female crew was granted permission to enter.

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World Abortion Laws Map (Global)

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The World Abortion Laws Map is the definitive record of the legal status of abortion in countries across the globe. Since 1998, the Center for Reproductive Rights has produced this map as a resource for advocates, government officials, and civil society organizations working to advance abortion rights as human rights for women and girls* around the globe. The map categorizes the legal status of abortion on a continuum from severe restrictiveness to relative liberality. It is updated in real time, reflecting changes in national laws so human rights advocates can monitor how countries are protecting-or denying-reproductive rights around the world.

Supplementary Resources

The World Abortion Laws Map includes supplementary tools and resources to assist advocates and policymakers in advancing abortion reform. These include:

A list of countries categorized by their abortion law can be accessed by downloading a PDF of the map.

Methodology

The categorizations on the map reflect a strict reading of the black letter law in effect in each country. Abortion laws are categorized according to provisions in national statues, legal regulations, and court decisions. Ministerial guidelines are not utilized in categorizing the legal status of abortion on the map unless they have the force of law. Ashurst, DLA Piper, Gomez-Pinzon Abogados, and White & Case provided pro bono support in reviewing the laws of each country, with legal interpretations provided by practicing lawyers in each country when available. For the purpose of the map, "countries" include independent states, and where populations exceed one million, semi-autonomous regions, territories, and jurisdictions of special status.

Accelerating Progress

Over the past several decades, monumental gains have been made in securing women's right to abortion, with nearly 50 countries liberalizing their abortion laws. Some of this reform has been incremental, enabling women to access legal abortion only when there is a threat to her life or when pregnancy results from rape. But many of these changes have been truly transformative, overturning absolute bans on abortion in favor of women's reproductive autonomy.

View 25 years of progress:

The infographic below illustrates the change in countries' abortion laws over the past 25 years, using the color rubric from the World Abortion Laws Map. The change in color reflects the legality of abortion, before and after law reform was enacted. Where the change in law added enumerated grounds for abortion, these are reflected through lettered icons.

More information
Abortion Rights are Human Rights

The right to safe and legal abortion is a fundamental human right protected under numerous international and regional human rights treaties and national-level constitutions around the world. These instruments ground safe abortion in a constellation of rights, including the rights to life; liberty; privacy; equality and non-discrimination and freedom from cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment. Human rights bodies have repeatedly condemned restrictive abortion laws as being incompatible with human rights norms.

970 million women, representing 59% of women of reproductive age, live in countries that broadly allow abortion. While a majority of women live in countries where they can exercise their right to abortion, 41 percent of women live under restrictive laws. The inability to access safe and legal abortion care impacts 700 million women of reproductive age. According to the World Health Organization, 23,000 women die of unsafe abortion each year and tens of thousands more experience significant health complications. Legal restrictions on abortion do not result in fewer abortions, instead they compel women to risk their lives and health by seeking out unsafe abortion care.

The legal status of abortion indicates more than just where women and girls are legally permitted to decide whether to a pregnancy term or not. It also reveals how likely a woman is to die from unsafe abortion, whether girls will complete their education, and the limits on women and girls' ability to participate in public and political life. In short, tracking the legal status of abortion shows us where women and girls are treated with equality and are afforded the opportunity to direct the course of their own lives.
More information
Abortion Law and Policy Guide

Our Abortion Law and Policy Guide showcases international and regional human rights norms, global medical standards, and comparative laws and policies on the following topics:

Recent Developments

The Center for Reproductive Rights tracks the most recent developments in abortion law and policy.

Explanation of Categories of Abortion Laws

Category 1. Prohibited Altogether

Category II. To Save a Woman's Life

Category III. To Preserve Health

Category IV. Broad Social or Economic Grounds

Category V. On Request (Gestational Limits Vary)

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The World's Abortion Laws - Center for Reproductive Rights

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The World Abortion Laws Map is the definitive record of the legal status of abortion in countries across the globe. Since 1998, the Center for Reproductive Rights has produced this map as a resource for advocates, government officials, and civil society organizations working to advance abortion rights as human rights for women and girls* around the globe.

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Women's Workplace Equality Index (Global)

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19 countries legally require married women to obey their husbands.

37 countries restrict women from applying for a passport in the same way as men.

11 countries prohibit women from obtaining a national identification card in the same way as men.

6 countries restrict women from traveling abroad in the same way as men.

17 countries prevent women from traveling outside the home in the same way as men.

18 countries prohibit women from getting a job or pursuing a trade or profession in the same way as men.

1 country bars women from signing a contract in the same way as men.

4 countries restrict women from registering a business in the same way as men.

3 countries prevent women from opening a bank account in the same way as men.

31 countries restrict women from choosing where to live in the same way as men.

31 countries bar women from being head of the household or head of the family in the same way as men.

24 countries restrict women from conferring citizenship on children in the same way as men.

9 countries dictate that only husbands-not wives-can legally administer marital property.

55 countries do not account for the valuation of nonmonetary contributions to the household.

13 countries restrict women and men from having equal property-ownership rights.

39 countries prevent daughters from having the same rights as sons to inherit assets from their parents.

36 countries do not grant female surviving spouses equal rights to inherit assets as males have.

16 countries do not consider women's testimony to carry the same evidentiary weight in court as men's.

69 countries do not mandate legal aid in civil and family matters.

96 countries have not established an antidiscrimination commission.

75 countries do not guarantee mothers an equivalent position after taking maternity leave.

In 54 countries, the government does not provide childcare services.

In 15 countries, specific tax deductions and tax credits are applicable only to men.

In 156 countries, payments for childcare are not tax-deductible.

In 18 countries, primary education is not free and compulsory.

118 countries do not mandate employers to provide leave for employees to care for sick relatives.

117 countries do not prohibit discrimination by creditors on the basis of sex or gender.

153 countries do not prohibit discrimination by creditors on the basis of marital status.

12 countries do not have legally mandated paid maternity leave.

In 86 countries, the government does not pay the full cost of maternity leave benefits.

In 86 countries, differences in legally mandated paid leave for men and women create a burden on employers.

147 countries do not have legally mandated paid parental leave.

98 countries do not have legally mandated paid paternity leave.

113 countries do not mandate equal remuneration for work of equal value.

41 countries do not mandate nondiscrimination in employment based on gender.

37 countries do not prohibit the dismissal of pregnant workers.

155 countries prevent parents from working flexibly.

In 29 countries, women cannot work the same night hours as men.

In 56 countries, women cannot work in jobs deemed hazardous, arduous, or morally inappropriate in the same way as men.

In 70 countries, women are not allowed to work in the same industries as men.

In 66 countries, women are not allowed to perform the same tasks at work as men.

In 41 countries, the ages at which men and women can retire with full pension benefits are not equal.

In 13 countries, the ages at which men and women can retire with partial pension benefits are not equal.

In 10 countries, the mandatory retirement age for men and women is not equal.

In 45 countries, domestic violence is not legally prohibited.

In 59 countries, there is no law prohibiting sexual harassment in the workplace.

In 123 countries, there is no law prohibiting sexual harassment in schools.

In 110 countries, there are no criminal penalties for sexual harassment in the workplace.

In 100 countries, there are no civil remedies for sexual harassment in the workplace.

In 111 countries, there is no law explicitly criminalizing marital rape.

In 72 countries, there are no clear criminal penalties for domestic violence.

In 4 countries, the legal age of marriage for girls is below eighteen.

58 countries lack a small-claims court or fast-track procedure for small claims, which small businesses (often owned by women) use to speed up and reduce the cost of court proceedings.

132 countries do not mandate retailers to provide information to private credit bureaus or public credit registries, impeding women from building their credit histories to access finance.

129 countries do not mandate utility companies to provide information to private credit bureaus or public credit registries, impeding women from building their credit histories to access finance.

In 23 countries, women receive less than two-thirds of their wages for the first fourteen weeks of their leave, or for the duration of the leave if it is shorter.

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Women's Workplace Equality Index: Leveling the Playing Field

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Most countries still have laws that make it harder for women to work than men. Gender inequality shortchanges not only women but also entire economies. The Women's Workforce Equality Index analyses what barriers exist to women working and how countries compare.

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Global Issues

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Los Mujers de Plaza de Mayo

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When he was a child, Guillermo's parents nicknamed him "the Jew".

Theirs was not a peaceful home: air force intelligence officer Francisco Gómez beat his wife Teodora Jofre frequently. "I saw him threaten her with a knife, hit her with a rifle butt, throw her on the floor and shout he would put a bullet in her," Guillermo eventually told a court in Buenos Aires, years later.

On school holidays, Gómez would take Guillermo to spend the day at the Buenos Aires Regional Intelligence (Riba) air force base. Fellow agents took the boy out for ice cream or let him play with their unloaded guns.

Eventually, Jofre could stand her husband's abuse no longer, and the couple separated; Guillermo lived with Jofre and only saw Gómez on weekends.

Guillermo's world was turned upside down at age 21 when a young woman tracked him down at the fast-food outlet where he worked in the outlying Buenos Aires district of San Miguel.

"I told her I was busy working," Guillermo recalls now. "So she sat down at a table, and wrote me a note."

The note read: "My name is Eva Mariana Pérez, I am the daughter of desaparecidos. I'm looking for my brother. I think he might be you."

According to human rights campaigners, 30,000 people were made to "disappear" by Argentina's 1976-83 dictatorship, mostly young opponents of the bloody regime. Of these, between 200 and 300 were victims of the Riba intelligence unit where Guillermo played as a child.

But killing the pregnant women was a crime that even Argentina's military men - who referred to themselves in self-aggrandising speeches as defenders of "western and Christian civilisation" - couldn't bring themselves to commit.

Instead, they kept pregnant activists alive until they gave birth, murdering them afterwards and handing their babies to childless military couples to raise as their own. It was, in a macabre sense, the military's ultimate victory against a despised enemy they had decided to annihilate completely. It is estimated some 500 children were born under these circumstances.

Looking up from the note he had just been handed, Guillermo told Mariana he was not the brother she was looking for. His surname was Gómez, not Pérez. Plus, he knew who his parents were. But then Mariana showed him an old photo of her father.

Composite photograph showing Guillermo Pérez Roisinblit and his late father José Manuel Pérez. Photograph: Handout

"It was like looking at a picture of myself," says Guillermo, pulling out his smartphone to show the composite photo he now carries everywhere. On the left, a colour picture of himself at age 21, on the right, the black and white picture of his father at nearly the same age. They look like twins.

Mariana told Guillermo how their real parents, Patricia Roisinblit and José Manuel Pérez Rojo, were kidnapped by a military death squad in October 1978 and taken to the Riba intelligence base.

Patricia, a 25-year-old Jewish student of medicine, was eight months pregnant with Guillermo.

Her firstborn daughter Mariana was a 15-month-old baby at the time. Somehow Patricia managed to convince her abductors to release her baby girl into the hands of relatives. Patricia was murdered in secret shortly after giving birth to Guillermo. His real father was never seen again either.

The crimes of Argentina's dictatorship cut a deep scar in the country's collective memory, one that four decades later still refuses to heal.

In the past 10 years alone, more than 600 former military officers have been sentenced for human rights crimes; 1,000 more still face trial, while 57 others remain on the run, the subject of international arrest warrants.

The passage of time has given Argentina's search for justice an added urgency: many witnesses and perpetrators of dictatorship atrocities are well into their 90s and 227 suspects have died before their cases reached sentencing in the last decade.

This May Guillermo took the stand in a hushed Buenos Aires courtroom to testify in the case he has brought against Gómez - the man he grew up calling "father" for 21 years - for the murder of his parents.

Among the accused in Guillermo's case were a number of ageing former air force officers, including 90-year-old former air force chief Omar Graffigna, one of the members of the military junta that ruled Argentina.

And one of the key witnesses is Guillermo's nonagenarian grandmother, Rosa Roisinblit, who was in court throughout as the horrific circumstances of her grandson's early life were pieced together.

"I didn't have a happy childhood," Guillermo told the judges, wringing his hands together, eyes closed.

Francisco Gómez, right, the man who raised Guillermo Pérez Roisinblit, during the trial against Gomez and the former head of Argentina's air force. Photograph: Natacha Pisarenko/AP

Among those who testified in recent weeks is Miriam Lewin, a survivor of the Esma camp, the Navy School of Mechanics in the city of Buenos Aires where 5,000 people died during the dictatorship.

Roisinblit had been taken to the Esma "maternity ward" to give birth, and the officers there brought Lewin and Roisinblit together because they knew each other from before. Lewin begged for Roisinblit not to be sent back back to Riba after giving birth.

"We suspected they'd kill her," Lewin told the courtroom. Her request was ignored.

But the all-powerful military had not counted on the strength of the grandmothers of the babies they were abducting. The women banded together nearly four decades ago, naming themselves the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo, after the main square in front of the presidential palace in downtown Buenos Aires where they demonstrated.

So far, they have been able to locate and identify by DNA tests 120 of their abducted grandchildren.

Among these courageous women is Patricia's mother, Rosa Roisinblit. Helping herself along with a walking stick, Rosa sits down with her grandson Guillermo for an interview in the old building where the Grandmothers have their offices. Aged 96, thin and tiny, she seems almost too frail to handle the chill of the current Buenos Aires winter, let alone testify against Gómez as she did two months ago for the murder of her daughter. The trial is expected to last until at least October.

In a whisper of a voice that somehow conveys the determination with which she pursued Gómez for decades, Rosa recalls how Patricia's disappearance launched her into a whirlwind of activism until she became the vice-president of Grandmothers.

An obstetrician by profession, she has one major regret.

"I helped bring so many babies into this world, but I couldn't be there for the birth of my own grandson."

Guillermo's adaptation to his biological family has been slow, but the warm glow between him and his grandmother is readily apparent as they squeeze hands throughout the interview. "My grandson was born already 21 years old," says Rosa. "It's not the same as knowing him since he was a baby, when you get to play grandmother, take him to the park. I can't take him to the merry-go-round when he's already a man."

Omar Graffigna, who was head of the air force during Argentina's military dictatorship, is escorted by police to his trial in Buenos Aires in May. Photograph: Natacha Pisarenko/AP

Guillermo, now 37, a senate employee and law student, recalls how he confronted Gómez with the truth. "At first he denied everything," he says, his voice dropping in volume. It wasn't until the fourth confrontation, while driving together that Gómez finally cracked.

"He suddenly burst into tears, admitting I was the son of desaparecidos, telling me that my mother had been Jewish," says Guillermo.

Suddenly all fell into place. The violence. The nickname. Eventually Guillermo realized that the Riba unit where he played as a child was the very place where his real parents had been murdered. And that the man he had thought of as his father had taken part in their deaths.

Guillermo sighs heavily as he continues. "He asked me to rest assured nothing bad happened to my mother while she was pregnant, though he couldn't say the same about my father. He said he took care of my mother, that he brought her food secretly on weekends. It was too much information for me."

Guillermo has since changed his surname from Gómez to Pérez Roisinblit, a combination of his biological parents' names. Apart from seeing him in court this May, he has had no contact with Gómez for years, after the former intelligence agent threatened both him and his biological grandmother.

He maintains a difficult realtionship with Teodora Jofre, who claims she was not aware he was the child of desaparecidos, believing he was the illegitimate child of one of her husband's comrades.

Despite her 96 years, Rosa says she is not about to give up anytime soon the fight for the missing grandchildren her association is still looking for.

"The strength comes from the love for your children," she says. "If I had stayed home crying for the disappearance of my daughter I would have died long ago."

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How an Argentinian man learned his 'father' may have killed his real parents

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When he was a child, Guillermo's parents nicknamed him "the Jew". Theirs was not a peaceful home: air force intelligence officer Francisco Gómez beat his wife Teodora Jofre frequently. "I saw him threaten her with a knife, hit her with a rifle butt, throw her on the floor and shout he would put a bullet in her," Guillermo eventually told a court in Buenos Aires, years later.

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The Argentinian government has sent hundreds of DNA testing kits to its consulates around the world in a groundbreaking effort to put names to unidentified victims murdered in the "Dirty War" waged by the brutal military dictatorship four decades ago.

Last month, the Argentinian authorities, in collaboration with the National Commission for the Right to Identity, the Grandmothers of Plaza de Mayo movement and investigators from the Argentinian Forensic Anthropology Team (EAAF), launched its international Right to Identity campaign, committed to putting a name to every woman, man and child killed by the military junta in Argentina in the 1970s and early 80s.

After the 1976 coup, Argentina's military set about systematically crushing any potential opposition, and eventually "disappeared" and murdered 30,000 people, almost all of them civilian, unarmed non-combatants.

An illustration of human bones from a mass grave analysed by the Argentinian Forensic Anthropology Team (EAAF). Only 1,000 or so remains of the dictatorship's victims have been identified. Photograph: Daniel García/AFP/Getty

The abuses meted out to " los desaparecidos" in Argentina's Dirty War have inflicted a deep trauma on the Argentinian psyche. Pregnant prisoners were kept alive until they gave birth and were then murdered. At least 500 babies were taken from their parents while in captivity and given to childless military couples to raise as their own.

The task of identifying victims of the dictatorship is a herculean one, starting with discovering where the military buried the bodies of their victims.

After the return of democracy it was discovered that many victims were hidden in mass unmarked graves, some in municipal cemeteries. Others washed up on Argentina's beaches after they were drugged and thrown into the Atlantic Ocean from aircraft in macabre "death flights" organised by the military.

Last year, the EAAF, which was nominated for the Nobel peace prize in 2020, started a campaign to identify some 600 remains recovered in the years after the war and believed to be people "disappeared" by the junta. However, their efforts have been thwarted by missing genetic data.

Now the search for the missing families has been extended internationally with the government instructing Argentinian embassies and consulates around the world to help find missing relatives who could supply DNA to assist with the identification.

The first DNA collection kits arrived two weeks ago at the Argentinian consulate general in Rome.

It is hoped that testing in Italy will reveal many of the missing identities. Hundreds of thousands of Italians emigrated to Argentina in the late 19th century and early 20th century and almost 700,000 Argentinians hold dual citizenship. Many Italians also travelled to Argentina during the military dictatorship to join the resistance against the far-right regime. In October 1982, the Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera published a list of 297 Italians aged 17 to 29 who disappeared while in Argentina.

Maco Somigliana, who has been a member of the EAAF team since 1987, said: "We've been able to identify around 1,000 remains of victims of Argentina's dictatorship. There are 75 Italians reported as kidnapped during the dictatorship and we've been able to positively identify five of them so far."

The Guardian has seen an official list of 45 desaparecidos of Italian origin, who have yet to be identified. The search for their families, which has already started, will be led by two Argentinian consulates in Italy, which will collect DNA in Italy, Albania, Malta and San Marino.

Mothers of the Disappeared protest in Argentina in the first march against the dictatorship in 1981. Photograph: Eduardo Longoni/Corbis/Getty

Those who believe they may be relatives of desaparecidos will have to give a blood sample so the mitochondrial DNA can be traced. The drop of blood, taken and collected in a special container, will then be sent on a diplomatic flight to Córdoba in Argentina, where the EAAF forensic laboratory is based.

Ana de la Paz Tito, Argentina's consul general in Rome, said: "With the help of science, Argentina has strengthened its path towards the search for truth. Bones can speak. Science can make bones talk.

"The right to identify the bodies of the desaparecidos, their children, is a fundamental right, such as freedom, health, work and education. This right, in my country, had been violated by the state itself. And that tragedy pushes us Argentinians, today, to bring truth to those victims and their families. Because the truth helps us increase our collective memory and avoid the repetition of these tragedies."

Once the remains have been identified, they will be returned to their families. This procedure is free and confidential and there will be financial compensation for relatives of the victims.

Jorge Ithurburu, president of the Rome-based human rights organisation 24 Marzo, which takes its name from the date of the coup, said: "It is important to identify these people - burial is a right for all - but it is also a way to allow relatives, who have lived for decades in a sort of limbo, to mourn their loved one.

"The idea is to ensure these people stop being desaparecidos and that we give them a name, give them justice and that finally we are able to find out the cause of their death," he said.

Finding and identifying the bodies is a task that requires patience.
Azucena Villaflor, the founder of the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, a group of mothers of the "disappeared" who confronted the military junta demanding to know the fate of their children, was herself kidnapped and then thrown into the Atlantic in December 1977.
Villaflor's body washed up on a faraway beach shortly afterwards and was hidden by local police in an unmarked grave. It was not until 2003 that Villaflor's murder was certified after Somigliana's team found where the police had secretly buried her.

The EAAF have since applied the skills they acquired in Argentina elsewhere, identifying victims of summary executions and genocide around the world, in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Africa, Mexico and Asia, including the identification of the body of Che Guevara, the Cuban-Argentinian revolutionary, in Bolivia. They also participated in the case of the 43 students massacred in 2014 in Mexico's drug war at the request of the families of thevictims.

This article was amended on 28 May 2021. An earlier version said Argentina had sent out "thousands" of DNA testing kits when it meant to say "hundreds".

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Argentina sends out DNA kits in drive to identify thousands 'disappeared' under dictatorship

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The Argentinian government has sent hundreds of DNA testing kits to its consulates around the world in a groundbreaking effort to put names to unidentified victims murdered in the "Dirty War" waged by the brutal military dictatorship four decades ago.

