Could Zika prompt legislative change regarding reproductive rights for women in Latin America?

Emily Dillistone

Over the past year the Zika virus has swept across the world, affecting countries in Africa and Asia, and since 2015, the Americas. The Zika virus is spread predominantly by mosquitos, though a recent case in Utah suggests that the virus may also be contagious, given a son caught the virus from his father in hospital. Of particular concern is the effects the virus has on babies born to mothers who carry the virus; it causes microcephaly and Guillain-Barré syndrome in new-borns, leading to the babies developing smaller-than-usual heads. They need constant care: something difficult for many women to give. These effects would be easy to prevent, if it weren’t for the strict anti-birth control and anti-abortion policies that Latin American countries so vehemently maintain.

In reaction to the rise of birth defects in Latin America, the United Nations has urged the continent to relax their laws; however, this advice has thus far fallen on deaf ears. Latin America’s issue with women’s reproductive rights harks back to Spanish and Portuguese invasions and the introduction of the Catholic faith to the people of the continent. The Catholic Church is an institution that overrides much of today’s social movements and has held immense political power over states worldwide since it was instigated as the state religion of the Roman Empire in 380 AD. Yet it would be a mistake to believe that the only pressure to limit access to abortion comes from the Vatican; in 1984, President Reagan’s Global Gag Rule prohibited international organizations that benefitted from US funds from performing or even recommending the practice of abortion. The issue of reproductive rights in Latin America is far more complex than it seems from the surface.

Condoms and birth control pills are a rarity in Roman Catholic Latin America. In Venezuela, pharmacies sell a pack of three condoms for around 600 bolivars – the equivalent of around 80p – but they are rarely stocked, and soon become expensive for those earning the minimum wage of 33,000 bolivars per month. In Brazil, for example, it is often only wealthy middle-class women who use birth control. Emergency contraception has been banned in Honduras since 2009, and in Costa Rica and Peru the public sector has very limited access to these drugs. As with any legislative change, social attitudes are often the main factor holding it back. In Uruguay, where abortion laws are more relaxed, only 5% of people think contraception is morally wrong, whereas in El Salvador, where abortion is forbidden in all circumstances, the figure rises to 45%.

Many countries in Latin America have placed restrictions around birth control and access to abortion. Across Central and South America abortion is legal in only Uruguay, Guyana, and French Guiana. Often, abortion is illegal with the exception of rape or incest, or when the mother’s life is in danger. In the case of El Salvador, abortion is prohibited altogether. Women who attempt to self-abort can spend up to 40 years in prison, even if their own life is at risk.

Why is it that birth control remains such a taboo topic, and why is it such a focus in the feminist movement? Many so-called ‘pro-life’ campaigners in the United States have come under fire for their unmoving resistance to abortion while they uphold the American citizen’s right to bear arms and fail to support movements that give aid to children who have left the womb such as refugees and victims of parental abuse. The question of what constitutes human life and thus deserving of equal rights is one that has plagued much of history. Reproductive rights bring to the fore the legal status of two types of beings: women and unborn foetuses. In the United Kingdom, the rights of the born are given precedence over the rights of the unborn, whereas in Latin America the reverse is very often the case; multiple court decisions have granted personhood to fertilized eggs. There are many who argue that human life is defined as an animate independent being. If we were to take this definition, foetuses are quite simply ruled out of the equation.

The truth is, denying women access to birth control and safe abortion and thereby forcing them to carry to term unwanted pregnancies often denies them other human rights: the right to safety, the right to work, and, in some cases, the right to life. According to the findings of the World Health Organization in 2015, around 830 women die every day from pregnancy-related causes. Most cases are preventable, but due to poor medical services women do not receive the treatment they need, hence 99% of all maternal deaths occur in developing countries. According to the WHO, Venezuela’s maternal mortality rate was 95 per 100,000 live births in 2015, one of the worst rates in Latin America.

Moreover, it is the high rate of teenage pregnancy that poses such a threat to women. In Latin America, 38% of women become pregnant before the age of 20 and almost 20% of births are to teenage mothers. Research shows that the risk of complications during pregnancy and delivery for girls aged 15 to 19 is twice what it is for women aged 20 and older. Many girls die simply because their bodies are unable to carry a child to full term.

