Yezidis, Ahwazis, Copts, Kurds, Rohingya, Dalits, southern Cameroonians, Afro-Colombians. These are just a few of the minority groups that brought their concerns to the UN Forum on Minority Issues at its 10th session, 30 November–1 December, 2017.
Why did they come? Because the state in which they live does not respect fully their rights, and in some cases, is failing to protect them from violent attacks. They cannot easily raise their concerns at the national level, or have found their government’s response to be lacking, so they turn to the UN as an alternative space. In the words of one of our interviewees, ‘I think the sole outcome is to be heard by [our country] firstly, also to be heard by other NGOs, other international organisations and member states that are present here.’
18 December 2017 marks the 25th anniversary of the adoption of the UN Declaration on the Rights of National or Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities. It was a landmark achievement for the UN, having decided decades before to not ‘remain indifferent to the fate of minorities’. On 10 December 1948 (the same day the UN adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights), the UN General Assembly asked the Commission on Human Rights to ‘make a thorough study of the problem of minorities, in order that the United Nations may be able to take effective measures for the protection of racial, national, religious or linguistic minorities’ – (UN General Assembly, Resolution 217 C (III). ‘Fate of Minorities’, UN Doc. A/RES/3/217 C (10 December 1948).
The suggestion that minorities are a ‘problem’ for the UN reflects the central difficulty that many non-dominant minority groups face in accessing their human rights: states often see them as a potential threat to sovereignty or ‘agitators’ for a social, economic and political order that is fully inclusive, and as a result, seek to minimise their power.
This tension is one reason why the UN plays such an important role in giving a voice to minorities, and establishing legal standards to protect their rights. This is a key ‘global governance’ function of the UN, that is, to coordinate international cooperation to ensure that minorities are safe from threats, can freely express their cultural and religious identities, are not discriminated against and can participate in decision-making that affects their lives.
Over the past two years, myself and Dr Anna-Mária Bíró, director of the Tom Lantos Institute, have been doing research on how this function plays out in the UN Forum on Minority Issues. This is the one space in the entire UN system dedicated to minority groups engaging in dialogue with governments. Once a year for two days in Geneva, minorities around the world convene to raise issues of concern and states to share examples of good practice, based on a thematic topic and overseen by the UN Special Rapporteur on minority issues, an independent expert appointed by the UN to monitor minority rights in practice.
Why were we interested to study this space? It gave us the chance to study the agency of minority groups in claiming and re-shaping their rights within a system created by and for states. How do actors use the Forum? What is the perceived utility of the Forum? What is the Forum’s role in protecting minority rights?
The research has used a mixed-methods approach. With the help of many volunteers, we gathered, transcribed and translated 1,209 of the 1,373 statements made to the Forum across its ten sessions (making our dataset about 88 per cent complete). These have been coded from among over 150 actor and issue characteristics to essentially ask what is being said at the Forum and by whom? To supplement this data, we also conducted more than 30 semi-structured interviews with states, NGOs, experts and UN actors and gathered 40 surveys from NGOs.
We had the opportunity recently to present our research at a side-meeting of the 10th session of the Forum. With the participation of all three experts who have or are serving as the UN Special Rapporteur on minority issues (currently Dr Fernand de Varennes), we shared some of our key findings. On this basis, we also made several recommendations for reforming the Forum, which were supported by the new Special Rapporteur in his concluding remarks.
We also have plans to launch an online, open-access database where all of the statements made to the Forum since its inception can be searched and used for advocacy, programming and legislative and policy reforms, enabling learning between states and across minority groups. This will be launched at the 11th session of the Forum in late 2018 and will be found at www.minorityforum.info.
On the 10th December 1948 the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) was adopted by the United Nations General Assembly at its third session. The Declaration consists of 30 articles affirming an individual’s fundamental rights and freedoms which, while not legally binding in themselves, over the years since, have been elaborated in subsequent international treaties, regional human rights mechanisms, and national constitutions. The Declaration is commemorated each year on 10 December, the anniversary of its adoption and known as International Human Rights Day.
The day before the UDHR was adopted, the 9th December, the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (the Genocide Convention) was adopted by the United Nations General Assembly. The Convention entered into force on 12 January 1951 and was the product of the tireless efforts of the Polish jurist who coined the term, Raphael Lemkin, and the international movement to criminalise Geocide that he helped to shape.
The concepts, philosophy, laws, mechanisms and jurisprudence of human rights and genocide have developed considerably since 1948, but on one vitally important issue the field of human rights has developed where genocide studies and genocide jurisprudence has not. It concerns, what Joel Kovel has called, an ‘ecological crisis’. It is more than a crisis of ‘environmental destruction’, which suggests that we human beings exist apart from our natural context. Indeed, it a crisis of ecosystems in which we are embedded. The crisis includes everything from, species extinctions, anthropogenic climate change, sea level rise, and pervasive plastic pollution to the dramatic decline in our pollinating bee populations. Regardless, of the arguments for protecting and mitigating these issues for issues for their own sake, they need to be addressed for our sake. The human rights discourse now appreciates this. All human beings depend on the environment in which we are ecologically embedded.
A clean, healthy and sustainable environment is vital to the full enjoyment of a wide range of human rights, including the rights to life, health, food, water and sanitation. Without a healthy environment and ecosystems, we are unable to lead the ‘minimally good life’ that human rights and meant to guarantee. Simultaneously, protecting human rights can help protect the environment. Since the early 1970s, the recognition of vital links between human rights and the environment has grown considerably. We have seen a veritable explosion in the number and scope of international and domestic laws, judicial decisions, and academic studies on the relationship between human rights and the environment. Indeed, numerous States now incorporate a right to a healthy environment in their constitutions. In 2012 the Human Rights Council established a mandate on human rights and the environment, in order to analyse human rights obligations relating to the enjoyment of a safe, clean, healthy and sustainable environment, so as to promote best practices in environmental policymaking. Mr. John Knox was appointed in August 2012 to a three-year term as the first Independent Expert on human rights obligations relating to the enjoyment of a safe, clean, healthy and sustainable environment. His mandate was further extended in March 2015 for another three years as a Special Rapporteur.
The human rights legal regime is still largely focussed on the rights of individual human beings despite some relatively recent more ‘collective’ developments such as UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples . The Genocide Convention, however, has a focus on social groups and seeks to criminalise international destruction of ‘national, ethnical, racial or religious groups’ by a) killing members of the group; (b) Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; (c) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; (d) Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group; (e) Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group. While the methods listed there are actually quite broad the field of genocide studies and the international criminal tribunals that have used the Convention have tended to focus almost exclusively on physical killing. In my latest book ‘Redefining Genocide: Social Death, Settler Colonialism and Ecocide’, I outline how Lemkin’s much broader definition put ‘culture’ at the heart of the understanding of a social group ( a ‘genos’) and hence cultural destruction was a key method of genocide and not a lesser form of it. I also show how indigenous peoples in the world today who use the word ‘genocide’ to describe their lived experience of colonisation and suffer environmental destruction, often at the hands of multi-national extractive industries, have an understanding of genocide much more in keeping with Lemkin’s original conception than international law or the work of many genocide scholars who focus on mass killing.
Indigenous peoples’ who use of the language of genocide to describe their living conditions often emphasise how ecological destruction has disastrous physical and cultural consequences. This is a dimension of genocide that is far too infrequently discussed, a situation I tried to address in my book. That said, before the civil war in Rwanda and the subsequent International Criminal Tribunal the Genocide Convention wasn’t being used and the Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination and Protection of Minorities in 1978 decided to review the effectiveness of the Convention. The Sub-Commission wanted to examine if the cultural method which Lemkin emphasised should be re-inserted into the Convention alongside a new method, ‘ecocide’ to cover the emerging environmental crisis and the destructive affect it can have on the survival of distinctive cultural groups. As Sub-Commission member, Mr Abdelwahab Bouhdiba, argued in support for criminalising ecocide;
‘any interference with the natural surroundings or environment in which ethnic groups lived was, in effect, a kind of ethnic genocide because such interference could prevent the people involved from following their own traditional way of life’.