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Legacies of Matriliny- The Place of Women and the "Kerala Model"

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Teaching indonesian girls in Java and Bali 1900 1942 dutch progressives the infatuation with oriental refinement and western ideas about proper

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Iranians are due to choose a new president this month at a pivotal time for the country, both at home and abroad. Much has changed in the four years since the last election - and here are key reasons why this one will be closely watched.

Growing dissatisfaction

Since the last presidential election in 2017, a series of events has drastically changed the Iranian political landscape. They include deadly crackdowns on anti-government protests; arrests of political and social activists, executions of political prisoners; the shooting down of a Ukrainian airliner by Iran's Islamic Revolution Guard Corps (IRGC); and a severe economic crisis as a result of US sanctions.

The repercussions among ordinary Iranians are having a significant impact on the upcoming election. Perhaps the most substantial blow to Iran's rulers would be low voter turnout, as dissatisfaction among the electorate is at its peak.

Although it is widely believed that Iranian elections are by no means free and fair (mainly due to the vetting of candidates by a hardline body known as the Guardian Council), Iran's leaders still need high turnout to prove the legitimacy of the political system. It is this legitimacy that has been seriously challenged by the events of the past four years.

However, recent polls by the Iranian Students Polling Agency (Ispa), close to the government, show a 7% drop in expected turnout to just 36% since the list of candidates was announced on 20 June, while the hashtag "No Way I Vote" is now a trend on Persian social media.

In previous elections, low voter turnout has usually given the upper hand to the hardliners and conservatives.

All eyes on hardliners

Since 1997, presidential elections have been polarised, with contenders belonging to hardline and reformist/centrist factions.

But a recent directive from the Guardian Council practically barred most reformist or centrist candidates from standing this year.

Out of tens of prominent political figures who registered, only seven were approved by the council. Just two of the seven are reformist/centrist candidates, and both are considered low profile.

Iran's judiciary chief, Ebrahim Raisi, who was the runner-up in the 2017 election, is the best-known contender, and according to some state polls he is the favourite candidate among the hardliners.

Some observers believe the others who have been allowed to stand are only really supporting candidates to help Mr Raisi's bid.

Economy in crisis

The economy has always played a key role in the Iranian elections and it is high on the agenda of every candidate. Due to the precarious economic situation, Iran is now in one of its most critical phases since the 1979 revolution.

The impact of sanctions, exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic, has caused one of the worst economic crises in the country's history, with the inflation rate reaching 50%.

When the government arbitrarily increased the price of petrol in November 2019, thousands of people took to the streets in more than 100 cities.

According to Amnesty International, within a few days more than 300 unarmed protesters were killed by security forces. Protesters demanded the resignation of members of Iran's ruling elite and the government. Similar protests could erupt again.

Although many believe that radical change is necessary and only possible through protests and strikes, there are those who believe that gradual change is more peaceful and feasible through the ballot box.

The political climate is volatile and things can go one way or another, right up to election day.

Relations with the US

The victory of Joe Biden in the 2020 US presidential election raised the prospect of reviving diplomatic negotiations with Iran, after tensions between the two countries soared under his predecessor Donald Trump. Although most hardliners within Iran's political establishment regard talks with the US as pointless, reformists and centrists are in favour.

The latter two also support joining international anti-money laundering organisations such as the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), reconciliation with regional rival Saudi Arabia, and reducing rhetorical aggression towards Iran's arch-foe Israel.

Such measures would significantly reduce friction in the region and also create an opportunity to revive Iran's ailing economy.

However, as the overall policies of the Islamic Republic, including its foreign policy, are determined by the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, those who intend to boycott the upcoming election believe whoever is the next president has little power to change the status quo without his consent.

And even then, normalising relations with the US or recognising Israel as a state is currently unthinkable.

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Iran's presidential election: Four ways it matters

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Iranians are due to choose a new president this month at a pivotal time for the country, both at home and abroad. Much has changed in the four years since the last election - and here are key reasons why this one will be closely watched.

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Journal Information

Latin American Perspectives discusses and debates the political economies of capitalism, imperialism, and socialism in the Americas. Most issues of this stimulating journal focus on a single issue, nation, or region. Latin American Perspectives offers a vital multidisciplinary view of: Economics - the moral, political, and social desirability of economic policies Political Science - the patterns of social action that underlie the operation of nations, the competition for power, and the conduct and misconduct of governments International Relations - as they affect the nationalist movements and internal problems of Latin American countries Philosophy - as applied to the realities of developing nations History - inside views of history in the making Geography - the environmental condition, ecology, and exploitation of resources Sociology - organized groups, social institutions, and the new social movements, including feminism, ecology, and urban and rural labor Anthropology - the culture, ethnicity, and resistance of peoples of the region Literature - the personal poetic comments of activists and revolutionary scholars

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Sara Miller McCune founded SAGE Publishing in 1965 to support the dissemination of usable knowledge and educate a global community. SAGE is a leading international provider of innovative, high-quality content publishing more than 900 journals and over 800 new books each year, spanning a wide range of subject areas. A growing selection of library products includes archives, data, case studies and video. SAGE remains majority owned by our founder and after her lifetime will become owned by a charitable trust that secures the company's continued independence. Principal offices are located in Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore, Washington DC and Melbourne. www.sagepublishing.com

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Gendered Violence and Neocolonialism: Indigenous Women Confronting Counterinsurgency Violence on JSTOR

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Journal Information Latin American Perspectives discusses and debates the political economies of capitalism, imperialism, and socialism in the Americas. Most issues of this stimulating journal focus on a single issue, nation, or region.

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The African liberation struggle fought against two intertwined forces, colonization and colonialism. The former implied physical occupation and dispossession of Africans' land, while the latter implied destruction of their culture. While "political independence" succeeded in an artificial and superficial sense in granting space for African cultural reclamation, this success presented little or no joy in restoring the dignified space that African women enjoyed in pre-colonial Africa. African women - in spite of the granting of "independence" and "freedom"- continue to be denied their freedom in African communities, and relegated to a second-class citizen status. I argue that if freedom is to have any significant meaning for Africans, it must prioritize the African cultural reclamation that puts African women in the center. This can and will be possible when Africans interrogate African philosophical assumptions about women's "place" in traditional Africa. A thorough exercise in this regard will assist in giving meaning to an African renaissance that will secure liberation not only for African men but also for women.

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For the last quarter century, the Journal of Black Studies has been the leading source for dynamic, innovative, and creative research on the Black experience. Poised to remain at the forefront of the scholarship in the field, the Journal of Black Studies explores the most vital issues facing African American and Black populations.

Publisher Information

Sara Miller McCune founded SAGE Publishing in 1965 to support the dissemination of usable knowledge and educate a global community. SAGE is a leading international provider of innovative, high-quality content publishing more than 900 journals and over 800 new books each year, spanning a wide range of subject areas. A growing selection of library products includes archives, data, case studies and video. SAGE remains majority owned by our founder and after her lifetime will become owned by a charitable trust that secures the company's continued independence. Principal offices are located in Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore, Washington DC and Melbourne. www.sagepublishing.com

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.title
African Philosophy in Pursuit of an African Renaissance for the True Liberation of African Women on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The African liberation struggle fought against two intertwined forces, colonization and colonialism. The former implied physical occupation and dispossession of Africans' land, while the latter implied destruction of their culture. While "political independence" succeeded in an artificial and superficial sense in granting space for African cultural reclamation, this success presented little or no joy in restoring the dignified space that African women enjoyed in pre-colonial Africa.

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Journal Information

The Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE) is a refereed journal committed to encouraging high quality research and fostering excellence in the understanding of African political economy. Published quarterly by Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group for the ROAPE international collective it has since 1974 provided radical analysis of trends and issues in Africa. It has paid particular attention to the political economy of inequality, exploitation and oppression, whether driven by global forces or local ones (such as class, race, community and gender), and to materialist interpretations of change in Africa. It has sustained a critical analysis of the nature of power and the state in Africa.

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Building on two centuries' experience, Taylor & Francis has grown rapidlyover the last two decades to become a leading international academic publisher.The Group publishes over 800 journals and over 1,800 new books each year, coveringa wide variety of subject areas and incorporating the journal imprints of Routledge,Carfax, Spon Press, Psychology Press, Martin Dunitz, and Taylor & Francis.Taylor & Francis is fully committed to the publication and dissemination of scholarly information of the highest quality, and today this remains the primary goal.

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The Nigerian Feminist Movement: Lessons from "Women in Nigeria", WIN on JSTOR

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Journal Information The Review of African Political Economy (ROAPE) is a refereed journal committed to encouraging high quality research and fostering excellence in the understanding of African political economy. Published quarterly by Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group for the ROAPE international collective it has since 1974 provided radical analysis of trends and issues in Africa.

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Our History

One day when Sampat Pal Devi, a simple woman living in a village in Northern India, saw a man mercilessly beating his wife. She pleaded with him to stop but he abused her as well.

Our Vision

Protect the powerless from abuse and fight corruption to ensure basic rights of the poor in rural areas and discourage traditions like child-marriages.

Our Mission

Support and train women to enhance their basic skills to become economically secure and develop confidence to protect themselves from abuse through sustainable livelihood options.

The Gulabi Gang is an extraordinary women's movement formed in 2006 by Sampat Pal Devi in the Banda District of Uttar Pradesh in Northern India. This region is one of the poorest districts in the country and is marked by a deeply patriarchal culture, rigid caste divisions, female illiteracy, domestic violence, child labour, child marraiges and dowry demands. The women's group is popularly known as Gulabi or 'Pink' Gang because the members wear bright pink saris and wield bamboo sticks. Sampat says, "We are not a gang in the usual sense of the term, we are a gang for justice." The Gulabi Gang was initially intended to punish oppressive husbands, fathers and brothers, and combat domestic violence and desertion. The members of the gang would accost male offenders and prevail upon them to see reason. The more serious offenders were publicly shamed when they refused to listen or relent. Sometimes the women resorted to their lathis, if the men resorted to use of force.

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Journal Information

Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis. Whether drawn from the complex past or the shifting present, the work that appears in Feminist Studies addresses social and political issues that intimately and significantly affect women and men in the United States and around the world.

Publisher Information

Founded in 1972, Feminist Studies was the first scholarly journal in women's studies and remains a flagship publication with a record of breaking new ground in the field. Whether drawing from the complex past or the shifting present, the pieces that appear in Feminist Studies raise social and political questions that intimately and significantly affect women and men around the world.

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Call Me Qingnian but Not Funü: A Maoist Youth in Retrospect on JSTOR

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Journal Information Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis.

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Amal Abo Alqom dreamed of becoming a doctor. An unusually brilliant student, she especially excelled in English. Yet as soon as she finished elementary school, her family put her to work in the fields by her home in the unrecognized Bedouin village of Wadi Na'am.

Desperately anxious to continue her education, Amal went on a hunger strike. And when that didn't help, she threatened to hurl herself into the deepest well she could find. No problem, said her parents: let us know which well, so we can take your body out and bury it.

Today Amal not only runs a successful tourist attraction, but is the founder of a non-profit organization that helps younger women achieve their goals and, at the same time, provides older women who didn't attend school the opportunity to boost their self-esteem by passing ancient traditions and expertise onto the younger set.

Amal is one of several amazing women who reside in three Bedouin townships, or villages, planned by the government: Tel Sheva, Lakiya and Segev Shalom. Living proof of what courage and resolve can achieve, each initiated a tourist attraction that brings in visitors from all over the world and provides a decent living for many of the local women. Most are also deeply involved, as well, in empowering girls and women in their home communities and from the unrecognized settlements nearby. Incredibly, they have been able to avoid treading on the feet of the local men, or flying in the face of age-old Bedouin traditions.

Kudos to a number of government offices that offer them assistance: the Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, the Ministry of Social Justice, and the Ministry for the Development of the Negev and the Galilee; the Negev Development Authority coordinates their efforts.

Tel Sheva

In the 1960s, the government began preparing seven permanent Bedouin settlements in the Negev. Oblivious to Bedouin needs and ignorant of their traditions, they began with Tel Sheva - and it was a disaster. Most of those who moved in, quickly moved out.

Only after the far more successful Rahat was established in 1972 did Bedouin begin to repopulate Tel Sheva. But many a family still preferred living in tents; on a visit in the 1990s, we shared a tent for the night with a family that owned - but didn't use - a lovely house located on the same plot.

Mariam Abu Rakaek operates out of a Visitors' Center called Daughter of the Desert that she built by sheer determination. Born in an unrecognized village, she moved to Tel Sheva when she was seven years old. For years, the family lived in a tent in the township, with Mariam attending the local schools. Upon graduation, she became one of the first Israeli Bedouin women to further her studies abroad.

After completing a degree in business administration, Mariam returned to Tel Sheva. There, her parents demanded that she marry a man of their choice. When she refused, the family decided she had to remain at home - and that is where she stayed for the next 10 years.

Yet armed with her business knowledge, a consciousness of the environment that she picked up in England, and the teachings of a grandmother who was a village healer, she began manufacturing soap made of the purest, most natural products. She took courses in cosmetics and medicinal plants, gathered shrubs and herbs from the nearby riverbed, and added oils and creams to her line.

These days foreigners and Israelis come from far and wide to hear Mariam's fascinating personal story, watch her demonstrate the process of preparing her cosmetics, and to taste authentic Bedouin fare.

Lakiya

Well over 200 years ago, a Gazan Bedouin named Haj Mahmud arrived in Lakiya with perfumes and spices to sell. When he decided to settle down in the village, he built a large house of straw, mud, and stones that the locals, who lived in tents, called Haj Mahmud's Palace. As time passed, family members moved out and the structure was used as a storehouse.

Great-great-granddaughter Amal Abu Karen was born in Lakiya when the village was still unrecognized by the Israeli government and lacked basic municipal services like electricity and running water. (It was officially declared a township in the 1990s.)

Luckily, Amal was permitted to attend high school and even encouraged to become a teacher. She, however, wanted to study medicine. Although her family objected, she eventually realized her dream and became a nurse.

We met 6-year-old Mi'ar (Light of the Moon), one of Amal's four children, on our visit to Horiya Palace. Amal had renamed the site in honor of her grandmother, who had been taking care of the building.

It was Grandmother Horiya who suggested opening the Palace up to the public and relating its extraordinary history to listeners. With its authentic atmosphere, it also became the perfect venue for displaying locally made handicrafts, and for presenting groups with delicious Bedouin meals prepared by local women.

Amal feels strongly about the need to educate Bedouin women about a variety of health related issues - including breast cancer, a disease rarely discussed in the villages. Lectures on these subjects are coordinated with another remarkable woman from Lakiya: Na'ama Elsa'ana.

Born into an educated family - her sister is a school principal, her uncle is a doctor and her great-grandfather studied law in Istanbul - Na'ama graduated high school, continued on to college, and eventually worked outside the township in the field of special education.

Nevertheless, anxious to improve life in her native Lakiya, Na'ama returned home to help found the Association for the Improvement of Women's Status, Lakiya - the very first Bedouin women's organization in the Negev.

Desert Embroidery is the group's flagship project, featuring a tent-like Visitors' Center where tourists from Israel and abroad learn about Bedouin traditions, the status of Bedouin women, and the meaning behind different types of embroidery. The adjacent shop displays striking embroidered goods produced by over 60 local women who are supplied with material and training and who work out of their homes.

Besides providing employment for nearly 200 women, the Association offers lectures on women's' rights, health (see above) and other important subjects. In addition, the Association runs a mobile library, and gives classes in reading and writing Arabic, mathematics, English, and spoken Hebrew. Classes are for adults lacking a formal education as well for pupils who need help achieving a high school matriculation certificate.

As soon as she realized that many of the local women had never left their village, Na'ama began taking them on trips around the country - even to nearby Beersheba, which many had never even seen. Na'ama, who last month received a prize for her work from Ben Gurion University, announces proudly that 80 per cent of the Lakiya women who have academic degrees were nurtured and supported by the Association.

Segev Shalom

After finishing elementary school, Zenab Garabia was kept home to work in the family fields of Wadi Na'am. It was only when she reached the age of 24 that she was able to finish school and continue on to graduate studies in art. Nowadays, she teaches art in area schools. But her dream is to found a School of the Arts from elementary school through high school for Jews and Arabs alike, where pupils can learn every facet of art while earning a high school degrees.

The only Bedouin artist to work in clay, Zenab produces stunning works embellished with traditional Bedouin designs. Incorporating Bedouin embroidery into her artwork is a way for Zenab to express herself and her heritage, she says. It is her way of honoring her mother, married off at 14, and forced to leave her children when Zenab was only eight months old. The story of how her mother managed to stay in touch with her offspring, and one day to return, touches the hearts of all who hear it.

Zenab receives visitors in an attractive living room in Segev Shalom, offers tea and coffee, and relates the whole remarkable story. Then they tour her gallery, filled with a unique and fabulous array of lamps, dishes, teapots and knickknacks, all with an embroidered motif. Her works are based on designs she learned from her mother. "When you buy something, a part of my mother's soul goes with you," she says.

Obviously, Amal Abo Alqom, also a resident of Segev Shalom, never did throw herself into a well. Nine years after being forced to halt her studies, some of Amal's relatives moved to the planned Bedouin village of Segev Shalom. There was a clubhouse at the edge of the settlement and sometimes Amal would walk over by foot from Wadi Na'am. When she told one of the Jewish instructors how she longed to go to school, she received so much encouragement that she was able to continue her studies.

But she was the oldest daughter. And she told us, as we sat on cushions eating maqluba (upside down chicken and vegetables), that after she finally finished high school she was expected to help support her family.

So instead of medical school, she studied child care and established a day care center. But it wasn't enough for Amal, who volunteered to set up a sports program for the village children. She was so successful that she was sent to Haifa to acquire a degree in the coordination of early childhood education.

Amal longed to do something more for the children of Segev Shalom, so eventually she returned home and initiated all kinds of activities for both children and adults. When she realized how many women lacked a basic education, she and some friends founded an amuta called Women for Themselves that offers lectures, trips all over the country and classes not only for older women but for high school girls who need help with their studies. Amal proudly told us that one older woman asked Amal to go to the bank with her - where, for the first time, she was able to sign her name onto a document.

One fascinating facet of Amal's work brings in grandmothers and great grandmothers who do not know how to read or write. But since they know everything there is to know about Bedouin traditions, they teach the younger set the almost lost arts of storytelling, the preparation of traditional crafts, and the use of medicinal herbs.

People come from everywhere to hear about her struggles to achieve an education and to learn about Bedouin customs. Some of them stay overnight in one of 10 village homes, which Amal believes is the way for people to really taste Bedouin culture.

When I suggested that now she could go to medical school, if she wanted, Amal laughed: I am already a doctor, she said. Just a doctor of a different kind.

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For more information, tours or data about Bedouin tourism, contact Yarona Richardson at bedo.tourism@gmail.com

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Aviva Bar-Am is the author of seven English-language guides to Israel.

Shmuel Bar-Am is a licensed tour guide who provides private, customized tours in Israel for individuals, families and small groups.

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The Bedouin women breaking with tradition in the Negev

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Amal Abo Alqom dreamed of becoming a doctor. An unusually brilliant student, she especially excelled in English. Yet as soon as she finished elementary school, her family put her to work in the fields by her home in the unrecognized Bedouin village of Wadi Na'am.

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Journal Information

Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis. Whether drawn from the complex past or the shifting present, the work that appears in Feminist Studies addresses social and political issues that intimately and significantly affect women and men in the United States and around the world.

Publisher Information

Founded in 1972, Feminist Studies was the first scholarly journal in women's studies and remains a flagship publication with a record of breaking new ground in the field. Whether drawing from the complex past or the shifting present, the pieces that appear in Feminist Studies raise social and political questions that intimately and significantly affect women and men around the world.

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Permission to Rebel: Arab Bedouin Women's Changing Negotiation of Social Roles on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Journal Information Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis.

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nitially, it used to be a village affair that did not interrupt trade. Indeed, as late as the 1870s the tribal hostilities were still very much alive and Edward Im Thurn could observe that, "(members of) each tribe constantly visit the other tribes, often hostile, for the purpose of exchanging the products of their own labour for such as are produced only by the other tribes." ---------(15) The most important item of exchange were, however, women. In an account as early as the famous letter by Dr. Chanca (1493), the court physician who travelled with Columbus on his second voyage, it was observed that they "take as many women as they can (and) keep them as concubines." --------(16) There was nothing more valuable to be bought, bartered or stolen.
The story of the Caribs and Arawaks

Part 5 I

In a sense, women were, actually and symbolically, the first commodities. Thus, the earliest precious items of exchange, almost functioning, centuries before Columbus, as a money for the diverse tribes reaching from the Amazon to the Greater Antilles, were described by Pierre Barre in 1743 as follows: "This stone is of olive color, of a slightly paler green... The most common shape one gives to this stone is cylindrical, length of 2, 3, up to 4 inches, by six or seven lines in diameter, and drilled their whole length. I have seen some of them that were squaraed, oval, to which one had given the shape of a crescent and imprinted upon it the figure of a toad, or some other animals." -----(17) Such a stones, the price of a slave, were believed to be the products of a mythic tribe of women who later came to be called the Amazons. They were made of a maleable rock from a special lake - only when taken into the sunlight did the 'piedras hijadas' became hard. Frogs, water, greenness, softness, the longditudinal bore, these were the universal Indian symbols of the female.

