Gender and Civil Society (Routledge Advances in International Relations and Globalpolitics)

Gender and Civil Society

Over the last two decades there has been considerable enthusiasm for the concept of civil society amongst researchers, practitioners and activists. Despite this enthusiasm for the concept, however, the gendered nature of civil society and the impact of feminist organising on civil society has received minimal attention. Gender and Civil Society seeks to address this gap and considers: •

• •

How does the political environment and nature of the state shape the way women organise, the issues they address, and their capacity to affect changes in state policies on gender? Is the women’s movement structurally different from other civil society organisations? Does the gender lens alter our vision of civil society?

The chapters in this volume each pursue two or more of these questions and cover a diversity of contexts, including the US, East and Central Europe, China, the Middle East, Africa, South East Asia, Central America and Chile. This book not only draws together the concepts of gender and civil society, but also adopts an international perspective, highlighting the diverse trajectories of women organising in different country contexts and the historical, cultural and political specificities of civil society. Jude Howell is Professor and Director of the Centre for Civil Society at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Diane Mulligan is a freelance gender and development consultant based in Indonesia.

Routledge advances in international relations and global politics

1 Foreign Policy and Discourse Analysis France, Britain and Europe Henrik Larsen 2 Agency, Structure and International Politics From ontology to empirical enquiry Gil Friedman and Harvey Starr 3 The Political Economy of Regional Co-operation in the Middle East Ali Carkoglu, Mine Eder and Kemal Kirisci 4 Peace Maintenance The evolution of international political authority Jarat Chopra 5 International Relations and Historical Sociology Breaking down boundaries Stephen Hobden 6 Equivalence in Comparative Politics Edited by Jan W. van Deth 7 The Politics of Central Banks Robert Elgie and Helen Thompson 8 Politics and Globalisation Knowledge, ethics and agency Martin Shaw 9 History and International Relations Thomas W. Smith

10 Idealism and Realism in International Relations Robert M.A. Crawford 11 National and International Conflicts, 1945–1995 New empirical and theoretical approaches Frank Pfetsch and Christoph Rohloff 12 Party Systems and Voter Alignments Revisited Edited by Lauri Karvonen and Stein Kuhnle 13 Ethics, Justice and International Relations Constructing an international community Peter Sutch 14 Capturing Globalization Edited by James H. Mittelman and Norani Othman 15 Uncertain Europe Building a new European security order? Edited by Martin A. Smith and Graham Timmins 16 Power, Postcolonialism and International Relations Reading race, gender and class Edited by Geeta Chowdhry and Sheila Nair 17 Constituting Human Rights Global civil society and the society of democratic states Mervyn Frost 18 US Economic Statecraft for Survival 1933–1991 Of sanctions, embargoes and economic warfare Alan P. Dobson 19 The EU and NATO Enlargement Richard McAllister and Roland Dannreuther 20 Spatializing International Politics Analysing activism on the internet Jayne Rodgers 21 Ethnonationalism in the Contemporary World Walker Connor and the study of Nationalism Edited by Daniele Conversi 22 Meaning and International Relations Edited by Peter Mandaville and Andrew Williams

23 Political Loyalty and the Nation State Edited by Michael Waller and Andrew Linklater 24 Russian Foreign Policy and the CIS Theories, debates and actions Nicole J. Jackson 25 Asia and Europe Development and different dimensions of ASEM Yeo Lay Hwee 26 Global Instability and Strategic Crisis Neville Brown 27 Africa in International Politics External involvement on the continent Edited by Ian Taylor and Paul Williams 28 Global Governmentality Governing international spaces Edited by Wendy Larner and William Walters 29 Political Learning and Citizenship Education under Conflict The political socialization of Israeli and Palestinian youngsters Orit Ichilov 30 Gender and Civil Society Transcending boundaries Edited by Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan

Gender and Civil Society Transcending boundaries

Edited by Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan

First published 2005 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004. © 2005 Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors their contributions All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Gender and civil society : transcending boundaries / edited by Jude Howell and Diane Mulligan. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Women in public life. 2. Women in community organization. 3. Civil society. 4. Feminist theory. I. Howell, Jude. II. Mulligan, Diane. HQ1390.g43 2004 305.42–dc22 2004006995 ISBN 0-203-42040-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-68101-0 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-33574-4 (Print Edition)

Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors Preface Acknowledgements Abbreviations

1 Introduction

ix x xiv xv xvi

1

JUDE HOWELL

2 Gender, civil society and women’s movements in Central and Eastern Europe

23

BARBARA EINHORN AND CHARLIE SEVER

3 Women’s organisations and civil society in China: making a difference

54

JUDE HOWELL

4 Women in movement: transformations in African political landscapes

78

AILI MARI TRIPP

5 Gender and civil society in the Middle East

101

NADJE S. AL-ALI

6 The discourse of Dangdut: gender and civil society in Indonesia

117

DIANE MULLIGAN

7 Chilean feminism(s) in the 1990s: paradox of an unfinished transition MARCELA RÍOS-TOBAR

139

viii

Contents

8 The impact of feminist civil society and political alliances on gender policies in Mexico

163

LINDA S. STEVENSON

9 The dimensions and policy impact of feminist civil society: democratic policy-making on violence against women in the fifty US States

196

S. LAUREL WELDON

10 Who is the real civil society? Women’s groups versus pro-family groups at the International Criminal Court negotiations

222

MARLIES GLASIUS

11 Conclusion

242

JUDE HOWELL

Index

253

Illustrations

Figures 8.1 10.1

Rhetorical–symbolic–material policy process scale Women’s groups at Rome – geographical distribution

177 227

Tables 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 9.1 9.2

Percentages and numbers of female deputies and senators in Mexico, 1970–2003 Key actions by gender politics actors on six policy issues, 1978–2000 Policy actions on the rhetorical, symbolic and material policy scale Political actors and ranking of policy actions on RSM scale The dimensions of feminist civil society in the US States component matrix Regression coefficients – state government responsiveness to violence against women, US States, 1999–2000

169 175 178 179 207 212

Contributors

Nadje Al-Ali is a lecturer in social anthropology at the Institute of Arab & Islamic Studies at the University of Exeter. Her research interests range from women’s movements and civil society in the Middle East to issues related to Muslim migrants and refugees. Her recent research revolves around gender, transnational activism and political transition in Iraq. Her publications include Gender, Secularism and the State in the Middle East: The Egyptian Women’s Movement (Cambridge University Press 2000) and New Approaches to Migration: Transnational Communities and the Transformation of Home (edited volume with Khalid Koser, Routledge 2002). She is a member of Women in Black UK and a founding member of Act Together: Women’s Action on Iraq. Barbara Einhorn is Director of the Research Centre in Women’s Studies at the University of Sussex, Associate Editor of The European Journal of Women’s Studies and a member of the editorial board of the International Feminist Journal of Politics and the Asian Journal of Women’s Studies. Her research focuses on gender and citizenship; also gender, nation and identity in narratives of exile and return. She has acted as a consultant on gender to the United Nations women’s programme (UNIFEM), to the International Labour Organisation (ILO) and to the World Bank. She is author of Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe (Verso 1993), co-editor (with Eileen Yeo) of Women and Market Societies: Crisis and Opportunity (Edward Elgar 1995), and (with Mary Kaldor and Zdenek Kavan) of Citizenship and Democratic Control in Contemporary Europe (Edward Elgar 1996). She has guest edited two special journal issues, one on ‘Gender, ethnicity and nationalism’ for Women’s Studies International Forum, 19(1–2), 1996, and one (with Jeanne Gregory) on ‘The idea of Europe’ for The European Journal of Women’s Studies, 5(3–4), 1998. Marlies Glasius is a lecturer in the Management of NGOs at the Centre for Civil Society and a Research Officer at the Centre for the Study of Global Governance, London School of Economics and Political Science. Her research concerns both the theory and practice of global

Contributors

xi

civil society, and its relationship to international law, particularly human rights law. In particular, it concentrates on the working of transnational advocacy networks; the precarious relations between grassroots and elite civil society groups; and the influence of civil society on international law-making. Her present work concentrates on the influence of global civil society on the International Criminal Court, on human security and on social forums. Previous work has focused on human rights in Indonesia and East Timor under Soeharto. In 1999 she published Foreign Policy on Human Rights: Its Influence on Indonesia under Soeharto (Intersentia). Forthcoming publications include The International Criminal Court: A Global Civil Society Achievement (2005), and Exploring Civil Society: Political and Cultural Contexts (Routledge 2003), co-edited with David Lewis and Hakan Seckinelgin. Jude Howell is Professor and Director of the Centre for Civil Society, Department of Social Policy, at the London School of Economics and Political Science. Prior to that she was a Fellow at the Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex, UK. She is author with Jenny Pearce of Civil Society and Development: A Critical Exploration (Lynne Rienner Inc. 2000), with Gordon White and Shang Xiaoyuan of In Search of Civil Society: Market Reform and Social Change in Contemporary China (Clarendon Press 1996), and sole author of China Opens its Doors: The Politics of Economic Transition (Lynne Rienner Inc. 1993). Her most recent book is Governance in China, published in 2004 by Rowman and Littlefield Publishers. She has written extensively on issues of civil society and organising around gender, both generally, and specifically in relation to China. She has also conducted research in China on labour organisations, the impact of state enterprise reform on female workers, village governance, female political participation, political reform and organising around marginalised interests. Her current research projects include gender and civil society, a study of female political participation and local governance, and the impact of China’s entry into the WTO on labour organisation. Diane Mulligan was the sole research coordinator of the civil society and governance programme at the Institute of Development Studies (1998–2001), which was funded by the Ford Foundation. She presented an overview of the research on gender and civil society at the final conference held at the University of Amsterdam in 2000. She initiated the proposal for a published volume on the theme of gender and civil society and took the lead role in organising the agreement for a special issue in the International Journal of Feminist Politics. Her academic interest in feminism dates from her first degree in Women’s Studies at Queen’s University Belfast, for which she gained first class honours. In her final year she won a scholarship to design and implement a Women’s Studies course in ‘International Women’s Movements and

xii

Contributors Collective Action’, which has formed part of the Women’s Studies degree course at the university. She has subsequently been a gender advisor on development research in Madagascar. She is currently a freelance consultant in Indonesia specialising in gender and development.

Marcela Ríos-Tobar is a sociologist, with an MA in Social Sciences from the Latin American Faculty of Social Sciences (FLACSO-Mexico), and currently concluding PhD studies in political science at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. She has been a researcher in the Program on Women, Citizenship and Public Policies at the Centro de Estudios de la Mujer, CEM (Center for Women’s Studies) in Santiago, Chile, since 1994. She has conducted research on issues such as state–society relations in the implementation of gender policies, the institutionalisation of gender policies, women’s collective action and participation in the public sphere; and has served as an aid to the National Women’s Service as well as other public and private institutions both nationally and internationally. She is author of ¿Un Nuevo Silencio Feminista? la Transformación de un movimiento social en el Chile posdictadura (Cuarto Propio 2004) and several articles and book chapters on related topics. Charlotte Sever has a BA in English Literature and an MA in Women’s Studies from the University of Sussex. She has worked for CHANGE, a women’s human rights NGO, and currently works for the Gender and Development Information Service at the Institute of Development Studies, Brighton, UK. Her recent research interests have been around civil society mobilisation, East Central Europe in transformation and lesbian political identities. Linda S. Stevenson is Assistant Professor of Political Science and Director of Latin American Studies at West Chester University of Pennsylvania, where she teaches Latin American Culture and Politics, Comparative Politics and International Relations. She has published articles in English and Spanish on the intersection of democratisation, social movements, women in politics and gendered public policies in Mexico and Latin America in edited compilations and journals. Her other research interests include the impact of the North American Free Trade Agreement on women workers in Mexico, Mexican immigration to the US and economic integration policies in the western hemisphere. Aili Mari Tripp is Associate Dean of International Studies, Director of the Women’s Studies Research Center, and Professor of Political Science and Women’s Studies at the University of Wisconsin–Madison. She is author of Women and Politics in Uganda (University of Wisconsin Press 2000) and Changing the Rules: The Politics of Liberalization and the Urban Informal Economy in Tanzania (University of California Press 1997). She has edited Sub-Saharan Africa: The Greenwood Encyclopedia of Women’s

Contributors

xiii

Issues Worldwide (Greenwood Press 2003), and co-edited (with Joy Kwesiga) The Women’s Movement in Uganda: History, Challenges and Prospects (Fountain Publishers 2002) as well as What Went Right in Tanzania? People’s Responses to Directed Development (with Marja-Liisa Swantz, University of Dar es Salaam Press 1996). She has also published numerous articles and book chapters on women and politics in Africa; women’s responses to economic reform; and the political impact of transformations of associational life in Africa. S. Laurel Weldon is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Purdue University. She is the author of Protest, Policy and Violence against Women: A Cross-national Comparison (University of Pittsburgh Press 2002). She has also published articles on structural sources of political representation for women (‘Beyond bodies: institutional sources of representation for women in democratic policymaking’, Journal of Politics, 64(4), 2002) and on how changes in the living wage movement could affect single parent families in the United States (‘From living wages to family wages’, New Political Science, 26(1), 2004). Current research aims to fashion an approach to policy analysis that takes account of social relations of marginalisation (such as gender, race, and class). One part of this project focuses on transnational movements against gender violence, racism and sweatshops, while another focuses on efforts to recognise disadvantaged groups in policy and policy analysis (e.g. affirmative action, gender-based analysis).

Preface

It is curious that researchers engaged in furthering understanding about on the one hand civil society and on the other hand gender have rarely entered each others’ intellectual territories. For civil society theorists the nearest they have got to gender issues is in positing the family as one of the boundary markers of civil society, and a boundary that is defining but otherwise uninteresting. For many feminist theorists the notion of and debates about civil society have seemed irrelevant, not least because for them civil society has not been a significant organising category. This is all the more curious when one considers how the spaces, organisations and forums of civil society have served as arenas for women activists across the world, contemporarily and historically, to articulate and organise around their demands for gender equality. This book seeks to address this gulf between gender studies and civil society studies by exploring women’s organising in the theatres of civil societies. In particular it is concerned with four key issues: how does the political environment and nature of the state affect women’s organising? How can women influence state policy on gender? Is there anything distinctive about women’s organisations, compared with other civil society groups? Finally, does a gender lens alter the way we view civil society? These issues are addressed by drawing upon a rich array of case studies from across the world, ranging from sub-Saharan Africa to China. This book on gender and civil society has its roots in a large-scale research project on civil society and governance conducted by the Institute of Development Studies, UK, in collaboration with partners in 22 countries, between 1998 and 2001. The project was funded by the Ford Foundation. Of the 200 case studies of civil society and governance, 17 focused on gender and civil society. This volume draws upon some of these case studies, namely the Middle East, sub-Saharan Africa, Chile and Central and Eastern Europe. All the other contributions to this volume (China, Indonesia, USA, Mexico, International Criminal Court) were solicited after project end so as to provide a more comprehensive analysis and comparison of gender and civil society in different country contexts.

Acknowledgements

The editors of this book would like to acknowledge the support provided by the Ford Foundation to make possible the initial research. All the chapters in this book have been refereed by at least two external reviewers and we are very grateful to the numerous anonymous reviewers who scrutinised carefully the initial drafts of the contributors and offered valuable advice. We are also grateful to the International Feminist Journal of Politics for permitting us to reproduce those contributions, which appeared in the special issue on Gender and Civil Society in 2003. Since then those authors have updated and/or considerably altered their contributions for this volume. We also express our gratitude to Nisrine Mansour for her excellent work in compiling the bibliography, cross-checking references and scrutinising the manuscript for last-minute errors. Finally, we should thank Heidi Bagtazo and Grace McInnes of Routledge for their patience and support.

Abbreviations

ACFTU ACWF AFN ANAMURI BAWATA CCIC CCP CEDAW COVAC

FAWE FEMPRESS FGM FIDA GDR ICC ICPD KANU MUI MYW NAFTA NAO NARAL NCWD NCWS NGO NOW NUEW PAN

All-China Federation of Trades Unions All-China Women’s Federation Association des Femmes de Niger Association of Rural and Indigenous Women Tanzanian Women’s Council NGO Coalition for an International Court Chinese Communist Party Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women Asociación Mexicana Contra la Violencia hacia las Mujeres, A.C. (Mexican Association Confronting Violence Against Women) Forum for African Women’s Educationalists Women’s Alternative Communication Network in Latin America Female genital mutilation International Federation of Women’s Lawyers German Democratic Republic International Criminal Court International Conference for Population and Development Kenya African National Union Council of Ulamas Maendeleo Ya Wanawake North America Free Trade Agreement National administrative organisation National Abortion Rights Action League National Council for Women and Development National Council of Women’s Societies Non-governmental organisation National Organisation for Women National Union of Eritrean Women Partido Acción Nacional (National Action Party)

Abbreviations PCD PKK PLO PNDC PNI PRD PrepCom PRI PSUM PVO REAL REMOS REPEM RIDEM SERNAM UN US-NIS UWESO UWONET UWT WILDAF WIN WNC YWCA

xvii

Partido Convergencia Democrática (Party of Democratic Convergence) Guidance for Family Welfare Palestinian Liberation Organisation Provisional National Defence Council Partai Nasional Indonesia Partido de la Revolución Democrática (Party of Democratic Revolution) Preparatory Committee Partido Revolucionario Institutional (Institutional Revolutionary Party) Partido Socialista Unificado de Mexico (United Socialist Party of Mexico) Private voluntary organisation Realistic Active For Life Network of Women’s Social Organisations Women’s Network of Popular Education Information Network on the Rights of Women National Woman’s Service United Nations United States-Newly Independent States Uganda Women’s Effort to Save Orphans Uganda Women’s Network Umoja wa Wanawake wa Tanzania Women in Law and Development Women in Nigeria Women’s National Coalition Young Women’s Christian Association

1

Introduction Jude Howell

In revitalising the concept of civil society to express their frustrations with and critique of actually existing state socialism, East European intellectuals could not have anticipated that their choice of concept would resonate so forcefully across geographical, intellectual and ideological boundaries. Despite recurrent critique of the usefulness of the term, civil society continues to appeal to a wide range of institutional and social actors in a variety of political and country contexts. In the field of political science, its projection has promoted the further study of changing forms of collective action, the politics of the public and the processes of democratisation. In development theory and practice, the encounter with the concept of civil society has provoked a paradigmatic shift in thinking away from the dichotomous problematic of state versus market towards a triadic model of state, market and civil society (Howell and Pearce 2001). This in turn has been accompanied by a proliferation of civil society strengthening programmes, funds and projects, which have tended to depoliticise the concept.1 Yet despite this enthusiasm for the concept of civil society amongst researchers, practitioners and activists, there has been surprisingly little interrogation of the relationship between gender and civil society, either within feminist or civil society theories.2 Within civil society theory the point of engagement around gender and civil society has centred on whether the family is, or is not, part of civil society, though this is not an issue that has aroused great passion. Whilst some theorists conceptualise the family or household3 as outside of and separate from civil society and the state, others include the family within civil society.4 Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment thinkers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as Rousseau, Ferguson, Paine and de Tocqueville, counterposed civil society not only to the state but also to the family, though they paid little attention to the latter. In their conceptualisations of individual rights, freedom and civil society, they operated with a gendered notion of the public based on the abstract individual male. For Hegel, the (patriarchal) family and the state form the two hierarchical poles between which civil society is located. As economic relations are

2

Jude Howell

integral to civil society, civil society is defined as both non-state and nonfamily. Hegel excludes the family from civil society, not only because the family is the first context in which the abstract legal person is situated, but also because the family is assumed to be a unity, based on love, without any conflict between its members, and from which its (male) head enters the world of civil society (Cohen and Arato 1995: 628–631, footnote 48). It is now common amongst contemporary writers on civil society to continue to use, implicitly or explicitly, the Hegelian distinction between family and civil society5 (see, for example, Diamond 1994: 5; White 1994: 379; Van Rooy 1998: 6–30; Carothers 1999: 207; Hawthorn 2001: 269–286). One of the few contemporary writers to engage more systematically with the family in relation to civil society, public spheres and the state is Juergen Habermas. In his discussion of the transformation of the eighteenth century bourgeois public sphere, Juergen Habermas distinguishes the family from civil society (understood as the realm of commodity exchange and social labour) and state. For Habermas (1989: 46–47) the family is both a precursor to civil society and a site of intimacy that maintains the illusion of autonomy, voluntariness and humanity, despite its embeddedness in the market economy, its role in reproducing social norms and values, and patriarchal authority. In tracing the decline of the bourgeois public sphere through the processes of urbanisation, the rise of the welfare state and mass democracy, Habermas (1989: 154–155) paints a picture of a weakening, income-dependent and consumerist family that loses its functions of social internalisation and welfare protection and becomes increasingly disengaged from social production. Though the family forms an important element in Habermas’ account of the transformation of the public sphere, and therefore distinguishes Habermas from many contemporary writers on civil society, feminist thinkers such as Joan Landes, Mary Ryan and Nancy Fraser have challenged the normative ideal of a (bourgeois) public sphere as open and accessible to all. Joan Landes (1988) argues that gender became the main axis of exclusion in the new republican public sphere in France through discursive practices that belittled women’s participation in political life. Mary Ryan (1996: 259–288) challenges Habermas’ depiction of a decline of the bourgeois public sphere by documenting the movement of North American women into politics from the early nineteenth century onwards. In doing so she subverts the masculinist, bourgeois concept of a single public sphere and highlights the profusion of counter-publics that were neither liberal, bourgeois, nor necessarily male. In defence of the normative concept of public spheres in actually existing democracies, Nancy Fraser (1997: 136–137) argues that any adequate conception of the public sphere has not only to bracket social differences such as gender but also to eliminate social inequality. Some contemporary political theorists view the family as an integral part of civil society. Jean Cohen (1998: 37), for instance, places the family

Introduction

3

within civil society, which he in turn distinguishes from the economy and state.6 In their discussion of Hegel’s exclusion of the family from civil society, Cohen and Arato (1995: 631, footnote 48) argue that the family should be included in civil society as ‘its first association’. By conceiving the family in egalitarian terms, the family then offers a primary experience of the principles of ‘horizontal solidarity, collective identity and equal participation’ that form the basis of other forms of civil society association and, more broadly, political life. Such a portrayal of the family, however, ignores the power relations and hierarchies prevalent within families, often along gender and intergenerational lines, and overlooks the problems of exploitation, violence and abuse within families. However, political theorists have not been overly concerned with the conceptual difficulties of marking the divide between family and civil society. The debate as to whether the family is or is not part of civil society is held at the most superficial level. Once a line is drawn, the theorist enquires no further as to what this might mean for the way civil society is constructed in gender terms. On the contrary, theorists’ prime interest has been in defining sharply the boundaries between civil society and other key conceptual categories, and in particular the state and market, whereby the family is a defining but uninteresting boundary. Indeed, in many discussions of civil society and the state the family is not even mentioned. By treating the family as of only residual interest in the pursuit of understanding the more important and higher-level relations between state, civil society and market, civil society theorists have failed to grasp the engendering effects of conceptual categories, and of civil society in particular. Not only are the concepts of ‘family’ and ‘household’ treated as unproblematic,7 but contemporary civil society theorists have failed to take on board the vast body of feminist work that has exposed the gendered assumptions underpinning political theory over the last three centuries,8 an exception perhaps being Steven DeLue’s survey of political theory and civil society, which includes a chapter on feminist responses to civil society.9 The feminist political theorist Anne Phillips, for example, draws attention to the seemingly innocent but highly gendered view of the public and the private apparent in Hegel’s work. In the Philosophy of Rights Hegel depicts women as having their ‘substantive destiny’ in the family, whilst men’s lives were played out in the state and civil society (Hegel 1967, paragraph 166, cited in Anne Phillips 2002: 72). Carole Pateman (1988b: 114) exposes the patriarchal underpinnings in the works of contract theorists such as Locke and Rousseau, who, in Pateman’s words, see women as ‘unable to transcend their bodily natures in the manner required of individuals who are to . . . uphold the universal laws of civil society’. Though political correctness might inhibit many civil society theorists from expressing such an explicit view on gender and the public/private

4

Jude Howell

today, the silence on gender and civil society suggests a more pervasive hegemonic framing that acquiesces rather than challenges the gendered relations of civil society. Civil society is discussed as though gender is irrelevant.10 Such a perspective implicitly reinforces the notion that the public is the natural domain of the male and the family that of the female. Similarly, the inclusion of economic relations within civil society in the writings of eighteenth and nineteenth century political thinkers such as Ferguson, Tocqueville, Hegel and Marx, in turn discursively reinforced the separation of the political economy (and later classical and neoclassical economics) from the household economy, thereby masking the structural interrelations between the domestic sphere, civil society and capitalist economy. In challenging these gendered dichotomies, feminist thinkers have also criticised the narrow and dominant understanding of politics which excludes the private domestic world. Instead they have argued for a broader conceptualisation of politics that extends beyond the study of formal political institutions to include all aspects of social life (McClure 1992: 346). Had civil society theorists engaged more with the feminist problematisation of the public/private divide, they might have been better equipped conceptually to explore how the family shapes norms and practices in the sphere of civil society, and how gendered power relations pervade the spheres of state, market, civil society and family. This might have led civil society theorists to lavish more attention on issues of power and subordination within the realm of civil society, thereby introducing caution into debates that portray civil society as the realm of the benign, virtuous and harmonious, in contrast to the venal, oppressive state. Moreover, it might have steered civil society theory and discussion away from definitional marathons towards a more productive focus on the interconnectedness, fluidity and permeability of spheres. Whilst civil society theorists have not scrutinised civil society from a gender perspective, feminist theorists, too, have not engaged to any great extent with theoretical debates about civil society.11 This is not least because, as Anne Phillips (2002: 72) puts it, ‘Civil society is not a significant organising category for feminists, and rarely figures in the feminist taxonomy’. For feminist thinkers the key conceptual divide lies between the public (state, market and civil society) and the private (family). Yet, given the ambiguity in political theory around public and private, this dichotomy could have provided an opportunity for feminist and civil society theorists to engage in a common dialogue. In political theory, as Susan Moller Okin (1991: 68–70) points out, the dichotomy is laden with ambiguities in its points of reference and meanings. In one rendering the dichotomy distinguishes between state and society, as in the familiar public and private property divide; in another rendering it distinguishes between the domestic and the non-domestic (see also Pateman 1988b: 102 for a further discussion of this). These different interpretations in turn

Introduction

5

have implications for the positioning of civil society. In the first rendering civil society is understood as part of the private, whilst in the second interpretation it is part of the public. As Jonathan Hearn (2001: 342) notes, civil society ‘is sometimes treated as primarily a matter of private interactions, especially in regard to the market, and sometimes as primarily a matter of publicness and the formation of collective identities and agendas’. Though in feminist theory the public/private divide is a significant organising category, there are as diverse a range of positions on whether the family is or is not part of civil society as amongst civil society theorists. For some feminists the public world of civil society is as excluding to women as the concept and institutions of the state. The dominant framing of civil society as in opposition to the state and the subsequent discussions around the definitional boundaries between civil society, state and market appear irrelevant and uninteresting to many feminists, for whom the family figures larger in importance than the public (state, civil society and market). Moreover, for many feminists it is not the demarcation of boundaries that is analytically important or interesting, but understanding how the relations between males and females in the family shape the norms, practices and behaviours in the public realm – that is, in state, civil society and market institutions (Phillips 2002: 73–75). For others, though, the family does form an integral part of civil society. Carole Pateman (1989: 132–133, quoted in Phillips 2002: 88), for example, views the sphere of domestic life as ‘at the heart of civil society rather than apart or separate from it’. Similarly Drude Dahlerup (1994) likewise includes the family within civil society, though gives no justification for her position. However, whether or not the family constitutes part of civil society has not been a prime focus of analytic interest within feminist theory. There are many reasons why it is time to interrogate more fully the relationship between gender and civil society. The first, and perhaps most obvious, reason is that women have been significant actors in the theatres of civil societies across the world. Often excluded from state institutions and male-dominated politics, women in different historical and cultural contexts have found it easier to become active at the local level through, for example, community organisations, self-help groups, traders’ associations, faith-based organisations, mothers’ groups or campaigning organisations. It is on this terrain that feminists have articulated their demands, mobilised around issues such as the right to vote, dowry, land rights and domestic violence, and created networks of solidarity. The spaces and institutions within civil society can be excluding to women, but they also have an emancipatory potential, which feminists can and do make use of. Given the centrality of civil society to feminists as a space for association, for the articulation of interests, for ideological contestation, it is

6

Jude Howell

important that we theorise these spaces from a feminist perspective, and the language of civil society can be useful in this endeavour. In the past, feminist theorists have used the language of social movements, struggle and emancipation to frame their understanding of women’s activism. As a result there is a rich, empirical treasury of historical, structural and analytic accounts of the rise of women’s movements in a diversity of contexts. Feminist researchers focused on women’s movements apart from the broader context of civil society, whilst civil society theorists referred to women’s activism to illustrate the dynamism and vibrancy of empirical civil societies. Yet there are surprisingly few studies of how such movements and forms of collective action impinge more generally upon the spaces, organisations and regulatory frameworks governing civil society; nor of how the regulatory frameworks governing civil society, the organisational composition and forms of civil society, the range of issues and values espoused by civil society actors in turn affect the way women organise. In what ways, if at all, do women organise differently to men in civil society? As civil society is a broader concept than social movements, it allows the possibility of exploring these larger questions about how spaces for collective action are used, how they become politicised and how they are gendered. Second, civil society is a double-edged sword for feminists. It can provide a site for organising around feminist issues, for articulating counter-hegemonic discourses, for experimenting with alternative lifestyles and for envisioning other less sexist and more just worlds. With its organisations of self-support, community action and voluntary care, it can foster solidarity, promote mutual support and prioritise values of care, respect and equality. Yet it can also be an arena where gendered behaviours, norms and practices are acted out and reproduced. As Anne Phillips (2002: 80) warns, the associations of civil society are relatively unregulated when compared to the state, and therefore vulnerable to sexist and other discriminatory practices.12 Civil society can be the terrain of conservative ideologies that foster women’s dependency in the constricted space of the family as well as of emancipatory ideologies that aspire to gender equality. We need therefore to interrogate the positioning of women in civil society. Why is it that women form the mainstay of volunteers in many countries? Why are they more visible in community and neighbourhood organisations than in political parties and trade unions and state institutions? What are the barriers of entry to women in civil society? In what ways does civil society exclude women along the lines of gender, class and ethnicity? Why is it that some associations are dominated by one or another sex? Through what discourses, ideologies and practices are women excluded from certain activities and organising? Third, the discourse of civil society has been appropriated across the ideological spectrum to propel particular political agendas and positions.

Introduction

7

Feminists need to be particularly cautious when the language of civil society is used in debates about state deregulation, user choice and community provision of welfare services. There is the danger that the language of civil society and related concepts of community and social capital become an ideological device for justifying a particular vision of the state, which entails the return of welfare services to the family, and in practice to the unpaid and undervalued female carer. Finally, because of their own experiences and their analytic emphasis on issues of oppression and emancipation, feminists are well placed to take up issues of subordination, domination and power in civil society and to problematise the notion of civil society as a harmonious unity or as a comfortable and benign field of diversity and plurality. Through their focus on exposing the complex ways in which the gendered relations of the family become reproduced in the economy and state, feminist thinkers have developed conceptual and theoretical frameworks and methodological approaches which can be readily deployed in interrogating the gendered interconnections between the family and civil society. This then provides a solid basis for enquiring into how gendered social practices, norms and structures in the family affect the way women and men can participate and organise within the spaces of civil society. To what extent are the institutions, norms and practices of civil society gendered? How does civil society reproduce gender inequalities and gender ideologies? Though much attention has been given to affirmative action and other strategies for getting women into formal politics, there has been little systematic study of how women’s positioning in civil society promotes or hinders their participation in higher-level politics. Indeed, their activism at community level has been treated as relatively unproblematic. The phenomenon is observed and noted, but why it more often than not provides a springboard for men rather than women to enter formal politics is never probed in any depth. The engendering processes and effects of local civil societies and their relations to the state deserve much greater scrutiny. This edited volume does not attempt to address all of these issues; it would be impossible to venture upon such a Goliathan task. Instead, it limits its horizons to an exploration of women’s participation and activism in the theatres of civil societies. In doing so, it puts forward four key questions for investigation. These are, first, how does the political environment and nature of the state shape the way women organise and the issues they address?; second, how can and do women’s organisations bring about changes in state policies on gender?; third, to what extent are women’s organisations similar or different to other civil society organisations in terms of their impact, their strategies and internal structures, and their relations with the state, other civil society organisations, and each other?; and finally, does a gender lens alter the way we view civil society? The chapters in this volume take up two or more of the first three

8

Jude Howell

questions and together cover a diversity of contexts and issues. In this way the book not only draws together the concepts of gender and civil society but also adopts an international perspective, highlighting the diverse trajectories of women organising in different country contexts and the historical, cultural and political specificities of civil society. Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever focus on women’s organising in socialist and post-transformation Central and Eastern Europe, looking in detail at the cases of Poland and the former Yugoslavia, whilst Jude Howell examines the changing terrain of women’s activism in reformist China. Aili Mari Tripp and Nadje Al-Ali trace the contours of the women’s movement in sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East respectively, drawing attention to the diversity of women’s issues, ways of organising, and state–civil society relations in different contexts. Diane Mulligan provides a detailed study of the responses of the state, Islamic institutions and women’s groups in Indonesia to debates around sexuality, inspired by the perceived provocative dangdut dancing of Inul Daratista. In her study of Chile, Marcela RíosTobar examines the fate of feminist organising in the process of democratic regime change. Linda Stevenson investigates the links between electoral and legislative cycles and the promotion of gender issues in state policies, whilst Laurel Weldon looks at the impact of different types of women’s groups on policy processes in the USA. Marlies Glasius focuses her attention on the international level through a close study of the interplay between the women’s movement and pro-family groups in the negotiations around the International Criminal Court. The concluding chapter draws together the key findings, reflects on the final question (namely, how using a gender lens can alter our vision of civil society) and points to areas for further research, debate and thinking. In the remainder of this introduction we draw on the above-mentioned chapters to explore in turn each of the key questions guiding this volume.

How then does the political environment and the nature of the state shape women’s organisations? The chapters in this volume illustrate in different ways how the changing parameters of the political context can significantly shape the kinds of issues that women address, their room for manoeuvre and the strategies they adopt. In her note of caution about the potential of civil society to foster democratisation, Sheri Berman underlines the importance of political context in shaping the role that civil society actors can play. As she argues (Berman 1997: 401, cited in Encarnación 2002: 128), civil society is ‘a politically neutral multiplier that is neither inherently good nor inherently bad for democracy, but rather dependent for its effects on the wider political context’ [my emphasis]. In the case of East and Central Europe, Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever demonstrate convincingly how the context of transformation constructed political identities and gender

Introduction

9

identity. In doing so, they explode the myth embraced by many Western feminists that, in their wholesale rejection of politics and ideology, Central and East European women also rejected feminism and therefore did not use the new spaces and openings to mobilise around gender issues. In contrast, Einhorn and Sever demonstrate that women in Poland and Yugoslavia did organise around their strategic and practical needs. However, they argue that how women organised was in turn shaped by the political and ideological context. In particular, the discourses of ethnic nationalism and the material conditions of war increasingly mediated and constrained women’s activism in civil society and their engagement with feminism in the post-1989 context. In the former Yugoslavia, for example, women’s organising was mediated by the processes of national reconfiguration, ethnic revivalism and conflict, and the struggles for peace and non-violence. The retreat of the state from welfare provision and the concomitant emergence of non-governmental initiatives to deal with new forms of poverty and vulnerability shaped the context in which women in both Poland and the former Yugoslavia could organise. In Poland, the Catholic Church played a key role in promoting an image of women as sacrificing themselves for the family and nation. Women became the cultural repositories of national identity. It was the ideological force of the Catholic Church that in turn fuelled the fervent political debate around reproduction, and not, as some Western feminists misconstrued, a singular concern on the part of Central and East European women for their reproductive interests at the expense of other gender interests. Though women in East and Central Europe face enormous political, economic and social challenges in a context of regime change and uncertain economic transformation, women in China, too, have to contend with the contradictory effects of rapid economic growth, systemic change and social pressures arising from economic restructuring and shifting gender norms and values. Jude Howell argues that the changing role of the state in the economy and society during the reform period has stimulated the adaptation of pre-existing women’s organisations and the emergence of new, more autonomous women’s groups. Political liberalisation, the redefinition of the role and nature of the state and the preparations for hosting the Fourth World Conference in Beijing created opportunities and spaces for the All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF), the largest and most established of all women’s organisations in China, to re-orient and restructure itself. Furthermore, this changing political and institutional context also opened up room for new, more independent women’s organisations to develop, and for alternative analyses of gender oppression to be articulated, especially from the early 1990s onwards. Drawing upon cases such as Egypt, Palestine, Jordan, Iran and Turkey, Nadje Al-Ali also demonstrates the influence of the political environment and the state on women’s organisations in the Middle East and the issues

10

Jude Howell

they raise. Though women in the Middle East share some common historical experiences, such as anti-colonialist struggle and nationalism, as well as contemporary constraints such as state repression of civil society, the diverse political, legal, historical and social conditions in particular countries have shaped the possibilities and ways of mobilising around feminist concerns. This is reflected not only in the kind of relations that women’s groups forge with the state, but also in the issues around which women coalesce. State repression in the Middle East has sharply limited the space for association and organisation, affecting not only political groups but also women’s organisations. As a result those groups that have been officially sanctioned tend to be sponsored from above by the state, as in Egypt, Jordan and Iran. Their functions and priorities tend to mirror closely regime goals and policies, varying according to the particular context. These might be welfare, as in Jordan; birth control, as in Tunisia; development and mobilisation, as in Egypt, Algeria and Tunisia; or the war economy, as in Iraq. Other groups have circumvented state controls by exploiting loopholes in legislation and/or by registering with less repressive government agencies. In the 1980s and 1990s more independent women’s groups emerged across the region, but there is still considerable variation in their degree of autonomy and constant contestation of space. Whilst in the early 1990s Palestinian women’s groups loosened their ties with political parties, in Iraq the imperatives of a war economy continue severely to restrict the autonomy of the women’s movement. Increasingly, for many women activists in the Middle East, growing Islamic militancy is setting the boundaries of their activities and the parameters of their discourse. However, there is a small but increasing number of women who are bravely challenging accepted nationalist discourses and contesting notions of Western and authentic culture. Middle Eastern women’s movements have focused mainly on rights issues such as access to education, waged labour and political participation, though the particular emphasis given to an issue has varied across countries. Taking the case of Jordan, for example, there has been a concerted campaign to promote women’s political participation in political parties and parliament. Palestinian women have pursued women’s legal rights, but also linked their struggle with the movement against Israeli oppression. In Egypt, women’s groups have mobilised around legal change, female genital mutilation and access to education and health. Moreover, despite a diversity of political perspectives, most of the women’s groups in Egypt share a strong sense of nationalism and concomitant antiimperialist sentiments. While the discourse of rights and equality resonates with the goals of modernisation and development, thereby gaining social and political acceptance, some issues remain too sensitive to raise in public. It is only recently that Egyptian and Jordanian women’s groups have begun to organise around violence against women. Accusing these

Introduction

11

women of ‘importing Western ideas’, conservative Islamists and secular nationalists have sought to discredit their efforts to turn the ‘private’ into the ‘public’. This theme of turning the ‘private’ into the ‘public’ arises strongly in Chapter 6, by Diane Mulligan. She demonstrates how in the context of democratic regime change the new Indonesian state has played a weak role in mediating and intervening in the sharp debates around sexuality, inspired by the seemingly provocative dangdut dancing of the entertainer Inul Daratista. This is set against a longer historical background, where political movements and the state have conditioned women’s engagement in civil society and politics. In the pre-Independence period, for example, women’s issues were subordinated to the larger nationalist struggle, whilst in the repressive New Order regime of 1965–1998 women were pushed from the public realm of politics back into the private sphere. During that period women were only permitted to join specific state-sponsored women’s organisations or non-political religious groups. Moreover, the goal of national development was harnessed to justify women’s roles as carers, mothers and wives. With the fall of the Suharto regime in May 1998 and democratic transition, the spaces and opportunities for associating and articulating demands and ideas increased rapidly. Though women’s organisations began to flourish in this new, more liberalised political climate, they also had to take on a much more vocal and determined array of Islamic conservatives, who harboured very different understandings of women’s public and private roles. The dangdut dancing of Inul Daratista brought the issue of women’s sexuality to the fore and opened up a set of questions around women’s position in the new democratic spaces. In her chapter on women’s organisations in Africa, Aili Mari Tripp identifies a conjuncture of external and internal factors that triggered a rapid explosion of ‘women in movement’ from the mid-1980s onwards across Africa. The expansion of international donor funding for nongovernmental organisations and for mobilising around gender issues gave material impetus to autonomous women’s groups. Increasing media coverage of gender inequalities and oppression, the extension of networking through the Internet and e-mail, and a vibrant international women’s movement created a supportive environment within which more independent women’s organisations in Africa could flourish. The downfall of militaristic and/or one-party states and the concomitant rise of multi-partyism opened up new political opportunities and spaces which dynamic women seized to mobilise around a diversity of issues. However, Tripp emphasises the diversity of contexts and momentums in Africa. Though in countries such as Eritrea the state has continued to stifle autonomous women’s initiatives, in many sub-Saharan African countries such as Uganda and Kenya a new generation of independent women’s organisations has burst to the fore. The changing political environment created new opportunities for

12

Jude Howell

women not only to organise but also to raise different issues. The early post-Independence generation of women’s organisations in sub-Saharan Africa had focused primarily on welfare, religious and domestic concerns – issues that were of practical but not always of strategic significance. With the emphasis on ‘women in development’, feminist analysis barely surfaced in the strategies of these early post-Independence women’s groups. The absence of politics was compounded by the clientelistic and nepotistic ties between mass women’s organisations, national women’s machinery and dominant parties. First ladies such as Nana Ageman Rawlings in Ghana and Betty Kaunda in Zambia headed national women’s organisations such as the 31st December Women’s Movement and the Women’s League respectively. Locked in a gendered web of patronage, these women’s organisations did not challenge laws, policies and practices which discriminated against women. In contrast, the new groups that have been emerging from the mid1980s onwards are ideologically and financially free from party strictures and patronage ties, and can now openly challenge government policies that work against women. They mobilise around a diversity of gender issues, reflect a plurality of starting points and frameworks, and take on board a multiplicity of perspectives on complex themes such as land inheritance, reserved seats, sex workers and the accountability of nongovernmental organisations. Compared with their predecessors, these new women’s groups have emphasised women’s political participation, engaged more in advocacy work and developed political strategies to address the roots of gender oppression. However, in a context where governments perceive the advocacy work of non-governmental organisations as a threat to their authority, some women’s organisations, too, have encountered repression when challenging government policy, as occurred with the Tanzanian Women’s Council (BAWATA). While regime change in the 1990s in sub-Saharan African countries such as Kenya and Uganda has led to the intensification of feminist activity and the growing salience of a feminist politics, in post-transition democratic Chile the women’s movement has become fragmented, demobilised and decentred. Maria Ríos-Tobar spotlights a disturbing paradox: on the one hand, feminist demands and discourses have been increasingly absorbed into institutional agendas and policies; yet, on the other hand, the women’s movement, including feminism, has weakened as a social actor and political force, losing its discursive and strategic autonomy. Though the sites of feminist action have multiplied, the range of networks and alliances expanded, and the diversity of issues, organisational forms, discourses and ideological perspectives proliferated, gender activism is paradoxically less visible in post-transition democratic Chile. Ríos-Tobar argues that these changes are not coincidental. Instead, they point not only to the internal dynamics of the women’s movement itself, but also to the shifting political opportunities, structures and constraints in the trans-

Introduction

13

ition and post-transition context that are in turn conditioned by both external and internal factors. Part of this changing context has been increased interventions in the economic and social life of Chile by international development agencies. Such institutions began to incorporate women’s interests into their strategies, policies and programmes. Many feminists abandoned confrontational strategies used against the military regime in favour of new negotiating tactics. In order to shape institutional agendas, feminists metamorphosed into professional, technical gender experts, sacrificing political agency for institutional influence. Similarly, at the national level the establishment of a national women’s machinery, and in particular the National Women’s Service (SERNAM), drew upon former women activists and feminists as technical gender experts rather than as political actors and representatives of civil society. Aside from these factors, democratic rule has, ironically, in the short term at least, reduced the opportunities for actors in civil society to mobilise and engage politically, and thereby diluted the political agency of the women’s movement. In the new democratic context feminists privileged discursive accommodation and self-censorship for fear that overt criticism of the new regime might unsettle alliances and cast Chile back into the dark era of authoritarianism. With political parties competing for state power, they tried to limit the participation of social actors, including the women’s movement, in political life. All these factors combined to condition the possibilities for women organising around gender in the post-transition context, heralding a new period in the women’s movement in Chile, where the women’s movement loses its cohesion and visibility.