Ultimately, however, the recommendation from the Sub-Commission came many years later and simply recommended that ‘further consideration should be given to this question’. Thus, an opportunity to advance the law, jurisprudence and even the field of genocide studies was missed and the human rights discourse continued to lead the way in its appreciation of the role environmental destruction can play in human rights violations. Moreover, as climate change bites across the world protecting cultural diversity for the good of all becomes ever more important, for traditional knowledge of local environments, passed on through culture, has been human kind’s primary adaptive mechanism.
With this is mind, and the desire to protect the planet for future generations, in recent years a campaign to criminalise ecocide in its own right, and as a strict liability offence,[i] has been instigated by international lawyer and environmental activist, Polly Higgins.[ii] The Eradicating Ecocide campaign draws attention to the numerous examples of ecocide and its human consequences worldwide, at a time when preventing further ecological destruction couldn’t be more pressing. Eradicating Ecocide is one of a number of campaigns[iii] that highlights the particularly devastating impact environmental destruction has on indigenous peoples who depend on the health of their local environment not only for their own physical well-being but also for their spiritual and cultural health. Even so, the focus goes beyond the plight of indigenous peoples to eradicating ecocide for the good of the planet, its ecosystems and all those beings that depend on them.
As we have seen, we do not currently have an international crime of ecocide and hence there is no law to prosecute those who are destroying our environment and ecosystems.[iv] Far from it, under our current neo-liberal capitalist order governments the world over positively encourage such destruction in the name of economic growth.[v] We do have an international crime of environmental destruction as a War Crime, but this has no applicability in times of peace and ‘environmental destruction’ doesn’t capture our environmental embeddedness, nor the full scale of our predicament, or the role of capitalism and resource extraction in its development. The Eradicating Ecocide campaign may not endorse an overtly anti-capitalist agenda but in its preference for the concept of ‘ecocide’ rather than ‘environmental destruction’ it invokes a holistic understanding of the problem as an ecological crisis, and the concomitant need for the protection of ecosystems, rather than an abstract and external ‘environmental’ crisis. Indeed, Higgins defines ‘ecocide’ as:
‘the extensive damage to, destruction of or loss of ecosystem(s) of a given territory, whether by human agency or by other causes, to such an extent that peaceful enjoyment by the inhabitants of that territory has been severely diminished.’
This definition is the basis of the Eradicating Ecocide campaign’s proposed amendment to the Rome Statute, treaty that established the International Criminal Court (ICC) – it entered into force on 1 July 2002.[vi] In short, it is envisaged that any extensive damage, destruction to or loss of an ecosystem can constitute ecocide. ‘Extensive’ can be either widespread, long lasting or severe. To define these terms the campaign invokes the 1977 United Nations Convention on the Prohibition of Military or any other Hostile Use of Environmental Modification Techniques (ENMOD):
Widespread: encompassing an area on the scale of several hundred square kilometres.
Long-lasting: lasting for a period of months, or approximately a season.
Severe: involving serious or significant disruption or harm to human life, natural and economic resources or other assets.
Under the Rome Statute, the ICC can only investigate and prosecute the core international crimes where states are unable or unwilling to do so themselves. These are the existing four Crimes against Peace (genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes and the crime of aggression) and hence the argument that ‘ecocide is the missing fifth Crime against Peace’[vii]
Higgins outlines two types of ecocide 1) Human induced or ‘ascertainable ecocide’ – ecocide caused by human agency, where an individual responsible for the activity can be identified. Usually, Higgins points out, this is corporate induced ecocide, and she invokes the poster child of extreme energy- the ecological disaster that is the Athabasca tar sands in Alberta Canada, which we will discuss later on in the book. 2) Ecocide by ‘other causes’, like catastrophic events; referred to in law as an ‘act of God’, such as flooding or an earthquake. Events such as these can be termed ‘non-ascertainable ecocide’ as no one perpetrator can be identified. Of course, this type of ecocide cannot be stopped, but when human induced ecocides, which destroy carbon sinks and create escalating carbon emissions, are stopped, it is possible that this could reduce the frequency of climatic extremes and mitigate the negative impacts of naturally occurring ecocides.
Following on from Higgins’ initiative, a global grassroots supporting campaign (not dissimilar to that which lobbied hard for the Genocide Convention) has emerged called ‘End Ecocide on Earth’. The ultimate goal of the initiative is that ecocide will be recognised as a crime around the world. In their own words: ‘this means not only national ecocide crimes in all states but also the recognition that ecocide is an international crime which can be enforced with an international court. To that end, ecocide should be incorporated into the Rome Statute as international Crime against Peace under the jurisdiction of the International Criminal Court. Leaving aside the thorny issue of likely political opposition, the process of revision of the Rome Statute is remarkably simple in that one member state can propose the amendment to the UN Secretary-General, who then distributes the proposal to the other member states during a general assembly or convenes a revision conference. It remains to be seen whether a potential crime of ecocide can progress further within the international system this time around, when the need is much more urgent and pressing than it was in the preceding decades, but I sincerely hope it can.
[iii] E.g Survival International, Forest Peoples’ Alliance, Raven Trust, Cultural Survival and many more.
[iv] See P.Higgins, D Short and N.South, 2013 ‘Protecting the Planet: a proposal for a law of ecocide’, Crime, Law and Social Change, February DOI 10.1007/s10611-013-9413-6
[v] See Martin Crook and Damien Short, Marx, ‘Lemkin and the Genocide Ecocide Nexus’, The International Journal of Human Rights, Volume 18, Number 3, 3 April 2014, pp. 298-319 (22) and for a more in-depth discussion of this theme see Joel Kovel, The Enemy of Nature: The End of Capitalism or the End of the World, Zed Books: London.
Forum on Business and Human Rights, U.S. Mission Geneva, Photo by Eric Bridiers Photo licenced under CC BY-SA 4.0
Following the 6th UN Forum on Business and Human Rights that took place in Geneva last week, you may be forgiven for wondering whether these high-level get-togethers ever change anything for people on the ground – for workers in garment factories and on farms toiling away for hours a day yet still stuck in poverty and some, with no knowledge of their rights.
When I was doing my Masters in Understanding and Securing Human Rights in 2011-12, I thought exactly that. The UN Global Compact was relatively new (2005) and John Ruggie’s Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights had only just been endorsed, making the framework the first corporate human rights responsibility initiative to be endorsed by the United Nations. I too thought, there’s just no point unless it’s mandatory, you’ll only get the more advanced companies signing up without creating a level playing field, allowing the others to continue with business as usual, which may be having adverse human rights impacts on people in their supply chains.
But I’m happy to say that things are changing. In 2015, the word ‘TISC’ became very exciting, and not in a condescending way. It was muttered around multi-stakeholder meetings as a game changer – the Transparency in Supply Chains Clause brought forward by the UK government in the Modern Slavery Act. The clause wouldn’t even have made it in if it weren’t for companies campaigning and lobbying, challenging the government’s supposition that corporates dislike regulation. The clause requires companies with a turnover of £36 million or more (the Companies Act definition of a medium-sized company) to write an annual statement about what they’re doing to tackle slavery and human trafficking in their businesses and supply chains. This statement must be signed by a director and posted on the company’s website with a link from the homepage.
Two years on, we are now at the stage where every eligible company should have posted its first statement. Unfortunately, the government didn’t introduce a monitoring mechanism for this, but as can be expected, the NGOs and consultants are on it. They are gathering as much evidence as they can as to who hasn’t written a statement and have also started benchmarking the quality of the content. Ergon Associates have published anonymised reports based on how well companies report according to the government guidance and the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre recently ranked the top FTSE 100 companies on their statements.
Alongside these benchmarks looking only at modern slavery statements, there are now a handful of benchmarks assessing companies’ broader attitude and actions on human rights. This is encouraging – 5 years ago you couldn’t even mention the words ‘human rights’ to most Board executives but now they’re sitting up and paying attention.