This prehistoric attitude might have logic foreign to our overcrowded world but, within limits, the prosperity of the neolithic clan was directly in proportion to its size. The wealth and power of a man were judged by the extent of his family. High mortality rates placed a premium on fecundity. Consequently, women were valued for their reproductive capacity. Here lies the true reason for their exclusion from the dangerous business of warfare and hunting even, or rather especially, when it was a matter of survival or extinction. It has nothing to do with women being a weaker sex. And here lies too the true origin of sexual, and all subsequent forms, of inequality.

"The men only hunt, fish, and cut down trees when a new clearing has to be made, which does not happen often, and do other small jobs," observed Pere Labat, "The women have to do everything else. When the men return from hunting they just throw their game down in the doorway of the carbet, and the women pick it up and cook it, or if they come back from their fishing, they leave the fish in the canoe and not even mention it. The women have to run to the canoe to get the fish and cook it at once, for they are expected to know that the fishermen are hungry. In a word, the women are born servants and remain servants all their lives."------ (18)

This changed, lost its primitive character, with the appearance of the Europeans. The attrition which the tribes suffered made raiding more vital to augment their declining numbers. At one time the Kalina of Dominica held over 70 captives - Spaniards and negroes, men and women - some of whom had been captured from the 'Arawaks' of Trinidad.

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nitially, it used to be a village affair that did not interrupt trade. Indeed, as late as the 1870s the tribal hostilities were still very much alive and Edward Im Thurn could observe that, "(members of) each tribe constantly visit the other tribes, often hostile, for the purpose of exchanging the products of their own labour for such as are produced only by the other tribes."

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Despite the fact that the Taíno people of the Caribbean were the first Native Americans to encounter and coexist with Europeans after 1492, there has been almost no archaeology of Taíno response to that encounter. This study explores the reasons for (and consequences of) this neglect, and their larger implications for American contact-period archaeology. It also challenges prevailing historical models of Taíno social disintegration, drawing upon six years of archaeological work at the En Bas Saline site in Haiti, the only extensively excavated Taíno townsite occupied both before and after contact. Our results, organized by a household-scale analytical framework emphasizing Taíno constructions of gender and class, suggest] that there were few major alterations to traditional Taíno social practice during the post-contact period, and most of these were related to activities thought to have been the domain of non-elite Taíno men. It is suggested that the relatively nonspecialized gender roles among the Taíno, as well as the clearly differentiated nature of their social classes, may have served as mitigating factors in the disruption of Taíno cultural practice under Spanish domination. This work also reveals a marked Taíno resistance to the incorporation of European cultural elements, which provides a striking contrast to the Spanish patterns documented in contact-era European towns, and underscores the critical importance of incorporating gender relations into studies of culture contact. /// A pesar de que los Taínos del Caribe fueron los primeros indios americanos en confrontarse y coexistir con los europeos después de 1492, no ha habido casi ninguna investigación arqueológica de la respuesta Taína a este encuentro. Este estudio explora las razones y consecuencias de este descuido, y sus implicaciones may ores para la arqueología americana del periodo del contacto. Desafía también los modelos históricos predominantes sobre la rápida desintegración social de los Taínos, en base a seis años de trabajo arqueológico en el sitio de En Bas Saline, Haití, el único pueblo Taíno excavado extensivamente, y ocupado antes y después del contacto. Nuestros resultados organizados bajo un nivel de análisis doméstico que enfatiza las construcciones Taínas de género y clase, sugieren que hubo pocas modificaciones mayores a la práctica social tradicional Taína durante el período posterior al contacto, y que la mayoría de estos cambios estuvieron relacionados a actividades que han sido pensadas del dominio de varones no-élite Taínos. Esto sugiere que los papeles de género relativamente no especializados entre los Taínos, así como la naturaleza claramente diferenciada de sus clases sociales, pudieron haber servido como factores mitigantes en la ruptura de la práctica cultural de los Taínos bajo la dominación española. Este trabajo revela también una marcada resistencia de los Taínos frente a la incorporación de elementos culturales europeos, lo que proporciona un contraste llamativo con el modelo español documentado en pueblos europeos de la época del contacto, y subraya la importancia crítica de incorporar las relaciones del género en estudios del contacto cultural.

Journal Information

Since 1935 American Antiquity has published original papers on the archaeology of the New World and on archaeological method, theory, and practice worldwide. Beginning in 1990, most papers on the archaeology and prehistory of Latin America appear in the Society for American Archaeology's Latin American Antiquity.

Publisher Information

Cambridge University Press (www.cambridge.org) is the publishing division of the University of Cambridge, one of the world's leading research institutions and winner of 81 Nobel Prizes. Cambridge University Press is committed by its charter to disseminate knowledge as widely as possible across the globe. It publishes over 2,500 books a year for distribution in more than 200 countries. Cambridge Journals publishes over 250 peer-reviewed academic journals across a wide range of subject areas, in print and online. Many of these journals are the leading academic publications in their fields and together they form one of the most valuable and comprehensive bodies of research available today. For more information, visit http://journals.cambridge.org.

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Reconsidering Taíno Social Dynamics after Spanish Conquest: Gender and Class in Culture Contact Studies on JSTOR

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Despite the fact that the Taíno people of the Caribbean were the first Native Americans to encounter and coexist with Europeans after 1492, there has been almost no archaeology of Taíno response to that encounter. This study explores the reasons for (and consequences of) this neglect, and their larger implications for American contact-period archaeology.

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Left in the Dark: Violence Against Women and LGBTI Persons in Honduras and El Salvador - Latin America Working Group

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Editor’s Note: This is the eighth part of a series by Latin America Working Group Education Fund on the intersection of human rights, migration, corruption, and public security in Honduras and El Salvador. You can find the full series here. [Download PDF] Violence against women in El Salvador and Ho…

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Interview of Edna Ortega, Coordinator Honduras at Brücke · Le pont edna.ortega@bruecke-lepont.org

Interviewer Amélie Lustenberger Communications Officer at swisspeace amelie.lustenberger@swisspeace.ch

Violent crime in Honduras has been a topic of public interest for years and is perceived as an obstacle to development. To tackle the problem of youth violence, the government has launched controversial assistance programs. Civil society organizations see them as a further contribution to the militarization of society. Since the coup against Manuel Zelaya 2009, the human rights situation in Honduras has deteriorated drastically. Currently Juan Orlando Hernández is the head of state of the country. His first election took place in 2013 in a climate of social tension and remains disputed.

In this interview, Edna Ortega explains how this delicate situation affects women and women's rights organizations in Honduras. She is a lawyer and works for Brücke · Le pont as local coordinator of the development program in Honduras. As part of her engagement, she deals in depth with topics such as human rights, women's rights, labor rights and children's rights.
Can you describe the situation of civil society in Honduras?
The government has dictatorial features and especially feminist NGOs are opposing it. Most NGOs do not recognize the government as legitimate and sadly, there is no conversation between the two. There is a lack of respect between the government and social movements including NGOs especially if they have different opinions.
Why do the NGOs oppose the government?
Because the elections were neither, free nor fair. The government is doing everything it can to stay in power. It even changed the constitution.
Is the government oppressing women?
Since the current government came to power, there have been several setbacks in terms of international law and the respect for women's rights and human rights in general. Previously, the head of the National Institute of Women had the rank of a minister. Now women disappear from high positions in the government and Women's Offices lost any decision-making power. Structures that guarantee women's rights are missing and mostly they are only used for propaganda purposes and government assistance programs.

Another big problem in Honduras are femicides - murders committed against women for reasons of gender. Most affected are young women. In 2017 for example over 380 femicides were reported. 2018 was even worse: In January, 52 women were killed by their partners in San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa alone - two of the most dangerous cities for women in the country. The local authorities usually remain inactive. Most of the murders stay uninvestigated.
What is the role of women in Honduras in the context of gang violence?
In Honduras we have a big problem with gang violence, especially related to drug trafficking. Criminal men often force their female partners to commit criminal acts. Let me give you an example: In Honduras paid murders are often carried out by two people on a motorbike. One rides and the other one shoots with a gun. Therefore, a law prohibited two men riding on a bike. However, it is not forbidden for a men and a woman to do so. Organized criminals now train women to shoot people, while riding a bike. The government is not prepared for such cases. When the women are caught, they go to jail and they lose their family. They do not get any support.
Who are the NGOs in Honduras that defend women's rights? And what are they demanding?
One example is the National Campaign Against Femicides (Tribuna contra los Femicidios). As the name says, this is an NGO network against femicides. Those organizations do studies, which show that the legislation is not providing justice for those murders. They also do a lot of advocacy work to raise awareness in the public.
Can you say a little more about those femicides? Who is committing them and why?
In Honduras, there is a patriarchal society. Those are hate crimes. This patriarchism is nourished by the Church and the media and manifests itself in the form of machismo. We hear for example a lot about women, who work in big companies, whose labor rights are violated and who get abused. They cannot get any help, because the institution that is supposed to help them will not support them and even worse, they may abuse the women as well! It is a structural problem.
At the end of 2018 and beginning of 2019, the migrant caravans on their way from Latin America to the USA attracted great media attention. Can you say something about the situation of the women in those caravans?
Many women flee with their children to escape the violence. They know the road is dangerous but the risk to stay in their community is higher. The government of Honduras but also of other Central American countries do not have a gender-focused policy to provide support for the specific needs of the women on these roads. One example are the emergency kits. These contain dental care and other important items. Products for menstruating women however, are completely missing.

Another important issue is stigmatization. Whenever the caravan started in San Pedro Sula in November 2018, the government criminalized the families and especially the women who were leaving for this road. They accused them of putting their children in danger. However, the real question should be: Why are they leaving? Why are they taking this risk?
Has the women's situation in the last years gotten worse or better?
The NGOs are working very hard. However, without the governments support there will be no change. I have not seen any progress concerning women's rights in Honduras in the last 10 years.
How can we from Switzerland as a Swiss NGO help?
The Swiss NGOs can help to empower local activists and they can strengthen the capacities of local NGOs by supporting them.
Why are you personally fighting for women's rights in Honduras?
I am a lawyer and already my first work was at a local NGO helping women, who experienced violence. I think that with this work we can make a better world, even if we are focusing on one specific issue. Furthermore, I believe in people and I think that local NGOs are very important. They have the local knowledge and they challenge our inactive government.
Is there anything you would like to add?
Yes, maybe one point: For civil society, it is very important to stay innovative and to work with youth. The young people are the ones who are shaping the future. In addition, let us not forget to also include young men. To achieve gender equality we need to work with women and men.

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Honduras - Women's rights in a country marked by violence - Honduras

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Interview of Edna Ortega, Coordinator Honduras at Brücke · Le pont edna.ortega@bruecke-lepont.org Interviewer Amélie Lustenberger Communications Officer at swisspeace amelie.lustenberger@swisspeace.ch Violent crime in Honduras has been a topic of public interest for years and is perceived as an obstacle to development.

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Some of Us_Chinese Women Growing Up in the Mao Era

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Journal Information

Since 1993, Gender and Development has aimed to promote, inspire, and support development policy and practice, which furthers the goal of equality between women and men. This journal has a readership in over 90 countries and uses clear accessible language. Each issue of Gender and Development focuses on a topic of key interest to all involved in promoting gender equality through development. Insights from development initiatives across the world are shared and analyzed, and lessons identified. Innovative theoretical concepts are investigated by key academic writers, and the uses of these concepts for policy and practice are explored. Each issue includes an up-to-date resources section, listing publications, electronic resources, and organizations. Gender and Development also surveys the news and views on current events and trends in gender equality and women' rights, and includes interviews and debates on cutting-edge issues.

Publisher Information

Building on two centuries' experience, Taylor & Francis has grown rapidlyover the last two decades to become a leading international academic publisher.The Group publishes over 800 journals and over 1,800 new books each year, coveringa wide variety of subject areas and incorporating the journal imprints of Routledge,Carfax, Spon Press, Psychology Press, Martin Dunitz, and Taylor & Francis.Taylor & Francis is fully committed to the publication and dissemination of scholarly information of the highest quality, and today this remains the primary goal.

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The Decriminalisation of Abortion in Mexico City: How Did Abortion Rights Become a Political Priority? on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Journal Information Since 1993, Gender and Development has aimed to promote, inspire, and support development policy and practice, which furthers the goal of equality between women and men. This journal has a readership in over 90 countries and uses clear accessible language.

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Victoria J. married in 2009 at age 14, and became pregnant shortly after. "I started labour in the morning on a Friday .... The nurse kept checking and saying I would deliver safely. On Monday she said I was weak.

"The doctor decided to operate on me. (During the) operation they found the baby was dead. The doctor said the baby had died due to the long labour. After that, I found out that urine was coming out all the time," she said.

Women and girls like Victoria in Kenya, South Africa and South Sudan also spoke to us about pregnancy and childbirth. Sadly, too many of their stories were not about the joy of having a child, but about abuse, neglect and pain.

In interviews and reporting across Africa, Human Rights Watch heard from girls who knew too little about sexuality and family planning when they were forced into marriage and pregnancy.

We spoke to girls who were married and conceived when their bodies were not mature enough to go safely through pregnancy and delivery. Women and girls also told of health centres that were poorly staffed and ill-equipped to handle obstetric complications.

They described not having enough money for transportation to government health facilities or to pay the high cost of giving birth there. Women described the shortage of ambulances to transport them when they needed specialised care, abuse and negligence by health workers, and the absence of a complaints process to notify the facilities of mistreatment and other problems.

Sadly, we spoke with the families of those women and girls who did not survive pregnancy and could not tell their own stories.

Significant global and regional progress has been made to reduce the number of preventable maternal deaths: data released in 2012 by the United Nations shows that the number of women worldwide dying of pregnancy and childbirth-related complications has almost halved in the last 20 years.

The report, "Trends in Maternal Mortality: 1990 to 2010", shows that sub-Saharan Africa saw a 41 percent reduction in maternal death. Despite these promising results - in a region that bears a disproportionate burden of maternal mortality - the progress is still too slow and uneven.

The 10-worst countries to be a mother in, according to Plan International's "State of the world's mothers report", are all in sub-Saharan Africa. In addition to the unacceptably high numbers of women who die, African women also suffer disproportionately from childbirth injuries.

One of the most devastating is the obstetric fistula that Victoria suffered from, which leads to constant leakage of urine and stool. Fistula can be prevented or treated and hardly exists in the developed world.

As the African Union (AU) celebrates 50 years of existence on May 25, it should put a spotlight on the human rights of African women and girls.

The AU adopted the Maputo Protocol in 2003. Of the 54 AU member countries, 36 have ratified it. The protocol is unique in that it focuses on issues that affect women in Africa the most and covers topics that are not included in international treaties, including CEDAW (Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women), the women's rights convention.

It is in the area of reproductive rights that the protocol is most ground-breaking. Article 14 calls on governments to provide adequate, affordable and accessible health services and to establish and strengthen existing health and nutritional services for women during pregnancy and while they are breast-feeding.

Importantly, it calls on governments to protect the reproductive rights of women by authorising medical abortion in cases of sexual assault, rape, incest, and where there is a risk to the health or life of the mother or the foetus.

There are many other commitments and declarations, at least on paper, promoting maternal health in Africa. In 2008, the AU passed a resolution on maternal mortality in Africa, well before the U.N. Human Rights Council did so, that recognised that preventable maternal mortality is a violation of women's right to life, health and dignity. It included recommendations to improve health financing and accountability.

The AU's campaign on Accelerated Reduction of Maternal Mortality in Africa features the theme "Africa Cares: No Woman Should Die While Giving Life," to mobilise political commitment and resources to help reduce maternal deaths.

The campaign includes a focus on improving monitoring of health systems. Since its launch in 2009, 37 countries have joined the campaign and signed on to its pledge.

While these commitments are important, it is time African governments be held accountable for failing to meet them.

To date, accountability has not been one of the AU's strong points - but that can change. While the AU recognises that member states have not done enough to reduce maternal deaths, there is no effective monitoring and reporting mechanism at the regional level on what countries are doing to fulfil their promises, and where they are lacking. Establishing such a mechanism could enable countries to identify failings and needs, and to learn from each other's best practices.

It is time for the governments and leaders of Africa to honour their commitments to women. It is time for Africa and the AU to ensure that no woman should die while giving life.
Agnes Odhiambo and Gauri Van Gulik are researchers with the Women's Rights Division at Human Rights Watch.

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Put a Spotlight on African Women's Reproductive Rights

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Victoria J. married in 2009 at age 14, and became pregnant shortly after. "I started labour in the morning on a Friday .... The nurse kept checking and saying I would deliver safely. On Monday she said I was weak.

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This article describes the rules and scripts that operate in a sub-Saharan African system, the Tijaniyya Islamic Sufi order in Kano, Nigeria. It analyzes the patriarchal bargains between women and men in the order and reveals how the actions of Muslim women with positions of spiritual authority were both independent and shaped by the order's patriarchy. The author argues that larger shifts across several decades in the Islamic world, the international Tijaniyya leadership, and the Nigerian state allowed Kano Tijaniyya women to act differently and increase their spiritual authority and personal autonomy without breaking the rules of their bargain. The author concludes by suggesting that analyses of other Muslim societies may lead to a better understanding of which strategies lead to women's marginalization and which strategies result in successful bargaining.

Journal Information

Gender and Society promotes feminist scholarship and the social scientific study of gender. Gender and Society publishes theoretically engaged and methodologically rigorous articles that make original contributions to gender theory. The journal takes a multidisciplinary, intersectional, and global approach to gender analyses.

Publisher Information

Sara Miller McCune founded SAGE Publishing in 1965 to support the dissemination of usable knowledge and educate a global community. SAGE is a leading international provider of innovative, high-quality content publishing more than 900 journals and over 800 new books each year, spanning a wide range of subject areas. A growing selection of library products includes archives, data, case studies and video. SAGE remains majority owned by our founder and after her lifetime will become owned by a charitable trust that secures the company's continued independence. Principal offices are located in Los Angeles, London, New Delhi, Singapore, Washington DC and Melbourne. www.sagepublishing.com

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Women, Men, and Patriarchal Bargaining in an Islamic Sufi Order: The Tijaniyya in Kano, Nigeria, 1937 to the Present on JSTOR

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This article describes the rules and scripts that operate in a sub-Saharan African system, the Tijaniyya Islamic Sufi order in Kano, Nigeria. It analyzes the patriarchal bargains between women and men in the order and reveals how the actions of Muslim women with positions of spiritual authority were both independent and shaped by the order's patriarchy.

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Journal Information

Canadian Journal of African Studies is competitive with the best scholarly journals on Africa in the world. It publishes articles principally in the areas of anthropology, political economy, history, geography, and development of the continent. Many of the articles are interdisciplinary in approach, especially those which seek to assess the origins, nature, and success of development strategies. A continuing feature section called "Debates and Commentaries / Débats et commentaires" presents divergent viewpoints on current issues; these permit the reader to keep abreast of informed opinion on policy-relevant questions. The occasional research notes have permitted university students, recognized academics, and public policy makers to keep in touch with the latest writing, opinion, and research sources on African issues. A book review and review essay section completes each issue with pithy critiques of recent books and reports on the continent or individual regions or countries.

Publisher Information

Building on two centuries' experience, Taylor & Francis has grown rapidlyover the last two decades to become a leading international academic publisher.The Group publishes over 800 journals and over 1,800 new books each year, coveringa wide variety of subject areas and incorporating the journal imprints of Routledge,Carfax, Spon Press, Psychology Press, Martin Dunitz, and Taylor & Francis.Taylor & Francis is fully committed to the publication and dissemination of scholarly information of the highest quality, and today this remains the primary goal.

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"Sitting on a Man": Colonialism and the Lost Political Institutions of Igbo Women on JSTOR

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Judith van Allen, "Sitting on a Man": Colonialism and the Lost Political Institutions of Igbo Women, Canadian Journal of African Studies / Revue Canadienne des Études Africaines, Vol. 6, No. 2, Special Issue: The Roles of African Women: Past, Present and Future (1972), pp. 165-181

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Journal Information

Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis. Whether drawn from the complex past or the shifting present, the work that appears in Feminist Studies addresses social and political issues that intimately and significantly affect women and men in the United States and around the world.

Publisher Information

Founded in 1972, Feminist Studies was the first scholarly journal in women's studies and remains a flagship publication with a record of breaking new ground in the field. Whether drawing from the complex past or the shifting present, the pieces that appear in Feminist Studies raise social and political questions that intimately and significantly affect women and men around the world.

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"The Status of Women" in Indigenous African Societies on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Journal Information Feminist Studies, first published in 1972, is the oldest continuing scholarly journal in the field of women's studies published in the U.S. Contents of the journal reflect its commitment to publishing an interdisciplinary body of feminist knowledge, in multiple genres (research, criticism, commentaries, creative work), that views the intersection of gender with racial identity, sexual orientation, economic means, geographical location, and physical ability as the touchstone for its intellectual analysis.