Influencing the state on gender Whether or not women’s organisations can influence the state on gender issues is likely to depend on a combination of variables, such as the degree of public support on an issue, alliances with key political figures and state bureaucrats, the degree of institutionalised participation, and the broader political context. Jude Howell and Marlies Glasius, in their respective studies on women organising in China and the role of women’s groups in the negotiations around the International Criminal Court, both point to the importance of cultivating and maintaining strategic alliances with representatives and bureaucrats in the state. Linda Stevenson, in her study of women organising in Mexico, underlines the importance of electoral and legislative cycles in the degree of leverage women’s organisations can exert around gender issues. Focusing on the civil society variable, Laurel Weldon argues that the type of women’s organisation bears an important relation to the degree of influence on state policies around gender. Jude Howell argues that a national women’s machinery provides a key mechanism for generating and sustaining debate and change on gender

14

Jude Howell

issues. Though the new women’s groups in China still lack significant influence on state policy processes, they can nevertheless forge strategic alliances with female cadres to leverage the state on gender. The ideological commitment of the Chinese Communist Party to gender equity has been an important pre-condition for the All-China Women’s Federation to influence policy-making and legislation affecting women, with notable successes in the fields of domestic violence, employment and female political participation. As a mass organisation with the authority to represent women, the ACWF is well positioned to influence policy-making and legislative processes. Over the past two decades it has used its informal contacts with government and Party officials, and National People’s Congress delegates, as well as its formal connections to the State Council, Party and National People’s Congress, to push a gender agenda. Compared with the ACWF, the influence of China’s fledgling independent women’s organisations has been much more limited. This is in part because they focus on service delivery, in part because they lack legitimacy in the eyes of the Party-state and the ACWF, and in part because they have not yet built sustained alliances with other women’s groups or civil society organisations in China. To the extent, however, that they do build alliances with the ACWF or work through the government unit with which they are required to register, then they can exert some influence on local-level policy practices and agendas. In some instances, local ACWF cadres are also involved in local, independent women’s organisations and can skilfully manoeuvre in both spaces to promote changes in policy and law which benefit women. In her discussion of the interplay of the women’s movement and profamily movements with state delegates in the negotiations on the International Criminal Court between 1995 and 1998, Marlies Glasius highlights the importance of alliances between actors within global civil society and female state delegates for promoting a range of gender issues onto the agenda. The Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice was founded in 1997 to ensure that the NGO Coalition for an International Court addresses adequately various gender concerns such as gender-specific crimes, including forced pregnancy, the gender balance of judges, the gender dimensions of slavery and the gender-sensitive treatment of victims. It was able to muster, through its alliances with female state delegates, the support of a formidable list of the so-called Like-Minded Group of states, including Australia, which was chairing the special negotiations on gender issues. In a similar vein, the pro-family movements also drew upon support from the Vatican and other Catholic and Arab countries to advance their positions. In her case study of Mexico, Linda Stevenson highlights the relationship between electoral and legislative cycles and the relative impact of women’s groups on policy and legislation. In particular she puts forward the hypothesis that alliances between politically active women both inside

Introduction

15

and outside of formal politics is a precondition for legislative success and implementation on women’s issues. Such alliances in turn are influenced by the broader political context. The introduction of political reforms by President Lopez Portillo in 1977, for example, created opportunities of political activism for feminists and opposition parties, and feminist activists used such openings to put forward proposals for change. Disheartened with the limited possibilities, however, feminists in the 1980s reoriented their efforts to establishing non-governmental organisations, providing services to women, research and education. Following the success of the opposition in the 1988 elections, which brought the highest number of women legislators into the Mexican Congress, a new wave of legislative reform got under way over the next three years. Mid-term elections in 1991 nipped these initiatives in the bud again, as the dominant party, the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI, Institutional Revolutionary Party), regained its strength, the number of women in Congress declined, and many women activists returned to regroup and strategise on the terrain of civil society. In the elections of 1994 and 1997 the representation of women in Congress increased again, whilst women activists in civil society had sharpened their skills in taking strategic advantage of electoral politics to promote women’s issues. Furthermore, increasing decentralisation to state legislatures widened the opportunities for local women activists to introduce legislative and policy changes. However, as in post-transformation Poland, the growing political strength of the Catholic Church in the 1990s, which advocated conservative perspectives on the role of women in society and abortion, served as a counterweight to the more progressive forces advocating gender issues. Whilst Stevenson spotlights the connections between electoral and legislative cycles and the influence of women’s organisations on policy, Laurel Weldon focuses on the type of women’s organisation as a variable affecting state responsiveness. Weldon demonstrates convincingly how in the USA the responsiveness of the government to an issue, such as domestic violence, will vary according to the type of women’s organisation. She finds that civic and political organisations (such as a large social movement organisation, women’s centres and rape crisis centres) bear a positive and significant association with greater state responsiveness to violence against women. In contrast, cultural and self-development organisations (such as cultural festivals, women’s bookstores and theatre) and intra-state organisations (such as women’s caucuses) do not reveal a similar result. However, cultural and self-development organisations play an important role in building solidarity amongst women, in providing analyses of oppression, and in developing social ties and networks upon which civic and political organisations can draw. Surprisingly, the intra-government organisations, such as lobby groups or women’s caucuses, turn out to have less policy impact than civic and political organisations, which operate outside the state. Weldon suggests that such

16

Jude Howell

intra-government organisations are not sufficiently independent to articulate a woman’s distinctive perspective, thereby underlining the importance of positioning both within and outside the state.

Are women’s groups different to other civil society organisations? In the civil society and democratisation literature, the concept of civil society is often treated as a monolithic whole, as a single actor unified in purpose and action. Through an investigation of women’s organisations in different country contexts, this edited collection highlights the importance of recognising the distinctness of different actors within civil society and the need to disaggregate the concept to capture its richness and texture. Women’s organisations can follow a different trajectory to other civil society organisations and, at particular historical moments, enjoy greater political salience than other groups. For example, in some sub-Saharan African countries, such as Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, women’s organisations have proven to be the most dynamic and the largest of new civil society organisations. New women’s organisations in the 1990s differ not only from the early postIndependence stratum of gender activism, but also from other kinds of mobilisation in civil society. In countries such as Uganda women’s organisations have been particularly dynamic, wielding considerable influence in the constitution-writing process, whilst in Kenya they have been the fastest growing sector of civil society. In Tanzania and Mali, women’s associations form the bulk of NGOs. Taking up a diversity of issues and drawing upon a broad constituency, women’s organisations enjoy a more general appeal than narrow, particularistic organisations such as professional and trades associations. With gender matters as their prime focus, they have managed to cut across ethnic, religious, rural/urban and clan divisions in a way that previous women’s groups, wedded to political parties, were unable to achieve. Furthermore, they have made the personal political and used their entry into formal politics to reinforce this agenda. To strengthen their political positions, women have appealed to the notion of ‘motherhood’ as the basis of political and moral authority, a strategy that other civil society organisations cannot so readily deploy. However, Aili Mari Tripp wisely cautions against hastily problematising such conceptual manoeuvring, reminding us of the different constructions of the public/private divide and its varied gendered meanings. Similarly, in Indonesia women have deployed their role as ‘mothers’ and ‘carers’ to articulate their dissent, most notably during the popular uprisings in 1998, when they demonstrated in demand for affordable food and organised food packages for the students occupying parliament. In doing so they inverted the symbolism of ‘motherhood’, which both the nationalist struggle and the

Introduction

17

New Order Regime had hitherto skilfully deployed to mobilise women and restrain their independence. In other contexts of regime change, however, organising around gender can lose some of its dynamism and agency – Chile being a case in point. Faced with the growing institutionalisation of the feminist field, the privileging of advocacy over political militancy and the exclusion of women without access to the Internet and without professional status, the room for developing an autonomous feminist politics has become constrained. The failure of women located in NGOs and women’s machineries (the institutionalists) and women operating outside of institutional boundaries (the autonomas) to forge a common agenda both reflects and reproduces the inability of feminists to become a significant political force in the post-transition context of Chile. This in turn has profound implications for the political agency of women as citizens in the consolidation of democracy and, not least, in resistance to any conservative challenges to current gains for women. In China, organising around gender issues is structurally distinct from many other kinds of collective action because of the pre-existence of a long-established mass organisation for women, namely the ACWF.13 The ACWF has considerable reach across China, receives core funding from the Party and is a key pillar of the political system. Unlike trade associations, professional associations or environmental groups which do not face a pre-existing mass organisation, new, more autonomous women’s groups have to tread carefully so as to avoid appearing to challenge the authority and legitimacy of the ACWF, whilst at the same time establishing their credentials with the Party-state and society. Compared with other civil society organisations, women’s organisations take a wide range of forms, varying in their degree of autonomy from the Party-state. In some respects organising around gender issues in China has been easier than, say, labour, religious issues or HIV/AIDS, because the Party-state constructs women as the vulnerable, biologically weaker sex in need of special protection.14 In Indonesia a rather different picture emerges, where women’s organisations have had to contend much more with regional, religious and ethnic differences than other civil society organisations such as farmers’ groups or student organisations. This has been compounded by women’s relative lack of experience in coordinating activity in the public realm, not only because of a ‘long-standing aversion to politics as a male domain’ but also because of how, historically, the state and religious institutions have tried to condition their entry into the public sphere. According to Diane Mulligan, most women’s organisations tend to be based in the capital, Jakarta, and to be predominantly middle class and urban. In this respect they contrast with the more comprehensive and encompassing women’s organisations described by Aili Mari Tripp in sub-Saharan Africa, which artfully transcend regional, ethnic and religious differences.

18

Jude Howell

Though women’s organisations can be structurally distinct from other civil society organisations, they are also prone to the patterns of hierarchy, domination and leadership style that pervade other institutions. Al-Ali finds that in the Middle East most women’s organisations continue to reproduce the patterns of domination inherent in other political and social institutions. This is perhaps not surprising, given the political, legal and cultural constraints on women’s movements in the Middle East. In Egypt, and to a greater degree in Turkey, some feminists have challenged authoritarian and hierarchical ways of doing politics and sought alternative modes of collective leadership and democratic decision-making, though finding workable models has proved a struggle. In China, hierarchical structures and dominant leadership styles characterise many of the new women’s groups. Charismatic founders and leaders of new, more autonomous women’s organisations, as in other civil society organisations, tend to dominate within the organisation, raising crucial questions of leadership succession and involvement of younger generations. Though the new women’s groups and research centres brought issues such as domestic violence to public attention, there has, as of yet, been no period of open self-reflection and critical analysis of internal organisational patterns. Studies of political participation often observe that women are better represented in local politics, be it in local political structures or on the terrain of community and neighbourhood organisation. In the case of Mexico, Stevenson finds that involvement in non-governmental organisations offers a different kind of engagement in politics for many women. Faced with cultural and structural barriers to participation in formal political structures, the less institutionalised and routinised modes of politics practised in non-governmental organisations have greater appeal. Some women leaders practise a more nomadic style of politics than their male counterparts, oscillating between the distinct worlds of formal politics and civil society. Though women’s organisations and activism may differ in some respects from other forms of collective action, this does not imply that women are unified in purpose or share common ideological positions, let alone share common views about feminism. Nor are they necessarily marginalised compared to other groups. In her study of the women’s movement and pro-family movement in the negotiations of the International Criminal Court, Glasius observes that the hostility between these two movements was in stark contrast to ‘the general spirit of camaraderie among civil society delegates’ during the final 1998 Rome conference. Both sides engaged in vitriolic attacks upon each other and accused one another of having privileged access to state delegates. In addition, Glasius’ study explodes the idea that gender issues are always marginalised and disadvantaged in local, national and international settings. She demonstrates cogently the importance of understanding the dynamics of specific situ-

Introduction

19

ations. In the case of the International Criminal Court negotiations, she argues that the Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice met, in fact, with considerable support from many state delegates. Indeed, it was the pro-family groups that were marginalised at this forum, not just because of their stance on abortion and homosexuality, but also because they sought to undermine the establishment of an International Criminal Court more generally. Through this comparative exploration of gender and civil society, this edited book thus highlights the diverse historical, cultural and political contours shaping women’s organisations, the role of the state in defining the parameters of action, the factors enabling women’s groups to influence state policy on gender, and the distinctiveness or otherwise of women’s activism. In interrogating the concept of civil society from a gender perspective through a focus on women’s organising, this volume not only deepens the treatment of civil society but also, in Gramscian tradition, reinforces the idea of civil society as a diverse, complex and highly contested site of action and ideas. By bringing gender into the debate, we also put back the politics into civil society.

Notes 1 For a critique of these processes see Van Rooy 1998; Biekart 1999; Carothers 1999; Howell and Pearce 2001. 2 Researchers who have tried to engender the discussion of civil society and the public sphere include Landes (1988), Fraser (1992, 1997), Rabo (1996), Howell (1998), Beckwith (2000), Phillips (2002). 3 Writers on civil society often use the terms ‘family’ and ‘household’ interchangeably. However, in gender studies, development studies and anthropology the concepts are seen as overlapping but distinct, ‘the household’ referring more specifically to those ‘eating from the same pot’. In this introductory chapter the term ‘family’ is used throughout, as it reflects a broader notion of a ‘private domain’ that is centred around intimate blood relations and embraces also a broader set of blood-related ties. 4 A draft paper of this chapter was presented for comment during a seminar given at the LSE in February 2004. I am grateful for comments from participants, including Marlies Glasius, Hakan Seckinelgin, Karen Wright, and Bakin Babajanian. 5 Though most writers often depart from this in positioning the economy as separate from civil society, which is conceived as the realm of voluntary association around shared concerns. Furthermore, it should be noted that most are so centred on the relationship between civil society and the state that they do not even mention the boundary with the family. 6 Jean Cohen (1998: 37) states, ‘I understand civil society as a sphere of social interaction distinct from economy and state, composed above all of associations (including the family) and publics’. 7 In fact in the civil society literature the terms are used interchangeably and are assumed to be universal categories. This is again despite the vast literature in feminist studies, development studies and anthropology that elaborates on these terms, underlines the complexity of their boundaries and draws attention to their diverse manifestations in different cultural contexts.

20

Jude Howell

8 See in particular the work of Susan Moller Okin (1979), Jean Bethke Elshtain (1981), Carol Pateman (1988a, 1989) and Catherine MacKinnon (1989), to name but a few. 9 This is an interesting and valuable chapter, but it details more the positions of feminists on political theory, and in particular the gendered nature of the public/private divide, rather than any specific interrogation of the concept civil society from a feminist perspective. In his review of three books on global civil society, Waterman (2003: 304) comments on the remarkable lack of engagement of international relations theory with feminist writing on globalisation and international relations. 10 In his review of three recent contributions on global civil society, Waterman (2003: 303) laments the lack of engagement with women’s movements and feminisms, despite the fact that, in his words, ‘the dramatic presence alone of women and feminists at the parallel events of UN Conferences surely deserves better than this’. 11 This is interesting, given that there has been some interrogation of the gender dimensions of social capital. See, for example, Molyneux (2001, 2002); Edwards et al. (2003); Goulbourne and Solomos (2003). I am grateful to Karen Wright for drawing my attention to this literature. 12 Anne Phillips qualifies this in her chapter by both noting the gap between government regulations and actual practice, and pointing out that voluntary associations do fall under some form of national legislation in the UK that requires them to act with probity and comply with broad legislation on discrimination. 13 This is not unique, however, for labour organisations face a similar, though different, challenge in the All-China Federation of Trade Unions. For more detail on this, see Howell (2000). 14 For a full account of the differences in organising around specific issues in China see Howell (2004: 143–171).

References Beckwith, K. (2000) ‘Beyond compare? Women’s movements in comparative perspective’, European Journal of Political Research 37: 431–468. Biekart, K. (1999) The Politics of Civil Society Building: European Private Aid Agencies and Democratic Transitions in Central America, Amsterdam: Utrecht International Books and the Transnational Institute. Carothers, T. (1999) Aiding Democracy Abroad: The Learning Curve, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Cohen, J. (1998) ‘Interpreting the notion of civil society’, in M. Walzer (ed.) Towards a Global Civil Society, New York: Berghahn Books, pp. 35–40. Cohen, J. and Arato, A. (1995) Civil Society and Political Theory, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Dahlerup, D. (1994) ‘Learning to live with the state. State, market and civil society: women’s need for state intervention in East and West’, Women’s Studies International Forum 17(213): 117–127. Diamond, L. (1994) ‘Rethinking civil society: toward democratic consolidation’, Journal of Democracy, 5(3): 4–17. Edwards, R., Franklin, J. and Holland, J. (2003) ‘Families and social capital: exploring the issues’, Families and Social Capital ESRC Research Group Working Papers, No. 1.

Introduction

21

Elshtain, J.B. (1981) Public Man, Private Woman: Women in Social and Political Thought, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Encarnación, O.G. (2002) ‘On bowling leagues and NGOs: a critique of civil society’s revival’, Studies in Comparative International Development 36: 116–131. Fraser, N. (1992) ‘Rethinking the public sphere: a contribution to the critique of actually existing democracy’ in C. Calhoun (ed.) Habermas and the Public Sphere, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. —— (1997) Justice Interruptus. Critical Reflections on the ‘Post-socialist’ Condition, New York: Routledge. Goulbourne, H. and Solomos, J. (2003) ‘Families, ethnicity and social capital’, Social Policy and Society 2: 329–338. Habermas, J. (1989) The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere. An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, Cambridge: Polity Press. Hawthorn, G. (2001) ‘The promise of “civil society” in the south’, in S. Kaviraj and S. Khilnani (eds) Civil Society. History and Possibilities, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 269–286. Hearn, J. (2001) ‘Taking liberties. Contesting visions of the civil society project’, Critique of Anthropology 21(4): 339–360. Howell, J. (1998) ‘Gender, civil society and the state in China’, in V. Randall and G. Waylen (eds) Gender, Politics and the State, London: Routledge, pp. 166–184. —— (2000) ‘Organising around women and labour in China: uneasy shadows, uncomfortable alliances’, Journal of Communist and Post-Communist Studies 33: 355–377. —— (2004) ‘New directions in civil society: organizing around marginalized interests’, in Jude Howell (ed.) Governance in China, Oxford: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., chapter 8, pp. 143–171. Howell, J. and Pearce, J. (2001) Civil Society and Development. A Critical Exploration, London: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Landes, J.B. (1988) Women and the Public Sphere in the Age of the French Revolution, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. MacKinnon, C.A. (1989) Toward a Feminist Theory of the State, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. McClure, K. (1992) ‘The issue of foundations: scientized politics, politicized science, and feminist critical practice’, in J. Butler and J.W. Scott (eds) Feminists Theorise the Political, London: Routledge, chapter 16, pp. 341–368. Molyneux, M. (2001) ‘Social capital: a post transition concept? Questions of context and gender from a Latin American perspective’, in V. Morrow (ed.) An Appropriate Capital-isation? Questioning Social Capital, Research in Progress Series, Issue 1, Special Issue, Gender Institute, London School of Economics. —— (2002) ‘Gender and the silences of social capital: lessons from Latin America’, Development and Change, 33(2): 167–188. Okin, S.M. (1979) Women in Western Political Thought, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. —— (1991) ‘Gender, the public and the private’, in D. Held (ed.) Political Theory Today, Cambridge: Polity/Basil Blackwell, chapter 3, pp. 67–90. Pateman, C. (1988a) The Sexual Contract, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. —— (1988b) ‘The fraternal social contract’, in J. Keane (ed.) Civil Society and the State. New European Perspectives, London: Verso, pp. 101–128. —— (1989) The Disorder of Women, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

22

Jude Howell

Phillips, A. (2002) ‘Does feminism need a conception of civil society’, in S. Chambers and W. Kymlicka (eds) Alternative Conceptions of Civil Society, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 71–89. Rabo, A. (1996) ‘Gender, state and civil society in Jordan and Syria’, in C. Hann and E. Dunn (eds) Civil Society: Challenging Western Models, London: Routledge, pp. 155–177. Ryan, M. (1996) ‘Gender and public access: women’s politics in nineteenthcentury America’, in C. Calhoun (ed.) Habermas and the Public Sphere, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, chapter 11, pp. 259–288. Van Rooy, A. (ed.) (1998) Civil Society and the Aid Industry, London: Earthscan. Waterman, P. (2003) ‘Review essay. Women, workers, the world social forum and the World Wide Web in the civilizing of global society’, International Feminist Journal of Politics, 5(2): 301–309. White, G. (1994) ‘Civil society, democratization and development (I): Clearing the analytical ground’, Democratization 1, 3.

2

Gender, civil society and women’s movements in Central and Eastern Europe1 Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Introduction The transformation from state socialism to liberal democracy in the countries of Central and Eastern Europe since 1989 has been accompanied by fundamental shifts in the material conditions of society and daily life.2 In addition to these material changes, the political and economic changes also involved reworking the discourses and concepts used to make sense of the social, cultural and political landscape. Political participation, state and society all began to take on different meanings as different identities emerged in the complex new environment. Political, economic and social structures are imbued with notions of correct gender roles and identities which are naturalised in the service of dominant ideological and cultural standpoints. The physical, social and economic transformation in Central and Eastern Europe, as elsewhere, has also been accompanied by a reconfiguration of gender dynamics. Indeed, what constitutes ‘masculinity’ and ‘femininity’ has been shifting socially, politically and economically (Duhacˇek 1998a; Gal and Kligman 2000a, 2000b). This reconfiguration of masculinity and femininity has shifted the gender regime from an (at least according to official rhetoric) egalitarian relationship to a traditionalist discourse of ‘appropriate’ male and female roles. This shift has undeniably subordinated women in real terms, not merely discursively.3 The disproportionately high female share of unemployment, together with a widespread revival of nationalist and traditionalist ideologies, has had the effect of relegating women once more to the domestic sphere and led to their growing desocialisation. In the domestic sphere women are often subject to increasing violence and discrimination generated by the frustrations and social inequalities which are associated with a competitive marketplace. A growing awareness of the gendered dimensions of transformation has combined with notions of the new political ‘freedom’ open to hitherto oppressed populations to create widespread expectations for the growth of a ‘women’s movement’ in Central and Eastern Europe. Such expectations are supported by Western feminist political theory, which has long

24

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

argued that women’s movements characteristically emerge in times of fundamental political change when new opportunities for activism arise (Bystydzienski 1992, 2001; Randall 1998). However, despite the fact that women throughout the region had been actively involved in social movements both before and during state socialism, the anticipated ‘feminist movement’ apparently failed to materialise in post-transformation societies. Now if, as Diane Duffy (2000: 217) has pointed out, ‘dynamic people do not just disappear or turn into sheep when a threat is gone’, how can we account for this apparent ‘failure’, given women’s earlier involvement in the oppositional movements which were influential in the downfall of state socialist regimes? Tanya Renne (1997) suggests that such an ‘absence’ of a women’s movement may be the response of dynamic women in the region who are overawed by the scale of the work needing to be done. This chapter examines the reasons for the apparent absence of women’s political activity and/or feminist movements in the context of gender relations and civil society in transformation contexts. It will discuss how political and other identities constructed since 1989 have acted to encourage or discourage women’s use of civil society spaces for collective action. It explores the material and ideological conditions which have affected women’s ability to mobilise, and also contextualises the activism that has taken place in terms of its relation to Western feminist theory, to liberal democratic politics and to the expectations of Western feminists. We first outline two myths of transition, which have shaped the way processes of transformation have been understood. We then go on to discuss the nature and shape of women’s movements at different historical moments since 1989 and how these relate to the construction of women’s political identities. We use case studies from Poland and the former Yugoslavia as contrasting examples of the formation of these identities in two politically different contexts. In doing so, we remain alert to ‘the historical diversity of the region . . . even within the shared part of its history’ (Duhacˇek 1998a: 128). Such diversity, the differences and continuities between pre- and post-1989 and between capitalist and socialist societies, are crucial to understanding women’s political and social status in each country and sub-region.

Civil society and ideology: two myths of ‘transition’ We argue that an analysis of the nature of civil society and how it was constructed within different state formations under state socialism and during the transformation process can help to expose the extent to which women past and present have been politically active. Like studies of women’s movements in a development context, analysing civil society in Central and Eastern Europe can also promote an understanding of how women’s movements are not part of a single linear trajectory towards equality, but

Central and Eastern Europe

25

are in fact time- and context-specific and are part of wider political and ideological currents. Our analysis contextualises what we see as two contrasting ‘myths of transition’. The first myth is that under state socialism, despite women’s official political ‘equality’, they were politically inactive, lacking (as did men) a civil society space filled with the voices of democratic control. The second myth is that, following the fall of state socialism, because women in Central and Eastern Europe rejected feminism and indeed politics in general as ‘dirty’, they failed to take advantage of this opening and the opportunities it provided for increased political involvement. Both these analyses provide a simplistic and thus partial picture of the transformation process: a picture which fails to take into consideration national and cultural differences both between and within the countries of the region and between the East and the West. More substantively, they deny the actual existence of much grassroots activity both before and after 1989. In other words, they also retain Western and therefore context-specific notions of political activity which are dependent on liberal democratic criteria, defining only certain types of activity and sites as political. Gal and Kligman (2000a: 93) note that ‘one general lesson of this global circulation of “civil society” as term and idea is that concepts with similar names do not always mean or describe similar things. Ideas from one historical and political era are routinely decontextualised by theorists and activists’. As with the term ‘civil society’, Valerie Sperling, Myra Marx Ferree and Barbara Risman (2001: 1179) make the point that ‘in the transnational realm of women’s movement ideas, feminism is a much disputed term’, even while ‘consciousness-raising about women’s oppression and learning to facilitate participatory group processes are highly valued practices’. The particular nature of the civil society ‘created’ by economic liberalisation not only categorises what it considers ‘political’, but also affects the very formation of particular political identities and categories of mobilisation. This process differs in the post-state-socialist context from that of the neo-liberal market model with its anti-state bias as well as within different national contexts within the region itself. In Europe this difference is imbricated by a power dynamics where Western social movements have defined the very nature of civil society activity such as women’s movements as they are ‘expected’ to arise (Nash 2003: 304). Canadian feminist Laura Busheikin ruefully points out that ‘When it comes to explorations of gender issues, we know the lay of the land – in fact, [Western feminists have] already made a map, and we’ve brought it with us’ (Busheikin 1997: 16). The two ‘myths of transition’ have arisen partly from contesting notions of the position and project of feminist identities as reflected in the continuing and sensitive East/West feminist dialogue. As Duhacek points out ‘How do we speak of feminism which is other than Western feminism, if not as a feminism which is the other to it, which would

26

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

presuppose Western feminism as the parameter?’ (Duhacek 1998a: 129; see also Havelková 1997; Bystydzienski 2001: 508; Gapova 2001; Fábián 2003; Nash 2003).4 Offensive and defensive positions on both sides have created a sense of fear and mistrust. Eastern women argue that their experience is outside the liberal paradigm through which much Western feminism is expressed (Busheikin 1997), and sometimes feel that to challenge the primacy of issues around which feminists have mobilised in the US and the UK results in accusations of ‘attacking Western democracy itself’ (Gapova 2001: 1).

Women’s movements under state socialism The emancipation of women was a key factor in state socialist ideology. Whether this reflected true commitment or, as has often been argued, was purely instrumental, is extraneous to our argument here. What is relevant is that the focus was on society as a whole, rather than on the individual citizen of liberal democratic theory. The equality of men and women was seen as central to the success of the collective, and the levels of female participation in the labour market and mainstream politics under state socialism by far outstripped anything seen under liberal democracy. Topdown rule meant that there was no differential citizenship. Ideologically speaking, therefore, the power relations around social activity that are the reality of civil society’s focus on the supremacy of the individual were invisible. Women on average formed around 30 per cent of parliamentarians, and this figure was often higher in local government (Einhorn 1993). State-run ‘umbrella organisations’, such as the Women’s League in Poland and women’s branches of the Communist Parties, were also formed in the name of ‘full’ emancipation, as they called it. However, it has been widely recognised that the ‘equality’ resulting from these measures, which was based on women’s position as ‘workers’, was in fact nominal. The positions they held in the parliaments gave them little decision-making power in a political system which formulated policy and legislation almost exclusively at the level of the Party’s Central Committees and Politburos, in which women had diminishing or invisible levels of representation (Einhorn 1993). The umbrella organisations too have been criticised for their adherence to strict party doctrine and lack of real power or independent voice (Bystydzienski 2001). These restrictions on women’s political activity were compounded by what has been described as ‘superwoman’s’ double or triple burden (Einhorn 1991, 1993; Corrin 1992). Women were expected to be full-time workers and unofficially to bear the main responsibility for domestic duties and childrearing. This, combined with a system that identified them as also equally engaged in the process of politics, resulted in high levels of physical and psychological exhaustion rather than any feelings of genuine ‘emancipation’.

Central and Eastern Europe

27

Despite the lack of civil society per se under state socialism, elevating the private sphere to the locus of individual conscience made it a place of significant political action (Drakulic´ 1992; Gal 1997). Groups such as informal aid networks in fact co-existed in many communities with official state-run groups and women played a major role in the peace, human rights and environmental movements such as the Dialogue Group and the Danube Circle in Hungary, the Independent Peace Association in Czechoslovakia (Kaldor 1991) and Women for Peace in the GDR (Einhorn 1991). However, many of the dissident groups and ‘antipolitics’ movements which went on to wield real political power post-transformation were hostile to women (Havel, cited in Einhorn 1993). Despite the fact that women were involved in the movements of the 1980s (they ran the leading dissident newspaper and coordinated the underground cells of Solidarity in Poland) (Tarasiewicz 1991; Duffy 2000), they were rarely in positions of power or decision-making, and their mobilisation was almost never as ‘feminists’ (Bystydzienski 2001). Women’s political subjectivity had largely been formed by a system that had already granted them formal equality, and thus mobilisation around ‘women’s issues’ was seen as secondary to other political goals (Fábián 2003: 280). Many feminists from Central and Eastern Europe have pointed out that much of the cynicism around women’s true political power – or lack of it – under state socialism has been strongly articulated by feminists in Western Europe and the US as part of the ideological East versus West current discussed earlier (Havelková 1997, 1999, 2000; Gal and Kligman 2000b; Gapova 2001; Sˇmejkalová 2001; Fábián 2003; Nash 2003). Such theorising has, they feel, been marked by a lack of willingness to listen to and incorporate the very different priorities of feminists in the East, based on their very different life experiences. Despite the symbolic nature of women’s involvement in the running of the state, some women felt that their power to make decisions and choices, if not extensive under state socialism, was at least equal to that of men (Gal 1997). Issues that had mobilised feminists in Western Europe and the US, such as abortion, political representation, welfare and childcare, had not arisen in Eastern Europe, since top-down state socialist policy had, to varying degrees, granted women entitlements in these areas (Dölling 1991; Duffy 2000; Watson 2000; Gapova 2001). In these regimes, the family and the community and kinship networks of the private sphere fulfilled many of the roles that civil society plays in liberal democracy (Drakulic´ 1992; Duhacek 1998a). As a result, Rebecca Nash (2003: 301) points out that Czech gender scholars in the early to mid-1990s tended to ‘idealize the family as a utopian, uncomplicated sphere of life’. Women gained considerable status and power through their central role in these practically and strategically indispensable networks, seen as sites of autonomy, resistance and gender-neutral solidarity (Einhorn 1993, 1996, 2000b). This is in direct contrast to the strategy of

28

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

the women’s movement under liberal democracy, which concentrated on bringing ‘domestic’ issues into the public sphere of civil society in order to make them ‘political’. Re-working the public/private divide in the context of transformation must therefore be analysed in the light of civil society’s position as an ideological construct of liberal democracy (Duhacek 1998a; Gapova 2001). Women’s movements under state socialism have therefore been hidden on two levels. First, there was an absence of women organising around notions of ‘women’s issues’ established by women’s movements in Western Europe and the US – movements which were in fact largely blind to other forms of activism and political projects. Second, the civil society activity that did occur was obscured by the authoritarian state which denied it the political language and legitimacy to articulate programmes and objectives (Gal 1997; Acsády 1999; Bystydzienski 2001; Gapova 2001).

The impact of political transformation As we have seen, women had played a significant role in the struggle for political change throughout the 1980s, and in the first free elections since 1945 women in some countries gained positions of ‘real’ political power (Jankowska 1991; Janova and Sineau 1992). New groups were formed to promote women’s participation in the newly opened public political arenas and in the process of transformation in general. The Independent Women’s Association (Unabhängiger Frauenverband – UFV) in the GDR for example, was an explicitly feminist group founded in December 1989. They demanded genuine equality of opportunity, equal pay and equal representation in political life, utilising the slogan ‘No Democracy Without Us!’ (Einhorn 1991, 1993; Ferree 2000; Maleck-Lewy 1997). Autonomous women’s groups – some calling themselves feminist – sprang up in most Central and Eastern European countries in the immediate post-1989 period (Cockburn 1991b; Posadskaya 1991, 1994; Einhorn 1993; Marsh 1996; Daskalova 1997; Fuszara 1997, 2001; Gaber 1997; Hochberg 1997; Petö 1997; Ferree et al. 1999; Sperling 1999; Bystydzienski 2001; Fábián 2003). Some groups, notably the Women of Russia and the Polish Women’s League (Posadskaya 1991; Einhorn 1993; Buckley 1997; Fuszara 1997; Sperling 1999; UNICEF 1999) were successors of the official women’s councils that had existed under state socialism, and tended to be viewed with suspicion by the new autonomous movements. More explicitly ‘feminist’ groups emerged both independently and within the growing number of Women’s and Gender Studies courses, like those at the Humboldt University in Berlin, Warsaw University, the University of Lód´z, Charles University in Prague, the European Humanities University in Minsk or the Central European University in Budapest, and those of autonomous providers such as the Belgrade and Zagreb Women’s Studies

Central and Eastern Europe

29

Centres (Dölling 1994; Posadskaya 1994; Grünell 1995; Bollag 1996; Daskalova 1997; Gaber 1997; Petö 1997; Posadskaya-Vanderbeck 1997; Duhacek 1998b; Bystydzienski 2001; Gapova 2001; Kasi´c 2001; Sperling et al. 2001; Nash 2003). The utilisation of the idealised concept of civil society by dissident movements under state socialism had turned to a preoccupation with state machineries. Indeed in some countries the men who had been at the forefront of these former dissident organisations went on to dominate the new institutions of power (Einhorn 1991). The new elites who emerged from the early Round Table discussions swiftly took over and redefined the previous discourses of dissidence and social movements (Jaquette and Wolchik 1998). Women’s issues were marginalised in the very movements that had been strengthened by the mobilisation of women in the struggle against authoritarianism (Bystydzienski 2001; for evidence of this in other democratisation processes, cf. Waylen 1994; Randall 1998). The incorporation of former (male) dissidents into the parliaments and the consequent valorisation of state power over civil society resulted in a civil society that was largely female, reinscribed in discourse as weak and secondary to the power of the new male-dominated state – indeed, politics was viewed as primarily an institutional phenomenon and not something that occurred among informal groups (Renne 1997; Gal and Kligman 2000a, 2000b; Sperling et al. 2001; True 2003: 140–141). Many legal structures inhibiting independent organising remained in existence in Bulgaria and Romania (Renne 1997), and some of the new political institutions even began to see civil society mobilisation as a threat to their political power; thus Lech Walesa dismantled many of the citizen’s committees just as the grassroots movements were gaining force. Despite the early surge of activism in Hungary, Poland and East Germany following 1989, women’s movements quickly therefore showed signs of suffering from hostility to feminism, activist burnout and political conflict respectively (Jankowska 1991; Einhorn 1993; Petö 1997; Bystydzienski 2001). In the early 1990s movements began to take the form of small, single-issue, often professionalised campaigns, in what Sabine Lang has called the ‘NGOization of feminism’ (Lang 1997; cf. also True 2003: 147ff.). This process involved the establishment of organisations such as hotlines, shelters and abortion rights campaigns, and suggested an apparent rejection of the monolithic structures and universalised objectives characteristic of a broad-based women’s ‘movement’. These groups often defined their strategies in terms other than gender and rarely as feminist, since to do so could potentially jeopardise their actions (Cockburn 1991a, 1998; Corrin 1996; Daskalova 2000; Mrsevi¢ 2000; Fábián 2003; Nash 2003). Many women in the region were open to other models which would solve their problems (Corrin 1999). In some countries, such as Poland, a return to discourses espousing the ideal of the mother/eternal feminine provided just such a model (Janova and Sineau 1992; Reading 1992; Pine

30

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

1994; Heinen 1995; Ostrowska 1998; Alsop and Hockey 2001; Bystydzienski 2001), and nationalist and traditional/religious ideals came to shape significantly much of women’s political and social activism. Women’s peace and environmental groups, such as the Prague Mothers, were based largely on what has been interpreted by many feminists from Western Europe as ‘regressive’ traditional images of femininity and motherhood as self sacrifice (Einhorn 1993; Bracewell 1996). In these groups women mobilised in the name of their children’s health, or in opposition to the use of their sons and husbands as fighters in conflicts over which they had no control. In this capacity women were able to act in the public sphere where their traditional roles as mothers took on a more strategic and wider goal (as had been the case in Latin American insurgent movements, cf. Jaquette 1994). However, women’s mobilisation in these peace groups was also to a great extent co-opted by the state media and depoliticised precisely by the utilisation of these gender roles (Zarkov 1997; Luki¢ 2000). Moreover, such activities also tended to be depoliticised by Western feminists. Consequently, although a certain socialised gender identity became further entrenched, this did not transfer into a recognisable political identity and women in the region remained critical of what they saw as the individualistic and selfish nature of feminism in Western Europe (Kulczycki 1999).