Know the Chain looks at companies’ activities around fighting forced labour across the ICT, food & beverage and apparel & footwear sectors and Oxfam is about to launch a human rights risk assessment tool for food and agricultural supply chains. The first results from the Corporate Human Rights Benchmark were released in March this year and although it seems ironic that a multinational mining, metals and petroleum company enshrouded in environmental disasters could come out top, no company scored more than 69%. The Workforce Disclosure Initiative, endorsed by more than $8 trillion worth of asset management investors and which we’re advising on at Lake Advisory seeks, via a survey, to understand the type of data companies gather and hold on their own employees and on workers in their supply chains. It’s designed to send signals to companies that they should start collecting these types of data as investors begin to use innovative ways of assessing a company’s performance which includes human rights.
Most of these benchmarks assess publicly available information which is driving a huge push towards greater transparency – and as many CSR professionals realise, if you’re not sitting at the table – you’ll be on the menu.
* Stephanie Vélez works for Lake Advisory, an independent consultancy specialising in responsible sourcing and sustainability. Lake Advisory works with businesses, investors, non-profits and governments to drive greater transparency, responsibility and efficiency in global supply chains.
Mayan women represent significant actors in resistance movements and social development organizations calling for basic human rights in Guatemala. During a research trip earlier in the year, I was fortunate enough to meet and stay with some truly inspiring female activists who are working exceptionally hard to fight for their basic human rights – as women and as members of various Mayan ethnic groups.
In just under four weeks I navigated my way across eight departments of Guatemala, via local ‘chicken buses’ winding their way over the country’s hair-raising roads. I was interested to find out what motivates Mayan women to create and occupy spaces for activism, as well as explore the obstacles they face in mobilising in such spaces. With the help of Minority Rights Group International (MRG) and Peace Brigades International (PBI), I interviewed several Mayan women working in rights-based grassroots organizations.
The K’ekchi women of RED Abriendo Oportunidades, an organization supporting Guatemalan girls
Maggie, the first and most passionate activist I had the pleasure of meeting and staying with, had independently set up her own organization named Movimiento de Jovenes Mayas (Movement of Young Mayans, AJUP) without the support of external funds. Whilst sat on a rock at the edge of the south east shore of Lake Atitlán in her hometown of San Lucas Tolimán, she spoke to me at length about how private companies, with the aid of the government, were removing water from the lake, a vital source which has been used for generations by the indigenous villages interwoven into the stunning landscape of imposing volcanoes, verdant valleys and tranquil beaches.
The following claim has stayed with me since she shared her story, as above all, it highlights the raw energy she and other female indigenous activists possess:
“I think that knowledge is born in every person, it is a conviction… It is innate, if you need it then you have to defend it and take care of it, you don’t learn that, you are born with that and you grow up with that.” Maggie, AJPU
On the weekend I stayed with her family, protests were taking place in the town of Santiago and the district capital of Sololá. Maggie’s mother Felipa advised us not to take certain roads west as it was risky. She also confessed that Maggie’s work as an activist kept her up most nights – she believed it hopeless to try and get involved in activist spaces and worried immensely for the safety of her family. Unfortunately I sensed a defeatist attitude by many women in indigenous communities, which proves how terrorization of individuals and their families can be triumphant in paralysing spaces for activism. Figures such as Maggie represent those women who, through sheer conviction and drive, challenge the system of oppression they are born into by fighting for their rights.
Indigenous activists and members of social and environmental grassroots groups meet at a conference organised by RENSAG in Guatemala City
We avoided the local manifestaciones and instead headed to the capital, where Maggie invited me to observe a forum of indigenous peoples held by Red Nacional Por La Defense De La Soberania Alimentaria En Guatemala (National Network for the Defense of Food Sovereignty in Guatemala, RENSAG). I noted the participants made up over 40 men and less than 10 women. However, my conversations with several female activists from various organizations I shared a room with, including two organizers from Nuevo Horizontes (New Horizons), exposed the important role of rural women in solidifying activist spaces for other female community members, and working for causes such as food sovereignty, education for girls, reproductive rights, female political empowerment and indigenous land and resource protection.
“We strengthen women in farming so they can have a bit of everything in order to have good nutrition. They have learnt how to make organic fertilizer, organic pesticides, medicine for birds, everything natural. We’ve also supported them in their decision-making so they can be part of the community council. There are a lot of activities in favour of women so they can stand out and value themselves.” Carmen Alicia, Nuevo Horizontes
I met with Norma, a Mam activist working for RENSAG who was a former refugee that had fled to Mexico when she was five years old. She remembered the journey vividly, as well as the years of pain and trauma she suffered after the death of her father and her move back to Guatemala to a town where no one spoke the Mam language and neighbours accused her family of being ‘guerrillas’. Bearing the mentality ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’, Norma adapted to her circumstances and through identifying herself as a woman, a Mam and a mother, she learned to stand up for her beliefs and family.
“A lot of women take action simply because they feel threatened and they say to themselves: ‘I’m going to defend this and I’m going to defend it with my life’. Women have a very strong connection with the elements of the earth and I think that’s what inspires us – protecting life, and the lives of our children.” Norma, REDSAG
Spaces for female indigenous activism are often the result of movements conceived out of necessity in communities at high risk of oppression from institutionalised discriminatory policies. My fieldwork findings attribute the most powerful driver for social change in these women’s lives to be their Mayan cosmovision.
All the women I spoke with cited their ‘cosmovision’ as a philosophy which guided them to take action for the protection of their communities. They felt incredibly proud to be both Mayan and women, identities which gave them a purpose in the world which could never be planted by external stimuli. During my visit to the humid jungle town of Chisec, I conducted a focus group with over 10 members of RED Abriendo Oportunidades (Opening Opportunities), each a young Q’eqchi woman who made exclamations such as:
“We feel proud about our language, our traditional clothes, and our culture, for what our ancestors have left and taught us. The greatest shame is to deny that you are Q’eqchi!” Angustia Caralonzo, RED
Lago Atitlan is surrounded by Tz’utujil and Kaqchikel Mayan villages
Despite the assault on Mayan lifestyles by globalising forces as a result of neoliberal policies, the shared values of Mayan communities continue to profoundly shape the evolution and organization of Guatemalan indigenous societies. Equality, harmony and balance were mentioned time and again as intentions of the cosmovision which induced alternative ideas of ‘foreign’ theories – such as feminist theory – by striving for well-being and happiness for all members of a community.
Activist spaces must be contextualized in this worldview, which binds nature and humanity in eternal unity. The expression of a value system rooted in ancestral ways of living reflects a particular inspiration for the participation of female Mayans in activist spaces.
Barriers to female indigenous activism: ethnic discrimination
Every activist I interviewed recounted how they had been discriminated against for their ethnicity for as long as they could remember. Belen, a young woman working in a community radio station told of times when she had been denied employment over ladina women, despite having more qualifications and experience for positions. She was upset that she was seen, firstly as lower than men because of her gender and secondly as lower than other women because of her traje which represents her ethnicity as Quiché.
Belen in her traditional Quiché dress at the radio station she works at to raise awareness of Mayan issues
“If I’m wearing a trouser and a blouse, nobody sees me in a funny way but if I’m wearing my custom dress people avoid me because they don’t want to get close to me. It’s due to a misconception that indigenous people smell bad, that we don’t shower and we live in an uncivilized way as we live in the countryside, in the mountains. People mistreat us. We can actually get used to it but it hurts sometimes… if you are sitting in a place they tell you to move and leave the place to a ladino.” Belen
The most unjust aspects I found in response to the social movements these women are a part of is the direct and indirect resistance they face from the state, as a result of structural inequalities that have plagued this country since the Spanish conquest. Smear campaigns stigmatizing and discrediting activists for environmental and social issues falsely accuse them of extremism and they are increasingly at risk of violent attacks, defamation and death. PBI documents 223 assaults, 14 killings and 7 attempted murders registered between January and November 2016 against human rights defenders. In 2016, Guatemala was named one of the most dangerous countries on Earth for activists working to defend and protect natural resources.