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The article explores two intertwined ideas: that the United States is a settler colonial nation-state and that settler colonialism has been and continues to be a gendered process. The article engages Native feminist theories to excavate the deep connections between settler colonialism and heteropatriarchy, highlighting five central challenges that Native feminist theories pose to gender and women's studies. From problematizing settler colonialism and its intersections to questioning academic participation in Indigenous dispossession, responding to these challenges requires a significant departure from how gender and women's studies is regularly understood and taught. Too often, the consideration of Indigenous peoples remains rooted in understanding colonialism as an historical point in time away from which our society has progressed. Centering settler colonialism within gender and women's studies instead exposes the still-existing structure of settler colonialism and its powerful effects on Indigenous peoples and settlers. Taking as its audience practitioners of both "whitestream" and other feminisms and writing in conversation with a long history of Native feminist theorizing, the article offers critical suggestions for the meaningful engagement of Native feminisms. Overall, it aims to persuade readers that attending to the links between heteropatriarchy and settler colonialism is intellectually and politically imperative for all peoples living within settler colonial contexts.

Journal Information

Feminist Formations is a leading journal for innovative work in women's, gender, and sexuality studies. Published by the Johns Hopkins University Press, the journal brings together cutting-edge academic and poetic voices. Issues are published three times a year in spring, fall, and winter. Feminist Formations seeks robust feminist scholarship, visual art, and poetry that can inspire incisive and politically meaningful analyses and action. Based in the Department of Gender & Women's Studies at the University of Arizona, the editorial team is dedicated to creating an interdisciplinary space of critical inquiry, compassionate response, and feminist praxis.

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One of the largest publishers in the United States, the Johns Hopkins University Press combines traditional books and journals publishing units with cutting-edge service divisions that sustain diversity and independence among nonprofit, scholarly publishers, societies, and associations. Journals The Press is home to the largest journal publication program of any U.S.-based university press. The Journals Division publishes 85 journals in the arts and humanities, technology and medicine, higher education, history, political science, and library science. The division also manages membership services for more than 50 scholarly and professional associations and societies. Books With critically acclaimed titles in history, science, higher education, consumer health, humanities, classics, and public health, the Books Division publishes 150 new books each year and maintains a backlist in excess of 3,000 titles. With warehouses on three continents, worldwide sales representation, and a robust digital publishing program, the Books Division connects Hopkins authors to scholars, experts, and educational and research institutions around the world. Project MUSE® Project MUSE is a leading provider of digital humanities and social sciences content, providing access to journal and book content from nearly 300 publishers. MUSE delivers outstanding results to the scholarly community by maximizing revenues for publishers, providing value to libraries, and enabling access for scholars worldwide. Hopkins Fulfillment Services (HFS) HFS provides print and digital distribution for a distinguished list of university presses and nonprofit institutions. HFS clients enjoy state-of-the-art warehousing, real-time access to critical business data, accounts receivable management and collection, and unparalleled customer service.

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Decolonizing Feminism: Challenging Connections between Settler Colonialism and Heteropatriarchy on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
The article explores two intertwined ideas: that the United States is a settler colonial nation-state and that settler colonialism has been and continues to be a gendered process. The article engages Native feminist theories to excavate the deep connections between settler colonialism and heteropatriarchy, highlighting five central challenges that Native feminist theories pose to gender and women's studies.

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Journal Information

Studies in American Indian Literatures (SAIL) is the only journal in the United States that focuses exclusively on American Indian literatures broadly defined to include all written, spoken, and visual texts created by Native peoples. With a wide scope of scholars and creative contributors, this journal is on the cutting edge of activity in the field. SAIL publishes scholarly, critical pedagogical, and theoretical manuscripts focused on all aspects of American Indian literatures as well as works of poetry and short fiction, bibliographical essays, review essays, and interviews.

Publisher Information

The University of Nebraska Press extends the University's mission of teaching, research, and service by promoting, publishing, and disseminating works of intellectual and cultural significance and enduring value. We primarily publish nonfiction books and scholarly journals, along with a few titles per season in contemporary and regional prose and poetry. On occasion, we reprint previously published fiction of established reputation, and we have several programs to publish literary works in translation. Through our paperback imprint, Bison Books, we publish reprints of classic books of myriad genres. Our primary mission, defined by the University through the Press Advisory Board of faculty members working in concert with the Press, is to find, evaluate, and publish in the best fashion possible, serious works of nonfiction..

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Stolen From Our Bodies: First Nations Two-Spirits/Queers and the Journey to a Sovereign Erotic on JSTOR

# data[].attributes.attachment_link.description
Journal Information Studies in American Indian Literatures (SAIL) is the only journal in the United States that focuses exclusively on American Indian literatures broadly defined to include all written, spoken, and visual texts created by Native peoples. With a wide scope of scholars and creative contributors, this journal is on the cutting edge of activity in the field.

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Violent organized crime continues to disrupt Honduran society and push many people to leave the country. Journalists, environmental activists, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) individuals, and people with disabilities are among the groups targeted for violence. The government relies heavily on the military for public security.

Efforts to reform public-security institutions have stalled. Marred by corruption and abuse, the judiciary and police remain largely ineffective. In June 2020, a new criminal code came into effect. It included provisions that appeared aimed at reducing penalties for politicians linked to organized crime, by lowering sentences for corruption and related offenses. The new code also includes alternatives to detention for low-level crimes, including partial prison sentences and penalties that allow for conditional release. Impunity for human rights abuses, violent crime, and corruption remains the norm, even as the prison population has mushroomed.

Security forces committed abuses while enforcing a nationwide Covid-19 lockdown that President Juan Orlando Hernández imposed in March. An audit of government purchases of medical supplies to fight Covid-19 revealed supplies worth tens of millions of dollars had gone missing. Prisons saw significant Covid-19 outbreaks.

Gangs

Gang violence is widespread in and around urban areas. Estimates of the number of active gang members range from 5,000 to 40,000.

Gangs exercise territorial control over neighborhoods and extort residents throughout the country. They forcibly recruit children and sexually abuse women, girls, and LGBT people. Gangs kill, disappear, rape, or displace those who resist.

Gangs, particularly the Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) and the 18th Street Gang (Barrio 18), are considered to be largely responsible for Honduras' murder rate, and are infamous for extortion and drug peddling.

Historically, governments have responded with iron-fist security strategies to combat organized crime, enacting tougher legislation and increasing police presence and mass detentions. In 2018, the government created a special force to fight gangs (Fuerza Nacional Anti Maras y pandillas). Members include officers from the police, the military, and the Attorney's General Office.

Abuses by security forces, including alleged collusion with criminal organizations, and weak state institutions, have contributed to the persistence of gang violence.

Police Abuse

Excessive use of force by police and deployment of the military in public security operations continued in 2020.

The media and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) reported several cases of abusive police enforcement of the Covid-19 lockdown. In April, Public Order Military Police (PMOP) officers severely beat three brothers and shot two of them-one fatally-for allegedly violating a curfew in El Paraíso in order to sell bread.

In June, police detained and beat bus drivers who were allegedly protesting not being able to work due to lockdown restrictions.

Criminal Justice System

The criminal justice system regularly fails to hold those responsible for homicides to account.

Judges continue to face interference, including political pressure, threats, and harassment, from the executive branch, private actors with connections to government, and organized crime. Prosecutors and whistleblowers have received death threats. The Supreme Court, particularly its president, exerts excessive control over the appointment and removal of judges, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights reported in 2019, and career instability limits judges' independence.

In January 2020, the government shut down the Mission to Support the Fight against Corruption and Impunity in Honduras (MACCIH). Established in 2016 by the government and the Organization of American States (OAS), the MACCIH contributed to the prosecution of 133 people, including congresspeople and senior officials, 14 of whom faced criminal trials.

Freedom of Expression, Association, and Assembly

In March 2020, the government declared a state of emergency in response to the pandemic, imposing a lockdown and restricting movement and freedom of expression. Following domestic and international criticism, the government backtracked and a week later re-established constitutional free speech guarantees.

Individuals and state agents continute to threaten and attack journalists, press freedom groups report. At least 86 journalists were killed from 2001 through July 2020, the Honduran College of Journalists reported, and 92 percent of those killings remain unpunished.

In July, police arrested two men in connection to the 2020 killings of 45 TV reporter Germán Vallecillo Jr. and his cameraman, Jorge Posas, in La Ceiba. Investigations were underway at time of writing. In September, two men shot and killed journalist Luis Alonzo Almendares in Comayagua. Almendares had repeatedly received death threats since 2017 in relation to his reporting.

The new criminal code decriminalized defamation, but retains other "crimes of honor"-including insult and slander-which have been used to prosecute journalists in the past. The code also includes poorly constructed provisions that could lead to violations of the rights to assemble and protest and an overly broad definition of "association to engage in terrorism," which could be used to criminalize and disproportionately punish behaviors that fall far short of what most reasonable observers would consider terrorism.

Radio Globo director David Romero, convicted of defamation in 2016, died in prison from Covid-19 in July. The Supreme Court had upheld Romero's 10-year sentence in January 2020.

Attacks on Lawyers, Human Rights Defenders, and Environmental Activists

The UN special rapporteur on the situation of human rights defenders called Honduras one of the most dangerous countries for human rights defenders in Latin America. Activists say the government's Mechanism for the Protection of Journalists, Human Rights Defenders and Operators of Justice, created in 2015, lacks uniform criteria and is ineffective.

Marvin Damián Castro Molina, who, as part of the Coordination of the Southern Social Environmental Movement for Life, fought mining, agro-industry, and hydroelectric projects, was abducted and found dead in Choluteca in July 2020. The government had granted him protective measures in January 2019.

Iris Argentina Álvarez of the Cerro Escondido peasant cooperative, which has been working to recover land currently owned by a sugar company, was killed and three people were injured during a violent and allegedly illegal eviction in Choluteca in April 2020. Police were allegedly in the area when private security forces opened fired against several families but did not help the victims, witnesses told the press. Two private security officers were charged.

In July 2020, gunmen in police uniforms abducted five indigenous Garifuna men in Triunfo de la Cruz, where communities are claiming ancestral land from drug traffickers and developers. The men remained missing at time of writing.

After irregularities and delays, the trial of David Castillo, one of the men accused of planning the 2016 killing of environmental activist Berta Cáceres, began in September 2020. In October, the Civic Council of Popular and Indigenous Organizations of Honduras (COPINH), of which Cáceres was president, complained of continued delays and a lack of transparency in the case.

Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity

LGBT people in Honduras are frequently the targets of violence and discrimination, according to Human Rights Watch research. They face violence from gangs, the national civil police and the military police, members of the public, and their own families, as well as extortion by gangs and discrimination in schools and in the workplace.

Violence against LGBT individuals forces many to leave their homes, fleeing internally or leaving the country to seek asylum. Although there is a law that provides higher penalties for bias-based crimes, including on the grounds of sexual orientation and gender identity, the Attorney General's office told Human Rights Watch in September 2020 that no one has been convicted under the law.

In November 2020, the Inter-American Court of Human Rights heard the case of Vicky Hernández, a trans woman allegedly extrajudicially executed in 2009. In December 2018, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights found Honduras responsible for failing to investigate Hernández's death. It submitted the case to the court in April 2019 due to Honduras' lack of compliance with its recommendations, such as introducing comprehensive policies to map and prevent anti-LGBT violence and designing training programs on anti-LGBT violence for state security bodies.

A law prohibiting same-sex couples from adopting children took effect in 2019.

Sexual and Reproductive Rights, Violence Against Women

Women in Honduras face high levels of gender-based violence. The country has the second-highest rate of femicide-defined as the killing of a woman by a man because of her gender-in Latin America, the UN Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean reports. In 2013, Honduras reformed the penal code to recognize femicide as a crime.

A woman is killed every 23 hours on average, the National Autonomous University of Honduras' Violence Observatory reports. In 2018, the last year for which statistics are available, 60 percent of perpetrators were domestic partners.

Abortion is illegal in Honduras in all circumstances. Women and girls who terminate pregnancies face prison sentences of up to six years. The law also sanctions abortion providers.

The government bans emergency contraception, known as the "morning after pill," which can prevent pregnancy after rape, unprotected sex, or contraceptive failure.

Children's Rights

The government neither comprehensively protects the rights of children, including adolescents, nor ensures that they have access to basic services such as education and healthcare, the IACHR reported in 2019. Despite recent educational advances, around a third of children aged 3-17 did not attend school in 2018, according to the most recent survey by the National Statistics Institute.

The Covid-19 pandemic has further limited access to education for many children. Schools were closed from March onward due to the Covid-19 pandemic. Classes were broadcast on television, radio, and online, in some cases with assignments sent via Whatsapp. Just 18 percent of Hondurans have internet access in their homes and a quarter of homes in rural areas don't have electricity. Most who can access the internet do so on their phones. A study published in April reported that nearly half of teachers in rural areas had not been able to contact the majority of their students.

A quarter of women and girls become pregnant before turning 18-the second-highest rate in Latin America. Half of underage pregnancies result from rape.

Between 2005 and 2019, 34 percent of women who were 20-24 years old had married when they were 15-19, the UN Population Fund reported in 2020.

Of 25,000 gang members in 2012, nearly a fifth were children, UNICEF estimated. Since 2012, the Honduran police have implemented a program sponsored by the US Department of State called Gang Resistance Education and Training (GREAT) which aims to discourage youth crime and gang recruitment. There is limited data on the effectiveness of the program in Honduras.

People with Disabilities

Public buildings, transportation, and information and communication services open to the public are not fully accessible to people with disabilities. Some are deprived of full legal capacity and are institutionalized in different settings, including psychiatric hospitals. Often, people with disabilities are threatened and subjected to extortion by criminal gangs.

Prison Conditions

Honduras's prison population has doubled over the past decade, partly due to a 2013 reform that greatly expanded the use of mandatory pre-trial detention. As of August 2020, more than 21,000 people were detained in prisons with capacity for just under 11,000. More than half of detained men and two-thirds of detained women were in pretrial detention.

Overcrowding, inadequate nutrition, poor sanitation, beatings, intra-gang violence, and detainee killings are endemic in prisons.

After a 2019 wave of gang violence that killed 37 detainees, President Hernández declared a state of emergency and put prisons under military control. Between December 2019, when prisons were placed under military control, and September 2020, 54 people died in eight prison incidents, the IACHR and OHCHR report.

To reduce overcrowding in response to the pandemic, the legislature approved alternatives to pretrial detention in June and judges released more than 1,600 people. As of August, prisons had reported 1,700 confirmed Covid-19 cases and 38 deaths. In September, the OHCHR and IACHR expressed concern regarding the continued spread of the virus in prisons.

The new criminal code that came into effect in June 2020 includes new alternative sanctions to detention for some minor crimes that could help reduce the prison population.

Migrants, Refugees, and Internally Displaced People

Every year, more than 100,000 Hondurans are internally displaced, migrate, seek protection abroad, or are deported back to Honduras. The groups most likely to be internally displaced or leave the country are children subjected to forced gang recruitment, professionals and business owners who face extortion, domestic violence survivors, and LGBT people and members of ethnic minorities who face violence and discrimination.

Around 191,000 people were internally displaced between 2004 and 2018, the Honduran government reported, and more than 75,000 Hondurans sought asylum abroad in 2017. The government has set up roadblocks, deployed security forces, and used violence to prevent people from leaving the country.

Almost 110,000 Hondurans were returned in 2019, mostly from Mexico. Since 2017, the government has operated centers to support returned migrants. Support focuses primarily on reintegration into the labor market, rather than assistance for people who fled seeking international protection.

Key International Actors

Honduras and the US signed an "asylum cooperative agreement" in 2019, whereby Honduras agreed to receive non-Honduran asylum-seekers transferred by the US. As of September 2020, the US had yet to begin deporting any third country nationals to Honduras under the agreement.

The IACHR expressed concern in 2019 regarding the "critical levels of impunity and inadequate and insufficient attention to victims" of human rights violations. In February 2020, it called on El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Mexico to protect the rights of migrants and refugees to leave their country of origin, noting that asylum applications from Central America and Mexico grew 50-fold from 2012 to 2018. Also in February, the OAS special rapporteur on freedom of expression called on Honduras to decriminalize defamation and to properly investigate killings of journalists.

In January 2020, the OHCHR released a report saying that the armed forces and military police had used excessive-even lethal-force in response to the protests that followed the 2017 election. It also documented widespread mistreatment of people detained and arrested during the protests. In April, the office expressed concern regarding accusations of excesive use of force by state security agents enforcing the government's Covid-19 restrictions.

In June, the OHCHR and IACHR jointly expressed concern that the new penal code disproportionately restricts freedoms of speech, press, and association and fails to criminalize torture committed by third parties acting on behalf of state agents.

Honduras has endorsed the World Health Organization's Solidarity Call to Action for the Covid-19 Technology Access Pool, an initiative to "realize equitable global access to COVID-19 health technologies through pooling of knowledge, intellectual property and data."

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World Report 2021: Rights Trends in Honduras

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Violent organized crime continues to disrupt Honduran society and push many people to leave the country. Journalists, environmental activists, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) individuals, and people with disabilities are among the groups targeted for violence. The government relies heavily on the military for public security.

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On New Year's Day 1994, the Zapatistas catapulted into the international spotlight. The leftist indigenous group staged several armed uprisings in Chiapas, the southernmost state in Mexico, calling for a bottom-up revolution. Since then, thousands of activists from around the world have traveled to Chiapas to work with and learn from the Zapatistas. Journalist Hilary Klein worked with Zapatista women for six years, including a project collecting women's testimonies about how they organized the Zapatistas and how their lives have changed. Then they asked her to compile a book for an outside audience. Compañeras: Zapatista Women's Stories, which came out on Seven Stories Press in February,is the result. Klein took some time between book launch events to answer a few questions about the Zapatistas, women's organizing, and what we in the Global North can learn from their example.
Can you give readers a short description of the Zapatistas?
I'll try! The Zapatista Army of National Liberation, or EZLN, is a guerrilla army but also a broad, grassroots social movement. Chiapas is one of the poorest states in Mexico and has a high concentration of indigenous people. The EZLN comes out of the legacy of indigenous resistance and the Mexican Revolution. It's named after Emiliano Zapata, a hero of the Mexican Revolution, and takes up his banner of "land and freedom."

The EZLN started out as a clandestine organization in 1983, and organized in secret for 10 years, recruiting people from rural, indigenous villages. Some went to the mountains to become Zapatista insurgents; others joined the Zapatista civilian support base. They held a brief armed uprising in January 1994, which captured the world's attention as the Zapatistas declared war on the Mexican government and took on global capitalism itself. The EZLN chose that date because NAFTA went into effect that day. They recognized that this free trade agreement-and neoliberalism in general-would have a devastating impact on rural communities throughout Mexico.

Although it's still an armed struggle, the EZLN has not used its weapons since then. The Zapatista movement has become more known for its peaceful mobilizations, its dialogue with civil society, and its project of indigenous autonomy.
What are the effects on women in Zapatista communities?
Before the Zapatista uprising, indigenous women in Chiapas were often forced into arranged marriages at a young age. They had 10, 12, sometimes 14 children. They couldn't leave their homes without their husband or father's permission. And because women were so limited to the private sphere, public affairs and community decision-making were dominated by men. The EZLN has always had a clear commitment to women's right to participate at all levels, and Zapatista leaders insisted on this from the very beginning. In spite of some men's resistance, there was a strong response from women who wanted to be involved, who wanted to see a change in their lives. As women became political leaders, insurgents, health and education promoters, and coordinators of economic cooperatives, they began to shape the Zapatista movement. This, in turn, led to a series of changes in their families, homes, and communities.

In 1993, the EZLN passed the Women's Revolutionary Law, which lays out some basic rights: the right to public and political participation, to be free of violence, to choose your romantic partner, and to decide how many children to have, to education and healthcare. This law became an important cornerstone for women's rights in Zapatista territory and a tool for women to exercise these rights. There's still a lot to be done, but what's been accomplished so far is pretty incredible. Zapatista women now choose their own partners, they often have two to four children, and there has been a dramatic decrease in domestic violence. It's less tangible, but I think the most important change is the way women carry themselves-with confidence, with dignity, with a sense of their own self-worth.
The Zapatistas have banned alcohol, which many women attribute to the decrease in domestic violence. Tell us more about how these two are connected.
The Zapatistas decided to ban alcohol in the early 1990s. It was partly to protect their own security while the EZLN was still clandestine, but they also recognized the terrible impact of alcohol abuse on families and communities. Historically, alcohol was used to keep indigenous communities weak and disorganized. Zapatista women talk about the relationship between alcohol and domestic violence-men coming home drunk and being violent, but they also talk about their husbands spending the little money they had on alcohol instead of food or clothes for their children and then having to scramble to figure out how to feed their children. So women pushed very hard for the Zapatista law against alcohol.

At the same time, men were thought to have the right to abuse their wives, whether alcohol was involved or not. I've heard many stories from older women who, before the Zapatista movement, were beaten by their husbands and if they tried to complain, the elders told them not to tell anyone, or to hide their bruises. In the Zapatista movement, there was a tremendous amount of consciousness-raising and political education work to change the assumption that domestic violence is normal and acceptable behavior. The Women's Revolutionary Law states, "No woman shall be beaten or physically mistreated by family members or by strangers." I think the ban on alcohol was an important factor, but the drop in domestic violence probably would not have happened without the work to address violence against women. It was also a time when women were increasingly exercising their rights in general-standing up for themselves and each other, and had more of a voice in public affairs.