Analysing women’s organising in the 1990s Understanding women’s political identities in the context of civil society in the region at this time involves understanding how and why women were mobilising in civil society, whether they were doing this as women, and to what extent they used discourses of ‘feminism’. An inhibiting factor was the tradition of hostility to feminism in many of their countries (Acsády 1999; Fábián 2003; Nash 2003). Some women continued to see the domestic sphere, which had under state socialism held a position of the ‘alternative’ public sphere in which greater autonomy could be exercised, as a site of a political freedom untainted by state intervention (Duhacek 1998a). Indeed, ‘the personal is political’ cry of feminists in Western Europe and the US sounded to some dangerously like inviting surveillance back into the home, and women were reluctant to invite legislative intervention into the domestic sphere (Drakuli´c 1992; Einhorn 1996). Thus many women’s movements in the 1990s cast themselves as ‘social’ rather than ‘political’ movements (Jalusi¢ 2002: 105). Moreover, many women, exhausted by the ‘double burden’ and influenced by the new ideologies of nationalism and capitalism, at least in the initial period, often welcomed the discourse of a ‘return to the home’ and the opportunity to care for their families (although in fact economic necessity kept a high proportion of women in the labour market) (Einhorn 1993). As Denise Roman points out in the case of Romania,

Central and Eastern Europe

31

women often proved to be more conservative than men ‘in a rejection of modernisation, and, with it, feminism’ (Roman 2001: 56). The recreation of national identities based on nostalgic ideals of femininity and masculinity reinforced women’s primary responsibility for the private sphere, thus restricting any collective action they potentially undertook within the discursive limits of the public/private, political/non-political divide: ‘Post-socialist transitions ostensibly to liberal capitalism and democracy have been able to rely on prior gendered social arrangements in the family and at the heart of civil society’ (True 2000: 75; see also Roman 2001). Moreover, the experiences of national conflict since 1989 often served to reproduce fixed and unchanging gender identities which rested on biological essentialism. Vlasta Jalusi¢ has argued that to fight for a change in gender roles in this context sometimes appeared fruitless (Jalusi¢ 2002). The problems of daily life left little time for official political organising, particularly when such organising was seen in this way. The lack of an appropriate discourse compounded by anti-ideological and anti-feminist stances was mirrored by a lack of physical spaces in which to hold meetings or pull together interest groups, as these spaces were bought up by foreign investors (Renne 1997). In many countries, such as Bulgaria, Romania and the Czech Republic, the development of a feminist politics was largely located within academia rather than in a strong activist, civil society. However, ‘sisterhood and common struggle do exist in the region’ (Renne 1997: 9), as we shall see in the case studies, and such activity has secured many important advances. The harsh reality behind women’s grassroots organising in this period was that, in both public and private domains, grassroots groups stepped in to fill the gap left when the welfare and social services previously provided by the state were either privatised or ruthlessly culled by the incoming regimes (Acsády 1999; Bystydzienski 2001; Fábián 2003). These groups included charities, domestic violence hotlines and information services, healthcare provision, services for alcoholics and poverty relief. Barbara Einhorn has described this as the ‘civil society trap’, where the new ‘space’ of civil society in fact served to take up the slack left by the retreat of the state in terms of the welfare and social provision available under state socialism (Einhorn 2000b, 2004). In this form it represented a euphemism for unpaid women’s caring work. Recent analysis has changed the focus from the presence or absence of women’s issues, arguing that it is not so much a case of revealing that women were in fact mobilising after all, but rather of analysing how ideological discourses produce and create political movements and collective identities according to dominant and resistant political and social currents (Duffy 2000; Watson 2000). If feminism is a movement that has arisen according to specific historical and cultural contexts, then calling for a feminist ‘movement’ demanding particular political identities in advance

32

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

of the creation of those identities is approaching the process the wrong way round. As Judit Acsády has noted ‘Woman does not constitute a “we” group. This may be one of the reasons why women’s self organising . . . is still weak’ (Acsády 1999: 406). Western feminist assumptions that ‘gender is a paramount issue in transitional/transformation societies, unlike poverty, privatization, weak political parties, for example’ did not necessarily map onto this context (Roman 2001: 61). This explains both the frustration and incomprehension on the part of some Western feminists in the face of a perceived failure of women in Central and Eastern Europe to utilise civil society, and the antagonism of feminists from the region who are resentful of culturally inappropriate criteria (Smejkalová 2001; Fábián 2003; Nash 2003). Re-thinking women’s civil society activity in the context of transformation must therefore be analysed in the context of ‘civil society’ as an ideological construct of liberal democracy (Duhacek 1998a; Gapova 2001). As Vlasta Jalusi¢ puts it: ‘the ambiguous acceptance of a simplistic liberal–democratic agenda with its limited view of politics, rules out the rethinking of the structural relations between public, private and intimate spheres and issues’ (Jalusi¢ 2002: 104). Jalusi¢ points out further that ‘many of their activities built the groundwork for new definitions of the boundaries between the private and public, state, civil society and the family’ (Jalusi¢ 2002: 105).Women in Central and Eastern Europe not only had a different diagnosis of the source of gender discrimination, but also constructed their political identities along different axes to those in Western Europe. In the face of the material hardships and social and economic insecurities of the transformation process, issues which may have mobilised Western feminists in the past could, in a different historical context, contribute to the formation of other kinds of identity groups. The specific historical and cultural constructions of civil society and political activity in the region have thus operated to dictate the formation of certain types of organisations and inhibit the identification of a widespread ‘women’s movement’ or feminist politics at this time (Zhurzhenko 2001).

Gender and civil society activism ten years on In the past decade, looking back from 2004, it is apparent that an agenda of civil society activity for women has been promoted as an integral part of membership in the global world of politics and in market-driven societies. The Fourth World Conference on Women, held in Beijing in 1995, both supported existing groups and encouraged new women’s groups throughout the region (UNICEF 1999: 101). Two factors emerge as important here: first, growing international influence through major international events, transnational networking and international funds; and second, gender mainstreaming.

Central and Eastern Europe

33

Towards the end of the 1990s transnational women’s networking was to become a key feature of women’s civil society mobilisation, with an explosion in the formation of umbrella groups, often across borders. The influential Network of East West Women (NEWW) was formed in 1990 by feminists from the USA and the former Yugoslavia, and has instigated networking and initiatives of feminists throughout Central and Eastern Europe as well as within individual countries. It now links 40 countries and is governed by an international steering committee (Bystydzienski 2001: 508; NEWW). In addition to ‘sister-to-sister’ networking, ‘joint venture’ initiatives have channelled foreign funding, such as the United StatesNewly Independent States (US-NIS) Women’s Consortium (Sperling et al. 2001: 1160). Since, as Renne has argued, Eastern European women ‘know more about Western women and their movements and demands than they know about each other’ (Renne 1997: 9), there have also been initiatives to strengthen networking between countries in the region. The KARAT Coalition is a unique regional and transnational advocacy network, founded as an outcome of the 1995 Beijing World Conference on Women. The Coalition was formally launched in Warsaw in February 1997 by representatives from ten Central and Eastern Europe countries, and by 2004 had swelled to 46 memebr organisations. In 1999, KARAT attended the 43rd UN CSW (Commission on the Status of Women) session in New York to present the first jointly compiled regional report. From 2002, KARAT has engaged with the gender implications of the EU enlargement process. The November 2003 conference on a ‘gender assessment of the impact of EU accession on women and the labour market in Central and Eastern Europe’ had produced four country-based impact assessments by mid-2004. KARAT’s valuable research and advocacy work is financed by UNIFEM, which itself needed KARAT’s advocacy during 2004 to secure its funding base. The mutuality of this interaction between KARAT and UNIFEM illustrates the two-way benefits which can accrue from transnational networking (KARAT 2004; cf. also True 2003: 152–161). The Sörös Foundation has been instrumental in supporting women’s movements throughout the region, most recently through the Open Society Institute’s Network Women’s Programme set up in 1997 under the directorship of Anastasia PosadskayaVanderbeck, one of the most influential feminist activists in the early post-socialist period in Russia and former Director of the Moscow Gender Studies Centre (Open Society Institute Network Women’s Programme 2002). There are many beneficial consequences of such networking, which Sperling et al. (2001: 1155–1156) see as ‘not a unidirectional process’. They stress the ‘reciprocal benefits [which] accrue to both local and extralocal activists and organisation’ (Sperling et al. 2001: 1155–1156). Nevertheless, as they acknowledge, the discourses and particularly the availability of financial and other resources that result from international contacts and collaborations have had major implications in terms of

34

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

constraints as well as opportunities, impacting upon the capacity, shape and objectives of women’s movements in the region (as elsewhere). This interaction between feminist groups has continued to be part of the critical and continuing East–West dialogue that mediated the analysis and expectations for civil society activity in the early 1990s. Some have criticised the impact of foreign donor funding as distorting the priorities of local-level women’s NGOs, defining their agendas, emphasising management and efficiency at the cost of political mobilisation, and causing unhelpful levels of internal competition, fragmentation and exclusivity focused on the need to gain external resources (Lang 1997; Khan 2000; Cockburn et al. 2001; Roman 2001; Sperling et al. 2001; Kramer 2004). In the context of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the supposed neutrality of international support to ‘any local NGO that is nominally committed to multi-ethnic and gender-sensitive principles’ (Belloni 2001: 169; see also Walsh 1998) carries with it the unquestioned acceptance of the ‘good’ inherent in civil society. It thereby masks a normalising agenda of liberal democracy that prevents any criticisms of the now dominant capitalist paradigm. The second factor which has recently begun to have a significant impact on the nature and influence of local civil society organising is ‘gender mainstreaming’, particularly as it appears in the policies of state and supranational bodies. Unlike the well-publicised retraction of state powers in the face of globalisation and decentralisation, gender mainstreaming by contrast represents an institutionalisation of feminism within policy arenas (True and Mintrom 2001). This is connected to the linking of domestic agendas to global norms through feminist networking at international conferences such as the Fourth World Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995 and international treaties such as the UN Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW). In the case of Central and Eastern Europe, gender mainstreaming is part and parcel of the EU accession process, where Central and Eastern European countries wishing to become member states are obliged to adopt European norms. As always with top-down policies, they are twoedged. Some analysts argue that it is only under pressure from transnational institutions, in this case the European Union, that national governments feel compelled to comply (Regulska 2001; Steinhilber 2002). Conversely, however, it has been argued that many EU gender equality policies result directly from grassroots pressure from women’s and feminist activist groups (Hoskyns 1996). Jacqui True and Michael Mintrom maintain that the findings of their quantitative study of Central and Eastern European countries in the run-up to accession show clearly that the adoption of gender mainstreaming policies and machineries can be directly linked to the existence of women’s civil society activism (True and Mintrom 2001).

Central and Eastern Europe

35

There are thus clearly ambiguities surrounding transnational influences, be they external funding for civil society activism (feminist activistdriven or international donor agency) or the pressures emanating from the desire for EU membership. Such external influences – and the ambiguities and ambivalences they generate for civil society organising around gender issues – underline the need for a more nuanced picture of women’s civil society mobilisation in Central and Eastern Europe. Analysis must concentrate not only on the ‘absence’ of feminist mobilisation but also on the detail of current activities and political positions, placing them against the complex background of the post-Cold War geopolitical environment. It must also acknowledge that those conducting the analysis will themselves be positioned within an East–West political dialogue that itself dictates what can be seen and interpreted as ‘mobilisation’, ‘politics’ and ‘feminism’. The following two country case studies of Poland and the former Yugoslavia represent an attempt to present such a detailed and politically sensitive analysis.

Case studies Poland Mobilisation of women in Poland in the late 1980s and most of the 1990s was mediated by two interconnected elements. The first was the position of the Church and the second was the political conflicts over abortion that occurred throughout the 1990s. Women in Poland had a long history of engagement in political activity (Fuszara 1997; Gontarczyk-Wesola 1997) and had set up their own group, ‘the Enthusiasts’, during the struggle for national independence in the nineteenth century. Under state socialism, as in many other countries, there was a single women’s organisation, the Polish Women’s League, which was closely connected to the Party. In the early 1980s, the relaxing of state control over independent mobilisation engendered the first alternative women’s groups, and the first explicitly feminist group was established by students at Warsaw University (Siemienska 1998; Bystydzienski 2001). Meanwhile, the continued association of feminism with communism ensured that most women’s first loyalty in this nascent civil society was to Solidarity. In 1989 the Women’s Section of Solidarity was formed and, although it gradually developed an independent agenda, the nature of the movement as essentially a male-dominated trade union meant that the women’s section was increasingly sidelined. Solidarity’s strong links to the Catholic Church meant opposition to reproductive rights, a strong emphasis on masculine/feminine roles linked to notions of the nation, and the idealisation of the traditional Polish family as more ‘natural’ than that of state socialist society (Tarasiewicz 1991; Titkow 1993; Fuszara 1997;

36

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Nowakowska 1997). Polish society had historically been dominated by the existence of an extremely powerful Catholic Church. The Church reinforced a traditional image of Polish womanhood as that of the matka polka, or Polish mother, in which women were seen as the protectors of national identity, and a spirit of self sacrifice was encouraged in the name of the homeland and the family (Titkow 1993; Heinen 1995; Nowakowska 1997; Ostrowska 1998). The fact that Poland had ceased to exist as a country during the partition of the nineteenth century accounts for the survival of this image linked to Polish struggles for national identity throughout the state socialist period (Bystydzienski 2001). This stance was significantly to affect women’s political voice and participation and their gender roles. In the aftermath of transformation many women may have relished the opportunity of returning to the home and adopting a newlyvalorised position in society as the nation’s moral and cultural guardians (Gontarczyk-Wesola 1997). Under state socialism, the Church had occupied a position often described as a ‘civil society’ institution in terms of its occupation of a space between the state and the private sphere. This placed it in direct conflict with Communist ideology on several important material and discursive levels (Fuszara 1993; Kulczycki 1999; Kramer 2004). Not only did it provide the only alternative power structure and opportunity for ideological group formation, but it had also taken up many welfare and social care roles not provided by the state. Despite state socialism’s ideological antipathy towards religion and its vigorous suppression of alternative power structures, the regime had eventually been forced to accept the Church’s role in Polish society, with significant consequences for gender roles. The power struggles between the two institutions were to play a major role in the transformation process. No other institution had the history, experience or infrastructure of the Church, and much has been made of the role it played in filling the political vacuum post-1989 (Githens 1996). In the aftermath of transformation the Church continued to fulfil many of the welfare roles it had performed pre-1989 and provided the guiding ideology of many initial political debates (Gill 2000), which constituted, it has been argued, a ‘take-over’ of civil society space. However, we have described how civil society is not an ‘empty space’ or ‘vacuum’ to be filled with activity in a newly democratic environment, but a concept already shaped in advance by political ideologies. The importance of the Church was therefore not simply that it occupied this newly emergent space, but that its involvement in reproductive politics was key to shaping political identities and their relationship to gender. In a situation where women’s grassroots movements were rare their political energies were focused along differing lines and in different locations at this time, such as caring for their families in an environment of increasing instability (Bystydzienski 2001). Many theorists have identified the Polish abortion debate as being fun-

Central and Eastern Europe

37

damental to the reconfiguration of political arenas following the fall of state socialism (Einhorn 1993; Titkow 1993; Hadley 1996; Kulczycki 1999; Fuszara 2000; Zielinska 2000; Kramer 2004). In 1989, a draft abortion law was submitted by the incoming government to restrict Polish women’s access to abortion – a right which they had held since 1956. Abortion proved a test-case for the ability of different political forces, both state and non-state, to mobilise, and gave them a framework within which to define various political and cultural standpoints. When the new legislation was first put forward in 1989, some 30 civil society women’s groups were established in response. The Association for the Dignity of Women, the Feminist Association and Pro Femina organised demonstrations, and the Women’s Parliamentary Group was active in cooperating with these NGOs whilst lobbying within parliament (Jankowska 1991; Fuszara 1993, 1997, 2001; Zielinska 2000; Kramer 2004). Finally, in 1993 a new law was passed which outlawed abortion except in cases such as rape and incest and imposed strict prison sentences on both the woman and her doctor. In 1996 the law was revised under a government led by the Democratic Left Alliance to permit abortion in the case of difficult family and living conditions. However, the Church has proved too powerful for the pro-choice lobby. The Church was in a strong position following its important role in the 1989 Round Table talks, and the political actions of the newly formed women’s groups were no match for its strength, influence and organisation (Kulczycki 1999). As a result, in 1997 the law was again amended, removing the option of abortion for social reasons (International Planned Parenthood Federation, no date; Nowicka 2000: 72–73; Traynor 2003; Kramer 2004). As Joanna Regulska interprets it: ‘In the 1990s the Catholic Church has consciously chosen women’s reproductive rights as its most visible target for asserting its political power over society’ (Regulska 1998: 323). In an environment where gender relations were in flux, the abortion issue reminded women in no uncertain terms what their role in society was to be and how the administration viewed their contributions to political debate. The mobilisation of women in civil society over abortion was challenged on all sides – particularly by Solidarity and the Church. Solidarity was at a point where it needed to establish the relationship between the state and civil society, and its conservative ideological positioning enabled it to capitalise on its links with the Church to neutralise opposition to the abortion bill. The abortion ban was fought by the state as a socio-economic problem and by the Church as a moral problem, rather than as one of women’s rights. Rachel Alsop and Jenny Hockey (2001: 463) argue that Poland serves as ‘an example of the ways in which women’s reproductive rights can be appropriated as a symbolic resource to be deployed in political struggles which do not have the interests of either women themselves or their children, born and unborn, as their primary goal’. The traditionalist/

38

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

nationalist image of woman-as-mother-of-the-nation, together with the influence of the Church over civil society, had the effect of silencing political debate on women’s issues other than those linked to the family and reproduction (Siemienska 1998; Fuszara 2000; Kramer 2004). In opposition to these trends, the role of women’s organisations in the abortion debate challenged both state and church discourses of nationalism and morality, privileging in their place a discourse of women’s rights as human rights. Despite the creation of many groups and coordination around campaigns on the abortion issue, many of the new groups were less interested in ‘strategic’ issues around gender than in addressing the practical problems of the new legislation (Siemienska 1998). Organisations such as the Assistance to Single Mothers’ Federation, and the Catholic Association of Single Mothers, were involved in setting up shelters and hostels as awareness of the material problems for many women grew as a result of the parliamentary debates (Fuszara 2000, 2001). Nonetheless there was an expansion of further initiatives around women’s bodily autonomy, such as those to combat trafficking (La Strada) and violence against women (the Association for Battered Wives in Bydgoszcz), as well as the umbrella organisation The Federation for Women and Family Planning (Fuszara 2000; see also Buchowska 2000). There were other initiatives among women in Poland at this time which show evidence of a refusal to be restricted to mobilisation around reproduction, however politicised an issue this had become. By the early 1990s political representation and other structural inequalities were beginning to be addressed as part of a wider programme to combat women’s general subordination. In 1989 the Polish Feminist Association was formally registered (although it had in fact been in operation since 1980), promoting ideas of feminism and equal rights, organising seminars and conducting research and education programmes (Bystydzienski 2001; Fuszara 2001). By 1993 there were 59 registered women’s organisations – a figure which rose to 70 in 1995 and 150 in 2000 (Bystydzienski 2001: 506). In 1994 the Women’s Rights Centre was set up to analyse legislation and monitor the government’s policy programmes with regard to the ratification of international agreements. The Centre also provided legal assistance and training for the police and other officials on violence against women (Fuszara 2001). The lobbying group Kobiety Tez (Women Too) provided assistance to women involved in local politics, and training sessions for prospective political candidates. This led to an increase in women’s participation in local government after the 1994 elections and – after the introduction of 30 per cent quotas by three political parties – to a dramatic rise in the percentage share of women in national government from 13 per cent in 1997 to 20 per cent in the 2001 elections in the Sejm or Lower House, and almost doubling (from 12 per cent in 1997 to 23 per cent in 2001) in the Senate (Spurek 2002: 11, 18–21). The national women’s documentation

Central and Eastern Europe

39

and information centre OSKA was also established at this time (Fuszara 2001). The Centre for the Advancement of Women organised vocational training and self-help groups, and ran the Women’s Labour Exchange (Fuszara 2001). Other organisations were set up for professional women to improve their chances of promotion to high positions in enterprises and administration (Fuszara 2000; Siemienska 1998). The impact of these measures has undoubtedly been considerable. However, links between these women’s organisations and government have been problematic, illustrating the continuing influence of the Church in political activity. In 1995, under the government led by the Democratic Left Alliance, the Forum for the Co-operation of the Government Deputy for the Family and Women’s Issues and of Non-Governmental Women’s Organisations was founded to evaluate and initiate policy. However, disagreements over the abortion issue led to organisations associated with the Catholic Church leaving the Forum, which in turn created a wider division within civil society organisations over the role of women and their political activity. In 1997 the new Cabinet led by Solidarity ended cooperation with the Forum, and in recent years the lack of collaboration between the women’s movement and the government has deepened (Fuszara 2001).5 In 1999 several NGOs joined together in the production of a report ‘Gender Discrimination in Poland’ in response to the government’s failure to cooperate with women’s groups or engage with gender issues. In 1999 and 2000 initial attempts to introduce draft Equal Status legislation into the Sejm (parliament) were literally laughed out of court (Einhorn 2004), exemplifying what Einhorn has theorised as the civil society ‘gap’, whereby linkages between women’s grassroots activity and state-level institutions are either non-existent or inadequate (Einhorn 2000b, 2004). A more recent influence on the nature of women’s civil society activity has been the growing dialogue around Poland’s membership of the European Union. In 2003 the abortion issue looked briefly as if it could derail Poland’s entry to the EU, particularly after the European Parliament passed a resolution calling on all member states and the Eastern European accession countries to legalise abortion. However, in a move some might read as a demonstration of the EU’s lacklustre commitment in matters of gender equality, the Polish government managed to negotiate an opt-out clause much like that already enjoyed by Ireland (Traynor 2003; Kramer 2004). However, Joanna Regulska has pointed out that despite the distinct ‘gender blindness’ of the enlargement debate itself, the new ideological discourses have had an impact on the issues around which women’s groups mobilise. On the one hand, pressure from the EU to implement social and economic as well as legal measures for equality have meant that women’s groups have had much discursive ‘armoury’ with which to make their claims. However, this has also had the potential to dictate the issues that would gain approval (and funding) from

40

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Brussels, and particular issues have been prioritised for attention – such as measures to combat human trafficking, which is perceived by the countries of the EU as a growing immigration problem related to EU enlargement (Regulska 2001; Macdonald 2003). Associations such as the Polish branch of the Network of East West Women are active in coordinating political, economic and legal projects in relation to both the continuing environment of transformation and EU accession (NEWW Polska). In conclusion, as in other countries in the region, women’s issues in Poland have been perceived by many as selfish and individualist in the face of national turmoil (Kulczycki 1999). Women developing political subjectivities around their contextual needs, together with specific factors such as the move towards accession to the EU, have resulted in a growing number of small single-issue groups (Fuszara 2001). Broader movements have become visible due to the networking and coalition-building strategies of these smaller groups and the awareness of the need to address more general patterns of gendered subordination. Concentration on the struggle over the occupation of a hitherto ‘empty space’ of civil society on the one hand, and the domination of models of feminist activism in Western Europe that placed a strong emphasis on reproductive choice on the other, tends to obscure the wider picture of women’s political activity. Former Yugoslavia Unlike many other countries in the region, the former Yugoslavia is a heterogeneous mix of cultures and ethnicities, with a significantly different experience of state socialism. Civil society mobilisation by women in these countries (Bosnia-Herzegovina, Croatia, Serbia and Slovenia) is arguably the most well established in the whole region, despite the pressures of ethnic conflicts which have devastated the republics and fundamentally shaped the population’s social and political identities (Renne 1997). For reasons of space, this paper focuses primarily on groups in Croatia and Serbia, with some reference to groups in Bosnia-Herzegovina. Women’s movements in Yugoslavia grew up during World War II, when women mobilised to fight the Nazi occupation – and from the early 1970s a flourishing feminist movement was able to build upon the legacy of this early activism. Under state socialism, the Anti-Fascist Women’s Front of Yugoslavia, despite being initiated by the Communist Party, facilitated a move by women from private to public/political sphere, where they gained posts in the Party and in local administration (Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997). Yugoslavia had a relatively ‘open’ position during the period of state socialism with regard to travel, market deregulation and workers’ selfmanagement. The existence of this (to some degree) market economy pre-1989 brought with it significantly greater freedom to organise alternative movements in so-called ‘civil society’ (Gill 2000). Paradoxically, this

Central and Eastern Europe

41

meant that civil society activism in the 1980s in Yugoslavia lacked the radical edge of oppositional movements elsewhere in the region (Renne 1997). From a gender perspective, as in liberal democracies in the West, the lack of equal labour force participation in the market economy also conversely proved to impose restrictions for women. Indeed, women in Yugoslavia made up a much smaller percentage of the workforce than they had done in other countries in Central and Eastern Europe (Morokvasi¢ 1998). Mirjana Morokvasi¢ has argued that in Yugoslavia an effective reintroduction of women into the private sphere, and hence the emergence of a male-dominated public sphere, was a feature of the period of state socialism, rather than becoming evident only at the time of transformation. One crucial difference was the situation of ethnic nationalist conflict, which, as Tanya Renne puts it, makes movements ‘particularly demanding of change’ (Renne 1997: 5). The group Women in Society had been active in Zagreb since the mid1970s (Desnica and Knesevi¢ 1997; Luki¢ 2000). In 1978 the first international feminist meeting took place in Belgrade and led to the formation of some independent women’s groups in Serbia and Croatia. By the late 1980s several more groups had been established, including the Women’s Group Tresnjevka of Zagreb (which also formed a hotline and subsequently the refuge centre Women’s Aid Now), Women and Society of Belgrade and Lilit of Ljubljana (Desnica and Knesevi¢ 1997; Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997; Luki¢ 2000; Renne 1997). From 1986 Women and Society began to use the word ‘feminist’ to describe its activities, drawing criticism from the women activists associated with the Communist Party (Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997). Between 1987 and 1992, five panYugoslav feminist conferences were held. By the time the ‘I, You, She, For Us’ conference took place in 1990, feminists were calling for a greater focus on the position of women in society and politics. Issues of violence against women and ethnic nationalism, which connected activists from all areas, were placed firmly on the conference agenda (Renne 1997). By this time the shape of the movement was already being significantly influenced by the rise of nationalism and approaching conflict, and at the 1990 conference and despite the fact that feminists from Ljubljana, Zagreb and Belgrade had been working together for almost two decades, the divisive conflicts over ethnic nationalism began to take their toll (Duhacek 1993; Renne 1997). In addition, a vehement and growing antifeminism in society and the media increasingly portrayed women’s activism as disloyal to Yugoslavia (Drakuli¢ 1993; Morokvasi¢ 1998; Ugresi¢ 1998; Corrin 1999; Luki¢ 2000). The Women’s Movement of Yugoslavia, established in 1990 but a remnant of the old regime with links to the promilitary parties, received better media coverage than the feminist conference (Zajovi¢ 1997; Corrin 1999; Luki¢ 2000). At the same time, feminist politics was entering the academy. The first courses in Women’s Studies had been introduced at the university in

42

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Ljubljana, Slovenia in the late 1980s. In 1992, the Belgrade Women’s Studies Centre, an NGO project originating from the group Women in Society, was established. This was an independent educational centre outside the university sphere – a model followed in 1995 by the Zagreb Centre for Women’s Studies. Set up shortly after the Vance–Owen peace agreement and two months before the start of the war in Bosnia, the centre took an anti-nationalist and anti-war stance. It was accused of failing to address issues of war and nationalism and of adopting ‘traditional’ ideas of the role of feminist theory and academia (Duhacek 1998b). Dasa Duhacek (1998b: 491) has commented that ‘one of the underlying immediate dilemmas was how, in a time of war we could engage in an essentially peacetime activity’; in other words, the study of feminist theory was perceived as to a certain extent remaining ‘outside’ the context of war. In the period following 1989, women’s political subjectivity, in terms of feminism and of civil society activity more broadly, was therefore being increasingly mediated – and constrained – by the discourses of ethnic nationalism and the material conditions of war. Ethno-nationalist discourse excluded women from political decision-making and cast them largely as powerless victims of national struggles (Bracewell 1996; Kora¢ 1996; Corrin 1999). Such discourses saw women exclusively in the role of mothers, a role made all the more entrenched amid hysteria over the extremely low birth rate, which had been a feature of Yugoslav demographics since the 1940s (Bracewell 1996; Zajovi¢ 1997; Alsop and Hockey 2001). Women’s prescribed position as the biological and social reproducers of cultural identity (Yuval-Davis 1996) critically influenced their participation in political activity and the extent to which a ‘women’s movement’ was able to form. In Slovenia – one of the republics not covered in detail by this chapter – a situation reminiscent of the abortion debate in Poland took place in the early 1990s when the reference to abortion became the key problem holding up the passing of the Constitution of the new state. However, in this case the mobilisation of women’s groups succeeded in interrupting the parliamentary session and the resulting text included a reference to women’s freedom of choice (Jalusi¢ 1997). In July 1991, a gathering of parents whose sons had been conscripted into the Yugoslav army broke into the Serbian parliament to demand that their children were sent back from the war in Slovenia. From this developed the Wall of Love, a movement across national boundaries of ‘Mothers’ Committees’ in which parents campaigned for the return of their soldier-sons. One of the main actions of the Wall of Love was the organisation of bus convoys to take women from all republics to the headquarters of the Yugoslav National Army in Belgrade (Zarkov 1997). However, despite the initial efforts at coordination, once again tensions over nationalist allegiances were inevitable. Ultimately the convoys were utilised in nationalist propaganda as justification for the creation of separate republican armies. The political importance of this mass mobilisation

Central and Eastern Europe

43

had unfortunately been understood better, and co-opted, by the authorities than by the women themselves (Zarkov 1997; Cockburn 1998; Luki¢ 2000). The Wall of Love was neither a peace movement, nor feminist. First, many women were not against the war itself, but simply blamed it for the loss of their sons (Zajovi¢ 1997). Secondly, the use of motherhood as a ‘moral basis for public demands’ (Luki¢ 2000: 409) can be interpreted as largely obscuring women as both political actors and as individuals, casting them rather ‘as mythic mothers’ (Luki¢ 2000: 404; italics in original). Moreover, women acting for peace in the region were seen as highly subversive (Ugresi¢ 1998; Corrin 1999). Zarana Papi¢ (cited in Duhacek 1998a: 134, original emphasis) has argued that ‘because of the absolute domination of the Nation’s interest, any other, civilian, politically democratic, peace making, and alternative strategy against the War itself is, at the very first step seen as “cowardly”, “unmanly” ’. The weekly anti-war protests of the Belgrade group Women in Black from October 1991 provided a contrasting example. Women in Black transformed their mourning into a political/ideological stance which embraced all victims of the war and refused to distinguish between ‘our’ victims and ‘theirs’. Broadening the focus from the individual to the collective formed an important element in the redefinition of women’s political activity and their use of the public sphere. Women in Black made their protests in silence, thereby challenging not only the actions of their government, but also the very nature of political discourse and the methods by which dissent is expressed. Non-violence was conceptualised as a political act of resistance and of ‘feminist solidarity’, and the group identified the important connections between the military violence and the increasing evidence of domestic violence that accompanied ethnonationalist conflict. Unlike many other initiatives, Women in Black succeeded in fostering links across ethnic divides, with like-minded organisations forming in Sarajevo, Kosovo and elsewhere. Since the beginning of the 1990s Women in Black groups have sprung up all over the world, and groups in Israel, Italy, London, New York and Spain continue to organise their silent protests against militarisation and conflict (Cockburn 1998; Corrin 1999; Women in Black 2001). A large number of small organisations and single-issue campaigns also emerged during the period of military confrontation to tackle issues such as violence against women and the situation of female refugees. In Serbia, many of these organisations were formed from Women and Society when it disbanded in 1990 (Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997). Like Women in Black, these groups identified the links between violence in the family and violence in society as a whole, addressing the problem of rape in interethnic conflict as well as the significant, and rising, levels of domestic violence during the war (Stiglmayer 1994; Kora¢ 1996, Seifert 1996). The SOS Hotline in Belgrade was founded in 1990, following similar initiatives in

44

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Zagreb and Ljubljana (Corrin 1996; Mladjenovi¢ and Matijasevi¢ 1996). Zorica Mrsevi¢ (2000: 370) has described how ‘their grassroots methods constituted a form of political action different from that customarily associated with “political action” in Serbia, yet appropriate to these years of radical change’. The Autonomous Women’s Centre Against Sexual Violence was also founded in Belgrade in 1993 to work with women raped in war and survivors of domestic violence (Walsh 1998; Autonomous Women’s Centre 2002). However, the fragmentation of the larger movements into these smaller single-issue groups and service providers did not mean the failure to address strategic problems, gendered inequalities or other political questions. Rather, the groups began gradually to expand their remits to include other areas of discrimination and formed networks with other service providers working in similar areas. Their working processes often represented a contribution to democratisation and an attempt to overcome destructive ethno-nationalist divides (Renne 1997; Cockburn 1998). The Medica Women’s Therapy Centre (now Medica Women’s Association), for example, was set up in 1993 in Zenica to give rape victims treatment and care in a women-only environment. They now have a ten-year history of integrative work in the pursuit of wider democratic change (Cockburn 1998; Cockburn et al. 2001; Cockburn and Zarkov 2002). The Autonomous Women’s Centre Against Sexual Violence in Belgrade went on to establish the Women’s Information Centre in 1999, aiming to increase women’s participation in civil society. Similarly organisations established by and to support women refugees, such as Zena BiH (Women of Bosnia and Herzegovina) and the Centre for Women War Victims, broadened their scope in this way. The remit of Zena BiH was expanded to incorporate projects on income regeneration which aimed to address the structural inequalities that faced women refugees (Walsh 1998). The Centre for Women War Victims, starting from the need to help women rape victims, developed a programme that encompassed the whole refugee situation from a feminist perspective (Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997). Explicitly feminist and women’s human rights groups were also increasingly in evidence. In Serbia, the early 1990s also saw the formation of the women’s party ‘ZEST’ (Cockburn 1991a), which unfortunately later folded due to conflicts over nationalism, and both Serbia and Croatia set up a Women’s Lobby to make demands regarding work, education, reproductive rights and violence (Litrichin and Mladjenovi¢ 1997). In 1992, Women’s Infoteka, an information and documentation centre, was established in Zagreb (Desnica and Knesevi¢ 1997). Towards the end of the 1990s other groups such as B.a.B.e. (Be Active Be Emancipated) in Croatia were established, which have an explicit focus on women’s human rights, addressing issues from violence and reproductive health to legislative change and political participation (B.a.B.e, no date). The history of women’s activism in the countries of the former Yugoslavia

Central and Eastern Europe

45

therefore seems to have been influenced only partially by the ‘opening up’ of civil society. Far more important in shaping women’s political subjectivity has been the political and social climate surrounding the ethno-nationalist conflicts. These conflicts simultaneously constructed women in term of their role as mothers, and influenced women’s activism around pacifism and violence. Yet women became active not only in peace politics (reinforcing stereotypical notions of femininity as ‘naturally’ life nurturing) but also around issues of women’s rights seen as political issues. Zajovi¢ (1997: 172) describes it in these terms: ‘The very role that marginalizes women in their private lives – reproduction – has had the effect of converting them into active participants in the political life of the nation’. Despite the appearance of a disparate group of largely issue-driven organisations, therefore, we have argued here that these can in fact be interpreted in terms of an identifiably strategic movement to address women’s continued structural disadvantage. Indeed, since the late 1990s many feminists in Croatia and Serbia (see, for example, Luki¢ 2000; Kasi¢ 2001), and to an extent also in Bosnia (Cockburn et al. 2001), have been very much in touch with debates on feminist theory, both within and beyond the region. They participate regularly in international conferences and hold workshops at which scholars from East and West gather to engage in productive dialogue. The longstanding Centre for Women’s Studies in Zagreb is also now in the process of becoming integrated into the formal university curriculum of the Faculty of Philosophy, Zagreb and the University of Zadar (Kasi¢ 2004). This move, as in many other gender studies departments throughout the region, demonstrates the growing status of feminist theory as a body of knowledge within the overall university system. Important links are thus being established between academia and the social and political goals of women’s movements both inside and outside the former Yugoslav states (Kasi¢ 2004).

Conclusion Initial analyses of women’s movements and civil society in the countries of Central and Eastern Europe attempted to explain a perceived reluctance or inability of women in these countries to utilise the newly opened democratic space of civil society to form a collective feminist movement. Such analyses depended on an assumption that where women’s mobilisation did occur, it was in the context of ‘regressive’ traditional roles, was concerned primarily with reproductive rights and was fragmented into small and non-ideological or non-feminist single-issue organisations. We have tried to illustrate that women were indeed mobilising around strategic and not just practical and immediate gender needs (Molyneux 1985), both before and after the demise of state socialism. We have also argued that a closer scrutiny of the meanings and ideologies attributed to

46

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

the very concept of civil society and to the activities of those who utilise it must be undertaken. In order to understand the frustration of women in the East who are chastised by their left-wing Western sisters for enjoying the opportunity to buy lipstick, we must understand how the opportunities that arose from democratisation created specific political identities according to the historic and cultural context of the region. Thus to speak of a unified ‘civil society space’ which appeared post-1989, and shared the same features as a corresponding ‘space’ in the liberal democracies of Western Europe, is fundamentally flawed. Likewise, the concept of feminist movements and/or strategies needs to be understood in terms of the ideological position of those who predict their formation. It should not be overlooked that many women’s groups in Western Europe and the USA are also single-issue lobbying campaigns, and not necessarily ‘feminist’ groups. The formation of political identities and the development of democratic structures has been largely universalised and taken outside of its social and historical context due to the strength of Western capitalist ideology. The reality of ‘civil society’ is that it does not serve to protect the population from state power when the embodiment of that state power is a capitalist economy (Lang 1997); nor does it protect participants from the gendered discourses, cultural practices and social structures which operate as power relations within civil society. If political participation in the traditional sense combines the will to act beyond one’s own self-interests with the belief that this action has the power to change social structures, then it has been the disillusionment with democracy’s ability to solve the problems of poverty and powerlessness, more than any state socialist legacy, that has contributed to women’s lack of participation (Duffy 2000). In this context, the need to change understandings of what constitutes – or is counted as – ‘political’ action is once again paramount. We argue strongly that such new understandings of the meanings of gender, politics and civil society have the potential fundamentally to alter both Western and other feminisms, and, more broadly, to enhance future analyses of democratisation and transformation processes, not only (nor confined to) the case of Central and Eastern Europe.

Notes 1 Local authors in Central and Eastern Europe were commissioned through an international project on civil society directed at the Institute of Development Studies and funded by the Ford Foundation to conduct empirical studies and to write reports on their findings. In the case of Central and Eastern Europe, a report was produced on gender and civil society in Poland. This chapter is based on the findings of this report together with the most up to date secondary sources, both from within and outside the region, available when the chapter was completed in February 2004. 2 Barbara Einhorn has argued – with others – in favour of the term ‘transformation’ rather than ‘transition’ in the case of the changes in East Central Europe since 1989. She resists the more commonly used term ‘transition’, which

Central and Eastern Europe

47

implies a single, known and positive outcome and is thus ideologically loaded. The use of the term ‘transformation’ indicates a departure from Western notions of a historical progression from a condemned state socialism to an applauded, or at least uncontested, liberal democracy (Bryant and Mokrzycki 1994; Einhorn 2000a) 3 Women constitute up to 64 per cent of the unemployed, and a high percentage of those living in poverty (Lazreg 2000: 3). In Russia, the percentage of women among those registered unemployed as of January 1994 was 68 per cent (Sperling 1999: 150). 4 There is continuing internal debate on the nature of a ‘feminist philosophy’ in Central and Eastern Europe which is severely limited by the linguistic diversity of the region (Duhacek 1998a). 5 It must be pointed out that there have been some positive examples of collaboration between women’s groups and the state. This has largely been through the contracting of groups such as the Centre for the Advancement of Women and OSKA by state bodies to conduct specific activities.

References Acsády, J. (1999) ‘Urges and obstacles: chances for feminism in Eastern Europe’, Women’s Studies International Forum 22(4): 405–409. Alsop, R. and Hockey, J. (2001) ‘Women’s reproductive lives as a symbolic resource in Central and Eastern Europe’, The European Journal of Women’s Studies 8(4): 454–471. Autonomous Women’s Centre, ‘Women’s Movement in Yugoslavia’ (http://www. womenngo.org.yu/sajt/english/sajt/index.htm, accessed 4/03/02). B.a.B.e. (no date) ‘About us’ (www.babe.hr/eng). Belloni, R. (2001) ‘Civil society and peacebuilding in Bosnia and Herzegovina’, Journal of Peace Research 38(2): 163–180. Bollag, B. (1996) ‘Women’s studies programs gain a foothold in Eastern Europe’, The Chronicle of Higher Education A15, December 13. Bracewell, W. (1996) ‘Women, motherhood and contemporary Serbian nationalism’, Women’s Studies International Forum 19(1/2): 25–33. Bryant, C.G.A. and Mokrzycki, E. (1994) ‘Introduction: theorising the changes in East-Central Europe’, in C.G.A. Bryant and E. Mokrzycki (eds) The New Great Transformation? Change and Continuity in East-Central Europe, London: Routledge, pp. 1–13. Buchowska, S. (2000) ‘Trafficking in women: breaking the vicious cycle’, in M. Lazreg (ed.) Making the Transition Work for Women in Europe and Central Asia, World Bank Discussion Paper 411, Washington, DC: The World Bank, pp. 85–88. Buckley, M. (1997) ‘Adaptation of the Soviet Women’s Committee: deputies’ voices from “Women of Russia” ’, in M. Buckley (ed.) Post-Soviet Women: From the Baltic to Central Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 157–185. Busheikin, L. (1997) ‘Is sisterhood really global? Western feminism in Eastern Europe’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 12–21. Bystydzienski, J.M. (ed.) (1992) Women Transforming Politics: Worldwide Strategies for Empowerment, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. —— (2001) ‘The feminist movement in Poland: why so slow?’, Women’s Studies International Forum 24(5): 501–511.