The reality is that banning something doesn’t stop it from happening. For example, in 2011 4.2 million unsafe abortions were carried out in Latin America. In Argentina 31% of maternity deaths are caused by unsafe abortions and worldwide, nearly one million women are hospitalized each year because of complications from unsafe abortion. The question of prohibition is similar to that of A-class drugs: they may be against the law and, having been driven underground, have a higher risk of fatality, but people will still do them.

The Zika virus has presented Latin America with a new national crisis. Pregnancy no longer just threatens the mother’s life during pregnancy, but also potentially after birth. If the baby is born with defects and requires constant care, mothers become unable to provide for the rest of their family. Lines for food in developing countries such as Venezuela are often a day long, and mothers have to bring their babies with them to wait, leading to their babies getting sunburnt. Venezuela’s ‘pro-family’ attitude has crumpled in economic crisis. Increasingly, women are attending ‘sterilization days’ in order to avoid future pregnancies. While last year places at centres offering sterilization were often left unfilled, some ‘sterilization days’ now have waiting lists of 500, according to Reuters. The increase in cases of sterilization is worrying; but rather than viewing these acts as an assertion of agency and liberation, perhaps one should see them as acts of desperate women.

Archbishop of Merida, Baltazar Porras, told Reuters an increase in sterilizations would be a “barbarity.” And yet, it is not as if these women have a choice. Amnesty International estimates that more than 50% of the pregnancies in Venezuela are unplanned, and it is likely that neighbouring countries carry a similar figure. Sexual violence is abundant in Latin America and often goes unreported. Half of women in Latin American cities have been a victim of sexual assault in their lifetime, up from 1 in 3 in 2012, according to the Pan American Health Organization. And these are only the reported cases. In Columbia, for example, only 14% of domestic violence survivors report the crime.

Despite the UN’s plea to introduce safe abortion in countries where the Zika virus is prevalent, Latin American governments remain stern-faced. The advice of Brazil, El Salvador, Columbia, and Ecuador government officials to women of their countries is simply to “not get pregnant”. Eduardo Espinoza has declared that the government will have to uphold the anti-abortion laws, “whether we like it or not.” The only case where the Zika virus has prompted legislative change is in 2012 in Brazil, where the country’s Supreme Court ruled that anencephaly is a justifiable condition for terminating a pregnancy. Perhaps other countries will follow suit, but it has been four years, and thus far does not look promising. If anything, governments are leaning the other way. Government officials have proposed laws requiring medical examinations of rape victims to prove the legitimacy of their claims and have also suggested that women who were suspected of self-aborting should be examined. Fortunately, these laws were not introduced.

Women’s rights around the world are in an ever more dizzying perpetual state of fluctuation. While women in Brazil fight for protection against sexual violence, in Venezuela women plead for birth control. While in Afghanistan women campaign for the vote, in Indonesia women are required to have virginity tests before entering the public services. Women’s rights movements are arguably very much behind in Latin America, where women’s primary concern is often simply a struggle for survival. We have seen in recent years a movement towards recognising women as citizens deserving equal rights. In Brazil the first women’s rights organizations were formed in the 1980s, yet it was only in 2004 that the Plano Nacional para Saude da Mulher (The National Plan for Women’s Health) was created for women’s sexual and reproductive rights. Similarly, only in 2012 did Costa Rica introduce a national sexual health education program that incorporates human rights, gender equality, and the importance of diversity and pleasure. In Venezuela, between 1999 and 2013 President Chavez built thousands of new health centres in poor neighbourhoods and launched maternity health programs. However, current President Maduro has since cancelled many of his predecessor’s programs in light of the economic crisis and decreased oil prices. Though his government claims that it has one of the best health systems in the world, the state has not released any recent health data to support this.

One can only conclude that the Zika virus, though somewhat enlightening the rest of the world to Latin America’s poverty and high rate of maternity mortalities, has not as of yet prompted much legislative change in support of women’s reproductive rights. Birth control remains expensive and largely inaccessible, while abortion is increasingly difficult to obtain and the women seeking it are viewed more often as criminals than they are victims of sexual violence, which is often the case. International pressure is twofold; Latin America is pressured by the Vatican to maintain their control over women’s reproductive rights in the name of faith, while the UN urges the continent to prevent the spread of the Zika virus and the defects in new-borns that come with it. One might say that Latin America’s reluctance to increase the reproductive rights of its women is literally disabling its women and children. Alternatively, one could argue that it is the state of poverty of Latin America and the subsequent lack of medical resources that lead to the high mortality rate and should instead constitute the focus of international intervention, if there is to be any. The Zika virus is, in reality, a short-term issue that has brought to light many of Latin America’s deep-seated economic and social problems that will not be resolved by temporary law changes. 