In Zapatista territory, the Women's Revolutionary Law is considered the guiding principles in terms of women's rights, and I think most autonomous authorities really see it as their role to address interpersonal violence with justice and fairness. One of the interviews I really enjoyed was a collective interview in an autonomous municipality called Olga Isabel. We were talking about the autonomous justice system, and it turned out that there was a woman named Ruth, who's on the Honor and Justice Commission, and a woman named Carlota, who had brought a case of domestic violence before this commission. It was interesting to hear them both talk about the same case-Ruth talking about how challenging but also how rewarding it is to tackle domestic violence, and Carlota talking about how her case unfolded and how pleased she was with the result. I think the Honor and Justice Commission would have punished Carlota's husband if they thought it was necessary, but they were able to reach an understanding and since then, Carlota reports that her husband is no longer abusive and is much more supportive of her in her role as a regional women's coordinator.

But there's no guarantee about these things in Zapatista territory either. I think it still depends on who's on the Honor and Justice Commission and their consciousness about women's rights and gender equality.
For people organizing elsewhere, what lessons can be drawn from the Zapatista women?
There's still a lot of work to be done, and Zapatista women will tell you that too. They often frame their vision for women's liberation in terms of the lives they want for their daughters and granddaughters. But uprooting patriarchy is not something that happens overnight.

As women's leadership shaped the movement, the EZLN has evolved a much more nuanced gender analysis and has looked for ways to really address patriarchy. To me, this is the most important lesson that we can draw: Zapatista women-and their stories of courage and dignity-remind us that revolutionary struggles cannot achieve collective liberation for all people without addressing patriarchy, nor can women's freedom be disentangled from racial, economic, and social justice.

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The Untold Story of Women in the Zapatistas

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On New Year's Day 1994, the Zapatistas catapulted into the international spotlight. The leftist indigenous group staged several armed uprisings in Chiapas, the southernmost state in Mexico, calling for a bottom-up revolution. Since then, thousands of activists from around the world have traveled to Chiapas to work with and learn from the Zapatistas.

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Pedro Martinez (L) braids the hair of a friend dressed in the traditional costume of a Zapotec woman in Juchitan. (Reuters)

Mexico is still reeling from Thursday's earthquake, which killed at least 32 people and reduced hundreds of buildings to rubble.

The magnitude 8.1 quake was felt across the country's Pacific coast. But of course, some areas were hit much more severely than others. One of the places that has suffered most is Juchitan in the state of Oaxaca. At least 17 people have been killed there. Entire streets have been turned into rubble; the town's white city hall has been reduced to debris.

Juchitan plays a special role in Mexico. The city of 100,000 is home to the country's indigenous Zapotec people, who run a matriarchal society. "Juchitan women run the economy, and they know how to manage their finances. Men, whether they are farm hands or factory workers, hand their earnings over to the women so that they can distribute money in the home. If a man wants to buy cigarettes or go out and get drunk, he gets money from the woman of the household. Women decide everything in Juchitan. Even physically," photographer Graciela Iturbide told Jordan Elgrably a few years ago. "The Juchitan men are often smaller and skinnier than their women, who are taller and wider than they are."

(Iturbide has been reporting on Juchitan since the 1980s.)

Many of the city's men work as fishermen or farmhands, which leaves women to run the market. That economic freedom translates to social freedom. "Women here don't need men to go out and dance, drink, or smoke, because we're the ones earning the money," Xóchitl Vicente, a Oaxacan state public education adviser, told Fusion.

"Women are public figures here," Marina Meneses, a sociologist and Juchitan resident, told the Los Angeles Times. "Women are the main organizers."

The Zapotecs' unusual outlook is folded into the city's fabric in other ways, too. Juchitan is home to a sizable group of "muxes," a term that describes the community of gay men who date heterosexual men while dressing as women. According to Fusion, the community dates back at least to the 1950s and probably much further. "They are different from the American trans movement and not really part of the larger global LGBTQ community," Fusion explains. "The muxe tradition is local and indigenous, and its own thing."

"They say God gave St. Ferrer a bag of muxes to spread across Mexico and the entire continent. But upon arriving in Juchitán, the bag broke and he spilled them all," Marluu Ferretti told Fusion.

Juchitan is famous for its fiesta culture, and locals throw several parties a year, some of which celebrate sexual diversity. At these events, the women dance and recite erotic poetry; the men drink.

An 8.1 magnitude earthquake hit the southern coast of Mexico, killing at least 32 people. (Joyce Lee/The Washington Post)

As the city begins to rebuild, it might be worth recalling the words of Mexican writer Andres Henestrosa. "Juchitecas have no inhibition, there is nothing they can't say nor anything they can't do. The Juchiteca has no shame; in Zapotec there are no bad words."

Today's Headlines The most important news stories of the day, curated by Post editors and delivered every morning.

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The city hardest hit by Mexico's earthquake is a sexually liberated matriarchy

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Mexico is still reeling from Thursday's earthquake, which killed at least 32 people and reduced hundreds of buildings to rubble. The magnitude 8.1 quake was felt across the country's Pacific coast. But of course, some areas were hit much more severely than others.

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JUCHITAN, Mexico (Reuters) - Destruction wrought by Mexico's massive earthquake has put a spotlight on the quasi-matriarchal indigenous traditions of the worst affected town, with women and third-gender 'muxes' playing a leading role in the aftermath of the disaster.

Located in Mexico's narrow isthmus region, about 400 miles (644 km) southeast of capital Mexico City, Juchitan bore the brunt of the 8.1 magnitude earthquake that flattened thousands of buildings in the humid market town in a matter of seconds and took at least 98 lives nationwide.

In vivid contrast to Mexico's macho, male-dominated society, travelers have noted since at least the 1800s the relative equality of Juchitan's mainly Zapotec men and women, as well as the prominence of muxes, Zapotecs born biologically male who mix gay and feminine identity.

After the earth shook violently just before midnight on Thursday, women, muxes and men all leapt into action, in many cases pulling away rubble with their bare hands.

"I carried my mother out as I left the house, and then my brother and I went to rescue my aunt who was trapped," Peregrina Vera, a tall, 26-year-old muxe, said in a sing-song voice, her long hair tied in a bun.

She then helped pull up rubble to free her grandmother after hearing shouts for help, Vera said, sitting in an outdoor patio just beyond the collapsed walls of her house, where two aggressive pet ducks snapped brightly colored bills at visitors.

Locals say there is a muxe in every Juchitan family. They are widely accepted despite an ingrained Roman Catholic heritage and known for dedication to family, especially for taking care of mothers as other siblings move out.

MARKET POWER

Among the severely damaged buildings was the downtown market, the most important for miles around and the heart of Zapotec women's economic power for more than a century. Slated for demolition due to the quake damage, its loss is a blow to Juchitan's women.

Irma Lopez, 44, who sold traditional indigenous clothing, was proud that 80 percent of market vendors were women but said it meant they were particularly hard hit by the destruction.

"We are the ones who have lost the most," Lopez said, standing just outside the market as a light rain fell. She was waiting for relatives to help remove her last boxes of merchandise, as trucks pulled up to haul away her and other women's goods.

In an 1859 account, French traveler and historian Brasseur de Bourbourg appreciatively described the sprawling marketplace as run by strong, unrestrained women who "openly made fun of their men ... with a shamelessness hardly equaled."

Roughly eight in 10 residents of Juchitan are indigenous, mostly Zapotec. Women are typically also in charge of family finances, said Felina Santiago, a muxe and beauty shop owner, speaking outside her badly damaged home.

"Many say Juchitan is the ultimate matriarchy. It's a city of women who fight, who work hard," Santiago said.

"Now more than ever, we're going to work to get back on our feet," she said, just as a structure on her block loudly collapsed, causing a sudden stir as neighbors rushed to the spot.

No one was hurt.

MEN WASH THE DISHES

In Juchitan's Seventh Division residential neighborhood, Margarita Lopez, a 56-year-old domestic worker, craned her head as she stood in a crowd of women waiting for a promised delivery of government aid, which turned out to be mostly canned food.

"Yes, we have our husbands, and we don't leave them behind. But we women matter more. We take decisions, more than the men do," she said, as others nearby nodded in agreement.

Lopez spoke of how it is common in the city of about 100,000 people for husbands to help with household chores like cooking and washing dishes, in a country where such tasks are traditionally seen as the preserve of women.

Men find the division of labor in the area "natural," said male Juchitan surgeon Ovidio Pineda. Women and men "share the decisions, share the responsibilities," he added.

Martha Toledo, whose bar housed in a 200-year-old building collapsed in the quake, killing three clients, said the disaster would not crush Juchitan's spirit, as another aftershock sent her and others running to safety.

"Women stand out here, in terms of work and intelligence and experience," she said, wearing a traditional huipil top and standing near the pile of rubble that was once the bar.

"We have to rebuild and rise like the phoenix," she said, breaking out into a song in the Zapotec language with the chorus "I want to shout, I am alive!"

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In Mexican town, women and 'muxes' take charge after massive quake

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JUCHITAN, Mexico (Reuters) - Destruction wrought by Mexico's massive earthquake has put a spotlight on the quasi-matriarchal indigenous traditions of the worst affected town, with women and third-gender 'muxes' playing a leading role in the aftermath of the disaster.

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Hands etched in wrinkles that run like tributaries toward her wrists, a woman in a colourful skirt sits alone in her kitchen. The day's chores aren't done - to run a farm as she has done all her life means to be constantly in motion, tending chickens and sheep, making clothes and fixing tractors. But for now, she has narrowed her focus to the click of the knitting needles that sway rhythmically in her hands. She is knitting her funeral clothes.

This is a story about the past that is important for the future

This is Kihnu, known as the Island of Women, an isolated place in the Baltic Sea off Estonia's western coast. Often referred to as Europe's last matriarchy, the island community is one primarily powered by the strength and resilience of women. Keepers of a culture so rich it's on Unesco's intangible cultural heritage of humanity list, the women of Kihnu balance the responsibilities of farming, child rearing and daily life with the inherited duty of maintaining ancestral traditions. In a place where men have historically been absent - working at sea or abroad - the role of women on Kihnu has expanded beyond traditional gender roles and into every aspect of life on dry land.

They are the keepers of song, dance, traditional weaving and handicrafts. They're also the primary conductors of rites of passage like weddings and funerals.

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It was death that brought life to Big Heart, Strong Hands, a book by Norwegian portrait photographer Anne Helene Gjelstad. Invited to the funeral of a woman on Kihnu, Gjelstad found herself in a kitchen surrounded by elderly women dressed in blue, the colour of mourning. In that moment, she knew she needed to share the story of these aging protectors of the circle of life.

"This is a story about the past that is important for the future," she said. "It was my inner belief that I had to capture this, put it in a book, write the stories."

The portraits and stories that Gjelstad captures tell the tale of a place steeped in the traditions of Kalevala-metre songs (an ancient oral tradition of musical storytelling), brightly coloured woven and embroidered clothing, and the women's ability to take on everything from motor repair to animal husbandry. It also tells a story of survival, though one with a precarious future.

Through harsh weather and 50 years of Soviet occupation, these matriarchal traditions have endured. But a cluster of forces - including the flight of the younger generation in search of more opportunity - now endanger this unique island culture. Though seasonal tourism thrives as curious visitors come to learn about Kihnu's rich traditions, providing a much-needed lifeline to the island, the population dwindles as it ages.

For generations, Kihnu ways have been passed down through this line of women. But with each funeral, another thread of the culture unravels. In her book, Gjelstad documents these matriarchs, chronicling a fading present and preserving it for a changing future.

(Video by Anders Jørgensen; text by Christine Sarkis)

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Kihnu: Europe's last surviving matriarchy

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Hands etched in wrinkles that run like tributaries toward her wrists, a woman in a colourful skirt sits alone in her kitchen. The day's chores aren't done - to run a farm as she has done all her life means to be constantly in motion, tending chickens and sheep, making clothes and fixing tractors.

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The Center for Reproductive Rights and its local partner in El Salvador, the Colectiva Feminista para el Desarrollo Local and the Agrupación Ciudadana por la Despenalización del Aborto, will be presenting oral arguments before the Inter-American Court of Human Rights on March 10 and 11 in Manuela v. El Salvador. The case centers around a Salvadoran woman, Manuela, who in 2008 was unjustly sentenced to 30 years in prison for aggravated homicide after suffering an obstetric emergency that resulted in her pregnancy loss. Manuela died imprisoned two years later from cancer, after receiving inadequate medical diagnosis and treatment.

The March 10 and 11 oral arguments in the case will be broadcast live in Spanish and English at 8:00 am [San José - San Salvador]/9:00 am [New York-Bogotá].

El Salvador has a total ban on abortion and imposes harsh criminal penalties on both women and physicians. The country's abortion ban has resulted in the unjust imprisonment of countless women who have suffered pregnancy-related complications and miscarriages and have been charged with having an abortion and convicted of homicide.

"Manuela was the victim of a State that does not protect the life and health of women, that discriminates and criminalizes them for having natural complications of pregnancy and does not provide guarantees to protect the confidentiality between medical staff and patients," said Catalina Martínez Coral, regional director for Latin America and the Caribbean at the Center for Reproductive Rights. "We want El Salvador to assume the international responsibility it has evaded for years despite the repeated calls from multiple human rights organizations to review the legislation that causes this unjust criminalization of women."

The case was brought in 2012 by the Center and the Colectiva Feminista on behalf of Manuela's family. In 2019, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR) advanced the case to the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, contending that the Salvadoran State had violated several of Manuela's human rights, including the right to life, health, judicial protections and guarantees, and freedom from discrimination and gender-based violence. The Inter-American Court of Human Rights is part of the Organization of American States (OAS), which serves to uphold and promote basic rights and freedoms in the Americas.
Decision Could Have Wide Impact in Latin America and the Caribbean
The case seeks reparations for Manuela's family and sanctions against El Salvador for its incapacity to comply with international obligations to guarantee women's reproductive rights.  It will also create an opportunity for the Court to create standards for all States within the Inter-American System on Human Rights to guarantee the right to life, and the right to health of women, including those imprisoned, as well as standards on how to conduct investigations and fair trials in these circumstances.

The Inter-American Court of Human Rights is the highest judicial body for human rights in the Americas and its rulings have far-reaching impact in Latin America and the Caribbean. The Court's rulings, based on the American Convention on Human Rights, have been understood as binding to all of the States under its jurisdiction, and have been traditionally used as a binding interpretation by the Inter-American Commission of Human Rights when ruling on cases and elaborating reports on the whole Americas region, under the OAS Charter.
Manuela Received Inadequate Care
After Manuela arrived at the hospital, the staff failed to provide her with timely treatment and instead subjected her to verbal abuse and accused her of having an abortion. She was then arrested by the police, who shackled her to the stretcher and interrogated her without the presence of a lawyer. Manuela was convicted of aggravated homicide and unfairly sentenced to 30 years in prison. In 2010, during her imprisonment, she died, leaving her two children orphaned. Her death was due to Hodgkin's lymphoma, which the State failed to properly diagnose and treat.
Watch the arguments online:
Oral argument in Manuela v. El Salvador at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights: Wednesday, March 10 and Thursday, March 11 @ 8:00 am [San José - San Salvador]/9:00 am [New York-Bogotá]. In Spanish and English.
Read more: Fact Sheets on the Case Related Content

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Center to Argue at Inter-American Court of Human Rights for Salvadoran Woman Imprisoned After Suffering Obstetric Emergency | Center for Reproductive Rights

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The Center for Reproductive Rights and its local partner in El Salvador, the Colectiva Feminista para el Desarrollo Local and the Agrupación Ciudadana por la Despenalización del Aborto, will be presenting oral arguments before the Inter-American Court of Human Rights on March 10 and 11 in Manuela v. El Salvador.

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The Center for Reproductive Rights Latin America and Caribbean (LAC) Program works to ensure that reproductive rights are recognized as human rights at the national, regional and international levels.

Summary

Along with its partners in the region, the Center uses strategic litigation to hold governments accountable, secure equal access to justice, and obtain redress and reparation for sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR) violations and gender-based violence faced by the area's most vulnerable women, girls and adolescents.

The Center's LAC Program works to develop strategies to reduce sexual violence and guarantee access to sexual and reproductive rights, education and services; decriminalize abortion; defend women unjustly prosecuted under prohibitive abortion laws; improve access to maternal health care, emergency contraception and other services; and secure reproductive rights in transitional justice settings.

Based in Bogotá, Colombia, and operating in the region for nearly 20 years, the Center's LAC Program has secured wide-reaching legal victories in national courts, regional accountability bodies, and international human rights bodies that advance reproductive rights and access.

Key Facts

80%

Of sexual violations of girls and adolescents are concentrated in victims between 10 and 14 years old.

4x

Girls under 15 are four times more likely to die during pregnancy or childbirth than an adult woman.

97%

Of women of reproductive age live in countries with restrictive abortion laws.

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Latin America and the Caribbean - Center for Reproductive Rights

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The Center for Reproductive Rights Latin America and Caribbean (LAC) Program works to ensure that reproductive rights are recognized as human rights at the national, regional and international levels.

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The Center for Reproductive Rights secured a win in two landmark cases that sought to hold the government of Kenya accountable for the detention, disrespect and abuse of women seeking maternal health services in public health care facilities.

In 2015, the High Court of Kenya held that the detention of Maimuna and Margaret (petitioners) in Pumwani Maternity Hospital-the largest public maternity hospital-for failing to pay their treatment fees was unconstitutional and amounted to an arbitrary deprivation of liberty and a violation of their right to freedom of movement. The mistreatment of the petitioners by the hospital staff, including the denial of emergency medical services, was found to have violated their rights to health, dignity, equality and non-discrimination and freedom from cruel, inhuman, and degrading treatment.

In 2018, the High Court of Bungoma made a similar finding in the case of Josephine, who was physically and verbally abused by hospital staff and deliberately left to deliver on the floor at Bungoma County hospital. The Court held that Bungoma County Hospital, the Bungoma County government and the Cabinet Secretary violated Josephine's human rights under Kenya's Constitution and international law, and ordered the government to implement policy measures to monitor the quality of maternal health services in health care facilities.

These cases culminated from the work the Center's Africa program undertook over many years to document the systematic and widespread problems within the Kenyan health care system, and advocate for the implementation of the Constitutional guarantees to protect women's right to access quality reproductive health services.

While in 2013 the President issued a directive abolishing all maternity service fees, the government is yet to implement additional measures to ensure the sustainability of the directive. The Center will continue to advocate for the full implementation of the High Courts' decisions, including the training of health care providers and administrators on patients' right to enable them to provide quality and respectful care.
Report: Detention and Abuse of Women Seeking Maternal Health Services: Fundamental Rights Violation

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Addressing Disrespect and Abuse in Maternal Health Care Facilities in Kenya | Center for Reproductive Rights

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The Center for Reproductive Rights secured a win in two landmark cases that sought to hold the government of Kenya accountable for the detention, disrespect and abuse of women seeking maternal health services in public health care facilities.

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This report calls upon the Nigerian government to take immediate measures to comply with its international and regional human rights obligations. A critical first step is providing access to maternal health care services, abortion, and other reproductive health services for women and girls living in conflict zones.

These violations are particularly common in Internally Displaced Persons Camps (IDP Camps), where more than 2 million people have been forced to live since Boko Haram first invaded Nigeria in 2009. A pervasive lack of accountability in the Nigerian government, as well as by national and international actors coordinating the humanitarian response, has led to systemic violations of sexual and reproductive health and rights Creating mechanisms to monitor, investigate, and punish SRHR violations enables both the Nigerian government and international bodies to hold perpetrators accountable.

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The Center Releases New Report on Sexual and Reproductive Rights in Nigerian Conflict Zones | Center for Reproductive Rights

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This report calls upon the Nigerian government to take immediate measures to comply with its international and regional human rights obligations. A critical first step is providing access to maternal health care services, abortion, and other reproductive health services for women and girls living in conflict zones.

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The Center for Reproductive Rights Africa Program uses the human rights and reproductive justice frameworks to address the root causes and systemic violations of the sexual and reproductive rights of women and girls in the Africa region.

Summary

Sub-Saharan Africa has the highest maternal mortality rate in the world, as well as high rates of unintended pregnancies, early marriage, and unsafe abortions-which result in thousands of preventable deaths.

The Center's Africa Program works to document reproductive rights violations, hold governments accountable for such violations, and advocate for laws and policies that ensure access to the full range of reproductive health services and information.

Using human rights and reproductive justice frameworks, the Center works with a network of partners, lawyers and activists, and through courts and regional human rights mechanisms, to ensure all people can realize their reproductive and human rights-especially marginalized groups that face numerous obstacles to accessing health care and justice. The Center further works to strengthen the region's sexual and reproductive rights movement through capacity building and creating spaces for solidarity, sharing and collaboration among diverse stakeholders.

The Center's Africa Program has secured numerous legal victories in national courts and regional accountability bodies that have improved women and girls' reproductive rights-including their access to contraceptives, abortion services, and maternal health care. The program has been building expertise in the region since 1997 and opened its regional office in Nairobi in 2011.

Key Facts

533/100,000

The maternal mortality rate in sub-Saharan Africa-the highest rate in the world.

6.2 million

Unsafe abortions each year in sub-Saharan Africa-resulting in 15,000 preventable deaths.

1 in 5

Adolescents become pregnant before the age of 19.