48

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Cockburn, C. (1991a) ‘A women’s political party for Yugoslavia’, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 155–160. —— (1991b) ‘Soviet women hold their first autonomous national conference’, conference report and concluding document from the First Independent Women’s Forum of the Soviet Union, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 141–148. —— (1998) The Space Between Us: Negotiating Gender and National Identities in Conflict, London: Zed Books. Cockburn, C. and Zarkov, D. (eds) (2002) The Postwar Moment: Militaries, Masculinities and International Peacekeeping, London: Lawrence and Wishart. Cockburn, C., Staki¢-Domuz, R. and Hubi¢, M. (2001) Women Organizing for Change: A Study of Women’s Local Integrative Organizations and the Pursuit of Democracy in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Zenica: Medica Infoteka. Corrin, C. (ed.) (1992) Superwoman and the Double Burden: Women’s Experience of Change in Central and Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, London: Scarlet Press. —— (ed.) (1996) Women in a Violent World: Feminist Analyses and Resistance across ‘Europe’, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. —— (ed.) (1999) Gender and Identity in Central and Eastern Europe, London: Frank Cass. Daskalova, K. (1997) ‘The women’s movement in Bulgaria after communism’, in J.W. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge. —— (2000) ‘Women’s problems, women’s discourses in Bulgaria’, in S. Gal and G. Kligman (eds) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 337–369. Davidson, Julia O’Connell. (2003) ‘The trouble with “trafficking”, Paper presented to the Launch Workshop of the Network for European Women’s Rights (NEWR) at the Centre for Global Ethics, University of Birmingham, 29 January 2003. Desnica, M. and Knesevi¢ D. (1997) ‘Something unexpected’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 202–204. Dölling, I. (1991) ‘Between hope and helplessness: women in the GDR after the turning point’, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 3–15. —— (1994) ‘On the development of women’s studies in Eastern Germany’, Signs 19(1): 739–752. Drakuli¢, S. (1992) How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed, London: Hutchinson. —— (1993) ‘Women and the new democracy in the former Yugoslavia’, in N. Funk and M. Mueller (eds) Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, London: Routledge, pp. 131–137. Duffy, D.M. (2000) ‘Social identity and its influence on women’s roles in East Central Europe’, International Feminist Journal of Politics 2(2): 214–243. Duhacek, D. (1993) ‘Women’s time in the former Yugoslavia’, in N. Funk and M. Mueller (eds) Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 131–137. —— (1998a) ‘Eastern Europe’, in A.M. Jaggar and I.M. Young (eds) A Companion to Feminist Philosophy, pp. 128–136. Blackwell Companions to Philosophy. Women’s/Gender Studies Association of Countries in Transition Electronic Library, http://wgsact.net/e-library/e-lib0009.html (accessed 11/02/02). —— (1998b) ‘Belgrade women’s studies centre’, The European Journal of Women’s

Central and Eastern Europe

49

Studies 5(3/4): 489–497. Women’s/Gender Studies Association of Countries in Transition Electronic Library, http://www.wgsact.net/e-library/e-lib0008.html (accessed 11/02/02). Einhorn, B. (1991) ‘Where have all the women gone? Women and the women’s movement in East Central Europe’, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 16–36. —— (1993) Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe, London: Verso. —— (1996) ‘Gender and citizenship in East Central Europe after the end of state socialist policies for women’s emancipation’, in B. Einhorn, M. Kaldor and Z. Kavan (eds) Citizenship and Democratic Control in Contemporary Europe, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, pp. 69–86. —— (2000a) ‘Discussant’s comments’, in M. Lazreg (ed.) Making the Transition Work for Women in Europe and Central Asia, World Bank Discussion Paper 411, Washington, DC: The World Bank, pp. 107–110. —— (2000b) ‘Gender and citizenship in the context of democratisation and economic reform in East Central Europe’, in S.M. Rai (ed.) International Perspectives on Gender and Democratisation, Basingstoke: Macmillan, pp. 103–124. —— (2005) Cinderella Goes to Market: Gender, Citizenship and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe, new revised and updated edition (first published 1993), London: Verso. Fábián, K. (2003) ‘Cacophony of voices: interpretations of feminism and its consequences for political action among Hungarian women’s groups’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 9(3): 269–290. Ferree, M.M. (2000) ‘Patriarchies and feminisms: the two women’s movements of post-unification Germany’, in B. Hobson (ed.) Gender and Citizenship in Transition, Basingstoke: Macmillan, pp. 156–172. Ferree, M.M., Risman, B., Sperling, V., Gurikova, T. and Hyde, K. (1999) ‘The Russian women’s movement: activists’ strategies and identities’, Women and Politics 20(3): 83–109. Fuszara, M. (1993) ‘Abortion and the formation of the public sphere in Poland’, in N. Funk and M. Mueller (eds) Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, London: Routledge, pp. 241–252. —— (1997) ‘Women’s movements in Poland’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 128–142. —— (2000) ‘New gender relations in Poland in the 1990s’, in S. Gal and G. Kligman (eds) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 259–285. —— (2001) ‘Organised women’s movements in Poland’ (unpublished Paper). Gaber, M.A. (1997) ‘Politics in transition’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 143–152. Gal, S. (1997) ‘Feminism and civil society’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 30–45. Gal, S. and Kligman, G. (2000a) The Politics of Gender After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. —— (eds) (2000b) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

50

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

Gapova, E. (2001) ‘Understanding the other: a response to Tiffany Petros’ article’, Central Europe Review 3(2). Women’s/Gender Studies Association of Countries in Transition Electronic Library, http://www.wgsact.net/e-library/e-lib0007.html (accessed 11/02/02). Gill, G. (2000) The Dynamics of Democratization: Elites, Civil Society and the Transition Process, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Githens, M. (1996) ‘Reproductive rights and the struggle with change in Eastern Europe’, in M. Githens and D. McBride Stetson (eds) Abortion Politics: Public Policy in Cross-Cultural Perspective, London: Routledge, pp. 55–68. Gontarczyk-Wesola, E. (1997) ‘Women’s situation in the process of change in Poland’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 34–41. Grünell, M. (1995) ‘Feminism meets scepticism: women’s studies in the Czech Republic’, The European Journal of Women’s Studies 2(1): 101–112. Hadley, J. (1996) Abortion: Between Freedom and Necessity, London: Virago. Havelková, H. (1997) ‘Transitory and persistent differences: feminism East and West’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan, D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 56–63. —— (1999) ‘Women in and after a “classless” society’, in C. Zmroczek and P. Mahony (eds) Women and Social Class – International Feminist Perspectives, London: UCL Press, pp. 69–84. —— (2000) ‘Abstract citizenship? Women and power in the Czech Republic’, in B. Hobson (ed.) Gender and Citizenship in Transition, Basingstoke: Macmillan, pp. 118–138. Heinen, J. (1995) ‘Unemployment and women’s attitudes in Poland’, Social Politics 2(11): 91–110. Hochberg, A. (1997) ‘The feminist network: a history’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 107–112. Hoskyns, C. (1996) Women, Law and Politics in the European Union: Integrating Gender. London: Verso. International Planned Parenthood Federation (no date) Poland country profile (http://ippfnet.ippf.org/pub/IPPF_Regions/IPPF_CountryProfile.asp?ISOCode =PL). Jalusi¢, V. (1997) ‘It’s a shame! The campaign for constitutional reproductive rights in Slovenia’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 212–217. —— (2002) ‘Between the social and the political: feminism, citizenship and the possibilities of an Arendtian perspective in Eastern Europe’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 9(2): 103–122. Jankowska, H. (1991) ‘Abortion, church and politics in Poland’, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 174–181. Janova, M. and Sineau, M. (1992) ‘Women’s participation in political power in Europe: an essay in East–West comparison’, Women’s Studies International Forum 15(1): 115–128. Jaquette, J.S. (ed.) (1994) The Women’s Movement in Latin America: Participation and Democracy, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Jaquette, J.S. and Wolchik, S.L. (eds) (1998) Women and Democracy: Latin America and Central and Eastern Europe, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Kaldor, M. (1991) ‘After the Cold War’, Feminist Review, Special Issue 39: 109–114.

Central and Eastern Europe

51

KARAT coalition, www.karat.org (last accessed 19 August 2004). Kasi¢, B. (2001) ‘Women’s studies: ideological images, common problems and dilemmas’, in G. Jähnert, J. Gohrisch, D. Hahn, H.M. Nickel, I. Peinl and K. Schäfgen (eds) Gender in Transition in Eastern and Central Europe. Proceedings, Berlin: Trafo Verlag, pp. 356–360. —— (2004) ‘Feminist cross-mainstreaming: a new challenge or stepping back?’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 11(4), in press. Khan, N.S. (2000) ‘The women’s movement revisited: areas of concern for the future’, in S. Ali, K. Coate and W. wa Goro (eds) Global Feminist Politics: Identities in a Changing World, London: Routledge, pp. 5–10. Kora¢, M. (1996) ‘Understanding ethnic-national identity and its meaning: questions from a woman’s experience’, Women’s Studies International Forum 19(1/2): 133–144. Kramer, A.-M. (2004) ‘Reproduction and the making of politics in the “New Poland”: Gender, Nation and Democracy in the Polish Abortion Debate’, unpublished Ph.D thesis, University of Warwick, UK. Kulczycki, A. (1999) The Abortion Debate in the World Arena, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Lang, S. (1997) ‘The NGOization of feminism’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 101–120. Lazreg, M. (ed.) (2000) Making the Transition Work for Women in Europe and Central Asia, World Bank Discussion Paper 411, Washington, DC: The World Bank. Litrichin, V. and Mladjenovi¢, L. (1997) ‘Belgrade feminists: separation, guilt and identity crisis’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 179–185. Luki¢, J. (2000) ‘Media representations of men and women in times of war and crisis: the case of Serbia’, in S. Gal and G. Kligman (eds) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 393–423. Maleck-Lewy, E. (1997) ‘The East German women’s movement after unification’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 121–127. Marsh, R. (1996) ‘The Russian women’s movement: Anastasiia Posadskaia, the Dubna forum and the independent women’s movement in Russia’, in R. Marsh (ed.) Women in Russia and Ukraine, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 286–297. Mladjenovi¢, L. and Matijasevi¢, D. (1996) ‘SOS Belgrade July 1993–1995: dirty streets’, in C. Corrin (ed.) Women in a Violent World, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 119–132. Molyneux, M. (1985) ‘Mobilisation without emancipation? Women’s interests, the state, and revolution in Nicaragua’, Feminist Studies 11(2): 227–254. Morokvasi¢, M. (1998) ‘The logics of exclusion: nationalism, sexism and the Yugoslav war’, in N. Charles and H. Hintjens (eds) Gender, Ethnicity and Political Ideologies, London: Routledge, pp. 65–90. Mrsevi¢, Z. (2000) ‘Belgrade’s SOS hotline for women and children victims of violence: a report’, in S. Gal and G. Kligman (eds) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 370–392. Nash, R. (2003) ‘Exhaustion from explanation: reading Czech gender studies in the 1990s’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 9(3): 291–310. Network of East West Women, www.neww.org (accessed 4/03/02).

52

Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever

NEWW Polska, www.neww.org.pl (accessed 4/03/02). Nowakowska, U. (1997) ‘The New Right and fundamentalism’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 26–33. Nowicka, W. (2000) ‘Reproductive health and the rights of women’, in M. Lazreg (ed.) Making the Transition Work for Women in Europe and Central Asia, World Bank Discussion Paper 411, Washington, DC: The World Bank, pp. 69–75. Open Society Institute Network Women’s Programme (2002) Bending the Bow: Targeting Women’s Human Rights and Opportunities, New York: Open Society Institute. Ostrowska, E. (1998) ‘Filmic representations of the “Polish mother” in postSecond World War Polish cinema’, The European Journal of Women’s Studies 5(3–4), 419–436. Petö, A. (1997) ‘Hungarian women in politics’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 153–161. Pine, F. (1994) ‘Privatisation in post-socialist Poland: peasant women, work and the restructuring of the public sphere’, Cambridge Anthropology 17(3): 19–42. Posadskaya, A. (1991) ‘An interview with Anastasia Posadskaya by Maxine Molyneux,’ Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 133–140. —— (ed.) (1994) Women in Russia. A New Era in Russian Feminism, London: Verso. Posadskaya-Vanderbeck, A. (1997) ‘On the threshold of the classroom: dilemmas for post-Soviet Russian feminism’, in J. Scott, C. Kaplan and D. Keates (eds) Transitions, Environments, Translations: Feminisms in International Politics, London: Routledge, pp. 373–382. Randall, V. (1998) ‘Gender and power: women engage the state’, in V. Randall and G. Waylen (eds) Gender, Politics and the State, London: Routledge, pp. 185–205. Reading, A. (1992) Polish Women, Solidarity and Feminism, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Regulska, J. (1998) ‘The political and its meaning for women: transitional politics in Poland’, in J. Pickles and A. Smith (eds) Theorising Transition: The Political Economy of Change in Central and Eastern Europe, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 309–329. —— (2001) ‘Gendered integration of Europe: new boundaries of exclusion’, in G. Jähnert, J. Gohrisch, D. Hahn, H.M. Nickel, I. Peinl and K. Schäfgen (eds) Gender in Transition in Eastern and Central Europe. Proceedings, Berlin: Trafo Verlag, pp. 84–96. Renne, T. (ed.) (1997) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Roman, D. (2001) ‘Gendering Eastern Europe: pre-feminism, prejudice, and East–West dialogues in post-communist Romania’, Women’s Studies International Forum 24(1): 53–66. Seifert, R. (1996) ‘The second front: the logic of sexual violence in wars’, Women’s Studies International Forum, 19(1–2): 35–43. Siemienska, R. (1998) ‘Consequences of economic and political changes for women in Poland’, in J.S. Jaquette and S.L. Wolchik (eds) Women and Democracy: Latin America and Central and Eastern Europe, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 125–153. Smejkalová, J. (2001) ‘Gender as an analytical category of post-communist studies’, in G. Jähnert, J. Gohrisch, D. Hahn, H.M. Nickel, I. Peinl and K. Schäfgen (eds) Gender in Transition in Eastern and Central Europe. Proceedings, Berlin: Trafo Verlag, pp. 49–56.

Central and Eastern Europe

53

Sperling, V. (1999) Organizing Women in Contemporary Russia: Engendering Transition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sperling, V., Ferree, M.M. and Risman, R. (2001) ‘Constructing global feminism: transnational advocacy networks and Russian women’s activism’, Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 26(4): 1155–1186. Spurek, S. (2002) Women Parties Elections, Lód´z: Women’s Rights Center Foundation. Steinhilber, S. (2002) ‘Women’s rights and gender equality in the EU enlargement. An opportunity for progress’, WIDE (Network Women in Development Europe), Briefing Paper, October. Stiglmayer, A. (ed.) (1994) Mass Rape: The War against Women in Bosnia-Herzegovina, Lincoln, NB: University of Nebraska Press. Tarasiewicz, M. (1991) ‘Women in Poland: choices to be made’, Feminist Review Special Issue 39: 182–185. Titkow, A. (1993) ‘Political change in Poland: cause, modifier or barrier to gender equality?’, in N. Funk and M. Mueller (eds) Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, London: Routledge, pp. 253–256. Traynor, I. (2003) ‘Abortion issue threatens Polish admission to EU’, The Guardian, 30 January. True, J. (2000) ‘Gendering post-socialist transitions’, in M.H. Marchand and A. Sisson Runyan (eds) Gender and Global Restructuring: Sightings, sites and resistances, London: Routledge, pp. 74–94. —— (2003) Gender, Globalization and Postsocialism: The Czech Republic after Communism, New York: Columbia University Press. True, J. and Mintrom, M. (2001)‘Transnational networks and policy diffusion: the case of gender mainstreaming’, International Studies Quarterly 45: 27–57. Ugresi¢, D. (1998) The Culture of Lies: Antipolitical Essays, London: Phoenix House. UNICEF (1999) Women in Transition: The MONEE Project, CEE/CIS/BALTICS, Regional Monitoring Report no. 6, Florence: UNICEF. Walsh, M. (1998) ‘Mind the gap: where feminist theory failed to meet development practice – a missed opportunity in Bosnia and Herzegovina’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 5(3–4): 329–343. Watson, P. (2000) ‘Re-thinking transition: globalism, gender and class’, International Feminist Journal of Politics 2(2): 185–213. Waylen, G. (1994) ‘Women and democratization: conceptualising gender relations in transition politics’, World Politics 46(3): 327–355. Women in Black (2001) ‘Women in Black’, Peace News No. 2443, Jun–Aug, 22–25. Yuval-Davis, N. (1996) ‘Women and the biological reproduction of “the nation” ’, Women’s Studies International Forum 19(1–2): 17–24. Zajovi¢, S. (1997) ‘Nationalism and Serb women’, in T. Renne (ed.) Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 169–172. Zarkov, D. (1997) ‘Pictures of the wall of love: motherhood, womanhood and nationhood in Croatian media’, The European Journal of Women’s Studies 4(3): 305–340. Zhurzhenko, T. (2001) ‘Free market ideology and new women’s identities in postsocialist Ukraine’, European Journal of Women’s Studies 8(1): 29–49. Zielinska, E. (2000) ‘Between ideology, politics, and common sense: the discourse of reproductive rights in Poland’, in S. Gal and G. Kligman (eds) Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics and Everyday Life After Socialism, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 23–57.

3

Women’s organisations and civil society in China Making a difference Jude Howell

Introduction The first UN Conference on Women was held in Nairobi in 1975, and the subsequent Decade of Women triggered world-wide interest in women and gender, leading not only to the rise of women’s policy machineries but also to an unprecedented growth in non-state women’s organisations.1 Though China differed from many countries in that it already had a national women’s machinery in place, namely the All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF), the political upheavals of the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) had pushed this official body into reluctant dormancy. Following the political ascendancy of Deng Xiaoping and allies in 1978 a process of market reform was set in train, which generated far-reaching structural changes in the economy and society. In the less ideologically charged climate of the 1980s, the ACWF was able to resume its activities. With China’s hosting of the Fourth World Conference on Women in 1995, organising around women and gender in China gained a new dynamism and vitality. This was reflected not only in the re-fashioning of the ACWF’s relation to women and the Party-state, but also in the rapid proliferation of new, and more autonomous, women’s organisations across China. The emergence of a new stratum of more independent women’s organisations is not a unique phenomenon that is distinct from other associational fields, but mirrors the more general expansion of an organisational space with some degree of autonomy from the Party-state. China scholars have referred variously to this new space as a ‘public sphere’ or ‘civil society’ or as a ‘Third sector’.2 Debate has revolved around the relative analytic usefulness of these different concepts, their descriptive accuracy and their explanatory power to capture processes of change. Despite the differences in perspective, there is nevertheless a general consensus that more intellectual and organisational room exists for people to associate beyond the family and apart from the Party-state for common purposes during the reform period in China. This article examines the growth of women’s organisations in the

China

55

reform period and its implications for the development of civil society in China. In particular it addresses three research questions: first, why have women’s organisations developed rapidly in the reform period?; second, how do women’s organisations affect state policies on gender?; and third, in what respects do women’s organisations shape our view of civil society in China? The article draws upon semi-structured interviews with the ACWF and new women’s organisations as part of a broader research project on organising around marginalised interests in China as well as earlier research conducted in the 1990s on women’s groups in China.3

New times, new issues, new organising: the rise of new women’s organisations during the reform period Following the liberation of China in 1949 the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) consolidated its hold over society through a number of mechanisms, including the establishment of three key mass organisations, namely the ACWF, the All-China Federation of Trade Unions (ACFTU) and the Communist Youth League. The ACWF became the sole officially recognised organisation for representing women’s interests. As a mass organisation under the leadership of the CCP, it had the dual role of transmitting Party policy, interests and perspectives downwards to women, while simultaneously reflecting the needs and interests of women upwards (Howell 1996, 1997). While the ACWF was instrumental in achieving crucial legislative, policy and societal change to the benefit of women in the 1950s, the turmoil of the Cultural Revolution plunged the organisation into inactivity, with gender issues delegitimated as ‘bourgeois’. Though some provincial branches began to operate again in the mid1970s (Davin 1976: 57, footnote 8; Johnson 1983: 195), it was only after the reformers consolidated their power in 1978 that the ACWF was fully revitalised.4 The organisational landscape around women’s and gender interests began to change markedly in the reform period. The ACWF re-established itself as an active mass organisation, began to change its structures and functions in response to the increasingly diverse needs of women, and by the mid-1990s described itself alternately as either an NGO or a mass organisation (Howell 1996, 1997). By the end of 2000 the ACWF had an establishment of over 80,000.5 Parallel to these changes in the official women’s machinery, new, more autonomous women’s organisations emerged cautiously in the 1980s, only to develop rapidly in the 1990s. These changes in the institutional mosaic reflect a combination of domestic and external factors. On the domestic front, the key variables were the general expansion of civil society, the emergence of new gender challenges and the perceived limitations of existing intermediary institutions (like the ACWF) to address the increasingly diverse needs of women. On the external front, the prime stimuli were the 1995 Fourth World

56

Jude Howell

Conference on Women and the parallel NGO Forum in Beijing, and the growing presence of an international donor community in China. The rapid expansion of civil society in the reform period relates on the one hand to the societal consequences of rapid economic reform and on the other hand to the process of state redefinition. In this way it challenges the liberal–democratic argument that the market is the primary and sole trigger for the development of civil society, an argument that is seemingly validated in the peculiar historical trajectory of civil society in parts of Western Europe and given universal and natural status in most discussions of civil society.6 The introduction of economic reforms in China brought about fundamental changes in the structure of society, including the pluralisation and diversification of social interests, increased social differentiation and stratification, the breakdown of rigid rural–urban barriers, and new forms of associational life. Recognising the importance of higher technological and scientific capabilities, the reformers fostered a more liberal intellectual environment which permitted academic training in, and exchange with, the USA and Europe, engagement with different intellectual frameworks and more open dialogue within China. Aware of the need for new institutional mechanisms to ‘bridge’7 the Party-state and society, the CCP encouraged the development of new forms of association such as professional associations, trades associations, learned societies, and cultural and sports clubs. Furthermore, in the context of a more general re-organisation and streamlining of the state in the direction of ‘small government, large society’ (xiao zhengfu, da shehui), the Party/state urged these new intermediary bodies to take on former state functions, such as the daily regulation of specific trades and the provision of social welfare, thus illustrating the state impetus to the development of civil society in China. New ‘social organisations’ (shehui zuzhi), the official term coined to describe these new entities, grew rapidly from the mid-1980s, reaching a peak in 1989. Following the tragic events of 4 June 1989, when the People’s Liberation Army (under instructions from top Party leaders) forcefully removed pro-democracy demonstrators from Tiananmen Square, injuring and killing hundreds of students in the process, the Party-state clamped down on social organisations, prohibiting those organisations perceived as a threat to its authority – such as autonomous students’ unions and independent trades unions.8 The State Council issued new Management Regulations on the Registration of Social Organisations, replacing the 1950 regulations. These required all social organisations to register with the relevant section of the Ministry of Civil Affairs. To do so, they had first to find a supervisory unit (guakao danwei) which would act as a sponsor and be responsible for supervising the day-to-day activities of the affiliated social organisation. Though most social organisations continued to operate, this registration process inhibited the pace of growth of social organisations in the early 1990s. By 1993 there were 1,460 registered

China

57

national social organisations, 19,600 branch and local organisations registered at provincial level and 160,000 registered at county level.9 Though the Party-state attempted periodically to prohibit organisations it deemed undesirable, it was always one step behind the rapid processes of change in the associational sphere.10 In order to regain some control over this sphere it introduced further revisions to the regulations on social organisations in November 1998, leading to a fall in the number of social organisations from 220,000 in 1998 to 170,000 in 1999.11 Available figures suggest that by 2000 there were 136,841 social organisations in China, this sharp decline reflecting the impact of the 1998 regulations (Zhao 2001: 2). The emergence of more autonomous women’s organisations in the 1980s and 1990s occurred not only against this background of an expanding civil society, but also in the context of a changing ACWF and a diversification of women’s interests. Given on the one hand the lack of concerted action on and vocalisation of women’s interests during the Cultural Revolution and on the other hand the new needs of increasingly diversified groups of women in the reform period, the ACWF had a wealth of interests and issues to address. Rural migrant women working in coastal cities encountered problems of poor employment conditions, sexual harassment and urban prejudices (Tan, C. 1995). Female laid-off workers from state and collective enterprises met age and gender discrimination in the labour market (Ge and Shen 1999; Li and Zhao 1999; Shi 1999). The expansion of the sex industry across China left female sex workers vulnerable to male violence, sexually transmitted diseases and economic exploitation. In its attempt to become more responsive to women’s needs the ACWF began to adjust its structures, setting up new departments, training personnel in economics and law, and finding new ways to reach out to women. It increased its fund-raising efforts, thus enabling it to provide more services for women, initiate new activities such as legal advice in public places, and start hotlines. As the ACWF took up specific gender issues in the 1980s, such as discrimination against women in employment, and female abduction, some of its cadres also began to question its relationship to the CCP. A heated debate about the goals and organisational form of the ACWF erupted at the sixth ACWF Congress in 1988. Some delegates suggested that the ACWF should be autonomous of the Party, whilst others wanted it to become a government ministry or department. Some proposed that it turn itself into an NGO, whereas others wanted it to work more closely with and through the new women’s organisations (Wang, O. 1988, Wang, J. 1989). The hosting of the Fourth International Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995 was a significant catalyst both in the internal transformations of the ACWF and in the development of more independent women’s organisations. Preparations for this grand event provided

58

Jude Howell

opportunities for national- and provincial-level ACWF cadres to gain exposure to international feminist debates and themes, to experience at closer hand the workings of the UN, and to witness the dynamism and commitment of non-governmental women’s groups. Realising that China would also have to host the parallel NGO Forum and that it ironically lacked any meaningful gender-focused non-governmental sector, the CCP hastily encouraged non-governmental groups to expand and form in the run-up to the conference. Groups set up in this period include many of the women’s professional and trades associations, which affiliated to the ACWF. By the time of the Forum there were 5,800 women’s organisations in place12 and women researchers and groups held 47 sessions on gender issues during the NGO Forum. In the meantime the ACWF began to refer to itself publicly as a non-governmental organisation, so as to legitimise itself internationally, to facilitate international fund-raising and to distinguish itself from government organs.13 This political opening unleashed an energetic and creative wave of organisation around women and gender, stimulating fresh analyses of women’s needs, new initiatives and the recognition of gender issues such as domestic violence, and rape within marriage. Women’s professional and trades associations became more dynamic, whilst more independent women’s organisations, with a wider reach than successful professional women’s associations, developed rapidly.14 Women’s research groups, hotlines and salons had already begun to form during the late 1980s, though the tragic events of June 1989 dampened these activities.15 Although salons proliferated, these gatherings on occasions met with interference from the public security departments.16 Research seminars, national and local conferences, and international forums on gender issues expanded at breakneck speed, pushing forward the academic study of gender issues. The expansion of organisational space from 1993 onwards made possible numerous initiatives, such as the new journal for rural women, entitled Rural Women Knowing All (Nunong Jia); a single parent’s club in Beijing; East Meets West, a cross-cultural discussion group on gender issues;17 and the China Women’s Health Network. International donor agencies facilitated these processes by providing small grants to fund initial meetings and activities. A major player here was the Ford Foundation, which fostered the development of the Yunnan Reproductive Health Association, supported meetings of women’s studies scholars and provided considerable back-up to both the ACWF and more independent women’s groups in the preparatory process. Similarly, the Great Britain China Centre supported a conference in Beijing on rural women, bringing together British and Chinese scholars. Although there was a lull in activity after the 1995 conference as some groups fizzled out, some could not register,18 and others re-worked their goals and strategies, organisation around women and gender has continued to thrive at the turn of the millennium. New groups continued to

China

59

form after 1995, such as various women’s legal counselling centres in Shanghai, Xian, Wuhan and Xishuangbanna, the China Working Women’s Network in Shenzhen, the Beijing Female Migrant Workers’ Club, the media watch network and the Lesbian and Gay Beeper Hotline.19 However, as with other social organisations, the revisions to the regulations on the registration of social organisations issued in November 1998 inhibited the formal registration of new women’s groups. As some women’s organisations do not register, such as the Lesbian and Gay Beeper Hotline, and others are second- or third-level affiliates to larger organisations, it is difficult to estimate exactly how many women’s organisations there are in China. The national-level ACWF has 16 group members20 affiliated to it, such as the Women Mayors’ Association, the Women Judges’ Association and the Women Lawyers’ Association. Provincial and county Women’s Federations have respectively 132 and 6,700 women’s groups affiliated to them. Altogether, there are 50,000 women’s associations affiliated to the ACWF at all levels.21 The last women’s organisation to become a group member of the ACWF was in 1995, pointing to the strong impulse of the 1995 Conference in the ACWF’s courting of new, more independent women’s organisations. Most of the new women’s organisations attempt to meet the immediate practical needs of women who are beyond the institutional reach of the ACWF. For example, the Female Migrant Workers’ Club in Beijing focuses on reaching out to female migrant workers, who encounter poor and exploitative employment conditions. The Xishuangbanna Psychological and Legal Counselling Centre for Women and Children attempts to meet the concerns of divorced women, female victims of trafficking and rape, and women enduring domestic violence.22 Some organisations concentrate on analysing and exposing the manifestations of gender oppression. Following the success of the media watch group under the Capital Women’s Journalist Association the group was expanded to become a network, covering over 30 national newspapers. This network monitors the coverage of women in the media and looks critically at the images of femininity and womanhood that are reproduced in the print and broadcasting media. Informal salons debated the causes of women’s oppression and sought to make sense of the contradictory changes affecting women in the reform period. Though the conference preparations stimulated initiatives in major cities such as Beijing, Shanghai, Tianjin and Xian, the new wave of women’s organisations remained largely urban-centred, focusing on the needs mainly of women in urban areas. Most of the initiators of the new groups are highly educated women, often with positions in the state apparatus, who can then use their status and connections to foster and protect women’s initiatives. For example, the pioneer of Rural Women Knowing All and the Female Migrant Workers’ Club is chief editor of China Women’s Paper (Zhongguo Funubao), whilst a member of the group

60

Jude Howell

responsible for producing a Chinese version of Our Bodies Ourselves is Vicedirector of the Women’s Research Institute affiliated to the ACWF. Personal connections to Party/state leaders can be crucial both to the registration of a group as well as to its survival as a non-registered organisation. For example, the East/West group never registered but, because of the personal links between some of its members and the organising committee of the NGO Forum, its activities were tolerated. For social groups without webs of elite connections, such as commercial sex workers and many rural women, the possibilities for self-organisation are much more limited. Apart from triggering the development of more independent women’s organisations, the 1995 Conference also galvanised and gave legitimacy to the already emerging field of women’s studies. In the mid- to late 1980s, women’s studies centres were set up in a few cities in China. The first independent women’s studies centre was established in Zhengzhou University in 1987. In 1990 the ACWF set up the Women’s Research Institute. In the same year Beijing University and Hangzhou University followed suit. Three years later, Tianjin Normal College also set up a centre (Tan, S. 1995: 68). As preparations for the 1995 Conference got under way more centres were established, so that by 1994 there were 16 around the country (Liu 1995: 9). At the same time the number of women’s research journals rapidly escalated, forums and seminars on women’s issues spiralled and women’s salons mushroomed across China’s cities. In December 1999 the Women’s Research Institute, affiliated to the ACWF, initiated the China Women’s Research Society, with 80 group members. Its registration application was approved in 2000, a process which was facilitated by the political support of both the ACWF and the State Council National Working Committee on Women and Children. As of 2001, over 40 universities and colleges and 10 social science academies had established women’s or gender studies research centres (Du 2001: 15). These centres looked afresh at the history of the women’s movement. Many began to engage with alternative accounts of women’s oppression that departed from the orthodox Marxist–Engelsian framework. Translations of classic Western feminist writers such as Simone de Beauvoir, Juliet Mitchell and Germaine Greer rapidly followed. A group of dynamic women in Beijing joined together to produce a Chinese version of the classic text Our Bodies, Ourselves. The new centres struggled against conservative university establishments, which were reluctant to sanction postgraduate courses in women’s and gender studies or to approve the setting up of specialised departments (Tan S. 1995: 73–74). It was not until 1997 that the Education Office under the State Council granted permission to Beijing University to accept research students in the field of gender (Zheng 1997: 6). The interrogation of Marxist interpretations of gender relations in the new women’s studies centres, journals and women’s salons, coupled with

China

61

exposure to different perspectives through contact with international donor agencies and international women’s groups, led to a growing interest amongst scholars and activists in radical, liberal and socialist feminisms, and gender analysis (Liu 1995: 10). Though the ACWF has been reluctant to use the term ‘feminism’ or openly endorse those strands of feminism which it associates closely with Western, bourgeois theory, it has adopted the apparently more neutral discourse of gender analysis and women’s rights.23 In practice most of the new women’s organisations focus on women’s immediate, practical rather than long-term strategic interests, thus providing services such as counselling and legal advice for women rather than mobilising women to challenge male-dominated structures, practices and policies.24 Very few describe themselves as ‘feminist’ organisations, seeking to undermine male domination.25 This reflects not only the alien connotations of the concept but also a reluctance to invite the disapproval of the ACWF or other parts of the state.26 Apart from some gender researchers, most women writers and women’s organisations do not take feminism as their starting-point (Yang 1999: 57).27 In doing so, new women’s organisations and some women researchers thus continue to reproduce the notion that women are a special group needing protection, a conceptualisation that also deeply pervades the work of the ACWF.28

Making a difference? Influencing state policy on gender Fathoming processes of policy change is inexorably complex, not least because change can rarely be reduced to a single agent. In the case of China, charting the policy process is particularly challenging. Though there is greater openness and transparency than in the pre-reform era, institutional structures and decision-making mechanisms remain opaque, information is limited, and access by researchers to key players is constrained. Interviews with relevant ACWF cadres and activists in more autonomous women’s organisations provide essential clues to the policy process as well as insights into their particular roles. As the mass organisation with the authority to represent women, the ACWF is the best positioned of all women’s organisations to influence government and Party policy. Enjoying the legitimacy of the Party-state, it is regularly consulted at national and local levels on policy and legislative changes, but only insofar as these are recognised as of relevance to women or the ACWF. If the ministries in question are not aware of the gender implications of a policy, then it is up to the ACWF to draw this to their attention. As an ACWF cadre put it: We also talk to relevant ministries and get the support of different departments and then influence central government, as with laid-off workers and the Ministry of Labour or land reform and the Ministry of Agriculture. They issued documents which we influenced. We have

62

Jude Howell had many meetings with the Ministry of Public Security on trafficking of women to take joint action. But the ACWF always has to take the lead. If the ACWF did not raise these issues, these ministries would not take any initiative. (Interview, October 2000)

From the Party-state’s perspective this relevance may not necessarily be due to an expected adverse impact of a policy on women, but is linked rather to the ultimate goal of implementing a policy successfully through the agency of women. For example, Departments of Labour in major cities consulted with local ACWF branches on the formulation of reemployment schemes to assist workers made redundant from state enterprises. However, the purpose was not to find ways of tackling the discriminatory practices of laying off women before men, or employers’ biases against recruiting women, but to involve the ACWF in training programmes for women. Through its leading role in key governmental committees such as the Work Committee for Children and Women under the State Council,29 the ACWF is able to influence policy and legislative processes. The establishment of the Work Committee for Children and Women under the State Council in 1990 provided an important institutional means for the ACWF to influence government policy and to expand its connections in the government and Party. The Committee is made up of 29 units, including 24 ministries and 5 non-governmental organisations, of which one is the ACWF.30 One of the vice-chairs of the ACWF is also director of this committee’s secretariat, which is responsible for the daily running of the committee’s work and which is located in the ACWF. Furthermore, one of the three vice-chairs of the committee is Gu Xiulian, who is vice-President of the ACWF, thus providing the ACWF with key contacts within the State Council and other government structures.31 Although the committee is not a policy-making or law-making organisation, it is an inter-ministerial coordinating agency responsible for planning and monitoring. With only five full-time staff in the secretariat,32 the committee does not get involved in detailed discussion of revisions to law. However, it does have the authority to call ministries to meet to discuss issues, and in this way can influence ministries. With branches at provincial and county level, the committee can affect policy at sub-national level. According to a section head of the secretariat, the provincial branch committee played a key role in pushing through regulations on domestic violence in Hunan’s Provincial People’s Congress.33 If it finds that ministries are not taking a gender issue seriously, then it can put pressure on them to do so. This was the case with the issue of increasing women’s political participation in the personnel department, which was reluctant to accord this significance.34 Similarly, the committee has put pressure on the Ministry of Health to produce gender disaggregated health statistics above

China

63

county level, and more generally on the State Statistical Bureau to continue producing gender disaggregated statistics.35 Like the ACWF, it can make proposals directly to the National People’s Congress. Although the ACWF does not have the authority to make policy, not even gender policy, it can propose policy and legislative changes to the benefit of women. In the early 1980s it initiated a review of the Marriage Law, leading to important revisions enabling women to divorce more easily. With the development of independent women’s research centres and a stratum of women’s studies researchers both within and outside of the ACWF from the mid-1980s, it has increasingly drawn upon the results of research to argue and bolster the case for change. Thus legislative changes such as the 1992 Law on the Rights and Interests of Women, and the 2001 Amendments to the Marriage Law, built upon the results of commissioned and independent investigations. Illustrative of this is the inclusion of the issue of domestic violence in the 2001 Marriage Law amendments. Similarly, the State Council Work Committee on Women and Children also has demonstration projects in 88 rural counties, where it conducts training and research. It can then use the results of this training and research to persuade local government officials of the need to extend practical schemes and ideas.36 By using its contacts with government and Party officials, and People’s Congress delegates, ACWF cadres can push forward particular gender issues and ensure they become matters for debate and action within the Party-state. In order to influence debates within the National People’s Congress, the ACWF meets female delegates beforehand to win their support for legislative changes. Drawing upon its preparatory research and training on female political participation, and using the authority of the organisation to speak on behalf of women, the vice-Head of the ACWF, Gu Xiulian, was able to raise the issue of female political participation with the Organisation Department, the key institution for personnel matters within the Party-state. Similarly, through open discussion and persuasion, the ACWF was able to prevent the inclusion of a clause on phased employment for women in the Tenth Five-Year Plan (2001–2010), whereby women would remain at home full time to take care of children and re-enter the labour market at a later stage (Du 2001: 13). At the local level, Women’s Federation cadres can lobby People’s Congress delegates to support policy changes. For example, in Heping District, Shenyang City, the Women’s Federation put forward 325 women candidates for the local People’s Congress, more than the 25 per cent quota of 300, raising the number of female delegates from 25.8 per cent to 31.7 per cent (White et al. 1996: 88). The ACWF can also create a climate of support for issues by making particular grievances public issues, using its own publicity outlets and its contacts in mainstream national and local newspapers and broadcasting media. The ACWF has its own publishing house, where it produces China

64

Jude Howell

Women’s Paper as well as 47 journals and magazines. It also can influence the public through a special monthly women’s column in the People’s Daily and through special women’s TV programmes such as Women’s World (nuxing tiandi) and Women Hold Up Half the Sky (funi ban bian tian). In this way it has highlighted the apparent increase in the abduction of women and children, and the poor employment conditions of female migrant workers in the Special Economic Zones. It has also given public voice to the grievances of particular groups of women. For example, it has criticised the discriminatory nature of state retirement policies for women and men, and highlighted the discriminatory employment policies of state enterprises and state institutions with regard to female graduates. Similarly, it has published research in its own journals and in national newspapers about the low numerical representation of women in political and governmental leadership, and pushed for affirmative quotas for women. As well as bringing to public attention the exploitation of women and discriminatory state policies, the ACWF has also tried to promote women’s position in the economy and polity by enhancing the skills levels and selfconfidence of women. By supporting the development of women’s entrepreneurs’ associations, and in some cases initiating their formation, the ACWF has encouraged women to adapt to the new market rationale and set up their own private businesses. In a similar vein, the Four Selfs Campaign, which seeks to promote the self-respect, self-confidence, selfreliance and self-development of women, and the promotion of microfinancing are intended to integrate women into waged employment in the market context by fostering entrepreneurial values and a competitive spirit. In order to increase the proportion of women in political leadership positions at village level, the ACWF has organised training programmes to encourage women to stand as candidates for election to village committees. For example, Wang Shuzhen, head of the Women’s Federation in Qianxi County, Hebei province, has actively sought to increase the representation of women in village committees through voter education and leadership training for women (Wang 2000). Though the ACWF has made considerable achievements in introducing legislative, policy and regulatory changes to the favour of women, it has also faced constraints in doing so. The most difficult constraint arises from the organisation’s ambiguous position as a Leninist transmission belt institution. On the one hand it is supposed to communicate the interests of the Party to its constituency of women; on the other hand it should reflect the interests of women up to the Party. This dual purpose leaves it with the dilemma of deciding which to prioritise when there is a conflict of interests, as, for example, over state enterprise reform and female employment, or family planning policy and women’s reproductive rights, or the needs of rural migrant women and restrictive policies on rural–urban migration. Though historically the ACWF has tended in the last instance to prioritise the Party’s interests,37 it has increasingly articulated and

China

65

fought for the interests of women and negotiated further room from the Party to do so. As a Party organisation the ACWF is also bound to adhere to a particular ideological view of the world, and, specifically, a Marxist–Engelsian interpretation of gender oppression. This ideological constraint prevents any deeper causal analysis of gender oppression that looks beyond classreductionist explanations, and thereby affects its capacity properly to articulate women’s issues as gender issues. The ACWF is also limited in the influence it can wield by its status as a mass organisation, which is lower than that of a ministry. It does not therefore have the authority to call other ministries to meet, and is consequently dependent on other ministries to call it to meetings. Its reliance on influence through informal connections and channels means that its impact is uneven, fragmented and heavily dependent on the gender consciousness of the ACWF cadres and policy elites. Though the ACWF does try to influence female People’s Congress delegates before sessions, the effects of this are always limited by the receptivity of those women to gender issues and their readiness to speak openly at male-dominated Congress meetings. Compared with the ACWF, the new, more independent women’s organisations do not wield the same direct influence upon policy, legislation and regulatory change. On the one hand, many of the new women’s organisations focus on service delivery and do not aim to influence policy.38 On the other hand, those groups that seek some influence on policy, in addition to their other goals, are small in scale, without local branch networks, and lack legitimacy in the eyes of the Party-state. At the most their influence is one step removed when compared to the ACWF. The 16 group members of the ACWF are unusual compared to other new women’s organisations in that some of them are executive members of the annual ACWF congress and, as such, have the potential to promote certain issues within the ACWF.39 To influence policy they are strategically compelled to ally with the ACWF, which has the authority, institutional and personal connections, and resources to mobilise opinion nationally and to participate in genderspecific policy and legislative processes. As a cadre in the ACWF explained: ‘The ACWF is the largest women’s organisation and has connections with the government. So if these women’s groups link up with the ACWF, they can get some advantages.’40 If the ACWF is consulted on policy and legislative changes, or itself initiates such a process, then it may in turn consult with local women’s organisations. How effectively the ACWF and new women’s organisations can work together to influence policy and legislation depends in turn upon the nature of their relationship. The approach of the ACWF to new women’s organisations has been ambivalent, at times actively supporting some groups, whilst at others dismissing their work and any implicit claims they may appear to have to represent women The ACWF tends to prioritise its relations to its group

66

Jude Howell

members above other women’s organisations,41 and also limits the range of organisations that can become group members.42 Some women’s groups have also influenced policy by working through the supervisory unit (guakao danwei) or by participating in international aid projects. For example, the Xishuangbanna Psychological and Legal Women’s Counselling Centre for Women and Children has approached the Department of Public Security about handling rape victims with greater sensitivity.43 It has attempted to influence village leaders and county-level officials about gender, HIV/AIDS and women’s health issues through specialised training using participatory methods. The Gender Training Group in Beijing has provided specialised gender training for development projects sponsored jointly by government ministries and donor agencies, in this way bringing gender issues into a wider policy domain (Du 2001: 14). Given that some ACWF cadres have their feet both within the ACWF and in NGOs, they can use their dual positions effectively to promote gender issues. For example, a women’s cadre in Shaanxi province Women’s Federation carried out research on domestic violence through the non-governmental Shaanxi Women’s Theories and Marriage and the Family Research Association, of which she was a leading member. She then used the results of this survey and her position as an ACWF cadre to persuade provincial People’s Congress officials to introduce regulations on domestic violence (Gao 1999).44 Furthermore, by publishing an article on the research and bringing it to the attention of the ACWF, she was able to place the issue of domestic violence on the agenda of the ACWF Congress.45 Independent women’s studies researchers attempt to influence policy by carrying out empirical work on contemporary gender issues such as state enterprise reform and its impact on women workers. By making policy recommendations on the basis of their research results, they seek to influence government policy-makers. However, their influence is limited to the extent that their results appear only in academic women’s journals, which are not usually read by policy-makers. If they are commissioned by government agencies, or by donor agencies supporting sectoral projects, then their research is likely to be more influential. The establishment of the China Women’s Research Association in December 1999, of which the Women’s Research Institute is a key member, provides a new channel through which researchers in women’s centres and the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences can feed in to thinking in the ACWF. However, unlike many other countries, there are no specialised non-state advocacy groups which focus on mobilising public opinion or targeting People’s Congress or Party representatives on gender issues. On rare occasions some independent women’s groups have challenged the Party-state to take a firmer line on gender issues. A case in point was the women’s public meeting organised by the Media Watch Network in August 1998 to protest

China

67

at the rape of Indonesian Chinese women during anti-Chinese riots in Indonesia, whilst the Chinese government remained silent on the issue (Ge and Jolly 1999: 5). While new women’s organisations do not face the ideological and bureaucratic constraints of the ACWF, they are heavily dependent on international donor agencies for financial support, thus running the risk of increasingly shaping their research to the priorities of donors. Their reliance on volunteers for some of their work limits the scope of their activities and the degree of continuity. Furthermore, their small scale and lack of foothold in the Party-state not only curb their potential influence on policy-making but also require them to work through the ACWF and/or the supervisory unit responsible for them to influence policy.