Have media conglomerates suffocated the ‘perfect information’ dream?

Tom Stevens 

Prior to the late 1970s, mass media was a public service to inform and educate populations on domestic and foreign affairs, shaping a general consensus and justifying policy. The BBC encapsulated this model, a state-owned enterprise that was exploited by Anthony Eden in the late 1950s to incite popular support to overthrow Egypt’s General Nasser throughout the Suez Crisis.

Free marketeers rallied against the public sector media monopoly during the 1970s. These outriders gradually shifted attitudes internationally and the floodgates for widespread privatisation and deregulation were opened by Carter, Reagan and Thatcher’s policies. The 1996 Telecommunications Act in the US permitted cross-ownership across multiple media platforms, with the aim of creating a pure, competitive communications market. Neoliberals envisaged a free ‘marketplace of ideas’ open to everyone, a pluralistic community devoid of bias – a system of ‘perfect information’.

The rise of the conglomerate, however, has disillusioned many to deregulated international media.  Multi-national corporations, most notably Rupert Murdoch’s expansive News Corporation empire, operate a model of vertical integration, allowing them to cross-promote and cross-sell their brand through their many channels of production and implementation. The British and Australian populations may be all too aware (or perhaps more worryingly, unaware) of the influence Murdoch possesses in domestic politics, however the role of conglomerates as international actors is perhaps more sinister still.

It is generally agreed that the greater the number of parties in a state, the higher degree of media pluralism and transparency of information. Conglomerates’ frightening power to mould public opinion towards foreign policy within the US and UK throughout the Iraq War in 2003 revealed the enormous potential for disinformation in two-party states. Harvard’s political commentator Matthew Baum has proven that independent newspapers were far more likely to publish ‘hard’ stories focussing on policy success and military issues during the Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan and Kosovo conflicts, than media conglomerates who far more frequently wrote ‘soft’ articles about personalities and humanitarian issues. This pattern is only being continued through the dissemination of hostile rhetoric towards migrants from Sudan and Syria from Murdoch’s US Fox News and the UK’s The Sun, rather than the degree of success of Angela Merkel’s integration policies. The lack of concrete information broadcast by these elite corporations are a massive threat to the accountability of the West’s foreign policies, with public scrutiny constantly being squashed by their framing of public discourse.

At the dawn of the internet, neoliberals looked forward to the formation of inter-connected ‘digital boroughs’ of international groups sharing political values. Ironically, digitised news corporations have frequently sought to entrench national particularism within the countries they operate in, with the alarming effect of creating online echo chambers in which a collective consciousness of ‘us’ against ‘others’ is perpetuated. Analysis by Oxford researcher Vyacheslav Polonski on the internet behavioural patterns of the opposing campaigns in Britain’s EU referendum has demonstrated how these communities are as distinct and separate online as they are in reality. The echo chambers of Brexiteers were housed on media conglomerates’ websites, whereas Bremainers were more disparately spread across many platforms. Few would contest that these self-affirming echo chambers are not harmful to the international ‘democracy of ideas’ vision that a deregulated, digitised media promised.

Has globalisation and the information revolution accidentally caused a regression into national self-assertion? Are global media elites allowing governments’ foreign policies to go unscrutinised? These questions will doubtless cause a campaign for greater public ownership of the media, but for now it is clear that conglomerates have tarnished the neoliberal dream of an open, transparent market place of ideas. Indeed, their power as international actors continues to swell unchecked.

In Seeking Distance from America, Duterte Plays into China's Hands

Ed Bithell

Rodrigo Duterte is no stranger to controversy. Having likened himself to Hitler and called Barack Obama a 'son of a whore', the irrepressible Philippine president has seen his relations with much of the world's media and the Philippines' greatest ally, the US, grow increasingly sour. This comes despite relying on the international community's support for his country's ongoing dispute in the South China Sea over ownership of the Spratly Islands, a case that recently went before the International Court of Arbitration in the Hague.

Duterte sailed closer to the wind again by cancelling joint military exercises with the US scheduled to take place in the South China Sea. The Balikatan exercises, meaning 'shoulder to shoulder' in Tagalog, ran for the 32nd time last year, and despite some protests from Beijing formed part of a 'strong message' that the US was determined to send in the Pacific theatre. The exercises are controversial amongst some in the Philippines, and certainly reflect enormous US influence over the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN). Instead, Duterte declared that he ‘can always go to China’, seemingly threatening the US with a divorce in favour of his northern neighbour.