Publications and Resources

This joint report by the Center and the Legal Defence and Assistance Project outlines how the conflict in Northeast Nigeria is impacting the sexual and reproductive health and rights of women and girls. Read more.

This report investigates the realities behind the criminalization of noncoercive and nonexploitative consensual sex among adolescents under Kenya's Sexual Offences Act. Read more.

Subtitled "Revealing Progress, Reversals, and Betrayal of a National Compromise," this report outlines recommendations for effective implementation of Article 26(4) of the Kenyan constitution, including services for access to safe abortion care.

Read more.

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The Center for Reproductive Rights Africa Program uses the human rights and reproductive justice frameworks to address the root causes and systemic violations of the sexual and reproductive rights of women and girls in the Africa region.

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"[Before the Zapatista uprising] men and women were abused by the big landowners. Women were not respected, we were ignored. They told us that only men had rights. Even our fathers told us that we were worthless. "
(Zapatista woman speaking at the First Gathering of Zapatista Women with the Women of the World, January 1st 2008).
Since its beginnings in the 1980's, the Zapatista movement has worked to improve the lives, and to respect the rights, of indigenous women in Chiapas, Mexico.

Zapatista women wrote their Revolutionary Women's Law in 1993 to guarantee women the right to a fair wage, to choose their partner, to decide the number of children they want to have, to healthcare, to education, to participate in community affairs, and to hold political office.

Over the years, Zapatista women have been in the forefront of resistance to aggressions against their communities; they have taken part in all aspects of political and community organizing. They've connected with women around the world by organizing various international gatherings. Women have created cooperatives, where artisan products are sold for a fairer price, and the women work in better conditions for better wages.

Today Zapatista women are leaders of both traditional and non-traditional activities within their communities. Women sustain the home by preparing food and care for children. Women also teach in community-controlled schools, run Zapatista healthcare centers, hold office in the Zapatista governments, work on their farms, and women make their own videos and radio shows.

Schools for Chiapas supports Zapatista women through The Market of the Others our online store where you can purchase artisan goods produced by women's cooperatives. Or you can support women's empowerment in Chiapas through Gifts of Change.

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"[Before the Zapatista uprising] men and women were abused by the big landowners. Women were not respected, we were ignored. They told us that only men had rights. Even our fathers told us that we were worthless. " (Zapatista woman speaking at the First Gathering of Zapatista Women with the Women of the World, January 1st 2008).

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Lubia Sasvin Pérez sitting on her mother's grave with her sisters Marleny, left, and Heidy. Lubia's former boyfriend, Gehovany Ramirez, murdered the sisters' mother. Credit... Meridith Kohut for The New York Times

Violence against women is driving an exodus of migrants from Central America, but the Trump administration is determined to deny them asylum.

Lubia Sasvin Pérez sitting on her mother's grave with her sisters Marleny, left, and Heidy. Lubia's former boyfriend, Gehovany Ramirez, murdered the sisters' mother. Credit... Meridith Kohut for The New York Times

By

JALAPA, Guatemala - They climbed the terraced hillside in single file, their machetes tapping the stones along the darkened footpath.

Gehovany Ramirez, 17, led his brother and another accomplice to his ex-girlfriend's home. He struck the wooden door with his machete, sending splinters into the air.

His girlfriend, Lubia Sasvin Pérez, had left him a month earlier, fleeing his violent temper for her parents' home here in southeast Guatemala. Five months pregnant, her belly hanging from her tiny 16-year-old frame, she feared losing the child to his rage.

Lubia and her mother slipped outside and begged him to leave, she said. They could smell the sour tang of alcohol on his breath. Unmoved, he raised the blade and struck her mother in the head, killing her.

Hearing a stifled scream, her father rushed outside. Lubia recalled watching in horror as the other men set upon him, splitting his face and leaving her parents splayed on the concrete floor.

For prosecutors, judges and even defense lawyers in Guatemala, the case exemplifies the national scourge of domestic violence, motivated by a deep-seated sense of ownership over women and their place in relationships.

But instead of facing the harsher penalties meant to stop such crimes in Guatemala, Gehovany received only four years in prison, a short sentence even by the country's lenient standard for minors. More than three years later, now 21, he will be released next spring, perhaps sooner.

And far from being kept from the family he tore apart, under Guatemalan law Gehovany has the right to visit his son upon release, according to legal officials in Guatemala.

The prospect of his return shook the family so thoroughly that Lubia's father, who survived the attack, sold their home and used the money to pay a smuggler to reach the United States. Now living outside of San Francisco, he is pinning his hopes on winning asylum to safeguard his family. They all are.

But that seems more distant than ever. Two extraordinary legal decisionsby the Trump administration have struck at the core of asylum claims rooted in domestic violence or threats against families like Lubia's - not only casting doubt on their case, but almost certainly on thousands of others as well, immigration lawyers say.

"How can this be justice?" Lubia said before the family fled, sitting under the portico where her mother was killed. "All I did was leave him for beating me and he took my mother from us."

"What kind of system protects him, and not me?" she said, gathering her son in her lap.

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Lubia is hoping for asylum in the United States, but her case faces significant obstacles under the Trump administration. Credit... Meridith Kohut for The New York Times

Their case offers a glimpse into the staggering number of Central Americans fleeing violence and dysfunction - and the dogged fight the Trump administration is waging to keep them out.

Across Latin America, a murder epidemic is underway. Most years, more than 100,000 people are killed, largely young men on the periphery of broken societies, where gangs and cartels sometimes take the place of the state.

The turmoil has forced millions to flee the region and seek refuge in the United States, where they confront a system strained by record demand and a bitter fight over whether to accept them.

But violence against women, and domestic violence in particular, is a powerful and often overlooked factor in the migration crisis. Latin America and the Caribbean are home to 14 of the 25 deadliest nations in the world for women, according to available data collected by the Small Arms Survey, which tracks violence globally.

And Central America, the region where most of those seeking asylum in the United States are fleeing, is at the heart of the crisis.

Here in Guatemala, the homicide rate for women is more than three times the global average. In El Salvador, it is nearly six times. In Honduras, it is one of the highest in the world - almost 12 times the global average.

In the most violent pockets of Central America, the United Nations says, the danger is like living in a war zone.

"Despite the risk associated with migration, it is still lower than the risk of being killed at home," said Angela Me, the chief of research and trend analysis at the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

The issue is so central to migration that former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, eager to advance the Trump administration's priority of closing the southern border to migrants, issued a decision last year to try to halt victims of domestic violence, among other crimes, from seeking asylum.

To win asylum in the United States, applicants must show specific grounds for their persecution back home, like their race, religion, political affiliation or membership in a particular social group. Lawyers have sometimes pushed successfully for women to qualify as a social group because of the overwhelming violence they face, citing a 2014 case in which a Guatemalan woman fleeing domestic violence was found to be eligible to apply for asylum in the United States.

But Mr. Sessions overruled that precedent, questioning whether women - in particular, women fleeing domestic violence - can be members of a social group. The decision challenged what had become common practice in asylum courts.

Then, last month, the new attorney general, William P. Barr, went further. Breaking with decades of precedent, he issued a decision making it harder for families, like Lubia's, to qualify as social groups also.

Violence against women in the region is so prevalent that 18 countries have passed laws to protect them, creating a class of homicide known as femicide, which adds tougher penalties and greater law enforcement attention to the issue.

And yet, despite that broad effort, the new laws have failed to reduce the killings of girls and women in the region, the United Nations says.

That reflects how deep the gender gap runs. For the new laws to make a difference, experts say, they must go far beyond punishment to change education, political discourse, social norms and basic family dynamics.

Though gangs and cartels in the region play a role in the violence, most women are killed by lovers, family members, husbands or partners - men angered by women acting independently, enraged by jealousy or, like Gehovany, driven by a deeply ingrained sense of control over women's lives.

Lubia's son crawled with purpose, clutching a toy truck he had just relieved of its back wheel.

The family watched in grateful distraction. Years after the murder, they still lived like prisoners, trapped between mourning and fear. A rust-colored stain blotted the floor where Lubia's mother died. The dimpled doorjamb, hacked by the machete, had not been repaired. Lubia's three younger sisters refused even to set foot in the bedroom where they hid during the attack.

Santiago Ramirez, Gehovany's brother, never went to prison, spared because of a mental illness. Neighbors often saw him walking the village streets.

Soon, Gehovany would be, too. The family worried the men would come back, to finish what they started.

"There's not much we can do," said Mr. Sasvin Dominguez, sending Lubia's son on his way with the toy truck. "We don't have the law in our hands."

He had no money to move and owned nothing but the house, which the family clung to but could hardly bear. His two sons lived in the United States and had families of their own to support. He hadn't seen them in years.

"I'm raising my daughters on my own now, four of them," he said.

He woke each morning at 3 a.m., hiking into the mountains to work as a farm hand. The girls, whose high cheekbones and raven-colored hair resembled their mother's, no longer went to school. With the loss of her income from selling knickknacks on the street, they couldn't afford to pay for it.

His youngest daughter especially loved classes: the routine, the books, the chance to escape her circumscribed world. But even she had resigned herself to voluntary confinement. The stares and whispers of classmates - and the teasing of especially cruel ones - had grown unbearable. In town, some residents openly blamed Lubia for what happened. Even her own aunts did.

"There's no justice here," said Lubia, who added that she wanted to shareher story with the public for that very reason. Her father did, too.

"When I was born, my mom or sister brought me food and drink," the judge said. "My sister cleaned up after me and washed my clothes. If I wanted water, she would get up from wherever she was and get it for me."

"We are molded to be served, and when that isn't accomplished, the violence begins," he said.

Across Guatemala, complaints of domestic violence have skyrocketed as more women come forward to report abuse. Every week, it seems, a new, gruesome case emerges in newspapers, of a woman tortured, mutilated or dehumanized. It is an echo of the systematic rape and torture women endured during the nation's 36-year civil war, which left an indelible mark on Guatemalan society.

But today, the countries with the highest rates of femicide in the region, like Guatemala, also suffer the highest homicide rates overall - often leaving the killing of women overlooked or dismissed as private domestic matters, with few national implications.

The result is more disparity. While murders in Guatemala have dropped remarkably over the last decade, there is a notable difference by gender: Homicides of men have fallen by 57 percent, while killings of women have declined more slowly, by about 39 percent, according to government data.

"The policy is to investigate violence that has more political interest," said Jorge Granados, the head of the science and technology department at Guatemala's National Institute of Forensic Sciences. "The public policy is simply not focused on the murder of women."

The femicide law required every region in the nation to install a specialized court focused on violence against women. But more than a decade later, only 13 of 22 are in operation.

"The abuse usually happens in the home, in a private context," said Evelyn Espinoza, the coordinator of the Observatory on Violence at Diálogos, a Guatemalan research group. "And the state doesn't involve itself in the home."

In Lubia's case, she fell in love with Gehovany in the fast, unstoppable way that teenagers do. By the time they moved in together, she was already pregnant.

But Gehovany's drinking, abuse and stultifying expectations quickly became clear. He wanted her home at all times, even when he was out, she said. He told her not to visit her family.

She knew Gehovany would consider her leaving a betrayal, especially being pregnant with his child. She knew society might, too. But she had to go, for the baby's sake, and was relieved to be free of him.

Until the night of Nov. 1, 2015, at around 9 p.m., when he came to reclaim her.

The New York Times tried to reach Gehovany, who fled after the killing and later turned himself in. But because he was a minor at the time of the murder, officials said, they could not arrange an interview or comment on the case.

His oldest brother, Robert Ramirez, argued that Gehovany had acted in self-defense and killed Lubia's mother accidentally.

Still, Mr. Ramirez defended his brother's decision to confront Lubia's family that night, citing a widely held view of a woman's place in Jalapa.

"He was right to go back and try to claim her," he said. "She shouldn't have left him."

He looked toward his own house, etched into a clay hillside, a thread of smoke from a small fire curling through the doorway.

"I'd never allow my wife to leave me," he said.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez woke suddenly, startled by an idea.

He rushed to town in the dark, insects thrumming, a dense fog filling the mountains. In a single day, it was all arranged. He would sell his home and use the proceeds to flee to the United States.

The $6,500 was enough to buy passage for him and his youngest daughter, then 12. Traveling with a young child was cheaper, and often meant better treatment by American officials. At least, that's what the smuggler said.

He hoped to reach his sons in California. With luck, he could find work, support the girls back home - and get asylum for the entire family.

A week later, in October of last year, he left with his daughter. A guide crossed them into Mexico. Soon, they reached the side of a highway, where a container truck sat idling. Inside, men, women and children were packed tight, with hardly enough space to move.

That day, the smugglers called one of Mr. Sasvin Dominguez's sons, demanding an extra $400 to ferry the two across the river to Texas. If not, they would be tossed out of the safe house, left to the seething violence of Reynosa.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez's son sent the money. Last-minute extortions have come to be expected. A day later, they boarded a raft and entered the United States.

They wandered the dense brush before they stumbled upon a border patrol truck and turned themselves in.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez said he and his daughter spent four days in Texas, in a facility with no windows. The fluorescent glare of the overhead lights continued day and night, troubling their sleep. It was cold. The migrants called it the icebox.

When they were released in November, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez was fitted with an ankle bracelet and instructed to check in with the immigration authorities in San Francisco, where he could begin the long process of applying for asylum.

His son bought them bus tickets and met them at the station. It was the first time they had seen each other in seven years.

On a sunny day in June, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez shuffled to a park, his daughter riding in front, hunched over the bars of a pink bicycle meant for a girl half her age. Behind him, his son and grandson tottered along, hand in hand.

They traversed a quintessential American landscape - bungalows perched on tidy green yards, wide sidewalks shaded by soaring live oaks.

He and his daughter live in the family's modest one-bedroom apartment, now bursting at the seams. The trappings of suburban life fill the backyard: toolboxes, wheelbarrows, recycling bins.

But Mr. Sasvin Dominguez remains suspended in the sadness and fear he left behind in Guatemala. His other daughters are still trapped, and there is no money to move them.

Besides, he says, the journey north, even if they could afford it, is far too dangerous for three young women and a toddler to take on their own. His only hope, he says, is asylum.

That could take years, he is told, if it happens at all. A heavy backlog of cases is gumming up the courts. He does not even have a date yet for his first hearing.

In the meantime, he lives in self-imposed austerity, scared to embrace his new life, as if doing so might belittle the danger his daughters still face.

They sometimes visit their mother's grave, a green concrete box surrounded by paddle-shaped cactus.

"We are left here with nothing," Lubia said.

She still bears the stigma of what happened. Neighbors, men and women alike, continue to blame her for her mother's death. It doesn't surprise her anymore. Now 20, she says she understands that women almost always bear the blame for problems at home.

She worries about the world her son will grow up in, what she can teach him and what he will ultimately come to believe. One day, she will tell him about his father, she says, but not now, or anytime soon.

By then, she hopes to be in the United States, free of the poverty, violence and suffocating confines for women in Guatemala.

"Here in Guatemala," she said, "justice only exists in the law. Not in reality."

Meridith Kohutin Jalapa, Guatemala and Paulina Villegas in Mexico City contributed reporting.

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Women Are Fleeing Death at Home. The U.S. Wants to Keep Them Out.

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Violence against women is driving an exodus of migrants from Central America, but the Trump administration is determined to deny them asylum. Lubia Sasvin Pérez sitting on her mother's grave with her sisters Marleny, left, and Heidy. Lubia's former boyfriend, Gehovany Ramirez, murdered the sisters' mother. Credit...

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"Which form should I use when I talk to you: feminine or masculine?" I asked Lukas Avendaño, who I had seen in trousers earlier in the day but now was wearing a traditional black skirt with colourful embroidered flowers called an enagua. We were speaking in Spanish, with its gendered nouns and pronouns. "I prefer you'd just call me sweetheart," Avendaño giggled.

There's men and women and there's something in between, and that's who I am

Here, in the Istmo de Tehuantepec region in Mexico's southern state of Oaxaca, there are three genders: female, male and muxes. This third classification has been acknowledged and celebrated since pre-Hispanic times, and it's hard to imagine life without muxes here. But in this region where most people speak the indigenous Zapotec language, my question doesn't make much sense.

"In Zapotec, as in English, there are no grammatical genders. There is only one form for all people. Muxes have never been forced to wonder: are they more man or woman?" Avendaño explained.

"We're the third sex," added Felina, who, unlike Avendaño, decided to change his given male name, Ángel, and goes only by this moniker. "There's men and women and there's something in between, and that's who I am."

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I was at Vela de Las Intrepidas (Vigil of the Intrepids), the annual celebration of muxes that takes place each November in Juchitán de Zaragoza, a small town on the Istmo de Tehuantepec. Observing the different muxes, I couldn't see much in common between their styles. There were muxes who, like the local tehuanas (women from the Istmo de Tehuantepec), wore the same richly embroidered outfits that inspired Frida Kahlo's unique look. Others seemed to prefer Western-style dresses or drag queen apparel. And there were some wearing men's clothes, showing their status with just simple makeup and nail polish.

"It's hard to describe who a muxe is. Basically, we can say that a muxe is any person who was born a man but doesn't act masculine," Avendaño said.

"What we know, 'under Western eyes', as 'male-to-female transvestite', 'male-to-female transsexual', 'effeminate gay' or 'masculine gay' seems to be included within the category of 'muxe' as long as there is also a strong component of ethnic identity," writes anthropologist Pablo Céspedes Vargas in his article Muxes at work: between community belonging and heteronormativity in the workplace. Avendaño similarly emphasised that 'muxe' is a Zapotec term and it can't be understood without knowing more about their culture.

That's because the concept of muxe exists only here, on the Istmo de Tehuantepec, where they are an important part of the community. Some say they fell out from the pocket of Vicente Ferrer, the patron saint of Juchitán, as he passed through town, which, according to locals, means they were born under a lucky star. A second version of the saint's legend says that Vicente Ferrer was carrying three bags: one with female seeds, one with male seeds and one where the two were mixed. According to this story, the third bag sprung a leak in Juchitán, and that's the reason why there are so many muxes here.

"It's not true there are more of them here. They're just more respected, so they can be more visible," said Fernando Noé Díaz, a primary school teacher who has many muxe friends. One named Kika (who also only goes by her first name) had invited us for tonight's vela. There, each muxe had a section with tables and decorations where food and drinks were served to their guests. "I guess muxes are so respected because they are more a social gender rather than a sexual one. They have an important role in the community," Noé Díaz added.

When the man is at sea or in the field and the woman is at the market, there is no-one to take care of the household and family - that's where the muxe comes in

Juchitán is famous throughout Mexico for its strong and proud women. Some even call it a matriarchy, which is not necessarily correct, but women traditionally handle the money brought home by the men. (Locals joke that men here have sweet or salty penises, meaning they are either farmers or fishermen.) Women, on the other hand, are supposed to sell what men produce, and the market is their domain. Tonight, as is vela tradition, women traditionally donate money as a gift, while the men carry cases of beer.

"When the man is at sea or in the field and the woman is at the market, there is no-one to take care of the household and family. That's where the muxe comes in," Noé Díaz explained. "Some even say it's a blessing for a mother to have a muxe son who will help her at home and take care of young siblings. Also, muxes are socially not allowed to have long-term relationships or get married so they can stay with their mothers when they get old."

At the vela, the mothers are the ones who serve food at each muxe's table. Kika's mother was checking that nobody was hungry, and younger family members gave me a new bottle of beer when mine started to empty. But Kika didn't want to dedicate herself to housework, as is one of the muxe's traditional roles, along with handicrafts and selling at the market. She owns a beauty salon in the centre of the town. The same with Felina, who runs a muxes' group, Las Auténticas Intrepidas Buscadoras del Peligro (The Authentic Intrepid Danger Seekers), the organisers of tonight's vela.

According to Noé Díaz, a lot of muxes work preparing the traditional fiestas that are a big part of the local economy. They make costumes and ornaments for velas, baptisms, communions, quinceañeras (15th birthday parties) and weddings. Noé Díaz also knows muxes who dedicate themselves to creating art and handicrafts to sell at markets. Another of his muxe friends is a primary-school teacher.

Avendaño is an actor and director who travels the world with his show about being a muxe, Réquiem para un Alcaraván (Requiem for an Alcaravan). The spectacle puts a lot of emphasis on the Catholic part of the muxe identity.

God created woman and man, but he also created human nature

"Muxes have always had an important role in the local Catholic church. It was their job to prepare the church decorations. In Tehuantepec, the town I come from, muxes have their own brotherhood inside the church," Avendaño said, explaining that the Catholic Church wisely accommodated the tradition of three genders that is so strong and deeply ingrained in the local culture.

Today's celebration started with a holy mass in honour of muxes at the local church of Vicente Ferrer.

"God created woman and man, but he also created human nature, and - please forgive me, God, if I offend you - it's possible that the nature created by him decided who humans are. And among people, there are homosexuals and it's totally natural," said 'Padre Panchito', as parish priest Arturo Francisco Herrera González is nicknamed, while he delivered his homily. "God created us in his image, and each one of us is unique. There are no two identical individuals and we have to respect that," he stated.