Organising around women and making civil society What then does the field of women’s organisations reveal to us about the nature of civil society in China? To answer this question we need first to clarify the similarities and differences between women’s organisations and other social organisations, and then to consider their broader implications. Women’s organisations in China share much in common with other social organisations in China. They may take the form of registered associations, clubs and societies. They perform similar functions, such as providing welfare and advisory services, opportunities for exchange, advice to government, interest articulation and aggregation, research and networking. Like other groups, they run national and local hotlines, have their own journals, publish in the newspapers, broadcast on the radio and TV, offer legal counselling and provide training. They raise money through activities, services, membership fees and, in some cases, from government and international donor agencies. Their relations with the Party-state are complex and ambiguous. However, they also differ from other social organisations in a number of respects. First, the range of associational forms is much wider than for most social organisations, embracing a mass organisation, professional and trades associations, friendly societies, legal counselling centres, service centres and clubs as well as unregistered salons, informal discussion groups and networks. The need to create a contingent of women’s NGOs to participate in the 1995 NGO Forum facilitated the formation of independent women’s groups. Whilst other types of social organisations came increasingly under pressure to register or otherwise to disband, some women’s organisations were allowed to exist in the limbo status of neither registered nor registering. Women’s salons sprung up in universities across China from the late 1980s to discuss women’s and gender issues. Apart from students, no other societal interests have used the form of the salon to associate. Since the late 1990s women have also begun to form networks, linking women in different parts of China. For example,

68

Jude Howell

the Gender Development Network was established in 2000 to provide opportunities for women in different parts of China to exchange information, knowledge and experiences of working around gender issues in development. Second, unlike most other societal interests, government regulations on social organisations do not permit them to organise as a separate interest group.46 Whilst entrepreneurs, lawyers, pig farmers or musicians can form associations, women cannot form independent entrepreneurs’ or pig farmers’ associations. Hence the China Women Lawyers’ Association or the China Women Mayors’ Association are affiliated as second-level associations to the China Lawyers’ Association and the China Mayors’ Association, suggesting a symbolic subordination of gender to other interests, and of women’s identity to professional identity. Third, new women’s organisations differ from other social organisations emerging in the 1980s and 1990s in that they face a large, authoritative institution already representing women, namely the ACWF. Hence the relationship between women’s organisations and the Party-state is even more complex, with organisations varying considerably in their degree of autonomy from the Party-state. Using origins of an organisation, the composition of the leading council, the determination of agenda and activities, and self-regulation as key indicators, we can identify different degrees of autonomy amongst women’s organisations. At one end of the scale is the ACWF, which is the least autonomous of all women’s organisations due to its structural position in the Party political system. Next along the continuum are those organisations initiated from above by the ACWF, such as the China Women’s Science and Technical Workers Federation. More autonomous than these are the semi-governmental women’s trades and professional associations, which on the one hand fall under the general trades and professional associations and on the other hand have leading councils with positions partly occupied by governmental officials. Next are the popular women’s organisations such as the Jinglun Family Centre, the Female Migrant Workers’ Club and the Maple Leaf Women’s Psychological Counselling Centre. Enjoying the most autonomy are those women’s organisations which are not registered, either because they have not sought to do so (such as salons, some networks and discussion groups) or because they cannot meet the registration requirements (such as the Women’s Teahouse, which disbanded in 1996 for want of a supervisory unit and adequate funding). However, whilst the degree of autonomy is axiomatically taken as a measure of the strength of and validity of civil society, and essentially defines the space of civil society, in state-dominant contexts such as China the relations between civil society and the state are complex. Not only are the boundaries porous and blurred, with state officials often working in civil society organisations, but civil society organisations often, but not always, positively seek a relationship with the state so as to seek access to

China

69

resources, legitimacy and authority (White et al. 1996). This is true also of women’s organisations, some of which seek proximity to the state so as to access funds, contacts and protection. However, some women’s organisations prefer to operate at arm’s length for fear that proximity to the state will translate into interference.47 The existence of the ACWF means that new women’s organisations, unlike those of private entrepreneurs or environmentalists, have to try harder to claim legitimacy, both in the eyes of the government and their constituencies. Furthermore, as the ACWF is already the legitimate representative voice of women, as sanctioned by the Party, any new organisations implicitly challenge this authority. Hence their strategies have always to take account of this tension in a way that private entrepreneurs and lawyers do not, the latter dealing primarily with government departments with different functions. However, the existence of the ACWF is also a considerable advantage, for new women’s organisations have an institutional structure with inroads into the system already in place, whilst other groups have to claim a representative place. Fourth, though there are also mass organisations for labour and youth (the ACFTU and Communist Youth League respectively), women’s organisations stand in a more favourable position than their labour counterparts.48 Whilst there are labour studies societies and labour and trade union research centres, there are no formally registered, independent labour unions. Any attempt to organise workers independently is met with repression. The difference in the treatment of gender and labour interests relates to the perceived threat posed by labour activists to both the Partystate and the All-China Federation of Trade Unions (ACFTU). Furthermore, whilst the 1995 Fourth World Conference on Women created a favourable environment for the development of more independent women’s organisations, there has been no equivalent event for the ACFTU, which might open up for discussion the possibility of localised, independent labour organisations. Though there are similarities and differences between women’s organisations and other social organisations, the rapid development of new women’s groups in the 1980s and 1990s does confirm the observation made by many scholars that the intellectual and organisational space for different social interests to associate has expanded in the reform era. Furthermore, the co-existence of dynamic women’s groups with less dynamic groups, and registered with unregistered organisations, suggests that civil society in China is uneven, its boundaries and autonomy subject to constant negotiation with the Party-state. The complex relations between women’s organisations and the Party-state point to the continuing dominance of the Party-state in economic and social life. As a result, women’s organisations, like most other social organisations, tend either to work with or to keep a quiet distance from the Party-state rather than directly oppose it. The emergence of unregistered networks linking groups and

70

Jude Howell

individuals across the country, as well as the formation of associations and centres several levels below a formally registered association or work-unit, highlights also the limits on the capacity of the Party-state to control the expanding sphere of non-governmental organisational life and the concomitant ability of different societal interests to circumvent government regulations. Despite the recent growth of cross-regional linkages, the new women’s organisations remain small in scale, fragmented and local. It is not clear that they add up to more than the sum of their parts, nor whether they could be said to constitute a women’s movement, steered by common analyses and objectives. The expansion of women’s organisations and their activities in the reform period is politically significant for two reasons. First, though their focus on service provision addresses practical rather than more politically sensitive strategic needs, these activities not only strengthen their legitimacy in the eyes of the Party-state but also are symbolically important because they legitimate and protect the space for popular organisation. Unlike labour issues, gender matters are viewed as much less sensitive. So just as attempts to organise around labour point to the boundaries of Party-state tolerance for civil society, organising around gender can indicate how wide the space for organising can be pushed. Second, women’s organisations point to the development of a critical public sphere around gender issues in the reform period. The contours of this sphere are continually contested as new women’s organisations seek official status through the registration process, and both the ACWF and new women’s groups raise uncomfortable issues such as domestic violence. Nancy Fraser (1997: 89–92) makes the distinction between weak and strong public spheres, the former being limited to critical opinion-making and the latter moving beyond this to affect decision-making. The ACWF has sometimes influenced policy and legislation, thus acting as a strong public sphere, but this influence is contingent upon the degree of pressure exerted by individual leading cadres upon personal contacts in the Party-state system as well as the willingness of ministries to take on board gender issues. New women’s organisations constitute instead a weak public sphere, striving to change accepted opinion, but with few inroads into policy-making processes. Nevertheless, women’s organisations do suggest that the monopoly of the CCP on opinion and theory has weakened, and that the expansion of the space to organise is an important determinant of this. The future of women’s organisations, like other social organisations, will hinge crucially on the pace of political reform.

Conclusion Women’s organisations in China have expanded rapidly in the reform period due to a combination of domestic and external factors. Located within the Party structure, the ACWF is the best placed of all women’s

China

71

organisations to influence policy-making. By using its positions on governmental committees, its personal connections with Party and government leaders, and its extensive media and campaign network, the ACWF has been able both to introduce policy and legislative changes of benefit to women and to prevent the implementation of policies detrimental to women, thus making a difference for women. However, its lack of ministerial status and its subsequent dependence on personal connections set limits on its capacity to influence policy. New, more autonomous women’s organisations tend to focus on practical rather than strategic issues, making a difference in the immediate lives of women rather than at the broad, long-term structural level. Those that do seek to change government policy and/or the behaviour and attitudes of government officials work with rather than against the state; hence the absence of any confrontational advocacy-type organisations. This study of women’s organisations provides further evidence that the intellectual and organisational space for non-governmental actors has expanded in the reform period. Furthermore, the proliferation of organisations concerned with gender and women has diluted the discursive, theoretical and practical monopoly of the ACWF and created a new public sphere of critical reflection around gender issues. The regional fragmentation of women’s groups points to the more general unevenness of civil society. This is to a large extent a result of government regulation, which has deliberately sought to prevent nation-wide organising and confine civil society to small and localised activities. Yet the growing stratum of unregistered salons, groups and cross-regional networks suggests not only that the space for organisation is shifting and contested, but also that the Party-state struggles to maintain its control of this space. Though organising around gender is less threatening than labour issues, ethnicity or religion, women researchers taking aboard sensitive issues such as laid-off workers, migrant workers, HIV/AIDS, or lesbians seeking their own spaces and activities, still have to operate on the margins of tolerance and legality, under constant threat of repression. Hence women’s organisations provide a useful barometer for gauging the shifting power relations between Party-state and non-governmental actors. The future of women’s organisations lies not only in their capacity to sustain themselves financially but also in political reform. Like other government institutions, the ACWF is also under pressure to downsize. How well it can raise alternative sources of income from the private sector, service fees and donors will be an important determinant of its future activities and influence. Reducing its reliance on the Party-state will enable the ACWF to give increasing priority to diverse women’s interests and so enhance its legitimacy vis-à-vis its client base. Its relationship to the Party will ultimately be contingent upon broader processes of political reform. As for the more autonomous women’s organisations, their room for manoeuvre will continue to be constrained by broader regulations

72

Jude Howell

governing social organisations and by the overall political climate. As occupiers and defenders of a non-governmental space and as constituents of a critical public sphere, women’s organisations are symbolically significant. They expose the limits of Party-state power and authority as well as reveal the potential for social and political change. Though they do not contend for state power, they are nevertheless political actors, contesting values, institutions and norms. As such, they are makers of herstory, and not merely its product.

Notes 1 As explained by Stetson and Mazur (1995: 3), the UN Commission on the Status of Women coined the term ‘national policy machinery for the advancement of women’ to refer to agencies devoted to women’s policy issues. Stetson and Mazur (1995: 3) use the term ‘women’s policy machinery’ to describe ‘any structure established by government with its main purpose being the betterment of women’s social status’. This refers to a variety of structures including women’s ministries, women’s bureaux, specialised offices, commissions, committees, departments and advisors. We concur with Stetson and Mazur’s point that such structures are often set up in name only and may not actually achieve state feminist goals (Stetson and Mazur 1995: 3). 2 Authors such as Huang (1993), Madsen (1993), Rankin (1993) and Wakeman (1993), in the special 1993 issue of Modern China, explore the applicability of the terms ‘public sphere’ and ‘civil society’ in China. For detailed contemporary studies of civil society, see White et al. (1996), Brook and Frolic (1997) and Howell (1998). On the arrival of the term ‘Third Sector’ in China see Howell and Pearce (2001: 123–146). 3 The fieldwork for the project on organising around marginalised interests in China was carried out from October 2000 to April 2001. Altogether, 66 interviews with individuals and organisations were conducted. Amongst these, 16 women’s organisations in Beijing, Xian, Shenzhen, Shanghai and Kunming were interviewed using a semi-structured format. I am grateful to the Economic and Social Council of Research for funding this research. The paper also draws upon discussions with the ACWF in November 2000 as part of a British Council delegation of women MPs to China on women’s political participation. It is also informed by research on women’s organisations conducted in 1997, which was funded by the British Academy. It also draws upon interviews with the ACWF in October 1995 as part of a research project on women and re-employment, funded by the British Academy. 4 For a fuller discussion of different stages in the women’s movement from the 1970s up till 1992, see Li (1993). 5 Interview, ACWF, November 2000. 6 For a general critique of this liberal-democratic position see Howell and Pearce (2001), and for an exposition of this critique with reference to China see White et al. (1996). 7 The renowned economist Xue Muqiao first articulated the idea of social organisations serving as a bridge between the state and enterprises, as part of a new form of indirect regulation in the economic sphere (Xue 1988). 8 To my knowledge, no independent women’s groups emerged during the democracy movement to challenge the authority of the ACWF. 9 Interview, Ministry of Civil Affairs, October 1993 and China Daily, 7 May 1993, p. 3.

China

73

10 In the 1990s a wide variety of organisations operated without legal status, such as the All-China Qigong Association, the National Alliance of Demobilised Servicemen of the Rural Areas, underground churches, and organisations such as criminal fraternities and secret societies, which would be illegal in most states. An internal document issued by the Ministry of Public Security in 1993 indicated that over 1,370 illegal organisations had been banned between June 1986 and September 1992 (White et al. 1996: 36). 11 Personal communication, February 2000. 12 Interview, ACWF cadres from International Liaison Department, October 1995. 13 In an interview with two ACWF cadres from the International Liaison Department after the 1995 conference, the cadres expressed their lack of clarity about the meaning of an NGO and what it signified, illustrating both the alienness of the concept in China and the difficulties in making sense of Western NGOs that they had encountered (Interview, ACWF cadres, October 1995). It should also be noted that though the ACWF began to adopt the label of NGO and suggest that it was not a government institution, it nevertheless is a structural component of the Party. 14 For example, the Capital Women Journalists’ Association was established in 1986 and was initially made up of senior women journalists and retired journalists. As the 1995 conference approached, the association became much more dynamic, going out to Xinjiang and Yunnan to interview women, organising activities for women mayors, and setting up the Media Watch Group, which monitored the coverage of women in national newspapers (Interview, Xiong Lei, Capital Women Journalists Association, October 1997). 15 For example, the Central Party School Women’s Studies Research Group began to do research on women in 1986 and decided to set up a group in June 1988. In the same year, the Tianjin Teachers’ Training College set up a small research group and a women’s research group under the Shanghai Social Science Research Academy formed a women’s salon. In Changsha some women academics formed a research group on women’s issues and started a newsletter (Li 1990: 108–110). The Women’s Research Institute, then under the Women’s Scientific Management College, set up a women’s hotline in 1987, which later became a key component of the Maple Leaf Women’s Psychological Counselling Centre (Interview, Wang Xingjuan, October 1997). A women’s salon started in Shaanxi in 1989, but after 4 June it had to suspend its activities. Similarly Wang Xingyuan had started setting up a psychological counselling centre for women in 1988 but after 4 June had to put this idea on hold until the political climate relaxed again. 16 For example, salons at the Beijing Institute of Geology and the Beijing Languages Institute both encountered interference from local public security departments. 17 For an excellent discussion about the formation and impact of this group, see Ge and Jolly (2001). 18 For example, the women’s teahouse started after the conference in October 1995 and was set up to bring together single parents. It stopped functioning after one year because it could not find a supervisory department and did not have sufficient funds to meet the registration requirements (Interview, October 1997). 19 For a fascinating account of the development of this hotline, see He (2001). 20 Group membership implies that the women’s group, rather than its individual members, affiliates to the ACWF. 21 Interview, head of section in ACWF responsible for women’s organisations, November 2000.

74

Jude Howell

22 Interview, Xishuangbanna Women and Children’s Psychological and Legal Counselling Centre, March 2001. 23 For some Chinese women researchers, even the idea of women’s rights is problematic. For an in-depth discussion of the problems with this term in the Chinese language and context, see the excellent chapter by Li (1999). 24 The distinction between women’s practical and strategic needs emanates from the work of Maxine Molyneux (1985). It is a distinction that has gained wide currency in gender analysis, in gender and development activities, and amongst gender activists and advisors. Practical needs refers to women’s immediate needs, whilst strategic needs refers to long-term objectives aimed at challenging patriarchy and advancing women’s position. 25 Particularly informative here are the various discussions with Wang Xing Yuan, founder of the Women’s Hot-Line in Beijing with Virginia Cornue. According to Cornue (1999: 82), Wang rejected the terms for feminism (in Chinese cited here as nannupingdengzhuyi or man–woman equalityism, or nuquanzhuyi, or women’s rights-ism), not because she was seeking to protect the space for mounting a challenge to the state, but because she viewed her organisation as completing the incomplete agenda of women’s emancipation and thus complying with state feminism. 26 Yang (1999: 57) makes the salient point that women activists do not wish openly to confront the state, as this would only lead to restrictions on the emerging space for feminist discussion and organisation. 27 Li (1999) argues cogently that feminism as a concept needs to be contextualised so as to avoid the elevation to a universal status of one particular version of feminism, as tends to be the case with ‘Western’ feminism. 28 For further discussion of this emphasis on protection, see Howell (2002). 29 Other committees are the Committee for Women and Youth under the China People’s Political Consultative Conference and the Special Group of Women and Children under the Internal and Judicial Affairs Committee of the National People’s Congress (Du 2001: 10). 30 The other four ‘non-governmental organisations’ are the ACFTU, China Association of Science and Technology, the China Disabled Federation and the Communist Youth League (Interview, representative of National Working Committee for Children and Women, November 2000). 31 The two other vice-chairs are the vice-Chair of the State Planning Development Commission and the vice-Director General of the State Council. Interview, representative of National Working Committee for Children and Women, November 2000. 32 The secretariat has an establishment of eight, but has not been able to fill all places. 33 Interview, November 2001. 34 Interview, November 2001. 35 The State Statistical Bureau (SSB) and the ACWF cooperated to produce gender disaggregated statistics for 1990–1995, and this was funded by international donor agencies. Since then the SSB has been reluctant to continue with this because of a lack of funding. Through the State Council committee for women and children, the ACWF can put additional pressure on the SSB to do this. However, due to a government regulation which authorises the SSB to collect statistics and which does not include gender statistics within that, there has been little success so far. 36 Interview, representative of National Working Committee for Children and Women, November 2000. 37 A pertinent example of this is when the Party required the 1995 NGO Forum to move from the centre of Beijing to the outlying county of Huairou. The

China

38 39 40 41

42

43 44 45 46

47

48

75

leaders of the ACWF did not protest this action, even though it drew considerable international attention. For example, the China Working Women’s Network in Shenzhen is primarily interested in assisting women migrant workers (Interview, March 2001). Altogether, the ACWF congress has 240 delegates. Further research is required to establish whether or not the group organisations push certain issues within the ACWF. Interview, ACWF, November 1995. At an international conference on women organising in China held at Oxford in July 1999, a participant from the ACWF pointed out that though the ACWF sought an equal relation with all women’s groups, in practice it treated group members better. For example, most of the group members are made up of highly successful women, rather than marginalised groups of women in society. An example of a group turned down by the ACWF for group membership is the Maple Psychological Counselling Centre in Beijing. Interview, March 2001, Yunnan province. Gao (1999) also stated that they had been able to influence local government decision-making on other issues such as divorce for rural women and land rights. For a more detailed discussion of this case see Guo (1999). Women’s organisations established before 1989 have been allowed to continue independently. The Ministry of Civil Affairs’ regulation also prohibited the registration of nationality- or religion-based organisations, apart from the already existing legitimate organisations. This was the case for a women’s counselling centre in Yunnan province. Initially the ACWF tried to impose its goals and ways of operating upon the organisation. As the ACWF came to understand the role of NGOs, it took a more hands-off approach to the organisation (Interview, March 2001). For a detailed discussion of the differences between organising around labour and gender, see Howell (2000).

References Brook, T. and Frolic, B.M. (eds) (1997) Civil Society in China, Armonk: M.E. Sharpe, Inc. Cornue, V. (1999) ‘Practising NGOness and relating women’s space publicly: the women’s hotline and the state’, in M. Mei-Hui Yang (ed.) Spaces of Their Own: Women’s Public Sphere in Transnational China, Public Worlds, Volume 4, Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 68–94. Davin, D. (1976) Woman-work: Women and the Party in Revolutionary China, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Du, J. (2001) ‘Gender and civil society in China: women’s organisations in the context of increasing globalisation’, Paper given at the Forum on Governance in China, Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex, September. Fraser, N. (1997) Justice Interruptus. Critical Reflections on the ‘Postsocialist’ Condition, New York: Routledge. Gao, X. (1999) ‘Zhongguo Minjian Funu Tuanti de Huodong Kongjian yu Zhanlue’ (The Space and Strategies of Women’s Groups in China). Paper for ‘Women Organising in China Conference’, Oxford, July. Ge, Y. and Jolly, S. (1999) ‘East meets west feminist translation group’, Paper for ‘Women Organising in China’ Conference, Oxford, July.

76

Jude Howell

—— (2001) ‘East meets west feminist translation group: a conversation between two participants’, in P.-C. Hsiung, M. Jaschok, C. Milwertz and R. Chan (eds) Chinese Women Organizing. Cadres, Feminists, Muslims and Queers, New York: Berg. Ge, M. and Shen, M. (1999) ‘Jiangxi Sheng Xiagong Nugong Zaijiuye de Nandian yu Duice Yanjiu’ (Research into the difficulties in re-employment of laid-off women workers in Jiangxi province and counter-policies), Zhonguo Funu 50 Nian Lilun Yantaohui. Lunwen Ji (Collection of Papers at Conference on 50 Years of Theory on Chinese Women), Beijing: China Women’s Research Institute, pp. 269–273. Guo, H. (1999) ‘Fan Jiating Baoli’ Difang Zhichi Hengshi Tanxun – Laizi Shaanxi de Jingyan’ (Exploration of Local Support Pattern for ‘Against Domestic Violence’ – Experiences from Shaanxi Province), Funu Yanjiu Luncong (Collection of Women’s Studies) 2: 29–31. He, X. (2001) ‘Chinese queer (Tongzhi) women organizing in the 1990s’ in Hsiung, Ping-Chun, Maria Jaschok and Cecilia Milwertz with Red Chan (eds) Chinese Women Organizing. Cadres, Feminists, Muslims and Queers, New York: Berg. Howell, J. (1996) ‘The struggle for survival: prospects for the women’s federation in post-Mao China’, World Development, vol. 24, no. 1, 129–144. —— (1997) ‘Post-Beijing? Reflections: creating ripples, but not waves in China’, Women’s Studies International Forum, vol. 20, no. 2, 235–252. —— (1998) ‘An unholy trinity? Civil society, economic liberalisation and democratisation in post-Mao China’, Government and Opposition, vol. 33, no. 1, 56–80. —— (2000) ‘Organising around women and labour in China: uneasy shadows, uncomfortable alliances’, Journal of Communist and Post-Communist Studies 33: 355–377. —— (2002) ‘Women’s political participation in China: struggling to hold up half the sky’, Journal of Parliamentary Affairs, vol. 55, No. 1, 43–56. Howell, J. and Pearce, J. (2001) Civil Society and Development. A Critical Exploration, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Huang, P. (1993) ‘ “Public sphere”/“civil society” in China? The third realm between state and society’, Modern China 19(2): 216–240. Johnson, K.A. (1983) Women, the Family and Peasant Revolution in China, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Li, J. (1990) ‘The rise and development of women’s popular organisations in the 1980s’, in Intellectual Women’s Editorial Committee, Women’s Studies in China, Henan: Henan People’s Publishing House, pp. 106–117. Li, X. (1993) ‘Xin shiqi funu yanjiu he funu yundong zhi wo jian’ (My views on women’s studies and the women’s movement in the new era), in Tianjin Shifan Daxue Special Conference Publication, Zhongguo Funu yu Fazhan. Diwei, Jiankang, Jiuye (Chinese Women and Development. Status, Health and Employment), Tianjin: Henan People’s Publishing House, pp. 17–33. —— (1999) ‘With what discourse do we reflect on Chinese women? Thoughts on transnational feminism in China’ in M.M.-H. Yang (ed.) Spaces of Their Own: Women’s Public Sphere in Transnational China, Public Worlds, Volume 4, Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Li, X. and Zhao, R. (1999) ‘Xingbie qishi yu nuxing jiuye’ (Sexual Discrimination and Female Employment), Funu Yuanjiu Luncong, (Collection of Women’s Studies) no. 1: 4–8. Liu, B. (1995) ‘Zhongguo Funu Yanjiu Qushi’ (Trends in China’s Women’s Studies), Funu Yanjiu Luncong, issue 1: 9–11.

China

77

Madsen, R. (1993) ‘The public sphere, civil society and moral community: a research agenda for contemporary China studies’, Modern China 19(2): 183–198. Molyneux, M. (1985) ‘Mobilisation without emancipation? Women’s interests, the state and revolution in Nicaragua’, Feminist Studies 11(2): 227–254. Rankin, M.R. (1993) ‘Some observations on a Chinese public sphere’, Modern China 19(2): 158–182. Shi, F.Q. (1999) ‘Zhengque renshi he jiejue funu xiagang zaijiuye wenti wei shehui fazhan he funu jinbu chuangzao tiaojian’ (Correctly recognise and solve the reemployment problem of laid-off women workers and create conditions for social development and women’s advancement), Zhonguo Funu 50 Nian Lilun Yantaohui. Lunwen Ji, (Collection of Papers at Conference on 50 Years of Theory on Chinese Women), Beijing: China Women’s Research Institute, pp. 254–256. Stetson, D. and Mazur, A. (eds) (1995) Comparative State Feminism. London: Sage. Tan, C. (1995) ‘Xing Saorao Zai Zhongguo de Cunzai – 169 ming nuxing de gelie yanjiu’ (The existence of sexual harassment in China – interviews with 169 women), Funu Yanjiu Luncong (Collection of Women’s Studies), vol. 2, issue 14: 31–34. Tan, S. (1995) ‘Funu yanjiu de xin jinzhan’ (New developments in women’s studies) Shehuixue Yanjiu (Sociological Research), vol. 5, issue 59: 66–74. Wakeman, F. (1993) ‘The civil society and public sphere debate: Western reflections on Chinese political culture’, Modern China 19(2): 108–138. Wang, J.J. (1989) ‘A spring wind blows . . . report of reforms in work of Shanxi Province women’s federation’, Zhongguo Funu (China Woman), May: 28–29 (in Chinese). Wang, Q. (1988) ‘Three hot waves at the 6th annual congress of the ACWF’, Zhongguo Funu (China Woman), November: 8–11 (in Chinese). Wang, S. (2000) ‘Cong Cunweihui Zhixuan Kan Jiceng Funu Canzheng’ (Looking at Grassroots Female Political Participation through Village Direct Elections), in China Women’s Research Conference and UNIFEM (eds) 1995 Shijie Funu Dahui Wu Zhou Nian Yanjiuhui (Beijing Plus Five Conference), Beijing, pp. 271–273. White, G., Howell, J. and Shang, X. (1996) In Search of Civil Society. Market Reform and Social Change in Contemporary China, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Xue, M. (1988) ‘Establish and develop non-governmental self-management organisations in various trades’, Renmin Ribao (People’s Daily), 10 October, translated in FBIS, China Report, 88/201. Yang, M.M.-H. (1999) ‘From gender erasure to gender difference: state feminism, consumer sexuality, and women’s public sphere in China’ in M.M.-H. Yang (ed.) Spaces of Their Own: Women’s Public Sphere in Transnational China, Public Worlds, vol. 4. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Zhao, L. (2001) ‘The emergence of China’s non-profit sector and governance’, Paper given at Forum on Governance in China, Institute of Development Studies, September. Zheng, B. (1997) ‘Houdai Xingdong yu Lilun Qianzhan’ (Follow-up Action and Theoretical Perspective), Funu Yanjiu Luncong (Collection of Women’s Studies), issue 3: 4–6.

4

Women in movement Transformations in African political landscapes Aili Mari Tripp

Introduction Women’s organizations have increased exponentially throughout Africa since the early 1990s, as have the arenas in which women have been able to assert their varied concerns. Today women are organizing locally and nationally, and are networking across the continent on an unprecedented scale. They have been aggressively using the media to demand their rights in a way not as evident in the early 1980s. In some countries they are taking their claims to land, inheritance and associational autonomy to court in ways not seen in the past. Women are challenging laws and constitutions that do not uphold gender equality. In addition, they are moving into government, legislative, party, NGO and other leadership positions previously the exclusive domain of men. They are fighting for a female presence in areas where women were previously marginalized, such as the leadership of religious institutions, sports clubs, and boards of private and public institutions. In these and other ways women have taken advantage of the new political openings that occurred in the 1990s, even if the openings were limited and precarious. The expansion of women’s organizations and associational life more generally accompanied the move away from the older single-party systems toward multi-party politics, and the demise of military regimes in favour of civilian rule. The expansion of freedom of speech and of association, although usually constrained, also increased possibilities for new forms of mobilization. The international women’s movement, and in particular the 1985 and 1995 UN Women’s conferences in Nairobi and Beijing respectively, gave added impetus to women’s mobilization. Moreover, shifting donor strategies gave greater emphasis to non-governmental organizations in the 1990s, and women’s organizations were among the main beneficiaries of the new funding orientations. The expansion of the use of the cell phone, e-mail and the Internet in the late 1990s, although primarily among the urban organizations, enhanced networking exponentially, not only Africa-wide and internationally but also domestically. These new conditions, coupled with a significant increase in

Africa

79

secondary- and university-educated women since independence, set the stage for new forms of women’s mobilization. This chapter first summarizes the patterns of women’s mobilization in the period after independence in the early 1960s up to the late 1980s, when new forms of women’s mobilization began to emerge. It then explores some of the main factors that account for these changes. In the next section it looks at some of the characteristics of women’s new mobilization strategies, including the diversity in the types of organizations created and the autonomy of these new associations from the regime and/or ruling party in terms of leadership, financing and agendas. The chapter examines the ways in which autonomy was challenged by the authorities and defended by women’s organizations. It shows how, in this period, women’s associations expanded their focus from developmental issues to the inclusion of more explicitly political concerns through legislative and constitutional changes, advocacy and demands for female leadership and representation. The chapter then identifies ways in which women’s collective action is distinct from that of other interest groups. These differences lie not only in its goals but also in the size of the movements, their inclusiveness, the unique ways they link the personal and political, and the use of motherhood as a political resource. Finally, the chapter examines the diversity of debates within the women’s movements and concludes with reasons for the transformations in women’s mobilization after the late 1980s. The chapter outlines some of the main changes that have occurred in sub-Saharan Africa. It recognizes that even though Africa is a continent of enormous diversity based on culture, language, colonial legacy, history, political orientation and other dimensions, some general patterns and trends have emerged in women’s mobilization in the context of political liberalization. This chapter is thus one of the first attempts to begin to identify a set of commonalities shared by a growing number of women’s movements in Africa. Because of this intended focus, it does not explore many of the differences that will need to be further interrogated. The chapter is, however, limited by the lack of country-specific literature in several parts of Africa, especially in several of the francophone and lusophone countries. As more research is published on these parts of Africa, the conclusions will no doubt become more nuanced.

Women’s mobilization after independence In the earlier post-independence period, women’s organizations tended to be focused around religious, welfare and domestic concerns. Local handicrafts, savings, farming, income-generating, religious and cultural clubs dominated the associational landscape of women. The discourse was primarily one of ‘developmentalism’ (Ngugi 2001: 6). Women’s organizations adopted a Women in Development approach, which was generally

80

Aili Mari Tripp

divorced from political concerns. They did focus on research into discriminatory practices and laws and on consciousness-raising, referred to in English-speaking Africa as ‘gender sensitization’ or ‘conscientization’ (Geisler 1995: 546). However, in general they were reluctant to engage in advocacy and push for changes in laws if it put them at odds with the government authorities. For example, Maendeleo Ya Wanawake (MYW), which has had the largest membership of any organization in Kenya, was confined to improving childcare, domestic care, handicrafts, agricultural techniques, literacy and engaging in sports (Wipper 1975: 100). The conservative stance of this organization, which persists to this day, is reflected in the thinking of its president at the time, Jane Kiano, who claimed in 1972 that ‘women in this country do not need a liberation movement because all doors are open to us’ (Sahle 1998: 178). Hussaina Abdullah (1993: 27) argued that the key state-sponsored women’s institutions in Nigeria, i.e. Better Life Programme, National Commission for Women and National Council of Women’s Societies, were primarily concerned with keeping women in their roles as mothers. Ngugi (2001) says of the Nigerian National Council of Women’s Societies, which was formed in 1959: ‘Unlike the human rights organizations like FIDA [Women Lawyers], it has not ruffled the feathers of the male dominated state by taking up issues on women’s rights vis-à-vis men, such as equality and equal representation’. At the national level, the mass women’s organizations had been tied to the single party or regime. Some were formed after 1975 in response to the UN Resolution calling on member states to ‘establish the appropriate government machinery to accelerate the integration of women in development and the elimination of discrimination against women on grounds of sex’. In response to this resolution, some countries set up ministries of women (Côte d’Ivoire), others established women’s bureaus, departments or divisions within a ministry of community development or some other non-gender-specific rubric (Kenya). Yet others established commissions, committees or councils, like the National Council on Women and Development formed by the ruling National Redemption Council in Ghana, or the National Council of Women in Uganda formed by Idi Amin that was situated inside the Prime Minister’s office. In creating the Council, Amin simultaneously banned all other women’s organizations. By 1985 almost all African countries had set up a national machinery of some kind, and the mass organizations were generally under the auspices of these machineries. The success of the machineries was limited by the extent to which their respective governments funded them (Tsikata, E. 1989; Mama 1995). Where the national machineries were not in and of themselves an umbrella organization for local women’s groups, umbrella organizations were sometimes formed by the ruling authorities, like the Nigerian National Council of Women Societies (NCWS). Other such politically

Africa

81

inspired organizations catered to particular constituencies, like the Better Life for Rural Women in Nigeria. Still others were aimed at mobilizing all women under one mass organization, for example, the 31st December Women’s Movement in Ghana, Umoja wa Wanawake wa Tanzania, Women’s League in Zambia and Association des Femmes de Niger (AFN). These organizations were generally run along patronage lines by wives, daughters and relatives of male leaders in the regime. For example, in Nigeria until the 1990s, wives of prominent state officials dominated the leadership of NCWS. First ladies frequently headed up the larger national women’s organizations: Nana Ageman Rawlings chaired the 31st December Women’s Movement in Ghana; Maryam Babangida headed the Better Life Programme for Rural Women in Nigeria; while Betty Kaunda was affiliated with Women’s League in Zambia. In the 1990s, first ladies started becoming patrons of the new independent NGOs as the large mass organizations lost their appeal. For example, Janet Museveni, wife of Uganda’s president Yoweri Museveni, is patron of the popular Uganda Women’s Effort to Save Orphans (UWESO). However, even these NGOs have been used politically, as in the Zambian case, where the former president’s wife, Vera Chiluba, used her Hope Foundation to attack the political opposition. In the past, as in the case of mass party-affiliated organizations like MYW in Kenya, nominees for leadership elections typically had to be approved by the ruling party. Their funding generally came from the party or government. Their party-dictated agendas were limited and basically did not challenge the status quo when it came to pushing for women’s advancement. This is not to say there were no instances of political mobilization for women. However, generally it was limited. For example, NCWS in Nigeria lobbied the government to amend its discriminatory population control policies that targeted only women and not men. It also got the state commission for women upgraded into a full-fledged Ministry of Women Affairs and Social Development. However, for the most part, these structures did not tackle the difficult laws, policies and practices that discriminated against women. Another case in point is Ghana under Jerry Rawlings, who came to power through a military takeover and headed up a populist government under the Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) from 1981 to 2000. The PNDC reformed laws affecting women, including inheritance laws, and banned degrading widowhood rites. The national machinery charged with coordinating women’s activities, the National Council for Women and Development (NCWD), was active in promoting such legislation. However, during these years Ghana’s women’s movement was constrained by the government in terms of growth, vitality, breadth of its agenda and capacity to bring about major changes in the status of women. By trying to subsume the entire women’s movement within the PNDC by creating the 31st December Women’s Movement (31DWM) in 1981 as one

82

Aili Mari Tripp

of its ‘revolutionary organizations’, the regime crippled the women’s movement and limited it to publicizing and promoting government policies. As Tsikata, E. (1989: 89) put it, the relationship between women’s groups and the regime ‘has been maintained at the expense of the women’s struggle . . . In so doing women’s issues have been shelved; or at best, they have received very casual attention.’ The close ties between the 31DWM and the government/ruling party have basically kept the organization from exerting pressure on the government to adopt policies that would promote the welfare and interests of women (Mikell 1984; Dei 1994: 140). As 31DWM absorbed many independent women’s organizations at the grassroots level, women were left with muted representation. Even though these organizations claimed to represent the interests of all women in their respective countries, especially rural women, they often served as mechanisms for generating votes and support for the country’s single party, getting women to attend party rallies and meetings, and sing, dance and cook for visiting dignitaries. Beyond these functions they were kept apolitical. They were, in fact, used to contain women’s political activity within these designated women’s organizations, which meant that few women ever worked outside the bounds of these organizations to involve themselves in the actual parties (Geisler 1995: 553). This further reinforced women’s political marginalization. In a multi-party context, these state-affiliated mass unions, leagues, women’s wings of parties and umbrella organizations decreased in importance as a plurality of new independent associations emerged. In some cases, women’s organizations like MYW, which had thousands of affiliates throughout the country, remained until 2002 linked to the dominant party in Kenya, the Kenya African National Union, but was officially an independent organization. There are still countries, where this old model persists, that have not embraced new autonomous organizations. For example, in Eritrea today there is basically only one national women’s organization, the National Union of Eritrea Women (NUEW), which was founded by the Eritrean Peoples Liberation Front in 1979 when it was fighting for Eritrean independence from Ethiopia. After independence was achieved in 1991, the 200,000-member organization became semi-autonomous and shifted to educate women for involvement in service provision and project management, but did little in the way of advocacy. It did succeed in making a few modest changes in the old Ethiopian civil code. For example, marriage contracts had to be made with the full consent of both parties; the eligible age for marriage for girls was raised from 15 to 18 years old to match that of men; and the sentence for rape was extended to 15 years. However, NUEW did little concretely to address the backlash against women that occurred after independence from Ethiopia. Many felt that there was a need for a multiplicity of organizations to work on the most pressing issues, but the few organizations that attempted to work as

Africa

83

autonomous organizations were closed down by the government on various pretexts (Connell 1998).