The government’s ‘war on indigenous peoples’ prevents indigenous females from participating in spaces for the advancement of their rights because they fear for their safety and security. I spoke at length with Maggie’s intelligent younger sister Diana, who wished for better conditions for other Mayan women as well as access to the water resources of Atitlán which have always been a source of life for Kaqchikel villagers. However, she refused to join her sister’s movement because she agreed with her mother Felipa: it was too dangerous to fight ‘the bigs’.
Barriers to female indigenous activism: violence against women
A common theme I found in my interactions with the activists I engaged with, is Guatemala’s extreme sexist attitudes, which are embedded within a culture of machista thinking. Asociacion Ixqik, a women’s rights organization in the far north of the country who invited me to their offices in San Benito, near the idyllic island of Flores, claimed domestic violence to be the biggest issue faced by indigenous women and the primary obstacle to their participation in social activism. GBV directly blocks the development of spaces for activism by impacting upon the physical and mental well-being of women. Furthermore, it has severe indirect consequences generally unassociated with physical harm.
Maggie, a Kaqchikel activist and founder of APJU with her mother Felipa
Indigenous women face reduced opportunities for advancement in critical causes, which relate to the expectations placed on them from birth. The young community mentors of Red Abriendo Oportunidades told me they had grown up being told that women were supposed to have babies and keep a clean house. Most women do not have the time to dedicate to activist work as they are focusing on the survival of their children and families. They are often not allowed out in the evenings, which is the main time of day when men organize around rights-based movements and it is considered taboo for them to be physically present for dialogues. Critical attitudes (from the family to the national level) can lead to feelings of fear and inferiority that actively demotivate females from being involved in movements. A grave concern is that the denial of women’s capabilities in leadership can solidify barriers to spaces for activism through the development of an inferiority complex in women and girls, which can stop many women from speaking out about their abuses and taking their work seriously.
Moreover, the unavailability of resources restricts pathways for participation in spaces which promise empowerment of women and indigenous peoples. Mayan women are in the weakest socio-economic position in Guatemalan society. It is especially difficult for them to seek justice and defend their rights without the means to become aware of the factors determining their situation in the first place, and even more so when considering the restrictive roles women occupy in their communities.
State structures which are both racist and sexist at times directly block indigenous women’s ability to access basic services, such as healthcare and education, let alone afford them the spaces they need to organize and resist their oppression.
Conclusion: Role models
Despite the challenges I was told about and witnessed first-hand, it is clear many spaces for female indigenous activism are created and occupied ‘internally’ at the localised level by women who should be seen as agents of change, rather than simply victims of a viciously unjust system. My conclusion from my trip is based on the impact of role models who are strengthening spaces for individuals and groups of women to participate in improving conditions for women and all members of their indigenous communities.
Some interviewees saw true role models as women who possessed a raw energy to protect the living world, and were dedicated to an indigenous way of life, or at least a life that was not corrupted by capitalism:
“Who represents us? Those fighting to defend the territory; few women are fighting but they are leading and doing real things. They are in their territory, in their remote villages defending their lands against mining and electric companies, against those life models that affect us. Those are the true indigenous, and for me, those are the ones who represent the town and inspire me.” Maggie
Norma, a Mam activist and one of the leading members of RENSAG
“If you ask anyone who Joan of Arc is they are going to tell you they don’t know. But when you hear what Doña Juana, for example, is doing in the community and how she is defending and standing against the mines, that inspires you and it inspires the community.” Norma
My interviewees’ impassioned speeches show that the role models who motivate indigenous women to participate in activist spaces are not necessarily self-proclaimed feminists or famous global leaders. They are fundamentally protectors of their loved ones, defenders of basic human rights and preservers of Mayan cultures. Overall, the analysis of role models exposes how central ethnic identity is to these women and other activists like them. They are driven by a force which is paramount to their sense of purpose as members of Mayan communities which are threatened. They must choose to either channel their repression into a positive movement or succumb to a life of discrimination. They choose the former.
I feel incredibly humbled to have had the opportunity to meet such incredibly strong and inspiring female indigenous activists. I am appreciative for their hospitality, generosity and friendship, without which my study would not have been possible. Thank-you very much to: Maggie Garcia, Felipa Cos, Norma Mejía, Belen Pak, Carmen Alicia Torres Hernandez, Elvira Chuktiu, the women of RED Abriendo Oportunidades and the women of Asociacion Mujeres de Petén Ixqik.
*Roslynn Beighton is a former communications intern at MRG and now works for Fern, an organization which campaigns for the protection of the world’s forests and forest peoples. Roslynn is also an alumna of the MA in Understanding and Securing Human Rights.
Today, 25 November, marks the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. Considering the decades the international community has had to identify and working to resolving the problems of gender-based violence, why is it still such a prominent global problem in 2017? And how are women identified as rights-holders as individuals and as part of a uniquely vulnerable group?
The international community has recognised the discrimination women face and the violence they are subjected to through a number of conventions, declarations, and international agreements. The 1979 UN Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women recognised that systematic violence against women was hindering the achievement of equality between the sexes, and that this had serious consequences for women’s abilities to realise their human rights. The Convention affirmed that individual women are rights holders in their own right – for example by affirming that women’s citizenship should be held by them and should not be dependent on the citizenship of their husbands. This Convention served as a reminder that women’s contributions to their societies are often not recognised and pointed out that the achievement of equality between the sexes would not be achieved in the absence of a re-evaluation of men and women’s traditional gender-based social roles.
The 1993 Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women, meanwhile, went further by identifying violence against women as a ‘social mechanism’ whose purpose was to keep women in a subordinate position vis-à-vis men. It recognised that ‘violence’ encompasses sexual and psychological harm as well as physical damage to women and that, around the world, gender-based violence takes place in domestic environments as well as the public sphere. The Declaration explicitly embedded violence against women in gender-based inequality, pointing out that violence against women is a particular manifestation of a long history of subjugation. The implication of this is that gender-based violence cannot be resolved simply by identifying acts of violence against women as criminal activities and prosecuting them alone: instead, each society needs to address the legal and cultural roots of gender based inequality wholesale. Gender-based violence cannot be fully addressed if it is addressed in a vacuum which does not take the wider socio-cultural context into account.
INDIVIDUAL VS GROUP RIGHTS
If gender-based violence is a manifestation of the historical treatment of women as an insubordinate group, is it useful to see women as a group whose rights should be specially protected in domestic and international law? This situation can be complex, especially as human rights as often seen as accorded to individuals instead of groups. Group rights have often been controversial among theorists who conceive of human rights as a doctrine to protect individuals from the power wielded by groups; for some thinkers group rights actually pose a threat to human rights as conferred to individuals. In addition to the tension between collective and individual human rights, the granting of collective rights to different groups can sometimes be contradictory; for example, where cultural or ethnic groups may hold the right to continue certain cultural or traditional practices, this can be in conflict with age or gender-based group rights held by some members of the group.
Are women’s rights and needs best served by understanding them as individual rights holders who can be protected through legislation which applies to all individuals (for example, criminal laws prohibiting assault), or should they be recognised as a group with a strong common identity, with specific vulnerabilities arising out of that identity, who should be protected by specific laws and, in some cases, elevated rights? When we identify women as a group with a common identity and common interests based on gender, it is also important to remember that, unlike some ethnic or cultural groups with defined rights, women are not a minority – protecting the rights of women ensures the protection of 50% of all humanity.
LEAVE NO ONE BEHIND
Adding further complexity to the idea of women as group rights holders, the Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women observes that women can belong to certain other groups which can exacerbate their vulnerability to violence; membership of some of these groups can cut across their gender identity and is shared with men (for example, minority and indigenous women or refugee women or age-related group membership).