After mass, the traditional procession began through the streets of the town. The colourful crowd was led by a band and muxes carrying candles. Behind them, more muxes rode in cars and trucks decorated with flowers, balloons and paper decorations. But the highlight of the day was the party that took place at night outside town. There were three stages and big speakers. I could see many people: women, men and children. Everyone was wearing regional clothes: women in enaguas and embroidered blouses called huipiles; men in white guayabera shirts. All were welcomed on the stage by a muxe who was this year's ' la mayordomo', the main organiser of the vela, who was accompanied by their partner who is a mayate. Mayates are men who have sexual relationships with muxes, but aren't muxes themselves and are not considered gay.

"An important difference with urban Western sexual culture is that for Zapotecs, only sexual relationships between a muxe and a heterosexual male have meaning. Relations between muxes or between a muxe and a gay man don't make sense, in fact they are even inconceivable. No muxe would sleep with a man who considers himself gay," writes Marinella Miano Borruso in an article Entre lo local y lo global. Los muxe en el siglo XXI (Between local and global. Muxes in the 21st Century). "Zapotec society as a whole doesn't perceive a man who has relations with a muxe as a homosexual, his hetero-status is not questioned."

According to Miano Borruso, historically muxes didn't have to be homosexual. There were cases of them being heterosexual, bisexual or asexual. "Traditionally, being muxe didn't depend on sexual orientation. It's a cultural gender, social function and identity, but not a characteristic of someone's desires," she explains in her book Hombre, mujer y muxe en el Istmo de Tehuantepec (Man, woman and muxe in Istmo de Tehuantepec).

Nonetheless, all the muxes I talked to at the vela considered themselves homosexual or as a woman born in a male body. Some transform themselves with hormone therapy and implants. During the annual Queen of the Muxes contest, which formed part of the vela, I noticed many of them had artificial breasts. "That's something new. Fake boobs don't make a muxe more muxe," Noé Díaz commented.

If we, the daughters of St Vicente, won't fight for our rights, then who will?

Muxes have also been involved in the struggle for LGBT rights. Amaranta Gómez Regalado, a muxe from Juchitán, was a local candidate in the elections for the Mexican Congress. Even though she didn't get enough votes, she became famously known as the first transsexual candidate of Mexico. She's still involved in politics, especially in campaigns against homophobia and for HIV/AIDS prevention.

"Instead of dedicating our lives to embroidery, handicraft or street sales, more and more of us are getting higher education," Felina said. "If we, the daughters of St Vicente, won't fight for our rights, then who will?"

Still, Mexicans have been ambivalent towards homosexuals in general. On one hand, Mexico City was the first Latin American capital to legalise same-sex marriage. Yet Mexico also suffers one of the highest rates of crime against the LGBT community in the world, with 202 people murdered due to homophobia between January 2014 and December 2016 - which equates to one every three to four days.

For the Mexican and international gay community, Juchitán has become a queer paradise and a symbol of tolerance. Even though some locals still discriminate against muxes, and the muxe community as a whole has less opportunity to study and gain employment, the traditional indigenous division of three genders as a natural and traditional way of being has inspired the LGBT scene around the world - and muxes are becoming aware of it.

"We dedicate this night not only to muxes," I hear from the stage. "It's also your night, for all homosexuals, not just for the ones from the state of Oaxaca, but for all gays from all over the world. Juchitán is open to all of you."

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"Which form should I use when I talk to you: feminine or masculine?" I asked Lukas Avendaño, who I had seen in trousers earlier in the day but now was wearing a traditional black skirt with colourful embroidered flowers called an enagua. We were speaking in Spanish, with its gendered nouns and pronouns.

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The market in this town on southern Mexico's steamy Isthmus of Tehuantepec is memorable for iguana stewed in tomato sauce, sun-dried fish and a full aisle of earrings, necklaces and bracelets dripping with gold coins, a selection to rival any jewelry store.

But more memorable than the products sold are the women who sell them: women with freshly cut flowers and wide ribbons woven into their elaborate braids, who rest their fists firmly on ample hips and laugh, throwing back their shoulders to show fondly nurtured beer bellies under embroidered, cap-sleeve blouses they call huipiles .

They joke and flirt, calling out to potential customers--and men they happen to like--"Hey, handsome, come try my atole ," a thick, milky drink. They run the market and, by extension, the economic life of their town and their families, carrying on the tradition of the pre-Columbian Zapotec empire.

"Women are public figures here," says Marina Meneses, a sociologist educated in Mexico City who five years ago came home to raise her son in Juchitan, seat of a county of 66,000 people in the lowlands of Oaxaca. "Women are the main organizers."

In short, Juchitan is a matriarchy. In many ways, it is a matriarchy that feels besieged, caught between its own mythology and a patriarchal outside world that tends to dismiss this society as a mirror image of machismo , casting women almost in the role of bullies and their men as sissies.

The people of Juchitan insist that the reality is far more complex, that when women run an economy, they run it differently, with different priorities and more democratic decision-making.

"We have principles rather than norms," Meneses says. "Principles are less rigid."

In Juchitan, as in most small cities, she says, people's lives are public property, but the public is less judgmental and offers more latitude to everyone.

"We men do not feel oppressed," says Gaspar Cabrera, the town priest, who is from a nearby village. "This is simply a more egalitarian reality. In this aspect, Zapotec culture is more advanced, and European culture is catching up."

Cabrera says he was shocked to see how far behind other cultures were, when at 13 he was sent to school in Jalapa, the capital of the Gulf Coast state of Veracruz.

"In my village, our life revolved around my mother and my grandmother," he says. "When I got to Jalapa, I found out that women had to wait until their husbands got home to decide whether children could have permission go to a party. Women went out to run errands and came straight home."

He was even more surprised to learn that the rest of Mexico is more like Jalapa than Juchitan--especially odd, he says, because "the atmosphere here is much healthier, and we are happier."

In Juchitan, women are always out--walking arm in arm down the street, chatting in the town square and, above all, selling.

Girls become vendors almost as soon as they can walk and talk.

*

Florinda Luis Orozco, 49, a teacher, was selling homemade tortillas by the time she was 5. Antonia Lopez, 36, recalls filling a tray with enchiladas from her mother's market stall and walking through town selling them.

"Learning to buy and sell is part of a girl's upbringing," Meneses says. "It's not just buying well and cheap, but also learning how to treat people."

"That is why Zapotec women are rarely shy," Cabrera says. "From the time she is 8 or 9, she is out selling."

Boys sometimes help out with sales. But by the time they turn 10 or so, they are embarrassed to do what is considered women's work here. By extension, men tend to be more reserved, because the outgoing personality that goes with selling is considered a feminine trait.

"A man is looked down upon if he goes into retail sales," Meneses says.

Jacinta Perez peddles hammocks that her husband weaves at home. And until Cecilia Carrasco's husband died five years ago, he embroidered the huipiles in her market stall; now she hires a man to sew.

"Everyone thinks that men are kept by the women here," the 55-year-old widow says defensively. "That is not true. We help out. We work to have our homes and our jewelry."

In most societies, however, what a Juchitan woman does would be considered more than helping out. She is expected to take responsibility for the day-to-day running of the household--from shopping to disciplining the children.

"Fathers are usually too soft, especially with their daughters," says Cabrera, the priest. "If a girl gets home late, the fight will be with her mother."

If a man does not like the way his children behave, he normally discusses this with his wife and expects her to correct the problems.

But the men generally are not idle. They have their own responsibilities: farming, fishing or working at a craft.

In fact, says Luis Orozco, "when a woman sees that a man is not doing his share, she prefers to be alone."

No one blames or criticizes a woman for separating from an unreasonable husband, unlike the rest of Mexico, where the ability to aguantar , or to put up with things, is a mark of feminine virtue. And the definition of what is reasonable in a marriage is heavily weighted toward a woman's autonomy.

In addition, says Lopez, who is single, women are under no pressure to marry.

"If you get to a certain age, your mother will say, 'Dear, it is fine if you do not want a husband, but it is time you had a child so that you will not be alone,' " she says.

Cabrera nods as Lopez speaks. As in many parts of rural Mexico, in Juchitan the parish priest recognizes the realities of the local culture, which often differ notably from the doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church.

"Here, motherhood--all motherhood--is respected," he says.

To be a single mother is acceptable. The father of a single woman's child is expected to pay her a sort of dowry, then leave her alone.

If a woman does decide to marry, her husband is not supposed to be jealous or authoritarian. Most of all, he is not supposed to handle the household money.

*

"Women here do not accept a man running the household economy," says Luis Orozco, the teacher. "If a woman permits that, she is criticized. It is looked upon badly.

"Where men run the household, they live in debt," she adds, expressing a belief that is nearly universal here. "A man will spend all his money in an afternoon at the cantina."

Despite the conviction in her words, she whispers them, looking warily across the terrace of their home at her husband, Gregorio Guerrero. He is from the neighboring state of Guerrero, where she says, derisively, "the women are terribly submissive."

Those cultural differences have caused problems in their 15-year marriage, she acknowledges. They finally reached a compromise: He gives her what he considers an allowance and she calls his share of the household expenses. He keeps the rest of his earnings.

"I had to work hard to convince him," Luis Orozco says. "But he has his money spent two days after he is paid. That is the way men are."

Money management is the most common cause of divorce for women from Juchitan who marry outsiders, Cabrera says.

"There are families here where the man manages the money," he says, "but it is almost always a disaster. The money just disappears."

However, a woman would never make a major purchase, such as a refrigerator, or take on an important financial obligation without discussing it with the family, residents insist.

"The activities of men and women are complementary," says Vicente Marcial, who runs the town cultural center. The issue is not dominance, but division of labor.

"Men are involved in production and women in sales," he says.

The system appears to work reasonably well. Even though Juchitan's per capita income levels are among the lowest in Mexico, the town and surrounding villages have few of the outward signs of poverty--such as malnutrition--common in other rural areas.

And neither poverty nor matriarchy has provoked the massive migration that has struck many impoverished regions when peasant television viewers see the prospects for a better life and move to the city in pursuit.

*

"People here do not automatically think that everything from outside is better," Meneses says.

Marcial adds that there are few misfits in Juchitan: "We are a truly tolerant community. It is not just relations between men and women. There is respect among people of all lifestyles. For example, homosexuals are respected here," often not the case in rural Mexico.

"Other people could learn a lot from the way we live here," he adds. But often instead of learning, outsiders tend to speculate.

The economic independence of Juchitan's women has given rise to a lot of speculation about what they do with their money.

Part of the spending is obvious in the richly embroidered huipiles , wide lace skirts and gold chains and coins that women wear to weddings and other public occasions. But it is the supposed hidden uses of money that have attracted the most outside attention.

People are still fuming over an article last summer in the Mexican edition of the French magazine Elle. It said that women here routinely keep two husbands and employ male prostitutes.

"A caption under a photo of two women at a party drinking beer said that," Meneses recalls. "Of course, their husbands beat them."

Even in a matriarchy, there are lines a woman cannot cross.

Juchitan perceived the article as an attack from an outside world that does not understand this society and still, after more than 500 years, wants to conquer it.

"We are proud of who we are," Marcial says.

The Zapotecs beat back the Aztecs, the Spaniards and the French to keep their cultural identity.

According to one legend, after a French ship was wrecked during the French occupation of Mexico in the last century, women from the isthmus went to the shore and picked which soldier they wanted to nurse back to health. Many of the soldiers stayed.

In this century, Juchitan has been under attack from a centrist government in Mexico City that routinely imposes governors and mayors on the rest of the country. The isthmus has been a main center of rebellion against that system.

Juchitan, in fact, has an opposition party in City Hall. But few women are in local politics and no one can recall a female mayor. The last female governor was appointed just before the Spaniards arrived.

Women here are divided over whether that should change.

"Politics has never interested us, but it is time we started to participate," Luis Orozco says.

However, Meneses believes that traditional politics takes up more time than women have to waste.

"Meetings go on for hours and the men just keep talking," she says. "Women would have the matter resolved in a snap of their fingers, because we have other things to do. These are the mechanisms of a patriarchal state, and they take you away from real life."

Besides, she says, "the presence of a woman in the government apparatus does not guarantee that women's issues will be addressed. Look at the women who are in government now. They act just like men."

On the other hand, when women hold economic power, they can influence politics, she says. She cites her mother as an example, a respected merchant who can call the mayor at any moment and have a problem resolved.

"What no one wants to understand is that the economy here exists thanks to women and that, thanks to women, (people) can relate to the national economy without losing our identity," Meneses says.

She also recognizes politics as one of the few areas where men can develop leadership; as the mother of a son, that concerns her.

"The mechanisms to reinforce women here are much stronger," she says. "Often, young men have trouble finding their place here."

However, the economic dominance of women gives men the chance to excel in other areas such as the arts, people note.

It is no coincidence that one of Mexico's preeminent living artists, Francisco Toledo, is from Juchitan, although he no longer lives here.

"Arts, literature and formal politics are in the realm of men," Marcial says. "Women develop their talents in commerce."

Men might as well enjoy the freedom they gain when women run the economy, because the women of Juchitan are not about to cede an inch.

"The women in other places are submissive," Luis Orozco says. "They are tied to a man.

"Well, I am not going to beg a man to give me money to buy bread. Women here work. That is the base of our economy."

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COLUMN ONE : The Women Who Run Juchitan : Matriarchy flourishes in this Mexican town where wives and mothers dominate economic and family life. Residents defend themselves against outsiders who dismiss their society as being machismo in reverse.

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The market in this town on southern Mexico's steamy Isthmus of Tehuantepec is memorable for iguana stewed in tomato sauce, sun-dried fish and a full aisle of earrings, necklaces and bracelets dripping with gold coins, a selection to rival any jewelry store.

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BEERSHEBA, Israel - Yusra will never forget the day she met her husband's other wife.

For the first three years of their marriage, they lived in northern Israel, far from their Bedouin community. Most of Israel's 250,000 Bedouin citizens, who historically are tribal nomadic Muslim Arabs, live in the Negev desert.

The day they moved back there to her husband's village, Yusra recalls: "Children I'd never seen or heard of before started running up to him screaming, 'Daddy, Daddy!'" He then introduced Yusra to his other wife, who lived next door. "My heart was bleeding."

Still, Yusra adored her husband. Many Bedouin men have multiple wives, she told herself. "It's our tradition." Plus, she was his newer, younger wife, so she got most of his attention.

Then, after five children and 18 years together, her husband uttered the words that she said destroyed her. "I'm taking another wife," he said. "I have needs as a man, and you're not meeting them."

Yusra begged him to reconsider. "You don't decide," he told her. He moved into a house next door with his 18-year-old bride, leaving her alone with their children, including a son with cerebral palsy.

"I was broken," says Yusra, 42, wearing a red head scarf that frames her eyes. She asked NBC News to use only her first name for fear of reprisals from her husband, who still lives next door.

That was 2014, and Yusra thought she had no choice. What she didn't know is that polygamy has been illegal in Israel since 1977 and is punishable by up to five years in prison. Many Bedouin don't know that, because Israel has rarely enforced that law, seeing it as an internal ethnic issue.

According to Israeli government data, at least 20 percent of Bedouin families are polygamous, but women's rights advocates estimate the figure is closer to 40 percent, and 60 percent among older men.

Even a Bedouin member of the Knesset, the Israeli parliament, has two wives. No Bedouin woman has ever held a political position in Israel, not even on the local level, though the combined Arab political parties have the third-largest party representation in the Knesset. Bedouin village councils are run exclusively by men, many of whom are polygamous. Though Bedouin women can legally drive, attend university, vote and work, they are often pressured by their families not to do anything more than what their husbands expect: stay home, cook, clean and raise children.

Bedouin men who marry multiple wives only register one marriage with Israeli authorities, making the problem difficult to track. Muslim marriages are carried out by Sharia courts, and multiple marriages by one man are rarely reported to authorities. Thus many married Bedouin women are legally considered single.

As a result, despite its traditionalism, the Bedouin community boasts Israel's highest rate of single mothers. Over 10 percent of Bedouin families are single-parent households.

Now all of that is changing.

In January 2017, the government passed an $825 million plan to improve the socio-economic status of the Bedouin sector, Israel's most disenfranchised population. Part of that plan was the creation of a government committee to eradicate polygamy and help the women and children who are hurt by it.

The head of this committee is Justice Ministry Director General Emi Palmor. She spent a year meeting with Bedouin women in southern Israel to develop the government's plan. In July she produced a 315-page report detailing 84 recommendations spanning law enforcement, education, health and welfare.

"Polygamy impacts every aspect of their lives," said Palmor, adding that women in polygamous marriages suffer high rates of sexual assault, domestic violence and depression. Bedouin men typically live with their newest wife, leaving their previous wife to fend for herself and their children. According to Israel's Central Bureau of Statistics, just 20 percent of Bedouin women work, so children of such marriages are born into a cycle of poverty. The Bedouin have Israel's highest rates of unemployment, poverty, and an average birth rate of six children, double that of the general population.

This month, cabinet ministers approved the committee's recommendations, which include anti-polygamy education, barring polygamous men from civil service and teaching jobs, and increasing law enforcement. The 84 recommendations are now being implemented across numerous ministries and drafted into laws. Israel's attorney general has issued 15 criminal indictments against polygamous men, and Sharia judges are cooperating to ensure more men are reported.

"The impact is much more than 15 indictments," said Palmor. "Bedouin men are getting the message that polygamy is unacceptable. They need to take responsibility for their families."

Now Bedouin women say it's about time Israel cracks down. Leading the way is Insaf Abu-Shareb, an outspoken feminist who defies the stereotypes of what a feminist is and what a Bedouin woman should be.

As a girl, Abu-Shareb was told that her life mattered less than her brothers. Her mother was 15 when she married her father. One of 17 children, Abu-Shareb, 39, recalls how each time her mother had a boy, "there were celebrations. Friends and family came from all over the country to bless him." When she give birth to daughters, there were no celebrations. "People told her they were sorry, and said Inshallah" - with Allah's will - "the next one will be a boy," she said.

Abu-Shareb went on to become one of the first Bedouin women to earn a law degree and is now a leading activist fighting for Bedouin women's rights. In over a decade of pro-bono work as an attorney, she found a common thread: Nearly every woman who sought her help was in a polygamous marriage. "All their problems went back to that," she said.

In one case, a 14-year-old girl was purchased from her family in the West Bank by a Bedouin man in his 50s. In another, a man turned a gun on his wife for opposing his marriage to another woman.

Until March, Abu-Shareb represented the Arab-Jewish nonprofit organization Itach-Ma'aki, Women Lawyers for Social Justice, fighting to raise awareness and filing petitions to the courts. When that failed, she turned to Arab lawmakers, who told her there were more pressing issues plaguing the Bedouin community, such as home demolitions and access to government services in unrecognized villages.

"For years, nobody wanted to touch polygamy," said Abu-Shareb. It was thought of as "religious freedom," she said in air quotes. Though the Koran permits a man to marry up to four wives, he's required to treat them equally. "That's far from what's happening in reality," she says.

Since the establishment of the State of Israel, the government has been in a land dispute with the Bedouin community, which claims to own the land it lives on in the desert. The government has demolished thousands of their homes and villages on grounds of illegal construction. Abu-Shareb's childhood home was bulldozed when she was 10. Many Bedouin, including Abu-Shareb's own family, live in so-called unrecognized villages, without government services like running water, electricity and transportation.

"This is just another form of patriarchy," Abu-Shareb said of Arab lawmakers who told her that fighting polygamy was not a priority. "They act as if Bedouin women aren't strong enough or smart enough to know what's important to us. They believe they know better."

In 2015, Arab feminist Aida Touma-Sliman became head of the committee on the Status of Women and Gender Equality - the first Arab lawmaker to lead any Knesset committee. Abu-Shareb thought her moment had finally come. She requested meetings and sent letters asking Touma-Sliman to combat polygamy.

"All she had were excuses," said Abu-Shareb. "'It's sensitive,' she said, 'We have a polygamous member of Knesset in our party.' To hear a female Arab member of Knesset who claims to be a feminist ignore the needs of the Bedouin women she's supposed to represent, was really disappointing."

As a critic of Israeli policy toward the Bedouin community, Abu-Shareb tried to work with Arab lawmakers on the issue. But after she said her requests were repeatedly ignored, she turned to Israel's Justice Ministry, led by right-wing minister Ayelet Shaked. "From my experience in trying to fight this for 10 years, we cannot do it alone," she said.

Abu-Shareb presented officials with research she had conducted on the harm polygamy causes to Bedouin women and children. She brought Bedouin women's testimony to the Knesset for the first time in early 2017. Meanwhile, right-wing ministers raised concerns over the large numbers of women being brought into Israel from the Palestinian territories to marry Bedouin men.

Though she worries the government is principally motivated by a desire to limit the Arab birth rate, Abu-Shareb joined the anti-polygamy committee as its only Bedouin woman. Her aim is to ensure that Bedouin women will be represented.

"For decades the state did nothing. Now the moment the state is taking action we need to be there to ensure that these decisions will be good for Bedouin women," says Abu-Shareb. "We can't afford not to be part of this conversation."

Many of those 84 recommendations came from Abu-Shareb herself, who advised Palmor, facilitated her meetings with Bedouin women, and is working with the government to implement its plans. "Without the perspective Insaf provided, there would be no report on polygamy, and no change to the situation," said Palmor.

Abu-Shareb has been praised by Bedouin women and some men for her role in the government's fight against polygamy. Yet she faces criticism from Arab politicians and women's rights organizations, which have painted the government's anti-polygamy plan as a crusade to reduce the Arab birth rate. Insaf left her organization after its leader urged her to stop participating with the government.