Reasons for the transformations in mobilization What then gave rise to these new women’s movements in the 1980s and especially in the 1990s? There is no one explanation, but some of the most important reasons for women’s heightened activism in Africa include the following. As mentioned earlier, the move toward multi-partyism in most African countries in the 1990s diminished the need for mass organizations linked and directed by the single ruling party. Where the state opened up to women’s independent mobilization, the new organizations flourished. Thus, the opening of political space that occurred in the early 1990s allowed for the formation of many new autonomous organizations. In addition to these changing opportunity structures, women also found that they had new resources at their disposal. Much of formal politics in Africa is underwritten and controlled by informal patronage politics. Economic crisis forced many women into formal and informal economic associations and into heightened entrepreneurial activity, giving them the resources with which to operate autonomously of state leaders. Increased donor funding of women’s associations also helped break the ties with patronage networks. In addition, with the increase in educational opportunities for girls and women in Africa, a larger pool of capable women who were in a position to lead organizations emerged, especially at the national level. Women in many countries frequently had longer experiences than men in creating and sustaining associations, having been involved in church-related activities, savings clubs, income-generating groups, selfhelp associations, community improvement groups and many other informal and local organizations and networks. Thus they often found it easier to take advantage of new political spaces afforded by liberalizing regimes. Women in Mali, for example, brought to NGOs their well-developed organizational skills, drawing on a long history of maintaining social and economic networks. As a result, women claimed a strong presence in the NGO movement both in terms of making sure development associations include programmes that address women’s issues and also in their own organizations that range from legal to health, education, credit and enterprise development associations (Kante and Hobgood 1994). Similarly, in Tanzania it is no accident that the main NGO networking body, the Tanzania Association of Non-Governmental Organizations (TANGO), was started by women’s organizations and has had strong female representation in its leadership. Donors placed greater emphasis on funding NGO activities in the 1990s. For example, by the late 1990s almost 40 per cent of USAID programme funds in Africa were going to Private Voluntary Organizations and NGOs. Part of this aid was directed at NGOs because it was easier to

84

Aili Mari Tripp

ensure accountability from them than from the state, but also, as Owiti (2000) has pointed out, because of the role they could play as counterweights to the state, as monitors of the state and as sources of reform and pressure for social justice and democratization. For women’s organizations and movements, the 1990s saw a shift in donor strategies from a sole emphasis on funding activities related to economic development, education, health and welfare concerns to an added interest in advocacy around women’s rights, and promoting women’s political leadership and political participation. In Africa, parties were generally weak and did not play much of a role in advocacy, leaving associations to carry out many of the interest aggregation functions often associated with parties. Donors began to fund organizations involved in advocacy around equality clauses in constitutions undergoing revision. They supported non-partisan activities around legislation regarding women’s land ownership, marriage and inheritance, female genital mutilation, rape, domestic violence and many other such issues. Other donors helped support women’s caucuses of parliamentarians or members of constituent assemblies. As the decade progressed, funding for national and regional networking also increased. Although the driving forces for these changes were internal, international pressures and norms gave added impetus to these new demands. The international women’s movement played a significant role in influencing women’s mobilization and encouraging women in Africa to think how their struggles related to an emerging globalization of women’s concern for equality (Mbire-Barungi 1999). The UN Beijing Conference on Women in 1995, for example, encouraged women’s organizations to hold their governments accountable to their various commitments to improving women’s status. Women’s organizations also learned considerably from sharing experiences and strategies with activists from other parts of Africa and the world. As in Latin America, the Beijing conference legitimized key elements of feminist discourse in African NGOs, parties, states, international development agencies and other fora (Alvarez 1998: 295). Networking carried out domestically throughout Africa and internationally was greatly facilitated by the use of the Internet and e-mail. Many regionally-based organizations focused on making information available to activists and policy-makers on women’s experiences, realities and organizational strategies. The use of cell phones, especially starting in the late 1990s, exponentially increased the level of communications both within urban areas and also between rural and urban areas. This had a dramatic impact on the ability of groups to mount campaigns and build political support around various issues. New organizations like the Gender in Africa Information Network and Sangonet became involved in promoting the use of information and communication technologies. Finally, the expansion of media coverage of women’s issues, especially promoted by members of new women’s media associations in various parts

Africa

85

of Africa, provided the mainstream media outlets and women’s own media houses with an alternative coverage of women to counter the often demeaning and sexist portrayal of women in the media. Information on the activities of women’s organizations and their leaders has also helped to publicize and give further impetus to the movements (Ojiambo Ochieng 1998: 33).

Characteristics of new women’s mobilization A new generation of autonomous organizations emerged primarily after the 1985 UN Nairobi women’s conference, although a few had started earlier. The earliest of the new generation of organizations included Women in Nigeria, formed in 1982; Uganda’s Action for Development, formed in 1986; and the Tanzania Media Women’s Association, formed in 1987. These associations became pioneers in the new push to advance women’s rights. They were characterized by their autonomy from the state, which meant that they were heterogeneous in the kinds of issues they took up. Heterogeneity of organizations In the new context, the heterogeneity of organizations was striking. At the national level women formed myriad organizations, including professional associations of women doctors, engineers, bankers, lawyers, accountants, market traders, entrepreneurs and media workers. There were national women’s rights groups; organizations focusing on specific issues like reproductive rights, violence against women and rape; and groups catering to particular sections of the population, including disabled women and widows. Some provided services to women in areas of health, transportation, banking, protection, legal aid, publishing and education to respond to the neglect of women in the mainstream institutions (Olojede 1999: 33). New forms of developmentally oriented organizations became especially popular in the 1990s, such as women’s credit and finance associations as well as hometown and development associations. Women also formed social and cultural organizations. Some occupational and political institutions, like trade unions and parties, often had a wing devoted to women. Most organizations, both at the local and national levels, were in some way concerned with advancing women’s political, economic, legal or social status. Women’s advancement was being pushed on many perhaps unexpected fronts. The Uganda Women’s Football Association successfully worked to introduce women’s soccer throughout the country. It sought corporate and government sponsorship for games, equipment, training and uniforms, all of which have been difficult to come by (Zziwa 1996: 15). Second wives in polygamous relationships have been mobilizing in

86

Aili Mari Tripp

Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania, and have been meeting on both a national and regional basis. Women parliamentarians have national caucuses and are also meeting regionally – for example, the Union of Women Parliamentarians in East Africa. Women even began to claim leadership of organizations that had primarily a male membership base, allowing them to introduce women’s concerns into new arenas. There were many firsts: a woman, Constantia Pandeni, was elected for the first time to head the Mineworkers Union of Namibia in 2001; Olive Zaitun Kigongo was the first woman elected President of the Uganda National Chamber of Commerce and Industry in 2002; and Solomy Balungi Bossa was the first woman to head the Uganda Law Society in 1993. In war-torn areas, women organized across enemy lines (ethnic, clan, religious, regional) to find bases for peace. We saw bold efforts of this kind in Congo, Somalia, Liberia, Sierra Leone, Nigeria, Sudan, Rwanda and other countries. Often they formed coalitions and networks for peace and/or collaborated in joint, mutually beneficial activities that help build new bases for solidarity. At the local level there were numerous multi-purpose clubs that engaged in savings, farming, income-generating projects, handicrafts, sports, cultural events and other functions, depending on the needs and priorities of members (Strobel 1979; Feldman 1983; Mwaniki 1986). Even many older organizational forms were revived or modified, including location-based development associations and dual-sex organizations. One type of organization tied to a cultural gender division was the dual-sex societies. There has been a revival of the dual-sex governance structures in Igbo as well as other West African societies. A dual-sex political system is one in which representatives of each gender govern their own members through a Council. In much of former Eastern Nigeria most communities had a broad-based Women’s Governing Council that had sole jurisdiction over wide-ranging political, economic and cultural affairs of women, from market issues to relations with men, and to morality. These organizations, according to Nzegwu (1995), were autonomous of the state, yet their decisions were binding regardless of social status, education or income level. Moreover, the local councils could represent women living as far apart as Lagos, Kano and New York. Their leaders serviced a wide range of associations and therefore were multi-faceted in their approach, since they were concerned with social, cultural, religious, economic and political issues simultaneously (Nzegwu 1995). Some organizations had branches throughout Africa, including the Forum for African Women’s Educationalists (FAWE), which worked on issues having to do with girls’ education; Women in Law and Development (WILDAF); the Society for Women and AIDS in Africa; Akina Mama wa Africa; and many others. Others were regionally based, including Women and Law in East Africa and Southern Africa, and the Association de Lutte

Africa

87

Contre les Violences Faites aux Femmes. Still others were part of international associations – for example, the International Federation of Women Lawyers (FIDA), the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA), Girl Guides, and Zonta International. Most organizations in which women have involved themselves were gender-specific, partly as an outgrowth of cultural divisions of labour and a historic preference for gender-specific organization. Women have often shared an implicit understanding, based on past experiences, that by cooperating with men in mixed organizations they run the risk that men might hijack the organizations and their finances. Autonomy The new generation of organizations tended to be independent of the regime and of ruling political parties in terms of both their leadership and their agendas. Perhaps in reaction to the dominance of single women’s organizations and umbrella organizations under authoritarian rule, there was little interest in creating large overarching organizations and no attempt to create organizations that could speak for all women’s interests, as there had been in the past. Instead, the new organizations represented a diversity of interests and political leanings. They came together in coalitions and networked around land issues, violence against women, women’s political participation, constitutional reform and other such concerns, rather than attempting to form all-encompassing structures. The new autonomous organizations were also financially independent of the state or ruling party. Women in Nigeria (WIN), one of the earliest of these new organizations, had primarily funded its activities through membership fees; sale of publications and T-shirts; levies; and grants and donations from individuals, organizations and agencies with similar objectives. Members also provided skills free of charge or parts of their houses for office space. Changing donor strategies to assist organizations were evident as WIN gained external donor support for specific projects after 1991 (Olojede 1999). Financial independence meant that the new organizations were outside the patronage networks that the ruling party and/or state used to build loyalty. Their very existence challenged the legitimacy of state patronage, which had been on the decline throughout the 1990s. This made these autonomous associations potentially threatening to the state, especially if they involved large numbers of rural women, as was the case with the treeplanting Green Belt Movement in Kenya, which had been increasingly repressed by the government. The ruling party’s (Kenya African National Union, KANU) fight for the political loyalty of autonomous rural women’s groups was particularly fierce as their numbers increased and economic resources grew. KANU politicians courted and manipulated local women’s groups, and made promises of patronage in order to win their votes

88

Aili Mari Tripp

(Sahle 1998). Some male politicians even formed women’s groups through their female relatives in order to garner votes (Kabira and Nzioki 1993). Thus many have concluded, as Kabira and Nzioki (1993) did in Kenya, that the ‘first and most important issue to resolve is the question of autonomy’. Associational autonomy was critical to the success and legitimacy of this new generation of organizations. When the 12 June 1993 Nigerian presidential elections were annulled, this led to a serious human rights crisis. WIN and other human rights and pro-democracy activists launched a media campaign and demonstrated against the human rights abuses under the military administration, including the planting of explosives; disappearances of opposition politicians as well as human rights and prodemocracy activists; and destruction of public property (Olojede 1999). These efforts and others eventually culminated in the restoration of an elected civilian government in May 1999, after which the most blatant human rights violations diminished considerably (Obiorah 2001). However, clearly the organizations tied to the regime did not respond to the annulment of the elections in the same way that the autonomous ones did. As the National Council of Women’s Societies (NCWS) benefited from government largesse, it was ‘very unlikely for NCWS to pursue autonomous positions or present strong opposition to government on significant political issues such as political accountability and human rights’, Olojede (1999) argues. More than at any time in Africa’s post-independence period, women’s organizations found themselves challenging the governments’ gender policies, pushing for changes in legislation and policy regarding inheritance and property ownership, land ownership, women’s political leadership and many other issues. However, in Africa, where the majority of regimes today are semi-authoritarian, power is still thought of in zero-sum terms, even in a multi-party context. Any manifestation of opposition to government policy, even basic advocacy around a policy change, could be interpreted by the authorities as a sign of adopting an anti-governmental position. NGO mobilization, especially where it is active, is seen frequently as ‘political’, hence ‘anti-governmental’ and threatening. As a result, some organizations came under attack by their governments, which tried to revoke their registration, co-opt their leadership, buy off the organizations and harass and manipulate their leaders. A case in point is a struggle that erupted after the 1995 formation of the Tanzanian Women’s Council (BAWATA), which had been launched by the ruling party’s women’s wing, Umoja wa Wanawake wa Tanzania (UWT). Initially elements within the leadership of the UWT had wanted to make the wing independent of the party, but the top party and the UWT leadership opposed this strategy. Instead they decided to form an ‘independent’ non-governmental umbrella organization that could access donor funds yet remain under the UWT’s thumb. One top official in the

Africa

89

ministry explained that women’s NGOs did not feel ‘comfortable with the Ministry’, and so the thinking was that the Ministry would find it easier to ‘monitor, regulate and collaborate’ with women’s groups through a separate council. BAWATA’s leadership envisioned a broad-based autonomous organization that was to push for women’s advancement on a number of fronts, including strengthening women’s political leadership, pushing for legislative change and conducting civic education. It claimed a membership of 150,000 in 3,000 groups, although its actual strength at the grassroots level is disputed. BAWATA became involved in policy advocacy on issues such as violence against women, sexual abuse of children, improved social services delivery, inheritance laws, land ownership and girls’ access to education. BAWATA drew up a document evaluating each of the presidential candidates and their parties in the 1995 elections regarding women. In doing so, they had overstepped their bounds in a society where the female electorate was critical to the ruling party’s continued success. As Chris Peter (1999: 11) explained: Every sensible State knows that women are faithful voters. They normally register and actually go to vote. Unlike men who talk a lot and do little. They might even register only to forget to vote on the elections day. Thus women are regarded as a safe and sure constituency and whoever controls them is guaranteed victory. By touching this sensitive area – BAWATA was seen as a mischievous lot. The Ministry of Home Affairs banned BAWATA on the grounds that it was operating as a political party and was not holding meetings or submitting annual financial accounts to the Registrar of Societies. The Minister of Home Affairs warned in July 1997 that NGOs engaging in hostile exchanges of words with the government would risk losing their registration, as would NGOs that confronted the government through forums that created confusion and insecurity. An NGO policy drafted by the Office of the Vice President (1997: 5) stated that ‘NGOs as legal entities are restricted from engaging in any activity that will be construed to be political in nature’, but are allowed to ‘engage in debate on development issues’. The charges against BAWATA, which by all accounts were fabricated, indicated that the party and the government were not interested in permitting the formation of independent organizations with a bold agenda that might diverge from the party’s interests. One top UWT leader, who was also the Minister of Local Government, ordered female District Commissioners to discourage women from participating in BAWATA because it was being managed by women who were allegedly too ‘independent-minded’. BAWATA took the matter to the High Court on the grounds that the government action was unconstitutional and in violation of international

90

Aili Mari Tripp

human rights conventions, to which Tanzania is a signatory. The Court issued an injunction against the government prohibiting it from deregistering BAWATA. In the meantime, members of BAWATA faced death threats, harassment and intimidation, sometimes even from security officers. Husbands of BAWATA leaders were demoted or lost their government jobs, while members of the organization’s branches faced intimidation from local authorities. Local chapters found themselves unable to meet and run their nursery schools and daycare centres. Although BAWATA eventually won its case against the government, in the process the organization was destroyed and the intimidation of its leadership left local chapters in disarray. The de-registration of BAWATA was widely condemned by other NGOs, who were disturbed and demoralized by the implications of this action on the freedom of association. As one lawyer and journalist, Robert Rweyemamu (1997: 9), put it: Can an NGO geared to the development of the people be completely cut off from political life? It [the deregistration of BAWATA] is a test for those who claim to be devoted to uplifting the social, economic and cultural standards of Tanzanians. In Tanzania, which has been a multi-party state since 1992, the BAWATA case illustrates the limits of freedom of association and speech, even in a fairly tolerant country. The fate of BAWATA is indicative of the prevalent view that equates autonomous non-governmental activities with an antigovernmental stance, making any kind of advocacy difficult. In Tanzania and elsewhere in Africa, the most active women’s organizations with the most far-reaching agendas often had difficulty registering, or had their registration delayed indefinitely. They faced external manipulations and pressures to keep opposition party members from leadership of the organizations, even though their activities were non-partisan in the context of the association. In the late 1980s and especially in the 1990s, NGOs found themselves opposing governmental legislative efforts to create an agency for the monitoring and control of NGO activities in Tanzania, Botswana, Ghana, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Malawi and Uganda. Uganda has some of the best NGO–government relations in Africa, but in 2001 even Ugandan NGOs were forced to protest steppedup government efforts to increase scrutiny of NGOs and threaten their autonomy. In particular they rejected government efforts to create a board that would be based in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, giving the board a focus on security rather than developmental concerns. All these examples of repression or efforts to control and monitor NGOs exposed the limits of freedom of association even in liberalizing countries.

Africa

91

Emphasis on political strategies Although the older welfare and domestic agendas persisted into the 1990s in women’s organizations, a new emphasis on political participation emerged. New women’s organizations formed to improve leadership skills, encourage women’s political involvement on a non-partisan basis, lobby for women’s political leadership, press for legislative changes and conduct civic education. Groups mobilized around issues like domestic violence, rape, reproductive rights, sex education in the school curriculum, female genital mutilation, sexual harassment, disparaging representation of women in the media, corruption and other concerns that had rarely been addressed by the women’s movements in the past and often were considered taboo by the government. Kabira and Nzioki underscored the need for women to assert themselves politically in a 1993 statement that was indicative of the change in thinking that had occurred in the early 1990s, that is, a shift from a previous emphasis strictly on developmental approaches to a new adoption of political strategies. As they explained: The state may criticise women’s organisations as being elitist, ineffective, politically motivated, misguided or foreign. But women have to go where power and resources are by being powerful and resourceful themselves. Since groups know and express this desire, we suggest that women’s organisations and political leaders focus their attention on long term changes that touch on the root causes of women’s inequality and subordination in society. This approach will advance the women’s cause towards meaningful transformation as opposed to individual advancement. (Kabira and Nzioki 1993: 73)

Distinctiveness of women’s collective action Women’s mobilization, while sharing much in common with other interest groups, also stood apart from them in important ways. They often represented the largest organized group within society. Their new organizations were not only pluralistic in the kinds of issues they took up; they were also internally pluralistic in their make-up. The demise of the single party and its affiliated women’s organization often meant a decline in ethnically-based mobilization, in which the ethnic group in political power dominated women’s associations. Similarly expanded educational opportunities also helped break the past dominance of specific ethnic or religious groups in the leadership of women’s groups who had come from regions where missionary education had first been concentrated. Women’s mobilization also drew in particular ways on women’s identification with motherhood and the private sphere to make claims on

92

Aili Mari Tripp

participation in the public sphere. However, it also worked the other way around as women saw that participation in the public sphere gave them entitlements to make claims for greater decision-making within the home. Largest organized sector Women’s associations often constituted the largest organized sector in many countries. They made up the majority of NGOs in countries like Tanzania and Mali. In Kenya, they were the fastest growing sector of civil society (Ngugi 2001). Other sectors may have even ended up numerically dominated by women’s organizations. The largest proportion of human rights organizations in Africa, for example, was the women’s rights organizations. In Kenya, 40 per cent of all human rights groups operating in 1992–1997 were women’s organizations. The majority of lay organizations in both Protestant and Catholic churches were women’s groups, and women in general were more active than men in church activities. Although men participated in savings and credit associations, by far the majority of participants in such organizations in most African countries were women. In Uganda, it was widely acknowledged that no other societal group was as organized and cohesive as women’s organizations when it came to making a concerted effort to influence the constitution-writing process. Women’s organizations wrote more memoranda submitted to the Constitutional Commission than any other sector of society (Bainomugisha 1999: 93). The number of women’s networks, coalitions and ad hoc issue-oriented alliances was multiplying throughout Africa, also suggesting a strengthening of the non-governmental sector. Given the weakness of existing political parties, women’s NGO coalitions and networks represented a more stable coalescing of interests. In a country like Uganda, coalitions of NGOs formed in the 1990s around national debt, domestic violence, the common property clause within the Land Act, the domestic relations bill, and changing the way in which women politicians were elected through an electoral college that was susceptible to manipulation. Also, more ad hoc and short-term coalitions formed around particular incidents. Such coalitions formed, for example, when a male member of parliament almost slapped a female member of parliament. They formed to abolish the customary practice in which the Buganda king was to have had sexual relations with a virgin prior to his wedding ceremony in 1998; to protest the Italian court’s ruling in 1999 that a woman wearing jeans could not be raped; and to protest racist statements of a top US Agency for Development officer in 2001.

Africa

93

Building cross-cutting ties A related characteristic of women’s mobilization that set it apart from other forms of mobilization was the keen interest in building ties across ethnic, clan and religious lines, especially where relations in the broader society had been conflictual. As women’s organizations were trying to influence opinion, practice and policy affecting over half of society, the movements generally sought to be as broad as possible and saw their goal as influencing society at large. Unlike other movements, women who identified with aspects of the women’s movement could be found in government, in the media, in trade unions, in environmental and human rights groups, in their own organizations, in grassroots organizations and throughout society. In other words, the movement permeated society in a way that other societal interests did not. Even environmental and human rights activists hardly claimed the kind of popular support the women’s movements enjoyed in many countries. Other societal organizations were focused around catering to the interests of their particular constituencies, such as labour, cooperatives and vendors, and therefore did not aspire to build a popular base. For example, in South Africa no other group united as broad a spectrum of individuals as the Women’s National Coalition (WNC), which was formed in 1991. It brought together 81 organizational affiliates and 13 regional alliances of women’s organizations, including organizations affiliated with the African National Congress, the Inkatha Freedom Party, the National Party, the Pan Africanist Congress, the Azanian Peoples Organization and the Democratic Party. WNC also brought together interests as diverse as the Rural Women’s Movement, the Union of Jewish Women and the South African Domestic Workers Union. Over three million women participated in focus groups organized by WNC to voice their opinions on women’s concerns. Regional and national conferences were held, and a Woman’s Charter was drafted and endorsed by the national parliament and all nine regional parliaments in 1994. The Charter addressed a broad range of concerns, including equality, legal rights, economic issues, education, health, politics and violence against women (Kemp et al. 1995: 151). The new constitution allows for the Charter to be used as a basis for reforming government policy regarding gender concerns. The inclusiveness could be found along many dimensions. Women’s organizations, unlike most civil society actors (with some important exceptions like hometown and development associations), were usually also very concerned with how to build rural–urban linkages and bridge some of the gaps that divided better-educated women involved in national organizations from rural women in local groups. Due to the limited resources of NGOs and the monetary weakness of their constituent base, they relied heavily on donors to fund their

94

Aili Mari Tripp

activities. This has resulted in what some might call the ‘NGO-ization’ of feminism, which refers to the evolution of a feminist movement of professionals that since the 1995 UN Beijing conference has come to rely heavily on urban, educated women. In the Latin American context, these professionals were divorced from grassroots women’s organizations (Alvarez 1998: 306–308). NGOs were important to the women’s movements in Africa and were very much a part of them, but they were not the only arena of women’s mobilization. There did not exist in Africa the same kind of rift between women’s NGOs and the ‘movement’. Although there were gaps between the rural and urban groups, and between educated and poorer women’s organizations, the aim was always explicitly to bridge those gaps and cooperate as much as resources and time permitted. It was not just national organizations that sought these linkages. In Uganda, even educated women in rural towns sought to share their income-generating skills and know-how regarding nutrition, childrearing, pre-natal care and preventative health measures with poorer rural women. Others encouraged rural women to get into business or to save money. For example, A Stitch in Time Women’s Association was formed in Kabale in 1989 for women involved in tailoring, crocheting and making carpets, but it also had as an objective of helping poorer, less educated women’s groups to get involved in income-generating activities and savings clubs with the understanding that women’s economic clout was a key to their empowerment. I found many such examples of rural–urban linkages in my study of the political impact of women’s associations in Uganda 1992–2000 (Tripp 2000). Making the political personal One of the reasons women have prioritized political action has to do with the indignities and difficulties they face on the domestic front. Unlike other sectors of society, there is no way to address women’s advancement in the public realm without also tackling their obstacles on the domestic front, and vice versa. In African movements, women have not only made the personal political; they have also sought political power and influence in order to make the political personal (Geisler 1998). The battle in the two spheres is inseparable. For example, in the 2001 Ugandan presidential elections, women’s organizations, including the Uganda Women’s Network (UWONET), made appeals to the Electoral Commission and the media to warn against intimidation and harassment by husbands of wives over differing political opinions. In the 1996 elections there were numerous reports of women killed, beaten or thrown out of their homes, and some had their voter’s cards grabbed from them or destroyed as a result of these differing views. As a result of official and media warnings, there were no reported incidents of politically-related domestic violence in the 2001 elections.

Africa

95

Motherhood as a basis of political authority The public and private spheres are connected in other ways as well. Women have different resources from men with which to fight for change in the context of political movements. Due to the historically cultural separation between women’s and men’s mobilization, women have often used their position as ‘mothers’ as a basis of moral authority from which to argue for their inclusion in politics. They have used it as a resource with which to demand political changes, not only in practice but also in political culture, demanding that the values of nurturing, caring and justice be included in political practice and that corruption be rejected. As Winnie Byanyima, Ugandan Member of Parliament and leader of the women’s rights group Forum for Women in Development, explained in a reference to ‘eating’ (a metaphor with multiple meanings but often connoting personal appropriation of state resources): Values which we women care about such as caring, serving, building, reconciling, healing and sheer decency are becoming absent from our political culture. This eating is crude, self-centred, egoistic, shallow, narrow and ignorant. We should ban eating from our political language. Madam Chairman, . . . it is a culture which we must denounce and do away with if we are to start a new nation. (Proceedings of the Constituent Assembly 1994: 1490) The use of motherhood is not the only basis for women’s authority, nor is it the only resource used by women; however, neither is it considered controversial nor problematic in the way that it is regarded by many Western feminist academics and activists. Judith Van Allen (2000) has shown that the public/private divide in Tswana society, but even more generally in Africa, does not correspond to Western perceptions, which draw a sharp divide between domestic/household/childrearing activities and work/politics/warfare. In Africa, women’s labour, whether it is in the fields, in a factory or as a professional, is generally seen as an extension of her reproductive activities, as part of caring for her children, and feeding and clothing them. In politics, as in other ‘public spaces’, women generally want equality but they do not aspire to be considered in the same way as men. As Van Allen (2000: 8) explains: Women’s rights discourse itself reflects the continuing construction of ‘woman’ as ‘mother’, and the assertion of the nurturing, provisioning, suckling mother as a model of female leadership, both in its goals and in its language . . . In campaign slogans and campaign discourse in general, this assumption is carried into a positive statement about women: they are better fitted than men to be in government because it is in their ‘nature’ to be caretakers.

96

Aili Mari Tripp

One women’s rights organization, Emang Basadi, even has had as its slogan: ‘Vote a Woman! Suckle the Nation!’. Women sometimes draw on their domestic experiences to create a new kind of political imagery that defies the paternal one that evolved with the colonial state and has remained in the post-colonial context. For example, in Kenya during the 1992 elections one delegate argued at a meeting of the National Committee on the Status of Women that since women carry the responsibility for the security and stability of the family and community, ‘let it be understood that women are already minister of culture in their own homes’ and now they want to take charge of key portfolios (International Press Service 1992). Alexandra Tibbetts (1994) shows how elderly rural mothers of prodemocracy political prisoners in Kenya drew on their position of being mothers in 1992 to claim a public political identity in protesting the imprisonment of their sons, who had been incarcerated since October 1990 for demanding multi-partyism and who were still imprisoned long after multi-partyism had been adopted in December 1991. The moral authority of older mothers made their protest a particularly powerful one in demanding justice, especially when they stripped themselves naked in a confrontation with police who were trying to end their hunger strike in Uhuru Park in the centre of Nairobi. They drew on the prevalent cultural imagery and symbolism to give added potency to their protest, drawing attention to the maternal body, which in Kenyan society is a symbol of the life-generating potential of women. In the Kenyan context, and also more generally in Africa, the public nakedness of women, especially older women, is the ultimate curse – in this particular case, aimed at the government. The women, who had never been involved in politics, launched their protest in February 1992. As one of the women, Gladys Thiitu wa Kariuki, put it: ‘The pain of bearing a child does not allow me to let my son continue suffering in prison.’ Not only did the women speak bravely against the injustices of the government, but also hundreds of Kenyans came to where the women were staging their hunger strike and set up microphones for anyone who wished to speak. Although the maternal symbolism is still powerful, Van Allen argues that in Botswana and other parts of Africa there is a gradual shift taking place as a result of the expansion of market forces from the system of authority based on kinship to a gender-based system as in the West. In other words, people had been relating to each other primarily in the context of the kin categories such as ‘father’, ‘mother’, ‘son’ and ‘daughter’. Increasingly, however, they are adopting a gender system based on the categories ‘male’ and ‘female’, in which social relations are not defined by custom but are being negotiated within the context of changing urban capitalist societies (Van Allen 2000).

Africa

97

Debates within women’s movements Given the pluralism seen in types of organizations found in African women’s movements, and given the inclusiveness of their memberships, it comes as no surprise that women’s movements encompass a plurality of views regarding how women’s interests should best be conceived, prioritized and pursued. The debates have varied depending on the country and organization. I will highlight a few issues that have been evident in multiple contexts. In some countries, there were debates over the utility of reserved seats and quotas for women in legislatures (e.g. Cameroon, Tanzania, Nigeria and Kenya) and how women occupying those seats should be selected (Uganda) (Koda and Shayo 1994: 11; Killian 2000). Others have disagreed over which women’s interests should be prioritized. The South African Commission on Gender Equality, formed in 1996, found itself by 2000 embroiled in internal conflicts over how feminist concerns ought to be raised in the context of addressing racial and economic inequalities. Some wanted to privilege the interests of poor rural women, for whom issues like child support, job creation and access to water were paramount. Others, mindful of their urban, educated feminist constituency, thought that the commission should be a site for ‘theoretically informed feminist challenges to gender hierarchy’ and should not shy away from taking up important yet controversial issues (Seidman 2001, 18). There have been debates over the utility of women’s ministries in ensuring the adoption of feminist demands in government (South Africa), given that so many ministries were underfunded, understaffed and focused on women’s domestic roles (Seidman 1999). Others have debated the utility of working within political parties, given their weakness and lack of interest in women’s concerns. In some movements, there were debates over how to regard sex workers and whether to incorporate their demands into the women’s movement. The spread of AIDS made these debates all the more contentious. Some have discussed the extent to which NGOs should be primarily accountable to the people they work with or to donors (Tsikata, D. 1995: 11). Poor and educated professional women have differed over the need to tax women, the latter seeing tax payment as an obligation of equal citizenship, and poorer women resenting the additional burden. Women’s right to land inheritance has also divided women. For some, their loyalties lay with their clan and the customary patrilineal practice in which properties of the deceased husband are claimed by his kin. Others see the right to own and inherit property as one that needs to be extended to women. The expansion of educational opportunities since independence meant that there was a larger pool of university-educated professional women in the new organizations. It was not uncommon to find tensions between the new professional women and the women in the women’s

98

Aili Mari Tripp

wing of the ruling party, who tended to be less educated. Professional women often felt that the ruling party women did little to advance women’s equality, while the leaders of the party organizations feared competition posed by the NGOs run by professional women, which manifested itself in conflicts over access to donor funds as well as other issues. Even among the professional women, there appeared to be emerging differences between an older generation of activists and the younger more radical activists who, while mindful and respectful of the older activists, would have liked to see a faster pace of change in the new organizations and were not afraid to embrace issues that had been virtually taboo among the older generations – such as abortion and lesbian rights. All these debates nevertheless fell along many lines based on levels of education, class, generation and urban versus rural residence. Many of the debates reflected the transitions societies were undergoing with respect to gender relations.

Conclusion The most important change that occurred in the late 1980s and 1990s was the creation of autonomous organizations that began to challenge the stranglehold clientelism and state patronage had on women’s mobilization in the post-independence period. The new autonomy allowed women to create organizations and forge alliances across ethnic, religious, clan, racial, rural–urban, generational and other divides. Associational autonomy made it possible for women’s organizations to challenge corruption, injustice and their roots in clientelistic and patronage practices. It meant that they could freely select their own leaders, create their own agendas and pursue their own sources of funding. It helped women’s organizations to expand their agendas from a focus on income-generating and welfare concerns to a more politicized agenda. It allowed women to broaden their demands to challenge the fundamental laws, structures and practices that constrained them. Many for the first time took on issues like domestic violence, female genital mutilation and rape, which had been considered taboo in the past. Nevertheless, the cultural and political challenges are far from over, and associational autonomy is constantly under threat. The lack of civil and political liberties and the ever-present threat that political space will close in the semi-authoritarian African states poses serious constraints on women’s movements. Yet women are in movement in Africa, and they have set in motion important and unprecedented societal transformations.

References Abdullah, H. (1993) ‘ “Transition politics” and the challenge of gender in Nigeria’, Review of African Political Economy 56: 27–41.

Africa

99

Alvarez, S. (1998) ‘Latin American feminisms “go global” ’, in S.E. Alvarez, E. Dagnino and A. Escobar (eds) Cultures of Politics/Politics of Cultures: Revisioning Latin American Social Movements, Boulder, CO.: Westview Press, pp. 293–324. Bainomugisha, A. (1999) ‘The empowerment of women’, in J. Mugaju (ed.) Uganda’s Age of Reforms: A Critical Overview, Kampala: Fountain Publishers, pp. 89–102. Connell, D. (1998) ‘Strategies for change: women and politics in Eritrea and South Africa’, Review of African Political Economy 25(76): 189–206. Dei, G.J.S. (1994) ‘The women of a Ghanaian village: a study of social change’, African Studies Review 37(2): 121–145. Feldman, R. (1983) ‘Women’s groups and women’s subordination: an analysis of politics towards rural women in Kenya’, Review of African Political Economy 27/28: 67–85. Geisler, G. (1995) ‘Troubled sisterhood: women and politics in Southern Africa’, African Affairs 94(377): 545–578. —— (1998) ‘Exploring feminist epistemologies and methodologies through the life histories of Tanzanian women’, presentation at the International Gender Studies Circle, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 17 April. International Press Service (1992) ‘Kenyan women speak out for V fair deal’, 9 March. Kabira, W.M. and Nzioki, E.A. (1993) Celebrating Women’s Resistance, Nairobi: African Women’s Perspective. Kante, M. and Hobgood, H. (1994) Governance in Democratic Mali: An Assessment of Transition and Consolidation and Guidelines for Near-Term Action, Washington, DC: Associates in Rural Development. Kemp, A., Madlala, N., Moodley, A. and Salo, E. (1995) ‘The dawn of a new day: redefining South African feminism’, in A. Basu (ed.) Challenge of Local Feminisms, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 131–162. Killian, B. (2000) ‘A policy of parliamentary “special seats” for women in Tanzania: its effectiveness’, Ufahamu 24(1&2): 21–31. Koda, B. and Shayo, R. (1994) Women and Politics in Tanzania. Empowerment of Women in the Process of Democratisation – Experiences of Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, Dar es Salaam: Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, pp. 5–23. Mama, A. (1995) ‘Feminism or femocracy? State feminism and democratisation in Nigeria’, Africa Development 20(1): 37–58. Mbire-Barungi, B. (1999) ‘Ugandan feminism: political rhetoric or reality?’, Women’s Studies Forum International 22(4): 435–439. Mikell, G. (1984) ‘Filiation, economic crisis and the status of women in rural Ghana’, Canadian Journal of African Studies 18(1): 195–218. Mwaniki, N. (1986) ‘Against many odds: the dilemmas of women’s self-help groups in Mbeere, Kenya’, Africa 56(2): 210–228. Ngugi, M. (2001) ‘The women’s rights movement and democratization in Kenya. A preliminary inquiry into the green formations of civil society’, Series on Alternative Research in East Africa (SAREAT), Nairobi. Unpublished paper. Nzegwu, N. (1995) ‘Recovering Igbo traditions: a case for indigenous women’s organizations’, in M. Nussbaum and J. Glover (eds) Development. Women, Culture and Development: A Study of Human Capabilities, Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 444–465. Obiorah, N. (2001) ‘To the barricades or the soapbox: civil society and democrat-

100

Aili Mari Tripp

ization in Nigeria’, Paper presented at Berkeley-Stanford Joint Center for African Studies Conference, Stanford University, Palo Alto, California, 28 April. Office of the Vice President, Steering Committee for NGO Policy Formulation (Tanzania) (1997) The National Policy on Non-Governmental Organisations in Tanzania, Dar es Salaam: Office of the Vice President. Ojiambo Ochieng, R. (1998) ‘Information services: tools for politicians and policy makers’, Impact 1(1): 33. Olojede, I. (1999) Women’s Interest Organizations: Encounters with the State on Issues of Good Governance, Kano, Nigeria: Centre for Research and Documentation. Owiti, J. (2000) ‘Political aid and the making and re-making of civil society’, Civil Society and Governance Programme, Ford Foundation Project, Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton (www.ids.ac.uk). Peter, C.M. (1999) ‘The state and independent civil organisations: the case of Tanzania women council (BAWATA)’, Civil Society and Governance in East Africa Project (Tanzania side), Ford Foundation Project, Institute of Development Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton (www.ids.ac.uk). Proceedings of the Constituent Assembly (Uganda) (1994) Official Report, Ugandan Government, 3 August: 1490. Rweyemamu, R. (1997) ‘The women who scared the men of power’, East African, Nairobi, 11 June. Sahle, E.N. (1998) ‘Women and political participation in Kenya: evaluating the interplay of gender, ethnicity, class and state’, in J.M. Mbaku and J.O. Ihonvebere (eds) Multiparty Democracy and Political Change: Constraints to Democratization in Africa, Brookfield, MO: Ashgate, pp. 171–193. Seidman, G.W. (1999) ‘Gendered citizenship: South Africa’s democratic transition and the construction of a gendered state’, Gender and Society 13(3): 287–307. —— (2001) Institutional Dilemmas: Representation versus Mobilization in the South African Gender Commission, Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin-Madison. Strobel, M. (1979) Muslim Women in Mombasa, 1890–1975, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Tibbetts, A. (1994) ‘Mamas fighting for freedom in Kenya’, Africa Today 41(4): 27–48. Tripp, A.M. (2000) Women and Politics in Uganda, Wisconsin, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Tsikata, D. (1995) ‘NGO forum showed growth, strength’, African Agenda 1(7): 10–12. Tsikata, E. (1989) ‘Women’s political organisations 1951–1987’, in E. Hanson and K. Ninsin (eds) The State, Development and Politics in Ghana, London: Codesria, pp. 73–93. Van Allen, J. (2000) ‘Must a woman (politician) be more like a man? Constructing female political power and agency in Botswana’, unpublished paper presented at the Forty-third Annual Meeting of the African Studies Association, Nashville, Tennessee. Wipper, A. (1975) ‘The Maendeleo ya Wanawake movement: some paradoxes and contradictions’, African Studies Review 18(3): 99–120. Zziwa, H.B. (1996) ‘Women’s soccer should be supported’, Monitor, Kampala, 29 April–1 May.

5

Gender and civil society in the Middle East Nadje S. Al-Ali

Introduction In contrast to stereotypical depictions of Middle-Eastern women as passive victims of patriarchal oppression, women in the region have organised themselves for over a century to challenge both state authority and the prevailing gender ideologies and oppressive practices shaping their everyday lives. Feminist discourse and activism during the period of postcolonial state formation, and even up to the first half of the twentieth century, has repeatedly been identified with the Egyptian feminist Huda Sha’rawi and ‘The Egyptian Feminist Union’.1 Historically, women’s movements in the Middle East are similar in that they share several political factors, such as their links to nationalist movements, their links to processes of modernisation and development, and tensions between secular and religious tendencies. The combination of ‘predominantly Muslim societies’ encounter with an imperialist West, the flawed nature of agendas for national development, and the preoccupation with Islam as a marker of cultural identity’ (Kandiyoti 1996: 9) are generally perceived to have constrained and restricted feminist discourses throughout the Middle East. Since the turn of the twentieth century and the birth of a women’s movement, Middle-Eastern women activists have had to struggle on many fronts: against legal restrictions and political barriers, against colonial occupation and ongoing imperialist encroachment, and against conservative patriarchal values. Despite the historical link between the women’s and the nationalist movements, the charge of emulating ‘Western thought’ and thereby betraying ‘authentic culture’ has constituted a continuous challenge to Middle-Eastern feminists. From its very beginnings until the present day, various constituencies opposed to the struggle for women’s rights (Islamists as well as nationalist-leftists) have engaged in an evaluation of women activists with regard to their level of ‘authenticity’ or ‘Westernness’. Despite these similarities, there exist huge differences in the historical conditions and contemporary contexts of women’s movements in the Middle East. Although the emergence of women’s movements has been

102

Nadje S. Al-Ali

frequently associated with nationalist movements, such as the anti-colonial struggle in Egypt in the 1920s and 1930s, the anti-Zionist movement in Palestine in the 1930s and 1940s and the liberation struggle in Algeria in the 1950s and early 1960s, the actual nationalisms are historically specific and the concrete impact and relationships with women’s movements have varied greatly. Moreover, women’s movements in Turkey and Iran – countries that had not been colonised – were mainly driven by developmental and modernist aims. As the nation needed to become modernised and developed, so the argument went, women, representing half of the population, needed to be educated and to become part of ‘public life’. In the contemporary Middle East, regional differences related to ethnicity, economic resources, political orientations, geography, and regional and international affiliations account for the conglomerate of similarities and differences where women’s movements are concerned. Given the social, political and cultural fluidity and tremendous diversity of the region, we have to be very careful before generalising about the relationship of gender and civil society, or assuming that they are the same in this complex region. One could suggest, as Judith Tucker (Tucker 1993: vii) does, that the diversity of the region militates against any useful generalisation: ‘women’s lives – their access to power and economic resources as well as their social and legal standing – surely vary from one community or class to another’. In the same vein, state–society relations, political freedom and restrictions, legal frameworks for civil society associations, economic resources and international links differ greatly from one Middle-Eastern country to another. Many scholars have argued, however, that the diversity within the Middle East is underpinned by a certain shared understanding of gender as a social category. Current discussions on women in the Middle East continue to invoke Islam as a guide to gender organisation, and much of the literature on women in the area still assumes an ‘Islamic culture’ that has everything to do with gender. Yet it should be stressed that the Middle East was not, and is not, synonymous with Islam. Local traditions and cultural practices, specific political configurations and economic conditions account for the diversity in terms of gender ideologies and gender relations. Moreover, Islam itself is lived heterogeneously. And while most Middle-Easterners are Muslims, there exist differences between Sunni and Shi’a Muslims as well as other Muslim groupings, such as the Alawite minority in Turkey. Moreover, women belonging to religious minority groups, such as the Maronites in Lebanon or the Copts in Egypt, for example, are generally exposed to very similar, if not the same, cultural and social codes and traditions as their Muslim counterparts of the same social class standing (Eickelmann 1998). Likewise, one needs to be careful not indiscriminately to equate the whole region with a lack of democratisation and respect for human rights. Political and legal freedoms of, and restrictions on, civil society are radic-

The Middle East

103

ally different in Turkey – a country with a relatively active civil society – from those in Iraq, where civil society was virtually absent until the fall of the Saddam Hussein regime in April 2003. Most countries in the region, however, are characterised by undemocratic governments, widespread political repression and an ambiguous relationship towards the project of women’s liberation. Despite the continued survival of authoritarian regimes in the Middle East, several countries (mainly Algeria, Tunisia, Morocco, Egypt, Palestine and Jordan) have experienced mounting pressures for a greater measure of liberalisation (Zaki 1995: 1). At the same time, internal political contestations and power struggles, particularly related to governments’ fears of ongoing Islamist encroachment, account for repressive measures and a tightening of political space for civil societies. Egypt is one example of this trend, as the arrest and harsh sentence of Saad Eddin Ibrahim, a pro-democracy and human rights activist, shows.2 Women’s organisations are often the immediate recipients of the state’s attempt to reassert its power basis and legitimacy in light of widespread Islamist opposition.