The theme of 2017’s International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women is ‘Leave No One Behind’ and is a reminder that ‘women’ are not simply a universal category facing identical experiences but that gender intersects with other social realities, including race, class/wealth, and sexual orientation, resulting in particular women being especially vulnerable, not just to violence, but to seeing their attackers treated with impunity. The campaign to eliminate violence against women also encompasses transgender and intersex women, highlighting the particular risks these women face, which may be heightened by cultural and legal barriers which prevent transgender women from securing legal recognition of their identity.
In the midst of these reminders that the vulnerabilities of groups are not uniform and that there are hierarchies of vulnerability within groups, it should not be forgotten that any woman can be subject to gender-based violence, and that violence against women is not merely the outcome of individual criminal behaviour, but is deeply embedded, and implicitly and explicitly coded as acceptable, across societies.
Freedom of the press is a manifestation of the freedom of expression, often considered a cornerstone of other freedoms; as civilians, journalists are exercising their rights to freedom of expression in the course of their day-to-day work. Attacks on journalists therefore constitute a major threat to freedom of expression more generally, and indeed violence against journalists is often accompanied by other attempts to thwart communication by and between citizens.
The Institute of Commonwealth Studies has established a project on Media Freedom in the Commonwealth to examine, analyse and draw attention to threats to freedom of the media in the 52 countries which make up the Commonwealth, to consider the links between different ways in which the media is silenced, and to develop ideas for how the Commonwealth Secretariat can support the upholding of the right to freedom of expression in member states.
One way of supporting journalists is challenging impunity for their attackers. Impunity for crimes against journalists can be deeply entrenched. The Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ) has published its Global Impunity Index, Getting Away with Murder, annually since 2008: eight countries have appeared on this list since it was first published. Since 1992, only 13% of murder cases against journalists have resulted in prosecutions. Impunity was identified as a major challenge to media freedom across the Commonwealth by several speakers at a conference in April 2017 which launched the Media Freedom in the Commonwealth project. In some countries the only possible challengers of violence against journalists are journalists and media workers themselves, who therefore place themselves at further risk by speaking out against attacks on their colleagues.
So far, the CPJ has recorded 11 murders of journalists where the motive for killing was a direct reprisal for their work. Five of these murders occurred in Mexico alone, largely related to the journalists’ coverage of organised criminal activities. (Latin America and the Caribbean was the second-deadliest region for journalists in 2014-15, accounting for 24% of all murders of journalists globally in this period). A further 15 journalists have died in 2017 as a result of being caught in crossfire and combat, most in Iraq and Syria. Unsurprisingly, as print media declines and online news outlets become more prominent, the number of online journalists murdered is rising. This is accompanied by a trend of violence against citizen journalists and bloggers – and sometimes even users of social media. While a by-the-numbers approach suggests the picture is improving slightly for journalists – 2015 was one of the deadliest years for journalists in the last decade, for example, with 115 journalists being killed – a complacent view of the right to freedom of expression is not yet warranted.
Threats to media freedom and freedom of expression go beyond physically attacking, harassing and killing journalists: governments exercise a range of techniques to silence news organisations, including through internet shutdowns, such as those which occurred during the Ugandan elections of 2016, or through restrictive laws ranging from libel and defamation to sedition to anti-cyber crime. Such attacks on the media’s ability to challenge governments serve to highlight both the fragility of democratic institutions and the hugely important role a responsible media plays in underpinning democracy by challenging corruption, monitoring elections and acting as a barometer for freedom of expression more widely.
It has been 10 years since the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) was adopted at the UN General Assembly on 13 September 2007. The adoption of the UNDRIP was one of the most important achievements in the indigenous peoples’ rights movement at the global level. As this year is the 10th anniversary of the UNDRIP, its implementation is being reviewed to discuss the progress and challenges it presents at various places including the Human Rights Consortium at the School of Advanced Study, University of London. In this article, I will discuss the situation of the indigenous peoples’ rights protection mainly for the Ainu people in Japan, particularly taking a look at the current Ainu policy and the recent development of the forest certification mechanism.
To understand and consider contemporary circumstances of indigenous peoples who have struggled for their rights for a long time, the history of the remaining colonialism would not be negligible. It is quite important to raise the fact that a significant part of indigenous peoples’ identity derives from colonial rule such as mass-killings, genocide, marginalisation, assimilation, resettlement as well as cultural destruction. Through the indigenous rights movement, they have fought for the recognition of being “peoples” who hold the right to self-determination, requiring the protection and benefits of international law. In this regard, while independent statehood is not something indigenous peoples have pursued, the establishment and implementation of the UNDRIP could be regarded as an extension of the process of decolonisation.
Traditional Ainu Settlement Areas and Ainu Population in Hokkaido (2013 Survey on Ainu Living Condition)
In my country of Japan, one of the indigenous peoples, the Ainu people, have also suffered from colonialism. Originally, they inhabited Hokkaido, the northern island of Japan, and the far-eastern region of Russia. Currently, according to the latest survey on the Ainu living condition in Hokkaido in 2013, although it is not comprehensive, the number of the Ainu people was at least 16,786. It was soon after the Meiji Restoration and modern nation-state building in the 1860s that the Government of Japan began having direct control over Ainu traditional land by renaming it Hokkaido. Based on the justification of the doctrine of terra nullius, the Government dispossessed the Ainu of their lands and sovereignty, and their cultural manners and customs were prohibited or strictly limited with assimilative policies and legislations, notably the establishment of the “Former Native Protection Act” in 1899. Throughout colonial rule, the Ainu people were also regarded as a “dying race”, and most notoriously, Japanese Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone referred to Japan as an ethnically “homogeneous nation” in 1986. His statement became one of the factors that triggered the Ainu representatives to participate in the international indigenous network, which started in 1987.
Traditional Ainu Settlement Areas and Ainu Population in Hokkaido (2013 Survey on Ainu Living Condition)
However, until 2008, a year after the adoption of the UNDRIP, the Government had still failed to recognise the Ainu as an indigenous people. In addition, while the Government also began working on Ainu policy having recognised them as a people, it has been based on the “Japan-Specific Indigenous Policy” view. According to this view, sovereignty status and related rights such as the right to self-determination does not fit in the context of Japan, and indigenous rights outlined in the UNDRIP has been referred to only if they are relevant. For example, collective rights that consist of the major part of the rights of indigenous peoples are not necessarily protected because the Japanese Constitution is based on individualism. Moreover, cultural aspects are prioritised as they easily coincide with the benefits of the majority population in Japan. In this regard, the current Ainu policy has been moving away from what indigenous peoples including the Ainu have pursued through their rights movement and the implementation of the UNDRIP for decolonisation.
In this situation, private sectors’ voluntary approaches have also been increasingly paid attention to. One of the most notable developments in recent years is forest certification, and the amendment of the Principles and Criteria (P&C) of the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) in 2012. FSC is an international non-governmental organisation that runs the global forest certification mechanism, which certifies whether forests are environmentally responsible, socially beneficial, and economically viable. The P&C are a set of rules for it, and one of the 10 Principles (Principle 3) has been on indigenous rights, recognising indigenous peoples as rights holders including the Ainu people.
Before the 2012 revision, under the FSC scheme the primary normative reference for indigenous rights was ILO Convention 169. However, the Government of Japan has not ratified it, so indigenous rights protection under the scheme is considered not necessarily effective in Japan. On the other hand, the new standards have become stricter, and importantly, the UNDRIP has been included as a normative reference. As the Government of Japan voted in favor for the adoption of the UNDRIP and has recognised the Ainu as an indigenous people, FSC Japan has also acknowledged that Principle 3 would be applied to the Ainu people and forests in Hokkaido in 2013. In this regard, compared with the Governmental policy, the FSC scheme seems to go a step further for the implementation of the UNDRIP, and the revision of the FSC P&C is quite implicative for the Ainu rights protection.