It is tempting to think that this could work out in his favour, leading to preferential treatment from the Chinese in appreciation for rare cooperation amongst South East Asian states - as a bloc, ASEAN opposes China’s claims to sovereignty in the region and until now, the Philippines has been no exception. However, Duterte's ditching Obama may easily lead to gains for nobody but China.

While the US does exert military power through joint exercises and hosted bases in the region, any potential hegemonic aims are fundamentally limited, both by a lack of its territorial claims and the impossibility of subjecting China or dismissing its claims completely without direct action. By contrast, the relatively precarious nature of US influence through cooperation with ASEAN means that China, which claims sovereignty over essentially the entire South China Sea, and refuses to acknowledge rival claims, could use Duterte’s essentially tactical friendship and cooperation to start a strategy of playing one nation off against another in order to weaken all their claims, aiming to turn the South China Sea from a multipolar area, with a united ASEAN balanced against China thanks to US support, into a Chinese lake. This would then further push out any chance of favour from Beijing, as China finds it no longer needs particular friends.

While Duterte appears to be able to pick and choose his friends on the international stage, the reality is that this could easily backfire. If he gets his way and US influence in the region - or at least the Philippines - declines, replaced with growing Chinese involvement in infrastructure and natural resources as well as Beijing calling the shots on territorial claims, he may soon realise that the Chinese are interested in being much closer than the Americans ever were - and more demanding too.

Image: President Duterte meeting Chinese Ambassador Zhao Jianhua. By Presidential Communications Operations Office [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Britain’s Overseas Territories - Anomalous Colonial Remnants or Self-determination Case Studies?

Matthew Collyer

The Second World War sounded the death knell for the European colonial empires. Vast and complex systems of political relations combining territorial control, condominiums, informal influence, and economic hegemony collapsed or were disbanded. Colonies demanded independence and countries such as Britain, France and the Netherlands could no longer maintain such structures. The fundamental principles of decolonisation were spelt out in the 1960 UN resolution on the topic (1514 (XV)). Notably, it stated that full power should be transferred to all ‘non-self-governing territories’ in line with the principle that the ongoing ‘subjection of peoples’ represented a denial of fundamental human rights. Furthermore, to deny independence to a colony on the grounds of an inability, or lack of capacity, to govern itself was not an acceptable reason to limit the process. By the mid-1970's few colonial possessions remained, although the formal end of the British Empire is often considered to be 1997 when Hong Kong was returned to China.

However, there still remain a number of territories which do not possess full self-government, but instead depend on Britain for their defence and foreign policies. At first glance the situation of such regions would seem to be in clear violation of the UN resolution discussed above. The UN committee of decolonisation lists them as ‘non-self-governing’ territories, and they clearly do not possess the full capacities of independent states. But the situation is somewhat more complex. Included in the text of the resolution was the right to self-determination, suggesting that all people have a right to “freely determine their political status”. Most of these are small islands in the Caribbean and Atlantic, whose populations opted not to follow the path to formal independence. 

The Falkland Islands are, perhaps, the most famous example. Argentina attempted to acquire the territory during a brief war in 1982, and declares in its constitution that the Malvinas (Falklands) are an integral part of their state. But the residents of the islands have repeatedly voted to continue the current arrangements, with 99.8% voting in favour in the 2013 sovereignty referendum. Similarly, Gibraltar voted overwhelmingly in 2002 against any sharing of sovereignty with Spain. The question therefore arises, should such dependencies be granted a political status which would allow independence but which does not reflect the will of people?

An interest example of an alternative approach to the question of self-government in overseas territories is that followed by France towards its own overseas possessions. The Fifth Republic has followed a policy of integrating such dependencies into the domestic political structure of France. Notably, territories like French Guiana in South America, with a population of 250,000 people and an area the size of Austria, are formally part of France, sending representatives to the National Assembly and to the European Parliament. British territories however, have considerably smaller populations and are extensively dispersed, and there is even greater complexity related to the territories that will not be discussed here, with the expulsion of the people of the Chagos Archipelago being a particularly difficult case.