Aims and activities of women’s organisations Within Middle-Eastern women’s movements there exist obvious resonances with Western feminist categories which correspond to the divergences between women who emphasise ‘equality’ (liberal feminists), those who stress ‘difference’ (radical feminists) and those whose concern extends to women’s exploitation in the broader sphere of politics and economics (socialist feminists). A rigid separation of the three categories of liberal, radical and socialist feminism has been hard to sustain in the West and is even more problematic in the Middle East. The terms, however, are not devoid of meaning in either place, deriving as they do from similar broad dimensions of oppression to which women have attested in many societies (Al-Ali 2000: 5). The struggle to remove obstacles to equality – women’s rights activism – manifests itself in various campaigns to change existing laws which reflect and reproduce gender inequality. It also aims to improve women’s access to education and paid labour, and to increase political participation. The ‘women’s rights’ approach constitutes the main form of engagement among contemporary Middle-Eastern women activists, since concerns with legislation and equal access to education are also part of the agenda of socialist-oriented activists. However, socialist activists differ from their liberal counterparts in that they reject the idea that reforms will bring about women’s equality; instead they perceive women’s exploitation as part of structural inequalities which are rooted in class divisions, capitalism and imperialism (Al-Ali 2000: 6). In Egypt, for example, it becomes obvious that, aside from a few groups that can be placed on either side of the spectrum in terms of emphasis on

104

Nadje S. Al-Ali

equality in the liberal tradition and a concern with political economy as part of the socialist orientations, these strands do not present clearly bounded categories. There is a great deal of overlap and flux among and within various groups, which also applies to the specific forms of engagement within women’s activism. Moreover, across the political and ideological spectrum there is evidence of strong nationalist sentiments and a concern with ‘the national question’ – that is, anti-imperialist sentiments which are mainly targeted against the USA (Al-Ali 2000). Most of the goals and priorities of Middle-Eastern women’s movements are related to modernisation and development discourses. These goals range from the alleviation of poverty and illiteracy to raising legal awareness and increasing women’s access to education, work, healthcare and political participation. Some groups also focus on raising ‘feminist consciousness’. In recent years a small number of women activists have started to put on the agenda previously taboo issues, such as women’s reproductive rights and violence against women. In the context of Middle-Eastern women’s movements, the very term ‘activism’ glosses over a variety of involvements and activities which, if considered in isolation, are not all forms of ‘political activism’, such as charity and welfare, research, advocacy, consciousness-raising, lobbying and development. Certain forms of activity, such as research, might develop into more political engagements, such as advocacy or lobbying. Moreover, groups and individuals, at any given point of time, might be involved in different kinds of activities. The different goals and priorities within the Egyptian women’s movement, for example, are translated into various projects, such as incomegenerating projects and credit loan programmes; legal assistance programmes; legal awareness workshops and publications; campaigns to change existing laws (particularly the Personal Status Law and the Law of Association); the establishment of a female genital mutilation (FGM) task force; setting up a network to research and campaign around the issue of violence against women; organising seminars, workshops and conferences to address certain issues and raise awareness about them; designing and disseminating gender training packages among NGOs; the publication of books, magazines and journals; and the establishment of Women’s Media Watch (Al-Ali 2000: 7). Women’s movements in the various Middle-Eastern countries are heterogeneous to varying extents, and different groups and organisations might group around a diverse set of issues. Even within one group there could be differences in emphasis of foci and forms of engagement, depending on an individual woman’s priorities. Yet at certain times specific issues seem to surface more than others, and might constitute the focal point around which women gather and activism revolves. One example is in Jordan, where women’s organisations have grouped around the issue of low female representation in political parties and in parlia-

The Middle East

105

ment. An alliance of several women’s groups campaigned for allotting a quota of the Lower House’s seats to women. The groups also supported female candidates in their electoral campaigns and tried to raise the number of votes during elections (Al-Jreibi 2001: 11). Other issues that have been at the forefront of Jordanian women’s groups are so-called ‘honour crimes’,3 which have made headline news in the international media and have increasingly been taken on board by Jordanian human and women’s rights activists. Yet Jordanian women’s organisations have also been involved in the alleviation of poverty and illiteracy, as well as the raising of awareness on several issues related to health, education, legal issues, economy and politics (Hamdar 2000: 17). While these general issues have also been part of the agenda of Palestinian women’s groups, the latter have historically played a significant role in the wider liberation struggle against Israeli oppression. Since the declaration of the Oslo Accords, Palestinian women’s rights organisations have arranged a variety of initiatives and activities aimed at reforming existing civil, criminal and shari’a legislation (Islamic law) from within a genderequality perspective (Tamari 2001: 3). Similar to most other MiddleEastern countries, the personal status laws governing marriage, divorce and child custody remain under religious legislation (Christian ecclesiastical courts for the Christian minority, and Islamic shari’a courts for the Muslim majority). Women’s rights activists perceive shari’a courts as extremely conservative and generally discriminatory against women. A model parliament was initiated by the women’s movement – made up of a broad coalition of women from political parties, factionally-based women’s ‘committees’, charitable association members, PLO women’s unions, and a number of more recently emerged women’s NGOs – to review existing legislation in the three main areas of law: criminal, civil and personal status law (Tamari 2001). It is safe to say that the majority of women’s organisations in the Middle East concur with the view that the personal status laws are a source of inequality and discrimination, but they vary in their demands between modification, reform and drastic change of the existing laws. For many groups, the aim to change the laws regulating marriage, divorce and child custody is the only aspect of their conceived goals that touches on women’s ‘private’ spheres. Most issues taken up by women’s organisations are linked to broad goals related to modernisation and development. Women’s right to vote and access to education and work have been promoted by male reformists for over a century, and emerged as ‘culturally legitimate’ demands of women’s movements in the region. Marriage and divorce are often conceptualised as public affairs and have emerged as signposts of modernisation, therefore becoming more legitimate areas of discussion (Al-Ali 2000: 154). However, issues related to the so-called ‘private sphere’ have remained extremely sensitive and controversial. Only very recently, activists in Egypt

106

Nadje S. Al-Ali

and Jordan, for example, took on board the issue of domestic violence. The accusation of importing Western ideas and concepts weighs heavily on those Middle-Eastern activists who are courageous enough to break social taboos. The denunciation of playing up to Western expectations and being alienated from their own culture is a very powerful weapon in the hands of conservative Islamist and secular nationalist forces. Their accusations work to discredit women’s organisations and to limit their discursive spaces and actual activities. By and large, different Middle-Eastern women’s organisations as well as individual activists are united by their predominantly middle-class background and their commitment to retain and expand their civic rights and equality before the law. The majority of women’s organisations concerned with women’s rights share a secular orientation and a concern about growing Islamist militancy, but their actual positions vis-à-vis the various Islamist tendencies and discourses are variable as much as their specific understandings and interpretation of secularism (Al-Ali 2000: 12). A great range of positions and attitudes towards personal religiosity and observance can be found among secular-oriented activists, who oppose religious frameworks for their political struggles. Generational differences may be discerned concerning a woman’s specific attitudes towards secularism and religion, where younger women tend to be much more open to the idea of re-interpretation of religion in order to counter conservative male interpretations. There has also been an upsurge of Islamist women’s groups and associations, which tend to fall mainly within the category of either charity and welfare or education (religious education). An increasing number of Islamist women activists have managed to gain a voice within the mainstream Islamist discourse as well as criticise and challenge their male counterparts for misinterpreting Islam.

Independent groups or state agents? In the general context of authoritarian governments, arbitrary implementation of laws and a restriction on civil societies, women’s organisations are not always as non-governmental as their names might suggest. Indeed, in many countries, such as Egypt and Jordan, for example, officially registered non-governmental organisations (NGOs) are often either initiated by women from within the state apparatus or severely restricted and controlled by the state. At a workshop on NGOs organised jointly by the Tehran City Council and the Iranian NGO Initiative, participants frequently referred to GNGOs (governmental non-governmental organisations), which succinctly points to the paradox and reality of many civil society organisations in the Middle East.4 Egypt is a case in point. Civil society associations have mushroomed incredibly over the past 15 years or so. Yet despite Mubarak’s official prodemocracy policy, repressive measures have not only been directed

The Middle East

107

towards Islamic militant groups and communists, but also towards women activists. A number of laws, first established under Nasser, continue to regulate the establishment of voluntary groups, associations and organisations under the supervision of the Ministry of Social Affairs. These laws oblige women activists to operate either as informal groups or as officially registered organisations, which are subject to the control of the Ministry of Social Affairs. The approval of the Interior Ministry is required for public meetings, rallies and protest marches. The Ministry of Social Affairs has the authority to license and dissolve ‘private organisations’. Licences may be revoked if such organisations engage in political or religious activities. For example, since 1985 the government has refused to license the Egyptian Organisation for Human Rights (EOHR) on the grounds that it is a political organisation (Al-Ali 2000: 79–80). The level of control varies depending on the political climate. It was during the Gulf War – a period during which the Egyptian government experienced a crisis of legitimacy by aligning itself with the AngloAmerican war efforts – that the government banned the Arab Women’s Solidarity Association (AWSA). Nawal El-Sa’dawi had been very outspoken against the war and the Egyptian government’s position on it. The influence of state power on civil society organisations through the Ministry of Social Affairs and the apparent randomness with which organisations are allowed to operate has been restrained by the international arena – that is, by international NGOs and governments (Al-Ali 2000: 60–86).5 Several women’s groups have preferred to circumvent Law 326 and the danger of being dissolved by the Ministry of Social Affairs and registered with the Office of Property and Accreditation as research centres or civic non-profit companies as opposed to private voluntary organisations (PVOs) or non-governmental organisations (NGOs), thereby avoiding the control and restrictions set by the Ministry of Social Affairs. However, this legal loophole has been endangered by recent amendments to the notorious Law 32 of 1964 (Al-Ali 2000: 80). Since the year 2000 the Egyptian government has engaged in a clampdown on civil society and further limited the space for non-governmental activities. The arrest of one prominent civil society activist/social scientist, Dr Saad Eddin Ibrahim, and his 28 co-workers succeeded in scaring not only people working within the NGO sector, but also social scientists and researchers working in Egypt. It needs to be stressed that, in comparison to many other Middle-Eastern countries (such as the Arab Gulf countries, for example), Egypt still has a relatively active civil society. According to Mervat Hatem (1993), the nature and development of women’s movements in the Middle East must be viewed in the context of regional and international factors. The fact that many women’s organisations in the 1960s and 1970s served as representatives of regime policies toward women led to the discrediting of these official women’s organisations:

108

Nadje S. Al-Ali They developed a host of functions, which ranged from welfare in Jordan to mobilization and development in Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and Iraq. Their function and activities were largely determined by the priorities set by the existing regimes, whether it was rational household spending and savings in Egypt, birth control in Tunisia and Iraq, education and training in traditional occupations in Syria, labor needs and/or the war economy in Iraq. (Hatem 1993: 30)

In the 1980s and 1990s there is greater evidence of independent women’s movements. However, the nature of the specific regime accounts for great variations among women’s movements in terms of their association with, or independence from, the government. In Iraq, for example, an independent women’s movement is not feasible in a context of general political repression. In Tunisia, independent women’s organisations have to be constantly on their guard against state co-option. In Egypt, the state attempts to limit the political space that initially allowed the emergence of independent women’s organisations. In Jordan, women’s groups and voluntary societies continue to be initiated and headed by royalty, particularly by Princess Basmah Bint Talal, the sister of the late King Hussein. Women’s organisations in Palestine used to be mainly affiliated with political parties. Although several organisations have gained autonomy in the post-Oslo period,7 the Palestinian authorities, largely responding to Islamist pressures, severely restrict the activities and discursive spaces of women activists. The third factor mentioned by Hatem (1993: 31) is the rising tide of Islamism in the region, which, in her analysis, ‘served to push middle-class women to organise themselves in opposition to this socially restrictive goals’. Yet again, specific historical, political and economic factors account for differences between and within Islamist movements, and their impact on specific women’s movements. There is no doubt, however, that Islamists all over the region have brought about a process of reversal in relation to women’s rights. As Hatem (1993: 31–32) states, ‘the Islamists have been successful in rolling back some of the gains made by women in precisely those states where the cause of women was expected to proceed the furthest, that is, in Egypt, the Sudan, and Algeria’. In some cases, the establishment of women’s organisations is not so much a reaction to Islamist movements as a response to harsh social, political and economic realities. In the case of the Palestinian women’s movement, economic and political factors led to the establishment of women’s self-help groups, which exist side by side with more politically or academically focused women’s organisations. The Israeli occupation and its policies led to an alarming deterioration of the economy as well as the supply of key services (Hatem 1993: 34). While these self-help groups refuse to subordinate women’s issues to the national cause, the vast number of

The Middle East

109

women’s organisations, especially those affiliated with political parties, work within the parameters of women’s issues being secondary to national liberation. According to a more recent case study (Tamari 2001), many Palestinian women’s organisations gained autonomy from political parties in the early 1990s. During the transitional post-Oslo period after 1993, independent women’s organisations were amongst the most active and mobilised. According to Tamari (2001), it is precisely because of their newly gained autonomy from political parties that women’s groups managed to survive the political crisis characterising the post-Oslo period.

International constituencies One factor which has helped the rise of independent women’s organisations in some countries is the increased influence of international constituencies. Particular consideration should be given to the role of the United Nations Decade for Women (1975–1985) in encouraging both the discussion of women’s concerns and the creation of NGOs (Hatem 1993: 30). This factor is especially significant in the context of the Egyptian women’s movement. Particularly prior to the International Conference for Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo in 1994, women’s groups enjoyed a relatively high level of freedom as well as resources. The Egyptian government’s attempt to present itself as democratic and progressive to the outside world was very much evident in the months running up to the conference. The following year, when several Egyptian women travelled to Beijing for the UN International Women’s Forum in 1995, a backlash was in full swing. This was mainly triggered by Islamist constituencies, who had been extremely critical of the issues and discussions that had taken place at the ICPD in 1994. The notion of ‘gender’ in and of itself was passionately contested, and constructed as a concept that presented everything illicit, immoral and decadent that is being imported from the West.8 In some instances individuals seem to have grouped only temporarily in response to funding possibilities generated by international agendas, and the groups dissipated after both conferences ended. However, some issueoriented networks, such as the Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) Task Force and a network of organisations working on a project concerning Women and Violence, have not only continued to exist but also seem to have maintained their momentum. These various issue-oriented networks actually typify a new organisational form in the history of the women’s movement in that they consist of associational linkages, in which the various groups maintain their autonomy and, to some extent, acknowledge the differences between each other (Al-Ali 2000: 8–12). The impact of international agendas on women’s activism in Egypt has been manifold, entailing both positive and negative consequences. The

110

Nadje S. Al-Ali

sense of competition over foreign funding is certainly one of the negative effects of the increased presence of international donor organisations, as it often leads to rivalry and corruption and heightens divisions among women activists. In some instances, projects and campaigns are short-lived because they were more a response to ‘available funding’ than to pressing local issues and agendas. The professionalisation of the previously voluntary welfare sector and political activism constitutes a more complex side effect. On the one hand it has created a situation where careerism could override political goals, which in turn augments the danger of rivalry. On the other hand, the professionalisation of activities related to healthcare, reproductive rights, legal issues and development entails greater specialisation and expertise, which has been reflected positively in the quality of various projects and publications of contemporary activists (Al-Ali 2000: 200–205).

Ways of organising The diversity of women’s movements in the Middle East is also evident in their specific relations to the prevailing political culture within their respective civil societies. In most Middle-Eastern countries, only a relatively small segment of civil society actually challenges authoritarian and hierarchical ways of doing politics. Many NGOs follow a pattern of a clearly defined leadership, usually in the form of a director, those who are consulted in decision-making processes (such as a board of trustees), and voluntary or paid workers, who generally have little impact on decisionmaking processes. Even in more loosely organised and less structured organisations, charismatic activists frequently take over the leadership. While the majority of women’s organisations follow the patterns outlined above, a small yet increasing, number of women attempt to challenge the prevailing political culture and try to create more democratic structures and ways of doing politics. It is these women who are facing obstacles and challenges not only from their respective governments and Islamist movements but also from activists within civil society, who follow more traditional patterns of political and social engagement. An analysis of the contemporary women’s movement in Egypt reveals that it is extremely varied in terms of activities and institutional frameworks. NGOs with clear structures and decision-making bodies exist side by side with more loosely organised groups. Ad hoc networks mobilising around specific issues or tasks are formed and dissolved by activists, who are often simultaneously involved in other groups or activities. Several women’s committees exist that are attached to political parties, professional organisations and human rights centres. Furthermore, a number of individual women intellectuals work independently through their specific profession, or are loosely affiliated with specific groups and cooperate on specific projects (Al-Ali 2000: 9).

The Middle East

111

In Egypt, similar to the Turkish case, women started to mobilise in small groups revolving around certain themes, projects or events in the 1980s and 1990s. Unlike other political movements, such as the leftist or Islamist movements, Turkish feminists as well as their Egyptian counterparts do not primarily aim to mobilise ‘the masses’, but focus on strengthening solidarity and friendly relations between women activists. This can be both a source of strength and a hindrance, as personal and political relationships become entangled and occasionally strained by this connection. However, in comparison with the Egyptian women’s movement Turkish feminists have been more successful in establishing solidarity networks, especially in the context of their campaigns against domestic violence. Overall, feminist organisations in Turkey have a larger membership and approach more systematically mainstream institutions to bargain for their demands to be met. Similar to some Egyptian women activists, contemporary Turkish women have rejected hierarchical leadership and tried to implement democratic decision-making processes (Al-Ali 2002). In Turkey, only a few of the many projects that were started with enthusiasm in the 1980s or 1990s lasted longer than a few years. The main activities organised by the Turkish women’s movement consisted of ad hoc committees and campaigns with flexible organisational structures. Indeed, the majority of feminists had been against conventional institutionalisation and hierarchical organisation. A shift in this approach can first be detected among the founders of the ‘Association of Women Against Discrimination’, who articulated the necessity for institutionalisation in order to transform patriarchal institutions and implement CEDAW (Arat, Y. 1994: 104). Attempts at institutionalisation culminated, for example, in the establishment of a women’s shelter (The Purple Roof Women’s Shelter Foundation), a women’s library in Istanbul and a consultancy centre in Ankara. Independent feminist centres and organisations existed side by side with newly emerging organisations founded by the state. On the national level, a Directorate General on the Status and Problems of Women was established under the Ministry of Labour and Social Security. At the local level, a number of municipalities established departments focusing on women’s problems (Arat, Y. 1999a: 298). Yes¸ im Arat’s (1999a: 295–309) account of the history and development of the shelter reveals Turkish feminists’ struggle to work within a patriarchal system by employing alternative organisational structures and collective leadership. It also shows the discrepancy between feminist goals and ‘male-state approaches’ to women’s problems. The difficulties in institutionalisation become very obvious by looking at the conditions and events that led women to build shelters and the peculiar rules suggested by municipal governments, such as requiring the husband’s permission to enter the shelter. The founders of the women’s shelter constantly had to be on guard

112

Nadje S. Al-Ali

against co-option and annexation of their project by the local authorities. They had been made aware of the dangers of affiliation with the state. In another municipality, a women’s shelter that was established under the jurisdiction of the political authority was closed down when a more conservative mayor replaced his predecessor, who had been sympathetic to the shelter (Arat, Y. 1999a: 300–303). By trying to keep their independence, the feminists involved in the project were regularly accused of being amateurish in their non-bureaucratic approach to the establishment and running of the women’s shelter. The difficulties of pursuing feminist ideals of sisterhood, solidarity and participant democracy within an organisation that operates within a largely male-dominated and undemocratic political system resulted in internal conflicts and tensions (Arat, Z. 1999: 22). According to Y. Arat (1999a: 306): [. . .] feminist aspirations for participatory democracy and decisionmaking based on consensus strained the foundation in solving its problems and reaching its goals of protecting women from domestic violence. At times, feminist principles and aspirations faltered when natural leaders emerged or when tortuous processes of decision making undermined the goal of sheltering women Feminists involved in the shelter, as well as many other feminists in the Turkish women’s movement, are trying to combine both political activism revolving around women’s issues and the attempt to forge more democratic notions of citizenship. Contemporary Turkish feminists do not expect the state to liberate women, but protest against the state’s restrictive civil rights. In addition to promoting the values and practices of democracy, the liberal and Kemalist feminists within the women’s movement also constitute a force which upholds secularism in contemporary Turkey. This is not to suggest that all activists in the women’s movement are secular. A number of Islamist women also campaign for women’s rights by arguing that the Qu’ran proposes equality between women and men. However, most Islamist women, as Yes¸ im Arat’s (1999b) recent study of women’s organisations affiliated with the Islamist Welfare Party shows, accept a hierarchical system based on a gender-based division of labour. They also do not challenge the male-dominated hierarchical structures of the Welfare Party. The Egyptian and Turkish cases reveal that those few groups that reject authoritarian and patriarchal political culture often struggle to find new and suitable ways of organising. The lack of existing democratic models and experiences in democratic political structures poses an enormous challenge to women’s rights activists. Occasionally it happens that more time and energy is spent in discussing how to come to a decision and how

The Middle East

113

to create consensus than in organising activities and campaigns related to women’s issues. However frustrating and painful as the processes of experimentation and innovation might be, they assure a level of dynamics and development within a civil society that otherwise risks the danger of reproducing the state’s model of politics.

Conclusion Throughout the Middle East, women’s organisations struggle not merely for increased social justice and equality between men and women, but also for their rights and for political space within a broader civil society. All over the region, NGOs and various other voluntary associations are severely restricted and limited by repressive laws and policies. Civil societies are not given. On the contrary, the social and political spaces constituting civil society are painfully negotiated and fought for, despite attempts by governments (who fear the potential and independence of non-state structures) to control them. It is not only governments that impede the flourishing of women’s organisations, but also the prevailing political culture and discursive spaces within civil society that pose a hindrance to women’s organisations. This is particularly true for those groups that set out to not only challenge patriarchal gender ideologies and relations, but also authoritarian, undemocratic political structures. Thus it is clear that, despite many commonalities, women’s movements in the Middle East are heterogeneous, shaped by the specific local realities and demands of women in the region. Women’s organisations not only differ from one national context to another; there are also huge internal differences related to political orientations, goals and priorities, forms of activism and organisational structures. Women’s groups tend to vary in their levels of dependence and autonomy from existing political parties, state structures and international constituencies. The specific relationship to the state is shaped by local, regional and international factors, and can shift over a period of time. States themselves are not homogeneous entities. While some parts of the state apparatus might be supportive of women’s groups and their campaigns, others might be fiercely opposed to them. This is particularly significant in a context where there are intense power struggles between more secularoriented and Islamist political constituencies within state structures. Moreover, women are not merely passive recipients of state policies and state repression, but occasionally resist existing policies, shape new proposals and even actively create new laws or institutions. A useful conceptualisation has been put forward by Connell (1990), who defines the state as embodying ‘gender regimes’ and points to the various ways in which the state is implicated in gender relations. As he put it, the state is ‘constituted within gender relations as the central institutionalisation of gendered power. Conversely, gender dynamics are a major

114

Nadje S. Al-Ali

force constructing the state, both in the historical creation of state structures and in contemporary politics’ (Connell 1990: 519). The state’s power to regulate and shape gender relations can work towards the consolidation of existing gender relations, but it also has the potential to unsettle the existing gender order through reforms (Connell 1990: 529–531). The ambiguities inherent in state policies have significant implications for feminist politics, which has to work both against and through the state, depending on the specific nature of the state and its policies. Connell specifically addresses the liberal state within industrial–capitalist economies. Yet his analysis of the ambiguity inherent in the state’s construction of gender relations is even more obvious in the post-colonial states of the Middle East. Contradictions, as Kandiyoti (1994: 378) argues, emerge in nationalist projects, which simultaneously reflect portrayals of women as ‘victims of social backwardness, icons of modernity or privileged bearers of cultural authenticity’. In other words, tensions between civic forms of nationalism, which describe women as modern citizens sharing rights and responsibilities in the process of nation-building, and cultural forms of nationalism, which depict women as the symbols and safeguards of ‘uncontaminated culture’, characterise Middle-Eastern state formations. The fractured nature of many Middle-Eastern post-colonial states, their changing policies under different regimes, their internal divisions and their links to international constituencies account for the shifting relations of women activists to the state. Women are affected in different ways: they are recipients of state policies, which could be either supportive or oppressive, and also try to influence state policies. In this process of mobilisation at the level of the state, women activists become part of Middle-Eastern civil societies. Today, maybe even more so than during the early days of women’s movements in the region, the attempt to legitimate their struggles as being within the boundaries of ‘Middle-Eastern/Islamic culture’ dictates the prevailing parameters of women’s organisations and, moreover, often severely restricts and hinders them. However, a small yet increasing number of women refuse to abide by the rules of widely accepted nationalist discourses, and challenge notions of ‘Western’ versus ‘authentic’ culture altogether. It is these women who might be able to shape a new women’s movement that is aware and proud of its history, and at the same time is able to free itself from the shackles that history imposes. Women’s groups throughout the Middle East have to engage with the state and various constituencies in civil society in their struggle for women’s civil rights, thereby finding themselves caught in a web of interests, discourses and solidarities. However, it is also these women who, by challenging the various discourses, might have the possibility of disentangling the web and emerging as a democratising force in the future Middle East.

The Middle East

115

Notes 1 Huda Sha’rawi founded Al-Ittihad Al-Nissa’i Al-Misri (The Egyptian Feminist Union) in 1923. The EFU’s feminist agenda called for political rights for women, changes in the personal status law (especially for controls on divorce and polygamy), gender equity in secondary schools and university education, and expanded professional opportunities for women. Its activism was characterised by dynamic interaction and tensions between women’s feminism and nationalism. 2 Saad Eddin Ibrahim was sentenced to 7 years in prison and hard labour, and 27 of his associates received sentences ranging from 2 to 5 years. The unjustified accusations ranged from receiving funding from the European Commission to portraying Egypt in a bad light and revealing state secrets. He was released in February 2002 after spending over 1
 years in prison. In July 2002, the State Security Court again convicted Professor Ibrahim and sentenced him to 7 years’ imprisonment. In December 2002 the Court of Cassation overturned his sentence for the second time, as well as lesser sentences being served by three of his colleagues. He and three co-defendants were released from prison pending a retrial. The retrial took place on 4 February 2003, before the Court of Cassation, which made its decision on 18 March 2003, to acquit Professor Ibrahim and his co-defendants. 3 Women who have engaged in, or are suspected of having engaged in, adulterous relations or pre-marital sex risk being murdered by male relatives trying to restore their family’s honour. The existing legal framework grants freedom or reduced sentences to men who have killed a female relative on grounds of defending his and his family’s honour. This phenomenon is limited to Jordanians from rural areas or those from lower-class backgrounds. 4 I was invited to give a Paper on Egyptian women’s NGOs at the workshop in Tehran (May 2001). During the three-day workshop, I was struck by the level of discussion and great commitment to democratic principles by participants from both the NGO sector and the Tehran City Council. 5 The international arena has largely contributed to the professionalisation of the traditional voluntary sector. 6 Law 32 is the Law of Associations. It was first established under President Nasser in 1964, and continues to regulate the establishment of voluntary groups, associations and organisations under the supervision of the Ministry of Social Affairs. 7 The post-Oslo period refers to the time after 1991 when Israeli–Palestinian peace negotations took place. 8 The confusion over the term ‘gender’ was not helped by the fact that some people translated it into Arabic as jins, which means ‘sex’. Gender was interpreted by many Islamists and conservative seculars as an encouragement to homosexuality, pre-marital sex and adultery.

References. Al-Ali, N. (2000) Secularism, Gender and the State in the Middle East: The Egyptian Women’s Movement, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. —— (2002) ‘Women’s movement in the Middle East: case studies of Egypt and Turkey’, UNRISD Working Paper Series, Geneva: UNRISD. Al-Jreibi, M. (2001) ‘Women and political participation in Jordan: the development of attitudes towards allocating a quota of parliamentary seats for women’, (Case Study 2) Al-Urdun Al-Jadid Research Center (UJRC).

116

Nadje S. Al-Ali

Arat, Y. (1994) ‘Women’s movements of the 1980s in Turkey: radical outcome of liberal Kemalism?’, in F. Müge Gçek and S. Balaghi (eds) Reconstructing Gender in the Middle East: Tradition, Identity and Power, New York: Columbia University Press. —— (1999a) ‘Feminist institutions and democratic aspirations: the case of the Purple Roof Women’s Shelter Foundation, in Z.F. Arat (ed.) Deconstructing Images of ‘The Turkish Woman’, Basingstoke: Macmillan. —— (1999b) Political Islam in Turkey and Women’s Organizations, Istanbul: Friedrich Ebert Stiftung & The Turkish Economic and Social Studies Foundation. Arat, Z. (1999) ‘Introduction: politics of representation and identity’, in Z.F. Arat (ed.) Deconstructing Images of ‘The Turkish Woman’, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Connell, R. (1990) ‘The state, gender and sexual politics: theory and appraisal’, in Theory and Society 9(5): 507–545. Eickelmann, D. (1998) The Middle East and Central Asia: An Anthropological Approach, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Hamdar, A. (2000) ‘Women centers in Jordan’, in Al-Raida vol. XVII–XVIII No. 90–91, Summer/Fall 2000. Hatem, M. (1993) ‘Toward the development of post-Islamist and post-Nationalist feminist discourses in the Middle East’, in J. Tucker (ed.) Arab Women: Old Boundaries, New Frontiers, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Kandiyoti, D. (1994) ‘Identity and its discontents’, in P. Williams and L. Chrisman (eds) Colonial Discourse and Post-Colonial Theory: A Reader, New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf. —— (1996) ‘Contemporary feminist scholarship and Middle East studies’, in D. Kandiyoti (ed.) Gendering the Middle East: Emerging Perspectives, London: I.B. Tauris. Tamari, S. (2001) ‘Women NGOs and the campaign to reform personal status law, the case of the “women’s model parliament” ’, Conference Paper, Ford Foundation Conference on Civil Society in Middle East. Tucker, J. (1993) ‘Introduction’, in J. Tucker (ed.) Arab Women: Old Boundaries-New Frontiers, Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Zaki, M. (1995) Civil Society and Democratization in Egypt, 1981–1994, Cairo: Dar El-Kutub.

6

The discourse of Dangdut Gender and civil society in Indonesia Diane Mulligan

Bersatulah Pelacur Kota Jakarta (Be united, Jakarta prostitutes) katakan kepada mereka (tell them) bagaimana kau dipanggil ke kantor menteri (how you are invited to the minister’s office) bagaimana ia bicara panjang lebar kepadamu (how he talks at length with you) tentang perjuangan nusa bangsa (about the nation’s struggles) dan tiba-tiba tanpa ujung pangkal (and suddenly without reason) ia sebut kau inspirasi revolusi (he calls you the inspiration of the revolution) sambil ia buka kutgangmu (while he opens your bra). (Rendra 2003: 11)

Introduction This chapter seeks to examine a number of contemporary debates concerning gender, democracy and civil society in Indonesia, and the relative importance of both gender and civil society for an emerging democratic state. Some issues that are aligned to these debates have been sparked by the dangdut dancing of a young entertainer called Inul Daratista.1 Her body has not just become politicised in a society where the majority of its citizens are Muslims and many women follow Islamic dress codes, but her sexuality in the public sphere has also raised a number of important issues about democracy and in turn civil society. These issues include the relationship between democracy and freedom of expression, the interplay between Islam and democracy, the double standards of a patriarchal Islamic value system and widespread hypocrisy. Women’s groups are divided over support for Inul. Inul is symbolic of women’s entry into the public sphere, and challenges conventional notions of what is appropriate behaviour. The tension between patriarchy, an emerging democracy and Islam is one of the background issues that needs to be acknowledged when examining the response of the state, Islamic institutions2 and women’s groups to debates concerning women’s sexuality in Indonesia that have been sparked by Inul’s performances. In order to understand the Inul phenomenon, it is important to provide a brief overview of the role of women’s organising before and after the transition to democracy,

118

Diane Mulligan

the regulation of women’s organising by Islam rather than the state, and the resulting relationship between the state and women’s organising in Indonesia today.

The role of women’s organisations before and after the transition to democracy According to Blackburn (2001), the women’s movement in Indonesia that emerged in the early twentieth century was captured by the nationalist movement and as a result women’s interests were linked to those of national unity and independence. Furthermore, she states that this can clearly be seen from the content of speeches at the first Women’s Congress in 1928 (Blackburn 2001). The ideal of Indonesian national identity frequently came before women’s issues within the women’s movement (Blackburn 2001). Federations and umbrella organisations such as Kowani3 (the Indonesian Women’s Congress) were guided by the principles of national unity, and as such religious disharmony was suppressed. However, divisions and disagreements did exist within the women’s movement, and were characteristically driven by religious issues between Islamic and non-Islamic groups. Some women’s organisations, campaigning for the rights of Islamic women and challenging Islamic family law such as polygamy and child marriage, left Kowani because of its inability to address those issues. The support of the women’s movement for nationalism and independence was recognised and rewarded by President Sukarno’s Communist PNI4 government of the new Republic when independence was won in 1945. This reward came in the form of constitutional equality and the right for women to vote. Gerwani (Gerakan Wanita Indonesia, the Indonesian Women’s Movement) was the largest mass organisation of women outside communist bloc countries, and it was aligned to the Indonesian Communist Party. According to Wieringa, Gerwani ‘stimulated women to enter the political arena’ (Wieringa 1999: 2). However, Gerwani primarily supported President Sukarno’s anti-imperialist stance during the 1950s and 1960s, and did not challenge the traditional role of women within society. Instead, Gerwani accepted conventional notions of a woman’s place in the hierarchical patriarchal family. Women were primarily seen as mothers, nation-builders and moral guardians (Locher-Scholten 2000). In 1965 there was a dramatic shift in power within Indonesia. The United States covertly supported a military coup that brought about the start of President Suharto’s anti-Communist authoritarian New Order regime from 1965 to 1998. The very birth of the New Order was engineered using negative images of women’s sexuality. In September 1965 a group of women from the Indonesian Communist Youth Organisation engaged in ‘mad’ dancing and lured six military generals to their deaths after apparently gouging out their eyes and castrating them – or so the

Indonesia

119

Indonesian nation was led to believe for over 20 years. In fact such propaganda5 was part of a carefully orchestrated campaign to discredit the Indonesian Communist Party,6 which was accused of being unstable and undermining the morality of the nation. The New Order regime thus went on to advocate the repression of sexual independence and shifted the acceptable place of women from the public realm of politics to the private sphere. The women’s federation Kowani was strictly controlled by the New Order and entrusted with the task of re-subordinating and domesticating women after their political activism in the 1960s (Wieringa 1999). The New Order administration demonised Gerwani by linking it to the murder of the generals. Gerwani was subsequently outlawed, as were all other independent organisations, making a significant constriction of civil society in Indonesia. At the beginning of the 1970s, the military took over decisive power positions in the management of the New Order government and placed key strategic positions in political and economic ministries under their control. Exerting control over social groups in one central command further strengthened the state’s position. The systematic efforts made by the New Order regime to dominate civilian society became stronger by putting social elements under its control. In 1974, a law was passed that governed the relations between women’s organising and the state at government level. Blackburn (2001) notes that women were only allowed to join specific organisations established by the government, or nonpolitical religious groups such as Nasyiatul Aisyiya – a women’s organisation allied to Muhammadiyah. Married women were allowed to join the Guidance for Family Welfare (PKK), which governed reproduction. The wives of civil servants were organised in an organisation called the Dharma Wanita, and wives of military members were organised in the Dharma Pertiwi. These government-sponsored women’s organisations were considered to be women’s non-political movements, and were made up of mainly middle-class women who were active in the public sphere of their local communities. Rinaldo (undated) believes that these organisations, which were dominated by the middle classes, probably laid the foundations for women’s independent organising towards the end of the New Order. The state-sponsored women’s organisations might have inadvertently provided the environment and identity that ‘enabled or even inspired some women to join organisations working on issues of gender equality and democratic reforms’ (Rinaldo, undated). During the New Order, women’s roles and positions were closely related to the policy of national development. In the past national development had been the responsibility of the state, but in the 1970s national development became the responsibility of all Indonesian citizens, including women. Under Suharto’s authoritarian regime, control extended to all forms of organising in order to promote national development. Suharto’s New Order government placed special emphasis on women as

120

Diane Mulligan

nation-builders and the key to the success of national development efforts. The New Order defined women’s five key roles in the Panca Dharma Wanita Indonesia (Indonesian Women’s Duties) – to be a loyal supporter for her husband, to be caretaker of the household, to produce future generations, to raise her children properly and to be a good citizen (Sen 1998: 38). Each of the government-sponsored women’s organisations reinforced these ‘duties’ of women, and in turn controlled the shape and form of the nation. Some government laws and policies7 continue to reinforce the notion that the role of the husband is as head of the family and primary breadwinner, while women are regarded as mothers and wives. According to Asia Women News, the construction of women’s destiny, role and ideology that differentiated their position from men in society complemented the way in which militarism defined gender differentiation in Indonesian society, where the state served as the protector and women as the protected beings (Asia Women News 2002). The New Order did bring some gains to women, especially employment opportunities. As the economy expanded and foreign investment increased, women joined the workforce in huge numbers – mainly in lowpaid manufacturing sectors, but also in some professional white-collar jobs.8 Women also benefited from improvement in the delivery of services such as basic healthcare and education. However, during the New Order regime disgruntled, educated, middle-class women, who were influenced by international development agendas such as the United Nations, began to establish their own women’s groups. Several were set up in the 1980s, such as Yayasan Annisa Swasti (Yasanti) and Kalyanamitra,9 who worked on issues of domestic violence. However, in the 1990s working-class women began organising themselves too. In the early 1990s, many workers’ strikes were led by women and some new women’s organisations, such as Solidaritas Perempuan (Women’s Solidarity for Human Rights), campaigned for the rights of female migrant workers and publicised state violence against women. At the same time, ‘Indonesia’s engagement with international bodies such as the United Nations resulted in the implementation of a discourse of gender equity and rights within state policy’ (Robinson 1998). Thus the government upgraded the junior ministry for women’s affairs, which was created in 1978, to a full department called the State Ministry for the Role of Women (Blackburn 2001). The Ministry operated at both national and provincial levels, with responsibility for policy formulation, advocacy, and monitoring and evaluation of the state’s contribution to the role of women in development. By the end of the New Order, the women’s movement10 in Indonesia was a broad-based social movement that included groups campaigning on women’s issues, as well as self-identified feminist groups. Its various factions were articulated across the breadth of Indonesia’s socio-political spectrum (Sen 1999). However, even in the post-Suharto era of a democratically elected government with a female president, the Ministry, now renamed the Ministry for

Indonesia

121

the Empowerment of Women, is still struggling to make significant gains for women due to religious and cultural barriers. The eventual fall of Suharto’s dictatorial New Order on 21 May 1998 was largely brought about by Reformasi, the movement for democratic reform, within which women played a vital role as activists and supporters of the student demonstrations. After krismon, the 1997–1998 economic melt down in South-east Asia, it was women who began the popular uprisings. In February 1998 women demonstrated, demanding affordable food, ‘but implied economic and political change. “Under patriarchal domination, we could only act under cover of traditionally acceptable feminine concerns” ’ (Bianpoen 1999: 5). These were the words of a woman from a group called Suara Ibu Peduli (The Voice of Concerned Mothers). Not until three months later did the more famous mass student demonstrations begin, which focused on addressing the concerns of corruption, nepotism and collusion within government structures and institutions. During this time Suara Ibu Peduli coordinated the dispatch of food packages to students occupying the parliament building and grounds before Suharto eventually resigned (Bianpoen 1999). During the unrest there was a sudden surge in women’s activism, which prompted a group of women to form the Women’s Coalition for Justice and Democracy. The Coalition met on a weekly basis to ‘capitalise on the momentum for change’ (Brown 1999). They met President Suharto, demanding his resignation just one week before he stepped down (Wieringa 1999). Some women activists also started an e-mail list, which eventually brought ‘hundreds of women together to confront statesanctioned violence and violation of women’s human rights’11 in the postSuharto Indonesia (Brown 1999). It was also women who first alerted the public to the mass rape of women of Chinese descent, which occurred during the May 1998 riots (Bianpoen 1999). The Coalition marched to the offices of the Armed Forces and presented a petition in relation to the mass rape and protested against state violence towards women. The result was the establishment of the National Commission on Violence Against Women in 1998. Women were very vocal with regard to state violence, and demanded their own political space within a government that had historically been strongly militaristic and authoritarian. The new government’s acceptance of, and apology for, the violence perpetrated against women during the riots showed some willingness to confront its past and in turn acknowledge some of the new demands of feminist organisations. The first democratic government heralded a new freedom for civil society organisations, and their numbers grew rapidly. In December 1998 the Coalition organised the first-ever feminist congress in central Java, where almost 600 women from 26 provinces throughout Indonesia were free to ‘speak, discuss, argue, and learn from the lessons of past experiences’ (Bianpoen 1999: 5)

122

Diane Mulligan

Thus women’s organising in Indonesia was firstly linked to nationalism and then communism. Women’s political activism during the communist era was later suppressed during the militaristic and authoritarian development era of the New Order. However, a few brave organisations established themselves in the 1980s towards the end of the New Order and aided the efforts to bring about democratic reform. The new-found political freedom witnessed a huge growth in not only women’s organisations, some of which were feminist, but also civil society in general. The primary force motivating many newer feminist groups and NGOs, which were established by university-educated women from the middle and uppermiddle classes, was how to redefine women’s role and practical needs in the light of radical economic and social changes (Ahmad 1998). Middleclass women organised and voiced their concerns through civil society organisations and blue-collar women workers used unions effectively,12 but lower-class and unemployed women were, and still are, often ‘deprived of any way of voicing their aspirations and grievances’ (Blackburn 2001). Until the 1980s the state governed all forms of organising from an often militaristic and authoritarian stance. Thus there has been an uneasy relationship between the state and women’s groups who wished to be independent. Rinaldo (undated) argues, however, that the state may well have been instrumental in giving middle-class women a shared identity and vision through the state’s own organising of women during the New Order (Dharma Wanita, PKK etc.). This in turn gave women the precedent to form their own independent groups later. The middle-class identity of women’s first independent organising is one of two critiques that continues to face the women’s movement, the other being the regional bias that focuses on urban Java. Blackburn (1999: 444) notes that ‘the longstanding aversion to politics as a male domain dies hard, and feminist women’s groups have had little experience in coordinated activity; rather they continue to be dominated by their history of ethnic, religious and personal differences compounded by their predominantly urban, middle-class base and lack of resources’. These are the main reasons why the women’s movement is structurally different from other civil society groups. The legacy of the relationship between the New Order regime and women’s organising shaped the first independent women’s organising, whereas other civil society organisations, representing the interests of farmers or students or religious groups, were not necessarily middle-class or regionally biased towards Java by default. Historically, centralised control in Indonesia has emanated from Java, which is the most densely populated island and the seat of the capital, Jakarta. The power of Javanese ideology is an illustration of one way in which the state shapes the way women’s organisations develop. Java has been dominant since Dutch colonial times with both Presidents Sukarno and Suharto developing policies to continue this domination. Java-centricity has been well documented within the archipelago, where the other islands

Indonesia

123

have been the subjects of transmigration projects and neo-imperialist policies from Java. The state has consistently undermined the security of other ethnic populations in order to maintain Javanese centrality. For women’s groups, this has meant that the majority are based in Jakarta. However, since the state decentralisation process began, some new civil society groups have become profoundly uncivil in practice. Extreme separatist movements – for example, in Aceh, North Sumatra and interfaith conflict on a number of islands such as the Moluccas – have increased since the economic crisis. Other forms of violence have also increased, partly due to decentralisation and increased local autonomy and partly due to a reduction of authoritarian control and adherence to the Pancasila that Indonesians had become accustomed to for so long. For women this has meant they have ‘become the first victims of all violence occurring in conflict and non-conflict regions’ (Asia Women News 2002). For example, women were raped by the military amidst armed conflict situations in Aceh,13 West Papua, and in refugee camps in West Timor,14 as well as at the time of political change in Jakarta in May 1998. However, the focus on Java still remains an issue. In 1998 an activist described the women’s movement’s response to the mass rape of women of Chinese descent during the riots: Most attention (and resources) are still centred on Jakarta . . . Focusing interventions on one ethnic group with a particular religion or one geographical area only serves to support the divide-and-rule politics of the New Order regime. By highlighting the rapes in Jakarta without addressing the same abuse of women from ethnic minorities in faraway places, we are unwittingly guilty of that same racial discrimination. Wandita (1998: 41) Some women’s groups in Jakarta are still thought of as imposing gender concerns that are Java-centric. ‘The Jakarta cliques, also within the women’s movement have to back-pedal to avoid accusations of dominance’ (Blackburn 2001), especially within a climate of decentralisation, regional autonomy and increased calls for separatism. Some women’s groups, such as the Women’s Coalition for Justice and Democracy, have responded by establishing secretariats in other provincial areas and ‘the network of women’s groups has become much more regionally diverse’ (Rinaldo, undated). As women’s organising has become more diverse and varied, and more representative of the heterogeneity of the archipelago, ironically the embracing of Western ideals of human rights may not actually pay enough attention to Indonesian ‘difference’. The new challenge that lies ahead for women in Indonesia is the strength of various Islamic institutions and a democratic state that still remains weak. According to Hassan (undated a) ‘There are indications from across the

124

Diane Mulligan

world of Islam that a growing number of Muslims are beginning to reflect seriously upon the teachings of the Qur’an as they become disenchanted with capitalism, communism and western democracy.’ This seems to be the case in Indonesia with regard to Western democracy, where a reassertion of Islamic values has come to the fore as a reaction to certain aspects of such democracy. The next section examines these aspects of democracy in relation to the state, Islam and women’s sexuality.