"They say I'm playing into the hands of the right and their battle for demographics, and that this is against the Bedouin," said Abu-Shareb. "I say, I'm looking out for Bedouin women because nobody else is."

Mona Al-Habnen, another Bedouin women's rights activist, said that despite her suspicions of the government's agenda, she supports the fight to end polygamy.

"It isn't just the state standing in our way. Our biggest obstacles are our husbands and our community," said Al-Habnen, who was the first Bedouin woman to run in a local election. She dropped her candidacy following threats from Bedouin men, including family members.

Abu-Shareb, who describes herself as no fan of Israel's right-wing government, said she believes Arab lawmakers are failing to see a bigger picture. As long as Bedouin women feel powerless, she said, they can't fight for the national struggle. "If we don't have rights inside our homes," she said, "how can we fight for our rights outside our homes?"

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Bedouin women are pushing Israel to crack down on polygamy

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BEERSHEBA, Israel - Yusra will never forget the day she met her husband's other wife. For the first three years of their marriage, they lived in northern Israel, far from their Bedouin community. Most of Israel's 250,000 Bedouin citizens, who historically are tribal nomadic Muslim Arabs, live in the Negev desert.

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The Impact of Matriarchal Traditions on the Advancement of Ashanti Women in Ghana

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What’s driving so many Honduran women to the U.S. border? The reality is worse than you’ve heard.

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What would life be like without men? On this tiny Baltic island, it's business as usual. But its colorful, folkloric way of life is threatened by a dwindling population.

The Estonian island of Kihnu is run by women. Virve Koster, 91, above, better known as "Kihnu Virve," is one of Estonia's top-selling female folk singers. Here, she takes a spin on a vintage Soviet motorcycle with her dog, Ketu, in the side car. Credit... Birgit Puve for The New York Times

In the Kihnu Museum on a tiny Estonian island, the elders, dressed in matching striped skirts, pondered a favorite question over coffee. What hasn't a Kihnu woman done? They kept a running list of all of the necessary jobs they remember Kihnu women doing in the absence of men, from fixing tractor engines to performing church services when the Russian Orthodox priest wasn't available. So far, there has been only one job no one can claim.

"Digging a grave," Maie Aav, the museum director, said, "but even that is questionable." Like the elders, Ms. Aav, who is in her mid-40s, was also wearing a traditional skirt (called a kort), but hers had a slight color variation to represent her younger age.

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Visitors to this peaceful isle in the Baltic Sea are struck by its windswept beaches surrounding pristine forests and the occasional brightly colored farmhouse. At nearly seven square miles, Kihnu is the seventh largest of Estonia's more than 2,000 islands.

Many Estonian islands have remained unspoiled and untouched since they were last inhabited centuries ago. In contrast, Kihnu stands out precisely because of its inhabitants. The island is known for its abundance of women.

Men began to fade from everyday life on Kihnu in the 19th century, thanks to their jobs at sea. Fishing and hunting seals took them away from home for months at a time. In response, Kihnu women stepped in and ran the island. Otherwise traditional female roles expanded to include anything their society needed to thrive and function. Eventually, this became ingrained in Kihnu heritage, as Unesco noted when it inscribed aspects of the culture on its Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2008.

But tiny, traditional Kihnu has a growing modern problem. The population is shrinking as islanders move away because of a lack of jobs.

On top of that, changes in the fishing industry are bringing a new stress: the men are coming home for longer periods of time. Some have even stayed.

"We will have to commercialize eventually, but the question is which way is best for us," said Mare Matas, the president of the Kihnu Cultural Space Foundation, which is dedicated to promoting and protecting the islanders' history and traditions through events, festivals and educational initiatives.

Like many Kihnu women, Ms. Matas is a multitasking dynamo who is fiercely passionate about preserving her heritage. In addition to managing several homestays on the island (including one at her own home), she is also the current lighthouse keeper and an island tour guide.

Her yellow house near the coast was a flurry of activity on the March afternoon I arrived by ferry from Munalaid Port, a harbor outside of Parnu, Estonia's fourth largest city, roughly 27 miles away. Her oldest daughter, Liis, then 18, was home from the mainland, where she lives during the week while she attends high school in Parnu. (There is no high school on Kihnu.) Anni, 12, and Maria, 9, were rushing to get ready for the school talent show that evening. (Her son, Martin, 21, attends college in Tallinn, Estonia's capital, about 110 miles away.) Like their mother, they all have flaxen blond hair and piercing cornflower blue eyes.

At first glance, the petite, 43-year-old mother of four would fit in anywhere with her sleek, chin-length bob, trendy black glasses and delicate gold hoop earrings. However, her closet is full of an everyday uniform of sorts: hand-woven skirts and custom paisley aprons.

An apron worn over a Kihnu skirt signifies a married woman. Ms. Matas's husband, a fisherman, was away at sea.

When asked how many of the island's estimated 300 year-round residents are men, Ms. Matas paused to count in her head.

"Maybe five," she offered. During my visit, I encountered only two, a visiting documentary filmmaker and a builder fixing a house.

Ms. Matas poured a can of A. Le Coq beer, a local favorite, into two dainty glasses. She handed one to me across the floral-patterned kitchen tablecloth and sipped the other while she cooked.

The four-room house bursts with cheerful colors and textures, her remedy for the half-year gloom of Baltic winters. The door frames, windows and sideboard are painted a sunny yellow, occasionally with blue or red trim. The kitchen tablecloth is bright red with a large yellow and white floral pattern. Ms. Matas' hand-woven blankets (all Kihnu women learn to weave traditional handicrafts) cover the red sofa and armchair with Kihnu's signature pattern of navy, red, white, yellow and pink stripes.

Treasured photographs and her children's artworks brighten the dark wood of the living room walls. In one framed picture, Ms. Matas posed with a group of women alongside Juri Ratas, the country's prime minister. During his 2017 visit, Ms. Matas drove Mr. Ratas around in her vintage Soviet motorcycle's sidecar. (Estonia was under Soviet occupation for roughly 50 years until its independence in 1991. Shortly afterward, leftover Soviet motorcycles became Kihnu's main motorized transportation.) Mr. Ratas's security detail, after losing track of the prime minister and Ms. Matas on Kihnu's unmarked and rugged roads, tried (unsuccessfully) to forbid him from riding with her anymore.

"They were upset that I don't have a motorcycle license," Ms. Matas chuckled with a gleeful shrug. "Like that matters here."

Kihnu society functions as a large, tight-knit family - and with that comes all of the typical big family behavior. At the school talent show, knowing looks volleyed from blond head to blond head as the women scooted their chairs closer to friends to gossip in low voices or exchange pleasantries in louder ones. A toddler roamed around the schoolhouse gym freely, picked up and cuddled by unrelated women.

There is a clear hierarchy in Kihnu: children, community and, lastly, men.

"We have totally different mentalities than people on the mainland. Kihnu women always want to do what is best for the family, especially the children," Ms. Aav told me during a visit to the Kihnu Museum, which displays the history and culture of the island and its important artifacts.

The island is not for everyone - nor do the women want everyone to visit. Kihnu women are known for their candor, and the island is not for the easily offended.

"Mass tourism is not good for Kihnu," Ms. Aav said. "We want cultural tourism, people who are really interested in our culture, our lifestyle, how we are living. If they're interested, they're welcome, but they must accept it."

In fact, Kihnu's charm is that it is in no way set up for mass tourism. A large tree branch propped against a house's front door means nobody's home. The only street signs are for the island's four villages: Lemsi, Linakula, Rootsikula and Saare.

There are no lines on the road - and very few paved roads to paint a line on. There are no chains and no commercialization. There is no A.T.M., no restaurant open year-round, and the first police station is currently under construction. Here, visitors are guests, not tourists. I stayed in Ms. Matas's homestead property and was quickly incorporated into her daily life, including meals, chores and island events.

"How do you welcome in the modern world, but keep this ancient culture alive? They're in this limbo state of trying to find the balance," Silvia Soide, a folk dance teacher and photographer, said. Ms. Soide moved from Vancouver to Kihnu in December 2008 in honor of her Estonian grandmother who fled the island during World War II.

"The older generation wants to keep the traditions and culture alive so they're teaching what they were taught. It should stay alive, it's a beautiful culture but I know that younger people feel frustrated. They're welcoming in the outside world because it offers them a way of survival. It's a really great opportunity for Kihnu women to earn money during the tourism season," said Ms. Soide, imagining jobs such as cooking, innkeeping, sales and waitressing.

Kihnu can feel much larger than its four-mile length and two-mile width, as I found out on a walk to the rocky coast and back one morning. The only signs of life I encountered were a hound dog, fast asleep on a sun-warmed road, and a curious seal bobbing in the waves off the jagged coast. I turned off the beach down one of the many unmarked sandy roads that cut through the towering forests. Behind me, waves from the Gulf of Riga crashed against rocks. An occasional tree branch creaked or snapped in the wind. The forest grew wild, allowed to do what nature intended it to.

I thought of the way Ms. Soide described the island. "Everybody from Kihnu really loves Kihnu. It grows roots around your feet." The forest had a fairy-tale quality that made this seem plausible.

At home, Ms. Matas heated up her sauna cabin and raked the yard, while Timofei, the lamb, bounced around, trying to engage Pepe, her family's increasingly annoyed dog. Ms. Matas was talking to the animals, encouraging Timofei to eat grass so she could finally stop bottle-feeding him.

"When he was born, his mother wanted nothing to do with him. He was going to die because she wouldn't even feed him," she recalled, looking distressed. "This was so upsetting to me. Imagine, no mothering instinct. So I had her killed."

Timofei, the only black lamb in the herd, temporarily lived in the chicken coop while he adjusted to life in the pasture with the rest of the sheep. The hens were flustered by their new resident and stopped laying eggs in protest. Ms. Matas scolded them pointedly, rolling her eyes.

Much like Estonians at large, Kihnu's residents have all been through significant changes in their lifetimes - often political (including Soviet and German occupation) and often out of their control. When asked about the island's biggest changes, the answers vary wildly.

"Trousers," said the shy Roosie Karjam, 83, sitting in the museum's community room, after much thought and cajoling. Ms. Karjam, Kihnu's most famous weaver and a beloved elder, nodded her kerchiefed head firmly, her fingers twisting and untwisting as if weaving air. "Women never used to wear trousers."

That afternoon, armed with gifts of apples and schnapps, Ms. Matas and I went to visit 91-year-old Virve Koster at her log cabin in the woods. When asked what has changed during her lifetime, she laughed. "Oh, everything," she declared. Better known as "Kihnu Virve," she had reinvented herself in her 70s, going on to become one of Estonia's top-selling female folk singers.

As a woman on Kihnu, there is a strong sense that everything is possible. If something needs to be done, a woman on Kihnu has done it and another woman will probably do it again soon.

The conversation inevitably turned to the uniqueness of the island. While sitting across from Ms. Koster, Ms. Matas pondered the concept of feminism, often met with bewilderment here. The reasoning: Of course, women are capable. Of course, women are competent. But no, men and women aren't equal - women have proven they can do everything men can, but men can't do everything women can.

"People think we are making some statement with the women being in charge, but that's our culture," she reasoned. "It works. We can't imagine it any other way."

Hillary Richard is a freelance writer based in the New York City area. She is working on a travel-inspired memoir.

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Welcome to Estonia's Isle of Women (Published 2019)

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What would life be like without men? On this tiny Baltic island, it's business as usual. But its colorful, folkloric way of life is threatened by a dwindling population. In the Kihnu Museum on a tiny Estonian island, the elders, dressed in matching striped skirts, pondered a favorite question over coffee.

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Dawn had only just broken over the mountains. While most of the women and children on the camping grounds were still asleep, others were already wide awake, huddling together in the first rays of sunlight and drinking coffee.

To a casual observer, this place might have seemed similar to any mainstream festival campsite. A distinguishing factor, however, was that there wasn't a single man in sight. The sign on the main entrance left no one in doubt that only women and children were welcome at this event: "Men not permitted to enter."

Women's participation in Mexico's 25-year-old Zapatista National Liberation Army, or EZLN movement, has represented an incredible organizational achievement since its original uprising in 1994. On International Women's Day, the female militants of the EZLN did not fail to meet expectations when welcoming 7,000 people to the "First International Political, Artistic, Sports, and Cultural Encounter for Women who Struggle."

Two thousand indigenous Zapatista women from various parts of Chiapas state and 5,000 visitors from all over the world came to Caracol Morelia, near the northeastern town of Altamirano, to hear what they had to say.
Uniting women
The event was entirely initiated by women of the EZLN. They planned it from beginning to end, and made sure everyone who attended was allocated a sleeping place, had access to drinking water and was cared for in the case they fell sick during the three days the event took place. Zapatista events such as these have commonly been accessible via invitation only. This event differed from most of the EZLN's previous "Escuelitas," or "Little Schools," summoning all women and children who were interested in the struggle to overcome misogynistic culture.

"What we wanted was to meet many women," said Commander Jenny, who coordinated the event. "We thought that only a few women were going to come, so we are very happy to see how many of you have joined us here." Although only her eyes were visible, a smile was detectable behind her black balaclava. "It has been hard work, but we are very pleased to see that there are many other women who are fighting patriarchy."

The event was not only an opportunity to create educational or professional networks, but also a space to consider one's health and well-being as a woman in the fight for justice. There were activities ranging from workshops, discussion panels and movie screenings to theater performances, art exhibitions and sports events, including basketball and soccer matches. Themes included gender violence, self-defense, self-care, sexism in the media, sexual rights, health and education, misogyny and childhood, discrimination against indigenous LGBTQ communities, women environmental rights defenders, and decolonization. All of the activities were led and held by women, and all of them were aimed at generating consciousness of gender inequality or the restoration of women's self-confidence and autonomy.

"Capitalism is not only colonial, it is also patriarchal and racist," said Fernanda Esquivel, a 20-year-old student from Guadalajara. "To come here and see that the Zapatistas are still resisting and have resisted for so many years is a huge inspiration for me. Being with so many women and feeling united also makes me feel hopeful about really creating a change. In academia there is nothing that can show you what it is like to come here, and to feel and share these experiences in practice."

Young women like Esquivel have grown up watching the Zapatistas evolve and followed their fight through media reports, the Zapatista's own communication channel, " Zapatista Connection," and more recently a Facebook page and YouTube account. Women from a total of 42 different countries, some of whom were already familiar with women's movements or other social, political or environmental activism, attended the event in hopes that they would gain skills and inspiration from the women's Zapatista struggle.

"Apart from wanting to amplify my vision of how different fights against the extractive industries are developing," said Katherin Cruz from the National Network of Women Human Rights Defenders in Honduras, which accompanies women human rights defenders involved in territorial conflicts. "I came here so I could recharge my batteries and take home experiences that strengthen me individually and prepare me for the work that I do, and for my political activism within the feminist movement in Honduras."
The birth of the EZLN
In 1983, a group of indigenous peasants in Chiapas organized in secret, educating themselves politically and creating an entirely unique philosophy that insisted that "another world is possible," one that focuses on collectivity, serving the Zapatista community and creating an autonomous social and economical environment for themselves within neoliberal and capitalist Mexico. Finally on January 1, 1994 the group went public, calling themselves the Zapatista National Liberation Army, named after the hero of the 1910 Mexican Revolution, Emiliano Zapata. That day, the EZLN launched an armed uprising, occupied seven towns in Chiapas, including San Cristóbal, and declared war on the Mexican government.

During their brief occupation, followed by a 12-day battle, the EZLN criticized the effects of global capitalism on local farmers and indigenous land. They drew attention in particular to the North American Free Trade Agreement, or NAFTA, calling it a death sentence for the indigenous peasants of Mexico. NAFTA would be responsible for dismantling collective land rights secured by the Mexican constitution and prioritizing export manufacturing. The Zapatistas fought for a fairer distribution of wealth, as well as the right to political participation for indigenous people in Mexico.

After their initial uprising, in 1996 the Zapatista organization gained constitutional recognition from the state through the San Andres Accords and formed the National Indigenous Council. The Mexican government did not comply with the agreements and the Zapatistas continued to suffer from violent attacks, such as the Acteal Massacre in 1997, where 45 Zapatista sympathizers were killed in Chiapas. Since then, they have peacefully organized mass marches and protests, created their "caracoles," or administrative headquarters, formed autonomous governance, justice, health and education systems and launched public campaigns drawing attention to continued racism and discrimination in Mexico. According to the Mexican newspaper El Universal, the EZLN now governs over 250,000 indigenous people living in the Autonomous Rebellious Zapatista Municipalities in Chiapas.

Today, the image of the Zapatista soldiers, clad in red scarves and balaclavas, has reached some of the most remote corners of the world. Their movement is now well known for its transition from armed struggle to nonviolent resistance to advance their demands for indigenous land rights and autonomy, which has triggered tremendous support and solidarity from anti-capitalist activists globally. However, many of the major issues for indigenous communities addressed by the Zapatistas, such as abandonment and marginalization, continue to exist in Chiapas and other parts of impoverished Mexico.
Women's involvement and participation
During the gathering, Commander Marina took the stage to tell the story of the first female Zapatistas, their struggle for recognition in a male-dominated space and their experience of clandestine meetings prior to their public appearance in 1994. "We took our safety very seriously so that no one would realize where we were going. We had meetings in the mountains, these were very important. We had talks on politics, read books and watched films. We studied the situation of poverty our community was submerged in," she said. "There was nothing to gain trying to demand things from our bad government."

The backdrop of the women's movement within the Zapatista struggle reveals extreme levels of violence against women, poverty and abandonment from any sort of federal health or educational institutions. Intersectional discrimination for being poor, indigenous and women was commonplace, and girls were often forced into marriages or sold by their fathers or families. During the opening ceremony of the encounter, the Zapatistas made it clear that women were sidelined and perceived by the community as second-class citizens. According to Commander Flor, even "midwives would charge less when girls were born."

Their struggle has led the women in the ranks of the EZLN - which comprise about a third of the organization's participants - to see themselves from a different perspective and shed light on the problematic behaviour caused by gender inequality. "At the beginning, we were not used to saying our opinions, or having discussions. We would all agree to everything and nod our heads," Marina said. "We had to fight among our own compañeros, since it took a lot for them to understand the rights we have as women. There is a lot left to achieve but we are convinced that we will accomplish our ideals because we are organized, and we are strong as a collective. We have put fear and doubt aside."

Many followers of the Zapatista revolution were not aware of the key elements that formed the movement before going public in 1994. Undeniably, one of the key characteristics that shaped the movement was the "Women's Revolutionary Law," passed by the Zapatista committees in 1992.

For Sylvia Marcos, a sociologist and expert on indigenous movements across the Americas, the emphasis on women's rights is a defining factor for the organization. Furthermore, she indicates that these rights were claimed not solely for women as individuals, but were "fully linked and interwoven with collective rights."

The unique transformations achieved by the Zapatista indigenous movement are manifest in its attempt to re-imagine gender and decolonize oppressive discourse for the sake of personal empowerment.
Enduring inspiration
Over the last three decades, the revolution continues to abide by laws made by the autonomous Zapatista government. With military strategist and spokesperson Subcomandante Marcos "resigning" from his activities, the Zapatistas have moved out of the media spotlight. However, the successful turnouts for their events prove that the Zapatistas are still an important source of inspiration for social mobilizations and women's movements today.

Not simply an iconic reminder of what indigenous communities were up against in the past, the Zapatistas are engaging in great efforts to revise their strategies and continue to create networks of people who resist, especially among women. Though alternative visions of gender relations have flourished among the Zapatistas, women in the movement continue to suffer gender violence and are battling other issues not uncommon in Chiapas, such as malnutrition, and lack of access to health care and education.

The Zapatistas are addressing some of these issues through their own internal initiatives. Part of their collective work towards independence and sustainability relies on their agroecological farming projects, coffee sales, cooperative shops, community kitchens, traditional medicine and tortilla businesses. However, the fundamental purpose of the Zapatista movement is to promote their way of life and organize collective resistance to resource appropriation, historically-determined economic and social disadvantages and institutional neglect, which exacerbate poverty, sustain the governmental elite and destroy local traditions. Much of their work revolves around inspiring new generations to begin their own journey towards deconstructing norms in their respective societies.

The Zapatista movement currently functions like an organization that promotes constructive dialogue, communication and continued reflection on problems that affect their communities, as well as a support network for other national movements, including the water conflict affecting the indigenous Yaqui community, the 43 Ayotzinapa students missing since 2014 and the recent presidential campaign by the indigenous activist Maria de Jesus Patricio Martinez.

Women's participation within the EZLN has played a key role in their success and ideology. They have made it clear that there will be no democracy without them. What the event last month demonstrated to many of those who were present, was the need to create safe spaces for all women, which allow them to heal and inspire them to continue fighting their own battles in their own ways. "We made an agreement, and that agreement was to live!" Commander Marina said. "And since, for us, living is fighting, we agreed to fight - each of us according to our means, our place and our time."

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Zapatista women inspire the fight against patriarchy

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Dawn had only just broken over the mountains. While most of the women and children on the camping grounds were still asleep, others were already wide awake, huddling together in the first rays of sunlight and drinking coffee. To a casual observer, this place might have seemed similar to any mainstream festival campsite.