To return to the title of this piece; perhaps, in true fence-sitting style, the answer to the question is ‘yes’, and ‘perhaps’. Britain’s overseas territories are remnants of a once vast empire that hold a status unlike that of almost any other group. They are, therefore, anomalies. On the other hand, many have expressed a desire to remain in their current situation, and have resisted attempts to change their political structures, and in this regard they are examples of peoples determining their own future. This correspondent believes that those who seek greater sovereignty must be supported, but the will of those who genuinely, and democratically, do not, must be respected.

Singing for Peace in Mali

Sophie Dowle

Music has a long history in Mali, and has been a part of the fabric of its history for thousands of years. From the griots, who were historians, storytellers, poets and musicians, to the tribal festivals and gatherings, to which poetry was an essential part, music and oral tradition played an essential role in ancient Malian identity and history. 

Following colonialism, it was Mali’s musicians who carved out a more cohesive identity for the disparate communities in the new country, and brought their people together. The country’s politicians quickly realised the power of music and harnessed this for their own ends. While the idea of publicly funded pop groups sounds strange to us, they are an important part of Mali’s political history. Leaders such as Sankara, a revolutionary leader in the 1980s, used his band to entertain and spread his political messages and ideas for public health, the economy and feminism. Some of Mali’s most famous musicians, such as the Afro-pop singer Salif Keita and Amadou (of the famous duo Amadou and Mariam), got their break through politicians’ bands. Today, musicians remain respected and influential political voices. Oumou Sangaré made her name with an album that tackles issues such as FGM and women’s rights. The continued political importance of music is clear; Fatoumata Diawara, a leading musician in Mali, explained, “[the people] have lost hope in politics. But music has always brought hope in Mali. Music has always been strong and spiritual, and has had a very important role in the country, so when it comes to the current situation, people are looking up to musicians for a sense of direction."

This context makes the banning of music by the Islamist insurgents in 2013 even more tragic. When these al-Qa’eda-linked militias, many of whom were foreign soldiers, captured the vast northern desert area, they implemented strict laws, banning (among many other things) football, music and dancing. They not only banned music, but also collected instruments and burnt them, posting pictures and videos of this online. As Baba Salah, one of northern Mali’s most popular musicians said, "In northern Mali, music is like oxygen. Now, we cannot breathe." The violence meant that many musicians in the North, such as the world-renowned, Grammy-winning group Tinariwen, had to flee the country. While the insurgents were primarily in the North of the country, music in the South was also affected. Many live music venues in the capital Bamako have closed, as have hotels and restaurants, as numbers of foreign tourists dwindle.

Traditionally a very tolerant society, and a refuge for outspoken musicians, such as Senegalese reggae artist Tiken Jah Fakoly, this violence was unprecedented in Mali and had widespread effects. In a country that is poor in mineral resources, music and culture is a key part of the economy and draws in many tourists. The Islamist insurgence and instability in the North forced the renowned Festival in the Desert to go into exile from 2013. The festival, which was a key tourist attraction and thus a key economic event as well, is based on the ancient Tuareg gatherings. These gatherings have always been a part of the Tuareg's nomadic lifestyle, and were a place to share stories, race camels, and play music. In 2013 the Festival in the Desert, unable to be hosted in its homeland, toured as the Caravan of Peace. It travelled from Mauritania to Mali and onto the Tuareg refugee camps in Burkina Faso. 

This is just one example of the musicians in Mali fighting back. Following the banning of music in the Islamist controlled areas Fatoumata Diawara brought together 40 stars from all over the country to sing together in a symbol of unity, releasing a song called Mali Ko (“For Mali”). With the efforts of French and UN forces, combined with the cultural battle waged by Mali’s most prestigious musicians, the Islamists have been pushed back. The North remains hugely unstable and Islamists still have a hold in some areas, but music is slowly returning. 

In the South, the Festival of the Niger was held in 2015, and while its audience was less than a third than in 2010, it nonetheless went ahead. Alongside continuing peace talks, music is being used to bring Mali’s many ethnic groups together. A group called Malikanw (Voices of Mali) brings musicians from six different regions of the country together, promoting stability and cohesion, just as musicians did in the days following colonialism.  

Perhaps the Islamists are right to fear music's strength. But they can never contain its power in a place like Mali. As Rokia Traore, one of Mali's most famous international stars says, "without music, Mali will cease to exist." But the musicians kept singing throughout the violence of 2013 and 2014, and so Mali is now on the road to recovery.