Nonetheless, the situation of FSC certification does not warrant optimism as it still faces some challenges. One of them is for example, that the forest certification is a voluntary and market-driven mechanism. Although the price premium is recognised for the certified products in the Japanese market, it is not considered high. In this sense, the mechanism might not be influential enough to change forest practices, although certificates could be suspended depending on the scale and number of non-conformities against the standards. Also, not all of the forests in Hokkaido are FSC-certified. In addition, the certification process is not completely independent from local or national laws and policy. The lack of domestic laws on the Ainu rights might make it unclear, for instance, on which sites the Ainu hold their indigenous rights. Similarly, as there is no official representative or decision-making institutions consented among the Ainu people, who the Free, Prior and Informed Consent should be obtained from might also be ambiguous.
One of the notable relationships between forest managers and the Ainu is found in relation to the Saru Forest in Biratori, Hokkaido, which is owned by the Mitsui Bussan, a general trading company in Japan. In 2010, along the P&C revision process, the agreements on the Saru Forest were concluded among the Biratori Ainu Association, the municipality of Biratori and the Mitsui Bussan. In the agreements, it is acknowledged that some plants and trees that are important for the Ainu culture are nurtured in the forest, and the Ainu people can use the resources when necessary for their cultural activities. However, the focus of the agreements is on preservation and promotion of the culture, but not on their rights protection. In other words, it is failed to discuss the rights of indigenous peoples for the Ainu in relation to the forest. For example, the agreements do not necessarily acknowledge that the Ainu people have the right to manage or freely access the forest. Nonetheless, these agreements are considered as one of the models for the relationships between the Ainu and forest managers in Hokkaido under FSC certification. In this sense, there still remains room that the protection of indigenous rights for the Ainu through forest certification could be dodged as well.
Saru River and Forests in Biratori
Considering these concerns and challenges, although it might be difficult to completely exclude the possibility that forest certification is appropriated to make forest managers socially acceptable, for the effective work of the mechanism, it is clearly important that the Governmental policy changes its current direction and takes a step to implement the rights of indigenous peoples for the Ainu. Furthermore, another significant point might be the quality of auditors because they inspect forest practices on-site and decide whether the certificate is given or not. However, in general, auditors of forest certification are professional in forestry and not in indigenous peoples’ rights, and the cost of fostering and training new auditors is high. Due to this, experts on indigenous peoples’ rights might be included into an audit team as a technical expert, or some human rights activists have begun working on providing programmes for auditors to learn human rights and the rights of indigenous peoples. However, considering the balance between the cost for and the quality of the certification, it might not necessarily be easy to achieve either. In this sense, while the recent development of the FSC scheme is quite suggestive in Japan, further efforts would still be necessary in cooperation with the Ainu.
As seen in the case of Japan above, the situations of the implementation of indigenous rights have changed for a decade since the adoption of the UNDRIP in 2007. While various challenges still remain, there have been some implicative developments as well, including the FSC forest certification. Welcoming the 10th anniversary of the UNDRIP, it is sincerely hoped that indigenous rights would be further promoted hereafter in Japan as well as in the globe.
* Fumiya Nagai is an MA student in Understanding and Securing Human Rights at the School of Advanced Study, University of London.
Today, 17 October, marks the 25th International Day for the Eradication of Poverty. The reduction and eradication of poverty and achievement of development goals is often closely linked to human rights rhetoric – but how, and why, are they connected?
To explain the important links between the eradication of poverty, development and achievement of human rights goals, we spoke to Camilla Silva Fløistrup, Senior Legal Adviser at the Danish Institute for Human Rights (DIHR), an independently operating state institution which holds the legal mandate as a National Human Rights Institution (NHRI). DIHR has a 20-year track record in human rights development work around the world, as well as a highly acclaimed research department combining academic research with the practical experiences derived from working with partners on the ground. In addition, the DIHR applies a human rights-based approach and has built analytical and practical capacity in a wide range of human rights fields, including the linking of sustainable development goals and human rights.
How are the reduction and/or eradication of poverty and the achievement of human rights goals linked?
Reduction/eradication of poverty is closely connected to development and human rights provide norms that serve to couch policy goals and orientations in development efforts.
As noted in Human Rights and Development in the New Millennium: Towards a Theory of Change (eds: Paul Gready, Wouter Vandenhole)*, “Human rights values are often invoked in development or changing social norms contribute to human rights value changes that affect development practices and organizations […] Actors invoke values to legitimize action, and the perpetual reference to human rights may also serve to reinforce the role of rights in development.”
Human rights principles overlap with good governance criteria. This is the case for the principles of participation and accountability. The human rights principles agenda drives accountability citizenship as part of operational policies. Nonetheless, many development actors still need to use human rights principles connected to non-discrimination, inclusion and equality to reach the most disadvantaged groups of society. By using human rights, we ensure that the most vulnerable in each society can be reached.
Why is it useful to conceptually link together human rights and social justice?
Human rights is also about changing social structures and transforming the power dynamics to ensure that all in society have access to all human rights.
Human rights is also about changing social structures and transforming the power dynamics to ensure that all in society have access to all human rightsEven though, many times the human rights discourse might have been closer connected to individual rights connected to trials or elections, it is the work on Human Rights Based Approach that actually looks into changing the power dynamics of societies, like social justice work does.
Human Rights and Development in the New Millenium notes that “Human rights-based approaches do have a positive impact on equality and poverty reduction. Examples of situations where human rights has been integrated into development policies, and where human rights integration results in positive change can be found in gender policies, social sectors, behaviour change, migration policies, land rights, and private sector engagement with surrounding communities and societies.”
Human rights-based approaches have a positive impact in development because: a) human rights contributes to empowerment and social protection of marginal groups; b) human rights reinforces work on non-discrimination and equality, raising a demand for disaggregated data; and c) human rights brings attention to legal approaches.
What are the connections between human rights, decolonisation, and international development aid?
The international human rights agenda gains force in the 1950s and 1960s, at the same time as decolonisation processes in the world gain power. Many former colonies used human rights discourse, mostly the initiatives connected to equality and non-discrimination. In the 60s, developing countries that had recently become independent were champions in advocating for the adoption of international human rights conventions and asking that the human rights agenda be disconnected from Cold War politics. Development aid had its own agenda for some decades, but from the 1980s, with the adoption the UN Declaration on the Right to Development, the two fields started to converge and human rights and development have started focus more on similar issues. Human rights has become part of development. UN agencies, bilateral donors, international NGOs, and local partners are using human rights to tackle development issues. In the poorest countries and in middle-income countries, human rights has guided different approaches and initiatives in order to improve people’s lives and a human rights-based approach has set focus on the relationship between the state and its citizens.
How are the UN Sustainable Development Goals linked to international human rights law and to securing human rights in national frameworks?
In September 2015, the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) adopted the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). The SDGs are critically important as most international development efforts, from 2016 until 2030 —including those of donors, major development institutions, national governments and civil society—will likely be directed toward achieving these goals. The seventeen goals address poverty eradication, food security, education, gender equality, health, work, and other areas of human development, as well as economic growth, natural resource governance, and environmental protections. Each SDG is implemented via specific targets as well as indicators to measure progress toward each target.
The 2030 Agenda, which contains the SDGs, is explicitly grounded in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and international human rights treaties. The commitment to non-discrimination and to “leaving no one behind” is a reflection of this foundation in human rights. Additionally, the commitment to human rights is reflected throughout the goals and targets. The implementation of the Agenda 2030 lends itself to a HRBA, as it in many ways is based on HRBA principles for its implementation. Inclusion is a concept, which has become more prominent with the HRBA and is now strongly grounded in the SDGs goals and targets.
Human rights instruments and the 2030 Agenda are tied together in a mutually reinforcing way. Human rights offer guidance for the implementation of the 2030 Agenda, while the SDGs in turn contribute substantially to the realization of human rights.
It is a fatiguing exercise, or rather a much-unsolicited task to respond to Bruce Gilley in his innocuous article published in the ‘Third World Quarterly’ that makes a defensive overtone for colonialism. In fact, it can be seen as the exercise of reiterating violence that colonialism brought to former colonies, even when one understands the polemical article of Gilley has been written with a cheap publicity stunt. Nonetheless, there are some academics like – Gilley, who continue to champion the cause of recolonising through their assumed supremacy that figure into writings quite clearly. It is futile to dispute such claims on one level while outraging at other to write a response. The futility is borne out of constant manifestation of racism, and supremacy – not to be read only through the colour of the skin – but the positioning of the ‘west’ as the point of reference to any progressive imagination. The outrage, however; comes from the place being exposed to an intimate violation of the self. The violation was produced through the ‘academic writing’ of Gilley, whose reading of colonialism is informed by [a]historical factual details and indeed obtuse secondary texts. It is often possible through such sheer reductive reading, articulated by whitewashing the racial violence, and moral indignation caused to the formerly colonised subjects that we continue to witness newer modalities of colonial rule. Gilley’s article is what colonialism was, at least on the level of ideas, where ‘west’ continues to emerge as a point of reference for the world. The point about the moral indignation is pertinent at least, to the content of the article published in an otherwise reputed journal. It is morally indignant because the systemic violence of colonialism is only understood in a mechanical fashion of macro-economic form, and not as a system of cognitive damage. The colonialism was not only an economic expropriation machinery, but rather a site of most episodic violence on cultural frontiers as well. It refused the most basic forms of recognition to human and survived on the brutal cultivation of knowledge that produced abjection and collective apathy. It is in fact; a matter of grave concern, how do we allow such defamatory to find a place in otherwise reputed journals. The publication stands as the testimony to deep-seated hatred, misinformation and dull imaginative landscape of an author to produce their worldview of history.
In the age, where countless publications weigh academic credentials, and high ending project endorsements, Gilley’s article stands as a metaphor of systemic production of populist thinking and an attempt of enforcing a historical amnesia on colonial past. We are all exposed to a dark reality of academic writings, a particular kind of history falsifying that is no less than sensationalist journalism. Over past a week, online petitions are seeking for editor’s resignation that is now signed against Gilley’s article virtually through outlets of social media. This is, however; a minor representation of anger and insult, while larger cognitive damage continues to haunt the people with the history of colonial past, often much violently expressed by the worldview of Gilley.
* Rahul Ranjan is a PhD student at the School of Advanced Study, University of London and working on the memory of Adivasi (Indigenous peoples) resistance in the late 19th and early 20th century colonial India.
Annotation on Letter from KFX Burns South East Asian Department, 23 June 1981 in in UK Policy toward East Timor FCO15/2992, National Archives, United Kingdom.
The Quaker concept ‘Speaking truth to power’ is an approach based on the idea that it is an act of bearing public witness. There is also the hope that the information they present will shine a light on the darkness of hidden human rights abuses, crimes against humanity etc. and that the powerful to whom they speak may act. Depending on the place and location ‘speaking truth to power’ could be personally be dangerous, but why would this be so? If the ‘powerful’ are truly ignorant of crimes against humanity perhaps such testimony may force them into considering action. However, the act of bearing public witness becomes more profound when the ‘powerful’ reject human rights testimony precisely it is politically embarrassing. It is also very likely that the powerful often do not need to be informed about the ‘truth’ by outsiders regarding human rights abuses etc., they may already possess a much more complete appreciation of the situation. Human rights testimony in such situations (whether brutally supressed or by other softer measures) are undermined precisely because it is public testimony which embarrasses the powerful.
In some cases, human rights advocates face a range of obstacles to ever publishing their findings, others might face prison, torture or assassination. These advocates might be in locations where they are within reach of the very governments whose repression, torture and other human rights abuses create the environment which they study. In these places, it is perhaps to be expected that there is risk management in field research into human rights abuses. Advocates might then bring their findings back to secondary locations considered safe from physical harm (and presumably open to debate). There are other researchers working already in far safer locations who do not face such physical threats per say, but irrespective of the location of the researcher they might all face official tactics designed to undermine their findings. Softer official efforts to undermine human rights research certainly falls within the world of public relations or propaganda where advocates and researchers encounter sophisticated spin efforts and smears on their reputations.
East Timor – A Brief Case Study
In recent research in the National Archives (UK) regarding the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) and East Timor three things emerged repeatedly in the voluminous archival documents. The first was that the British had clear information (both from their own sources) and by liaison with friendly Embassies (such as the Australian) on almost all events and developments inside East Timor before and after the Indonesian invasion. Second, the British (like their Australian counterparts) were very well informed about numerous human rights abuses committed by the Indonesian military during and after the invasion. Third, the British (like their Australian counterparts) were committed to undermining the question of East Timorese human rights in favour of expanding diplomatic and economic relations with Jakarta. Here we have an example of nations particularly fond of lecturing others about human rights knowingly and flagrantly enabling crimes against humanity (if not genocide) to occur. The United States (who along with Australia, Britain, Japan, Europe and Canada etc.) were committed to expanding ties with the Suharto regime – the perpetrators of great crimes. Further, the US and UK (including Australia) maintained military ties, vital weapon sales and continuously provided diplomatic cover for the Indonesian military while it committed these crimes. Without such support (freely given and blatant in its near total ethical disregard for spirit of international law), the Indonesian military could never have seriously contemplated any war of aggression against East Timor let alone a 25-year occupation claiming the lives of up to 200,000 men, women and children.
Grassroots human rights advocacy on East Timor faced a major challenge in the UK (as it did in Australia and the US), but not because of the threat of official violence or oppression. The activities of the East Timorese Information Network for example in Australia (and similar organisations in Britain) assembled an impressive array of analysis and publications. Friends of East Timor groups (and other human rights advocates) in both nations were never short of information to highlight the plight of Portuguese Timor or physically prevented from making their information public. There are of course numerous individuals who tirelessly advocated and supported the cause of human rights in East Timor, many more then could be named in one short article. But a few examples highlight the detailed accuracy of the information they provided on the topic. For example, James Dunn whose research and analysis of Portuguese Timor (at all stages) highlighted the ethical issues at stake often in painstaking detail, or Carmel Budiardjo who founded the TAPOL organisation in 1973 who documented the clear and ongoing oppression suffered by political prisoners in Indonesia (and human rights abuses in East Timor, West Papua etc.) Others like Hugh Dowson whose personal commitment to human rights in East Timor not only inspired serious research uncovering the complicity of the British government, but conducted a 100 hour fast in order to bring attention to the cause. The late Andrew McNaughton was not only dedicated to the cause of human rights in East Timor risking his own life to document human rights abuses he produced documents demonstrating direct culpability of the Indonesian authorities.
Confidential Report in UK Policy toward East Timor FCO15/2992, National Archives, United Kingdom, 1981 (Page 10)
It is important to emphasise that the information about events in East Timor was most often highly accurate, this is not only demonstrated by the documentation with have in the present about what occurred between 1975 and during 1999 – when Indonesian authorities orchestrated one last crime against humanity following the independence referendum – but in the Australian, British and American archives. There were two shields which protected the perpetrators in East Timor, the first was that they were actively supported by the Australians, British, Americans, Japanese and Europeans etc.; the second was that the Indonesians were hostile to any independent witnesses (media or any other organisations) likely to report critically on what was occurring. Once in occupation, the Indonesians virtually cut East Timor off from the outside world (other than officially approved visitors).
Notoriously, five Australian, New Zealand and British journalists were deliberately murdered by Indonesian special forces (and axillaries) in Balibo during October 1975 while another Australian journalist Roger East was later murdered in Dili in December 1975 by Indonesian forces and thrown into the harbour. Despite the severe restrictions placed on East Timor (testimonies, refugees and other sources) continued to provide accurate information for human rights supporters and advocates outside. Journalists such as John Pilger even secretly entered the territory and filmed the documentary Death of a Nation highlighting not only the human rights catastrophe, but the complicity of the Australians, British and Americans. Other journalists such as Max Stahl and Amy Goodman were instrumental in filming and witnessing the Dili Massacre. However, there were also others extremely well informed about events within East Timor and Indonesia in general – the governments of Australia, Britain and the United States.
It is difficult to imagine from archival sources (particularly diplomatic) that there was much reported about East Timor from non-official sources that was unknown or particularly surprising to the Western diplomatic establishment. When ‘power’ is not only well informed about various crimes, but becomes actively complicit in these crimes then those ‘speaking truth to power’ merely become an irritation to be managed. From the very beginning (even before the Indonesian invasion) the concern regarding Indonesia was to continue building the relationship with President Suharto and the Indonesian military. Neither the massacres of 1965-1966 (where an army led slaughter of at least 500,000 people occurred), or The Act of Free Choice in West Papua in 1969, had dented the enthusiasm of Canberra, London or Washington for Suharto. Reports of the massacres and oppression in West Papua becoming little more than a public relations issue. There was no intention of ever seriously pressing Suharto or the Indonesian military over their human rights record. Therefore, East Timor merely continued an established paradigm around the relationship with Suharto which was the primary concern irrespective. The publication of critical material highlighting human rights abuses and crimes against humanity in East Timor (as it was elsewhere) was problematic because Canberra, London, Washington etc. were determined to carry on the relationship with Jakarta.
Crimes against humanity as serious as what had already occurred in 1965-1966, West Papua and then later East Timor could each have warranted prosecutions under international law and justified the diplomatic isolation of Suharto’s Indonesia. The rationale for adhering to international law being more than an adequate explanation for punishing the perpetrators of these crimes. There is an important difference, Indonesia under Suharto and the military were cultivated as an important diplomatic and strategic ally and “their crimes” were not merely ignored they were supported. Therefore, information highlighting the reality of Indonesia’s human rights record (and its array of crimes in East Timor) were to be managed while trying to minimise potential diplomatic damage. This pattern was held virtually until the very end of Indonesian rule in 1999, and only broken then when the public outcry over Indonesian actions following the referendum demanded action. Within the Australian or British documents there seems to have been very little internal questioning about the ethical or moral propriety of associating so closely (economically, militarily, or diplomatically) with those responsible for a systematic crime against humanity for such a long period of time (1975-1999).
In examining Australian and British diplomatic documents on Portuguese Timor, the major concern of the Australian and British governments was clearly not ‘human rights’ or ‘international law’, but the relationship with Suharto. Although Suharto is long gone, the Indonesian military continue an established pattern of abuses in West Papua. The question of ‘human rights’ were largely irrelevant to official policies apart from (as already noted) the question of the public embarrassment certain revelations might cause. Human rights abuses in East Timor committed by the Indonesian military and security forces were known to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) and others. Archival documents show beyond any shadow of doubt that the British had little to no concern about what the Indonesians would and then did do in East Timor. Even the deliberate murder of two British journalists, (members of The Balibo Five) was treated as a potential public relations obstacle. So much so, that despite two of the murdered journalists being UK born, the British wanted nothing to do with the matter leaving all responsibility for investigation to Canberra. The Australians of course had little bureaucratic or diplomatic enthusiasm to confront the perpetrators of the crime, and only the potential public outcry (and ongoing advocacy) forced them to carry out any investigations at all. The inadequacies of Australian investigations (or cover up) were clearly demonstrated by the Pinch Coronial Enquiry into the death of Brian Peters.
FCO Guidance for Government MPs and Peers Supplementary Questions (on East Timor) in UK Policy toward East Timor FCO15/2992, National Archives, United Kingdom, 1981.
The British archival documents also show the PR strategies of the FCO designed to undermine human rights advocacy on East Timor, cast doubts over Indonesian human rights allegations, and minimise public knowledge regarding the true intentions of British foreign policy. At the core of these were British trade relations with Jakarta (particularly opportunities to sell UK arms). This PR strategy required no serious questioning of the information provided about human rights allegations, instead the FCO could smear the reputations of human rights advocates such as James Dunn or Carmel Budiardjo with internal gossip and hearsay. Detailed human rights allegations were belittled as not being particularly serious, that the worst of these excesses had now passed and things were improving, or that advocates for East Timor were in some way driven by an irrational or unreasonable mission. The PR strategy revealed in the British archival documents is striking, in some cases the FCO seemingly sought out the Indonesians themselves about human rights allegations. Presumably the Indonesians could then supply the FCO their rebuttals (which would naturally be quoted in official correspondence). The FCO also provided detailed internal information guidance to various politicians to help shape answers regarding East Timor and human rights. A particularly ferocious advocate defending the Indonesians was Baroness Vickers in the House of Lords.
While public declarations of Britain’s long standing commitment to international law and principles of self-determination were reassuring, they were a gross misrepresentation of the true British position on East Timor. The FCO reaction to queries and reports about the human rights situation in East Timor sought to explore ways to sideline and indeed publicly sidestep the validity of the criticisms, but again they understood very well from a range of sources (including their own) most of these reports highlighted real abuses. The ongoing dedication of those supporting human rights in East Timor were then an irritation to be managed, and for a great deal of the period in question, the public profile of East Timor was not high in mainstream coverage. Sir Allan E. Donald, Assistant Under Secretary FCO Asia/Far East, South East Asia (1980-84) and later Ambassador to Indonesia (1984-1988) annotated a 1981 FCO document highlighting the lack of media interest in East Timor. This was no doubt pleasing to the FCO.
In terms of sheer scale the atrocities committed by the Indonesians between 1975 and 1980 alone, the ability to overlook such crimes against humanity required great commitment from the Australians, British and Americans to maintain their relationship with the perpetrators. At least 80,000 Timorese (possibly much higher) died as a direct and indirect result of the Indonesian invasion and occupation during these years alone. In that time the Australians, British and Americans had not only acquiesced to the Indonesian invasion, provided diplomatic and material support for the occupation, they also sought to further their own interests by expanding the relationship with Suharto. For the British and Americans, this involved the sale of weapons which would be used directly in East Timor and West Papua. For the Australians, this would involve providing de jure recognition of the Indonesian occupation in return for beginning negotiations over maritime boundaries in 1979. By closing the Timor Gap, the Australians would eventually gain access to Timorese oil and gas. Archival documents show that the British were concerned to explain to the Indonesians that while they supported (and indeed agreed with the Australians moves from 1978 to offer de facto recognition and then de jure recognition in 1979), they could never publicly do likewise. Publicly the British would maintain the fiction of supporting the principle of self-determination, privately they would do nothing to regarding the Indonesian occupation of East Timor. The British wanted the Indonesians to understand that they wished to avoid any UK overseas territories or colonies coming under scrutiny regarding self-determination. The lives of the East Timorese being obviously irrelevant to such thinking.
In no page of the many documents examined at the UK National Archives is there even the slightest concern or contrition over the fate of the East Timorese – only the problem of how to continue the relationship with the perpetrators. There is little doubt that East Timor is more significant demographically and statistically than many other terrible modern examples often labelled ‘genocides’ or ‘ethnic cleansing’. It is telling that human rights advocates discussed in the FCO documents provided information that was not only highly accurate at the time events were occurring, but that governments (all well informed of the realities of East Timor) remained steadfast in their determination to ignore their work. Human rights advocates therefore should not assume that in speaking truth to power they speak to the ignorant – as Noam Chomsky has noted – such people already possess a far more complete truth particularly when they are closely complicit to the crime. However, in bearing public witness this can be a catalyst for public action and organisation. Continued advocacy highlights that those hoping to hide their complicity behind weasel words find this advocacy simultaneously irritating, provocative, and potentially personally embarrassing. It is therefore important to carefully document the true record of ‘power’ over issues like East Timor reminding those who would prefer to forget their actions of their selective disregard for human rights in pursuit of base self-interest.
*Dr Adam Hughes Henry is a visiting fellow at the Human Rights Consortium, School of Advanced Study and has been investigating British documents related to human rights abuses in East Timor.