The regulation of women’s sexuality by Islam rather than the state The strength of Islamic institutions in regulating and governing women’s sexuality has been exposed by the controversy surrounding the dancing of Inul Daratista. However, this is not the first time that women’s sexuality, dancing and public morality have been linked in Indonesia. It occurred also in 1965, when President Sukarno was overthrown, and resulted in the restriction of women in the public sphere. The legacy today is the continued construction of gender by the state, which enforces policies and legislation that do not protect women’s position legally or socially. However, in terms of women’s sexuality the state has had very little to say on the issue of Inul. The debate surrounding Inul cannot be reduced to one of gender relations alone, but needs to be placed within the context of a formerly dictatorial, militaristic and strongly nationalistic state emerging into a new era of democracy. Inul’s dancing, when juxtaposed to the ‘mad’ dancing of the young communist women in 1965, reveals similarities that are uncomfortably close. Both situations perpetuate two myths: first that women’s sexuality is dangerous and needs to be both regulated and controlled, and second that women’s role in the public sphere can be potentially damaging if not kept in check. In addition, the negative depiction of women can be successfully used to discredit undesirable political influences by manipulating sexuality as a political device for political ends. Currently the state is struggling to define itself and its citizens in the light of Western cultural influences, an Islamic value system and increased decentralisation. The state does not appear to be strong enough or sufficiently motivated to be able to produce a coherent response to the debates concerning women’s sexuality that have been sparked by Inul’s performances. However, Islamic institutions have been very articulate on the subject. The ‘woman question’ is currently a topic of much discussion in Indonesia due to the combination of Inul’s controversial sexuality, and strong Islamic institutions. The Islamic institutions have begun to defend and affirm their religion as a result of anti-Muslim feeling in the West after the attack on the New York World Trade Centre in September 2001, the Bali bombs in October 2002 and the United States-led war against Iraq in 2003. Their defence has taken the form of regulating morality and impeding women’s rights, particularly in relation to sexuality.

Indonesia

125

Some women scholars question whether Islam is compatible with feminism (Fernea 1998; Abou-Bakr 2001), and for some feminists, such as Haideh Moghissi (1999), they undoubtedly are incompatible. However, more far-reaching questions are being asked about the extent to which democracy is compatible with Islam. For example, some elements of the Western media contain anti-Islamic sentiments, which discriminate against Muslims and fuel the old argument that Islam is a threat. This time the argument has taken the form that Islam is a threat to democracy, now that communism has effectively been banished. However, the current debates about Islam and democracy do not offer ‘significant recognition or support to progressive Muslims who are far more representative of “mainstream” modern Islam’ (Hassan, undated b). This is certainly true in Indonesia. Nevertheless, given that an essential element of a democratic state is freedom of expression, Inul’s dancing style is proving challenging for conservatives within Islamic institutions, many of whose leaders have condemned her dancing as a form of expression that is not acceptable. The Muslim feminist theologian and activist Riffat Hassan, who conducted extensive research in Pakistan in the mid-1980s, believes that ‘as a religious tradition, Islam has supported values and structures which are incompatible with the assumptions which underlie the Universal Declaration of Human Rights’ (Hassan, undated a). This is very damaging, not only because women’s rights and freedoms are suppressed but also because it also reinforces the colonial view that Islamic customs are ‘backward’. For some conservative Muslims from the Majelis Ulamas Indonesia (MUI), the body that governs senior clerics, Inul’s choice to reveal parts of her body not normally seen in public reinforces stereotypes of Western culture and women, such as increased promiscuity, sex outside marriage and lack of respect between the sexes. Such religious figures also regard her dancing as a threat to morality and thus the social stability of Indonesian society. A leading Indonesian sociologist, Iman B. Prasodjo, explained to an English language daily newspaper that ‘We are seeing a shift in moral values as everywhere we look there are erotic images and suggestion, in film, language and pictures, which are freely aired or published without any social or legal sanctions’ (Kurniawan 2003: 3). This shift in moral values is precisely what the Islamic institutions are trying to avoid. The hypocrisy of this position is revealed on the one hand by the millions of Muslims who are entertained by Inul’s dancing, and on the other hand by the calls of leading Islamic institutions for women’s sexuality to be regulated and controlled for fear of a breakdown of morality in society. Although there is an opportunity for the state to challenge the rhetoric of the Islamic institutions, it has chosen not to do so. During the New Order the social construction of gender relations was strongly reinforced by the state, and it remains so today. Kodrat wanita (women’s character) symbolises women’s role within Indonesian society. Originating from Java, it was the official image of femininity during the

126

Diane Mulligan

New Order. Kodrat wanita represents the cultural construction of gender relations, specifically women’s conduct and the ideological boundaries women should obey. It was an attempt by the New Order to impose a homogenising view of female social roles on the diversity of gender relations across the archipelago. Women were primarily mothers and wives, and were the subjects of the state’s policy of domestication. The consolidation and homogenisation agenda was not related to gender alone; the diversity of ethnicity was also sought to be consolidated by the New Order. The Javanese imposed their ethnic dominance through projects such as transmigration, which involved moving Javanese settlers and military units from the overcrowded island of Java to other islands such as West Papua and the Moluccas, and resulted in bitter conflicts. Maintaining order and stability across the archipelago became the job of women. Their ‘New Order’ families in turn became the representatives of a ‘panIndonesian, class-blind, social and moral order’ that also hid religious differences (Brenner 1998: 245). Hence, the continuing dominance of the Islamic religion is inextricably linked to Javanese ethnic dominance in Indonesia that was reinforced by the New Order. In turn, the influence of Islamic clerics in relation to women’s sexuality applies not only to Java but also to the whole of the archipelago, whether or not other islands have Hindu or Christian majorities. It is not Islam that is unique as a world religion in posing problems for the advocates of women’s rights. It is instead the extent to which Islamic values directly dominate and affect state policy with regards to women’s rights, as democratic changes emerge. For some Islamic clerics Inul has disobeyed the Kodrat wanita and has been the catalyst to spark a number of debates within Indonesia. Such male clerics argue that women’s sexuality is dangerous and needs to be regulated and controlled by men. Islamic institutions have been strongly influential in controlling women’s sexuality because Indonesia’s civil society is weak and its voice still evolving. The state, too, is weak and is struggling to implement key elements of democracy and good governance as well as attempting to make its citizens feel secure in the face of change brought about by decentralisation. In Islam, ‘sexuality is viewed as a necessary but potentially destructive force, which must therefore be controlled and channelled by social institutions to prevent social breakdown (fitna)’ (Baden 1992: 4). Parallels can be drawn between the political ideology of Islamic states such as Iran and the current debate regarding Inul in Indonesia: The political ideology of the Islamic State views men as the weaker partner and in need of protection to control their sexual desire. In other words, women tempt men, and thus endanger the social order and national political stability. The sexual danger of the woman in its invisible and visible forms is believed to be so powerful and impulsive that it can lead to the moral corruption of men and society. Hence,

Indonesia

127

Muslim society [sic] such as Iran can remain socially ordered, harmonious, and healthy, only if the women control themselves and avoid acts of exhibitionism. (Kamalkhani 1998: 135–136) Thus, when translated into the Indonesian context, Inul’s exhibitionism tempts men and threatens the social order, harmony and health of the country. Muslim women are thus found to be fighting internal patriarchy, secularism and perceived external threats to national and cultural boundaries (Bodman and Tohidi 1998). Inul symbolises both the hypocrisy of the internal patriarchy of the conservative clerical agenda on the one hand, and the fear that Western influences such as increased nudity, in the form of films and popular magazines imported from the West, are threatening the national cultural boundaries on the other hand. The resurgence of the Islamist movement has brought the issue of women’s sexuality and in turn women’s rights to the fore in two direct ways. First, the reassertion of the Islamic faith has highlighted the inequality between the sexes, and as such some Muslim women have begun to question the interpretations of the Qur’an. Second, Islamist institutions have gained a stronger influence in dictating rhetoric on female codes of conduct in the public sphere and the boundaries of sexuality. For Muslim women there is the challenge of asserting their religious beliefs in a way that is compatible with women’s rights and not just reacting against Western influences. Hassan (undated c) asserts that the oppression of women in Muslim countries ‘serves to reinforce cultural identity and express rejection of Western corruption. Controlling women is a proxy for controlling sexuality, licentiousness, and the family structure in which patriarchy is invested.’ Furthermore Muslim societies, in general, appear to be far more concerned with trying to control women’s bodies and sexuality than with their human rights. Many Muslims when they speak of human rights, either do not speak of women’s rights at all, . . . or are mainly concerned with how a woman’s chastity may be protected . . . (Hassan, undated a) The United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women when reporting on the implementation of the Convention in Indonesia stated that ‘cultural and religious values cannot be allowed to undermine the universality of women’s rights’ (United Nations General Assembly 1998: 4). Inul has exposed the double standards enjoyed by a patriarchal Muslim society, where there continues to be profound inequality between the lives of women and men. Many women follow Islamic dress codes and wear the veil.15 Inul undermines the Islamic

128

Diane Mulligan

agenda by challenging the dictated rules on dress code, female selfexpression and popular presence within the public sphere. However, there are numerous examples of women in central and east Javanese villages whose dancing to dangdut music is not that different from Inul’s. The difference between the women in the villages and Inul is that Inul appears on primetime television in a very public space that the entire nation can view. ‘Inul’s body has become . . . an exceptional issue for discussion, not only by ordinary people but the elite as well’ (Soetito 2003: 11). She was the subject of two books in 2003, one of which focuses on the hypocrisy pervading Indonesian society (Gunawan 2003). Several parallels can be drawn between Saud Joseph’s work on women’s rights in the Lebanon and women’s rights in Indonesia. Joseph suggests that there are multiple ways in which rights can be conceived, and as such acknowledges the diversity of ‘constructs and conceptions that allow for increased negotiation, play, mediation and empowerment’ (Joseph 1994: 272). She argues for a ‘notion of rights that is not constructed around concepts of bounded property or bounded selves’, but based on relationship (Joseph 1994: 273). In other words, it is our relationships with other people that determine our rights. Thus women’s rights are embedded in patriarchal relationships, and because of the claims and moral dictates of kinship, the constant privileging of males and seniors, women are further disadvantaged because patriarchy relationally ‘flows between public and domestic spheres’ (Joseph 1994: 285). If Inul’s sexuality is embedded within the safety of the private sphere and regulated by her relationship to the head of the household, then it poses no threat. However, Inul threatens the patriarchal Islamic codes by publicly showing her body, both betraying her relationships in the private sphere and disobeying her relationships within the public face of Islam. An additional challenge to Islam stems from the fact that her fame now allows her to live an economically independent life without direct male patronage (although the majority of her fans are men). If ‘Women must wear veils to make themselves “faceless” in public because women’s intrusion into male space might disrupt, if not destroy, the fundamental order of things’ (Hassan, undated c), then Inul has certainly disrupted the order of things. For certain senior Islamic clerics (all of whom are male), Inul represents perhaps the biggest single threat to Indonesian morality. The body governing senior Islamic clerics – the Council of Ulamas (MUI) – has become concerned that Inul’s performances (and in turn her changing relationship with the audience) have encouraged lustful acts. This is because of an alleged confession by a man, who said he had raped a child after watching Inul’s dancing (Abhiseka 2003: 13). In April 2003, Rhoma Irama, himself a dangdut entertainer and head of the Association of Malay Music Artists, condemned Inul’s dance style and asked television stations to stop broadcasting her performances. Rhoma Irama also echoed the accusation that her performances encouraged sex and even incited rape.

Indonesia

129

However, many people did not support Rhoma Irama’s position.16 Inul’s dancing had already been deemed pornographic by the MUI, and become subject to a fatwa against pornography in February 2003. The MUI denounced Inul’s dancing as forbidden under Islamic law (haram), and called for her to repent (Jakarta Post 30 April 2003.) The Qur’anic requirements for restraint and modesty in the general social interaction between the sexes (parda) had, in the eyes of the MUI, been breached. However, this view is not shared by all Muslim clerics. The former first democratically elected Indonesian president, Abdurrahman Wahid, himself a Muslim cleric and once leader of Nahdlatul Ulama, Indonesia’s largest Muslim organisation, said those who criticised Inul were misusing religious precepts as a pretext to suppress freedom of expression (Jakarta Post 30 April 2003). However, Inul was also banned from performing in the central Javanese city of Yogyakarta for fear that she would ‘degrade the morality of the highly civilized and educated residents’ (Gunawan 2003: 30). Inul, the young, Muslim entertainer, has made public the private issue of women’s sexuality, and as such has challenged the integrity of the Islamic way of life for many Muslim clerics. She has also inadvertently, by bringing the issue of women’s sexuality to the fore, revealed key elements relating to gender and civil society – namely, the role women can play in public spaces, women’s organising and articulations regarding public participation, and the response of the state to women’s role vis-à-vis a fully functioning democratic space and state. All these issues question the extent to which a democracy can be realised in Indonesia if gender and the functioning of civil society have such an uneasy relationship. ‘If the “woman question” has in many ways been central to attempts to resist Western political, economic and cultural dominance in Islamic countries’(Baden 1992: 1), then resistance is certainly being felt in Indonesia. Part of the resistance that Baden refers to relates to the reassertion of Islam as a moral foundation and the rejection of Inul as a symbol of Western cultural influence (because some Islamic clerics have associated her dancing with pornography, eroticism and immorality). The Islamic faith for many Muslims acts as an anchor in times of rapid change. Timmerman (2000) suggests that because women and the family are seen as symbols of the nation in Muslim society, it is their role to be its moral guardians.17 When nations attempt to modernise and in turn Westernise, there is often friction with religious establishments’ resistance to this process. Rifts and differences within Islamic institutions have been exposed in Indonesia, as has the hypocrisy of sexual double standards, because the issue of women’s sexuality has been brought to the fore by Inul. If one of the negative impacts of Westernisation and economic transformation is sexualised images of femininity in the media and women are seen as symbols of the nation, it places women in a position that will always be contentious for either the nation or the religious institutions. What is problematic is the desire of certain clerics within Islamic

130

Diane Mulligan

institutions to cherry-pick aspects of Westernisation that are equated with economic gains and reject elements that lead to greater freedom of expression and increased rights for women. For the conservative Islamic clerics, there is no ideological space for the type of feminism that questions the subordination of women and traditional gender roles within Islam. However, many feminists do not see feminism and Islam as incompatible (Gross 1996; Najmabadi 1997; Cooke 2001; Badran 2002). Instead, secular feminists have entered common ground with Islamic feminists in their attempts to improve women’s legal status and social positions. In a study by Frances Hasso (1998), the comparison of international and indigenous feminist discourses demonstrates how narratives about gender status in the developing world are implicated by and inextricable from international economic and political inequalities. The international politics of economic exploitation by multinational companies, media discrimination and Western colonialism all play their part with regard to the oppression of women in Indonesia. Given the current geopolitical climate vis-à-vis the resurgence in Islam, it can be argued that more progress in finding neutral negotiating space has been made by feminists deconstructing the binaries between Islamism and secularism than by Western proponents of democracy attempting peaceful dialogue with leaders of Islamic institutions. However, Moghadam (2003) is critical of the discourse of Islamic feminists because of ‘the lack of attention paid to political and economic issues’. She asks ‘where are the alternative positions on democracy (even an Islamic democracy), civil society and citizen rights?’. These are fundamental questions that sections of Indonesian society are attempting to answer. Inul, the Muslim dangdut dancer, rather than feminists in Indonesia, has inadvertently provided the platform for senior male stakeholders to debate these pressing issues, and in turn Inul has become an agent for change. In a Time magazine interview Inul articulated her own concerns about the senior Islamic clerical organisation, the body governing senior clerics, the Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI). She said: ‘The MUI should realise that Indonesia is not a Muslim country, it’s a democratic country’ (Daratista in Gunawan 2003: 110). What Inul does not articulate is that a growing number of Muslims are already becoming disenchanted with certain aspects of Western democracy with regard to morality and freedom, and are more interested in a state governed by the principles of Islam. Inul, for some, however, is a symbol of growing cynicism among those who publicly preach the principles of Islam but do not privately adhere to them because they are indeed entertained by Inul (Anwar 2003). The debate about Inul has in turn exposed the lack of consensus between conservative and moderate actors within Islamic institutions and brought discussions about democratic human rights and women to light. Kandiyoti discusses the various manifestations of political Islam and the implications for women’s rights by examining the ‘contingent relation-

Indonesia

131

ship’ between Islam and women’s rights. By doing this she is able to transcend the stereotypical dichotomies of Western/religious, religious/ secular and traditional/modern (Kandiyoti 1991). Transcending dichotomies can be usefully applied to Indonesia because the Inul debate, when reduced to a Western versus religious dichotomy, cannot be fully explored. Instead, the debate about Inul within Islam and within both feminist and non-feminist groups advocating women’s rights is subject to international pressures that influence priorities and policies within contemporary political society. If neo-colonial Western powers criticise some Muslim societies for their treatment of women, the reassertion of Islam by those defending their faith may take a ‘dangerously polarized’ position on women (Majid 2002: 339). Some scholars feel that Islam will continue to attempt to control and regulate women’s sexuality despite the rhetoric of Islamic feminists. Muslim scholars such as Haideh Moghissi and Hammed Shahidian continue to find Islam incompatible with feminism. Shahidian argues that feminist theologians and Islamic feminist reinterpretations of Islamic texts (itehad) will gain little ground because of the strength of ‘conservative, orthodox, traditional and fundamentalist interpretations, laws and institutions’ (Shahidian cited in Moghadam 2003). Along similar lines, Hassan (undated c) argues that human rights are not compatible with the type of Islam practised in most Muslim societies, where women are ‘deprived of the freedom to be fully human’. Abou-Bakr (2001), however, argues that Islamic feminists are not simply offering critiques of Islamic history and hermeneutics, but are also seeking solutions and providing alternatives which have been inspired by Islamic value systems. This has been achieved by producing an Islamic discourse that examines the key concerns of gender justice. However, Indonesian women need to find practical mechanisms to define and achieve their own version of gender justice that applies most directly to their diverse lives, whether they are Muslim or not. As we have seen, the role of Islamic institutions in dominating the debates around sexuality and gender in Indonesia has been stronger than the roles played by both the state and other civil society organisations. Tensions have arisen between aspects of democracy such as freedom of expression and increased nudity and traditional female social roles. Inul has opened up a debate and has highlighted the hypocrisy and double standards with regard to women’s sexuality and women’s role in the public and private spheres. In addition, women’s continued oppression and the role of international politics has raised questions about the extent to which Islam and democracy are compatible and brought them to the fore. The next section attempts to examine the relationships between a weak and emerging democratic state and the diverse ways in which women have organised themselves in Indonesia.

132

Diane Mulligan

Contemporary relationships between an emerging democratic state and women’s organising in Indonesia The tension between different sets of values emerging through the discourse of dangdut came to a climax in May 2003, when more than 1000 people staged a rally outside television studios to protest about the transmission of performances by Inul. The protesters were mainly women from the Communication Forum for Anti-Pornography, and were demanding that the government and the House of Representatives draft a bill to fight pornography (Jakarta Post June 2003). However, women’s groups such as Komnas Perempuan (The National Commission on Violence Against Women), Koalasi Perempuan Indonesia (Indonesia Women’s Coalition for Justice and Democracy), the Organisation for Disabled Women in Indonesia, Bandung Women’s Institute, Suara Ibu Peduli (The Voice of Caring Mothers) and Women Who Care for Democracy all defended Inul’s right to express herself. In April 2003 a joint statement was made by women’s groups and other civil society groups, such as human rights groups, as well as unions and professional organisations, advocating Inul’s right to freedom of expression. The next month, women activists imitated Inul’s dancing on a roundabout in central Jakarta to show their support. One of the activists said ‘Dia adalah maskot perlawanan perempuan’ (She [Inul] is a symbol of women’s opposition) (Tempo, 11 May 2003: 18). Women’s organisations are divided into those who support Inul and those who equate her dancing with eroticism and pornography. The debate between different women’s organisations represents the continuum of women’s ideological positions, which advocate on behalf of the diverse roles of Muslim women, whether in the private sphere, the public sphere or both. For some, Inul has rekindled the pro- and anti-pornography debates that reached a peak during the second wave of feminism in the West. This is apparent by the demand of the Alliance for the AntiPornography Society that she ends her public performances. Some of the newly established Islamic women’s groups have protested about Western influences associated with the movement for democratic reform (Reformasi), such as pornography, increased nudity and other threats to morality, as they ‘might destroy the younger generations’ (Wieringa 1999: 1). The lack of adherence to the state’s guiding principles, the Pancasila, and the uneven and difficult transition to democracy from authoritarianism has resulted in weak state ideology. This in turn has created a vacuum, which has been filled by an Islamic value system, and as a result these Islamic institutions have become the new guardians of public morality. Because of the evolving democracy in Indonesia and the challenges that Western influences bring, Islamic institutions such as the MUI have placed more importance on the need to control women in order to continue to reproduce the nation in a way that is compatible with the Islamic tradition. As a response to increased anti-

Indonesia

133

Muslim feeling from the West, Islamic institutions have felt the need to strengthen themselves from within because their faith and value system is under threat. In times of crisis, the role of women to reproduce the next generation often becomes a pressing issue. Examples of crises that threaten national identity include external and internal conflict, and the so-called ‘war on terror’ in particular. The Islamic institutions in Indonesia are better equipped than many other civil society organisations (especially women’s organisations) to influence both the state and the public because of their long histories, patriarchal organisational structures, links to political institutions and parties, and their consistent membership numbers. Islamic institutions reinforce the notion that women’s role in the public sphere (especially the entertainer Inul Daratista) can be damaging. However, ‘After decades of impotence, feminist organisations such as Kalyanamitra and the Women’s Coalition for Justice and Democracy are beginning to play an important political role’ (Wieringa 1999: 2). This is particularly critical now because the control and regulation of sexuality plays a vital role in nation building. Although these feminist organisations are playing an important political role as part of a healthy civil society, their influence, when compared to Islamic institutions, pales into insignificance. We have seen the emerging ways in which women have begun to organise themselves, and in turn the types of relationships between women’s groups and a weak democratic state. Through the state-controlled women’s organising during the New Order regime, the state may have inadvertently given certain sections of society the very basis for launching an independent women’s movement. These factors have shaped a women’s movement that has been predominantly middle class and biased towards urban Java, and differentiates the women’s movement from other civil society organisations in Indonesia. The militaristic history of the state, combined with the marginalisation of women, has also made it difficult for women’s groups to have a voice in an evolving democratic state and to place women’s issues, such as violence against women, on the political agenda despite having a female president. Violence against women continues to be an issue for women’s groups, as does the governance of women’s sexuality, legal reform, education, and health and employment issues, but the impact of women’s groups’ influence has yet to be felt.

Conclusion Inul’s association with certain perceptions of Western liberalism (freedom of expression, immorality, pornography and eroticism) by some Muslim clerics has exposed the lack of consensus between the conservative Islamic institutions such as MUI and the more moderate Islamic institutions. The debate about Inul has also revealed the lack of political will of the state in identifying its position on gender and sexuality because of a combination

134

Diane Mulligan

of a weak unifying ideology, a president who lacks commitment to issues of gender, lack of central control over the archipelago due to the decentralisation process, and increased regional autonomy within an emerging democracy. Indonesia’s transition from a dictatorship to a democracy has not been a smooth one, not least because of the economic crisis in the late 1990s and increased decentralisation. These factors have created a nation in search of new identities that represent the heterogeneity of the archipelago. Regulating women’s sexuality and redefining their role as reproducers of a moral society is one way of making the nation feel more secure. As demonstrated, Indonesia’s great ethnic diversity and lack of homogeneity is mirrored in its civil society, of which some elements are profoundly radical and uncivil. Recently, women’s organisations have similarly begun to reflect this heterogeneity and ethnic diversity. In the nation with the world’s greatest concentration of Muslims, the Islamic faith has offered continuity in the face of rapid change. However, its more conservative components are making gains for women hard to come by and are reinforcing women’s roles that are not necessarily compatible with democratic human rights. For Hassan (undated c), Muslim women need positively to formulate their own goals and objectives, both individually and collectively, instead of reacting against the Western model of liberation. One way of reaching these strategic goals might be to work with the framework that Tohidi (2002) terms as the constantly evolving cultures both within the West and within Muslim cultures. If we move away from the notion that one fixed homogeneous culture can impose itself on another, common goals for the empowerment of women appear more achievable. Majid (2002) echoes this by rejecting Western approaches to human rights and democracy because they ignore heterogeneity and are inherently biased against Islam, even in its moderate forms. For women in Indonesia, whatever their religious persuasion, the challenge is to find mechanisms that allow them to have a greater stake in defining what type of nation they want to build and whose interests it represents. On a practical level, women’s legal position and laws that discriminate against them are issues that need to be addressed urgently. It is an exciting time for women’s organising in Indonesia, and pragmatic solutions need to be found so that both Muslim women and their male counterparts within Islamic institutions can be agents of positive change. Progressive Muslims represent the majority in Indonesia, but they are constantly overshadowed by the voices of the minority extremists and more conservative clerics, whose articulations are more appealing to the media. There are, of course, aspects of democratic reform (such as the right to freedom of expression) that will never rest comfortably with religious extremists, but within a healthy civil society there is room for debate and disagreements between organisations representing the continuum of ideological positions. The weak player in contemporary relationships is the state, and its

Indonesia

135

ability to be responsive to the demands of a civil society in an emerging democracy. The obstacle that women in Indonesia face is the uneven playing field on which to start debating these issues.

Notes 1 Inul Daratista was born as Ainul Rokhimah in a small village in East Java in 1979. She is a young Muslim woman from a low-income family, and rose to fame in Indonesia through her unique dancing style to a genre of music known as dangdut. The music, a mixture of Indian, Malay and Arab styles, has been traditionally enjoyed by the lower classes in Indonesia, its lyrics often sexually loaded. Historically dangdut has been sexually provocative, but was ‘cleaned up’ (along with its lyrical content) during the 1970s and 1980s by entertainers such as Rhoma Irama in order to be acceptable to mass public audiences. Inul Daratista invented her own style of dance, which has become known as ‘drilling’ or ngebor because her hips revolve at high speed; at the same time her knees bend and straighten, causing her body to resemble a drilling action into the stage upon which she performs. She began earning approximately US 40 cents per dancing show travelling from one village to another. Now she earns up to US 2,500 dollars per show, and regularly appears on designated dangdut television channels. 2 Islamic institutions in Indonesia include the two largest Muslim organisations. Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) has over 40 million members and represents the traditionalist stream of Islam, whereas Muhammadiyah represents the modernist and inclusive stream of Islam and has over 28 million members. Islamic institutions also include the radical groups such as Jemaah Islamiah, which means ‘Islamic community’ and has been linked to the terrorist group Al Qaida. The spiritual leader of Jemaah Islamiah, Abu Bakar Bashir, is the founder and head of a Pesantren, or religious boarding school. There are over 140,000 Pesantrens in Indonesia that penetrate the poorest and most remote parts of Java. There are also many Muslim political parties, some of which are radical, such as the United Development Party or PPP and the Crescent Star Party or PBB who are in favour of making Indonesia an Islamic state. Islamic institutions also include governing bodies of Muslim groups, such as the Council of Ulama (Majelis Ulama Indonesia) who govern senior clerics, and the Indonesian Mujahidin Council (Majelis Mujahidin Indonesia), whose executive committee is made up almost entirely of members of Jemaah Islamiah. 3 Kowani (Kongres Wanita Indonesia) was set up in 1928 as a federation of nationally-based voluntary women’s organisations. In 1968, Kowani helped to set up the National Commission on the Status of Women. Its aim today is to formulate policies and strategies in the women’s movement. It is based in the capital Jakarta, and in 1999 had 74 groups as members. 4 President Sukarno founded the Partai Nasional Indonesia in 1927 when the notion of ‘Indonesia’ first emerged. From 1950 he took the country through ‘Guided Democracy’, which was a pro-Communist nation-building of the first Republic. 5 Every year from 1965, on 30 September, Indonesian national television broadcasts Arifin C. Noer’s film Pengkhianatan G30S/PKI (Treachery of the September 30 Movement/Indonesian Communist Party), which depicts the PKI as bad, communism evil, and people who embraced the cause as beyond redemption. 6 The Indonesian Communist was known as the PKI (Perserikatan Komunis di India), literally translated as the Indies Communist Party.

136

Diane Mulligan

7 For example, the 1974 Marriage Law and policy on official surveys assumes that household heads are men even when widows are actually heads (Robinson 1999). 8 In 1997 less than 1 per cent of women had jobs with managerial and administrative responsibilities (1997 National Socio-Economic Survey SUSENAS (Survai Sosial Ekonomi Nasional) statistics). 9 Kalyanamitra was founded in 1984, and works on violence against women – particularly state-sponsored violence. It has created a cooperative with 6,000 members, largely unemployed women. 10 The women’s movement refers to women organising as women around gender issues and women’s rights. 11 Especially with regard to the mass rapes of Chinese ethnic women by the military and other groups during krismon. 12 Although some women have used unions to their advantage, it has not been a smooth path. In ‘1993, a young female factory worker who had begun trying to organize her coworkers was abducted, tortured, and raped by assailants’ (Rinaldo, undated). 13 117 Acehnese women, representing thousands of similarly situated women confessed to having been raped since Aceh was declared by the Indonesian government as the Military Operational Region (DOM) in 1989, and this continued until 1998. 14 Women in East Timor gave testimony that in the wave of the Indonesian military invasion of East Timor in 1975, every military occupation of East Timor was always followed by rape against women. 15 Modern veiling has ‘political, economic and socio-cultural dimensions as well as religious ones’ Baden (1992). Equating the veil with oppression is highly contested and an oversimplified interpretation. For further discussion, see Ahmed (1992). 16 92 public organisations said they were not sympathetic towards Rhoma Irama’s degrading comments about Inul Daratista (Tempo, 11 May 2003: 18). 17 This is not just limited to Muslim society, but can be found in a diverse range of countries, from predominantly Catholic countries such as Ireland and Poland to India, Mozambique and the former USSR.

References Abhiseka, A. (2003) ‘Attack on Inul against freedom of expression’, Jakarta Post, 3 May. Abou-Bakr, O. (2001) ‘Islamic feminism? What’s in a name? Preliminary reflections’, Middle East Women’s Studies Review 1: 1. Ahmad, A.R. (1998) ‘Redefining the role of women in Indonesia’, New Straits Times, 29 December. Ahmed, L. (1992) Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern Debate, Yale University Press. Anwar, K. (ed.) (2003) Tuhan diantara Inul & Gang Dolly, Indonesia: Bayumedia Publishing. Asia Women News (2002) Country report: gender discrimination and racism in Indonesia context (available online at http://www.asianwomenews.com/ 200208/09.htm, accessed 4 August 2003). Baden, S. (1992) ‘The position of women in Islamic countries: possibilities, constraints and strategies for change’, Bridge Report No. 4, Institute of Development Studies, UK.

Indonesia

137

Badran, M. (2002) ‘Islamic feminism: What’s in a name?’ Al-Ahram Weekly Online, 17–23 January 2002, 569 (available online at http://weekly.ahram.org.e.g./ 2002/569/cu1.htm, accessed 4 August 2003). Bianpoen, C. (1999) ‘Reflections on International Women’s Day – Indonesia’s women are moving ahead’, The Indonesian Observer, 8 March, p. 5. Blackburn, S. (1999) ‘Gender violence and the Indonesian political transition’, Asian Studies Review 23(4): 433–445. —— (2001) ‘Women and the nation’, Inside Indonesia, 64 (available online at http://www.insideindonesia.org/edit66/susan1.htm, accessed 26 September 2003). Bodman, H. and Tohidi, N. (1998) Women in Muslim Societies: Diversity within Unity, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Brenner, S. (1998) The Domestication of Desire: Women, Wealth and Modernity in Java, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Brown, C. (1999) ‘E-mail list helps organize women in Indonesia’ (available online at http://www.onlinewomeninpolitics.org/indon/csf.colorado.edu-soc-m-fem1999.II-msg00168.htm, accessed 28 August 2003). Cooke, M. (2001) Women Claim Islam: Creating Islamic Feminism through Literature, New York: Routledge. Fernea, E. (1998) In Search of Islamic Feminism, New York: Doubleday. Gross, R. (1996) Feminism and Religion, Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Gunawan, R.F.X. (2003) Mengebor Kemunafikan, Yogyakarta: Galang Press. Hassan, R. (undated a) ‘Are human rights compatible with Islam? The issue of the rights of women in Muslim communities’ (available online at http:// religiousconsultation.org/hassan2.htm, accessed 4 August 2003). —— (undated b) ‘Religious conservatism: feminist theology as a means of combating injustice toward women in Muslim communities/culture’ (available online at http://ncwdi.igc.org/html/Hassan.htm, accessed 4 August 2003). —— (undated c) ‘Members, one of another: gender equality and justice in Islam’ (available online at http://religiousconsultation.org/hassan.htm, accessed 4 August 2003). Hasso, F. (1998) ‘The women’s front: nationalism, feminism and modernity in Palestine’, Gender and Society 12(4): 441–465. Jakarta Post (2003) ‘Gus Dur out in defence of Inul’, 30 April. Joseph, S. (1994) ‘Problematizing gender and relational rights: experiences from Lebanon’, Social Politics: International Studies in Gender, State and Society 1(3): 271–285. Kamalkhani, Z. (1998) Women’s Islam – Religious Practice among Women in Today’s Iran, London: Paul Kegan International. Kandiyoti, D. (1991) Women, Islam and the State, Hong Kong: Temple University. Kurniawan, M.N. (2003) ‘People fear authoritarianism more than eroticism’ Jakarta Post, 6 May. Locher-Scholten, E. (2000) Women and the Colonial State: Essays on Gender and Modernity in the Netherlands Indies, 1900–1942, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Majid, A. (2002) ‘The politics of feminism in Islam’, in T. Saliba, C. Allen and J.A. Howard (eds) Gender, Politics and Islam, Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press. Moghadam, V. (2003) ‘Islamic feminism and its discontents. Notes on a debate’ (available online at http://www.iran-bulletin.org/Islamic-feminism.htm, accessed 4 August 2003).

138

Diane Mulligan

Moghissi, H. (1999) Feminism and Islamic Fundamentalism: The Limits of Postmodern Analysis, London: Zed Books. Najmabadi, A. (1997) ‘Feminism in an Islamic republic: years of hardship, years of growth’ in Y.Y. Haddad and J. Esposito (eds) Women, Gender and Social Change in the Muslim World, New York: Oxford University Press. Rendra, W.S. (2003) (translated by Kornelius Purba), Jakarta Post, 23 February, p. 11. Rinaldo, R. (undated) Ironic Legacy: The New Order and Indonesian Women’s Groups (available at http://www.chloe.uwa.edu.au/outskirts/article4.4tml). Robinson, K. (1998) ‘Indonesian women’s rights, international feminism and democratic change’, Communal/Plural: Journal of Transnational & Crosscultural Studies 6(2): 205–224. —— (1999) ‘Women: difference versus diversity’, in D.K. Emmerson (ed.) Indonesia Beyond Suharto, New York: M.E. Sharpe. Sen, K. (1998) ‘Indonesian women at work: reframing the subject’, in Sen, K. and Stivens, M. (eds) Gender and Power in Affluent Asia, New York: Routledge. —— (1999) ‘Women on the Move’ Inside Indonesia, 58 (available online at http://www.insideindonesia.org/edit58/women1.htm, accessed 26 September 2003). Soetito, L. (2003) ‘Inul’s body politicised’, Jakarta Post, 9 June. Tempo (2003) ‘Inul, Silakan “Ng”ebor’, 11 May. Timmerman, C. (2000) ‘Muslim women and nationalism: the power of the image’, Current Sociology 48: 4. Tohidi, N. (2002) ‘Islamic feminism: perils and promises’, Middle East Women’s Studies Review 16: 3 & 4. United Nations General Assembly (1998) Concluding Observations of the Committee of the Elimination of Discrimination against women, Indonesia, 14 May 1998, 17/53/38, Paragraphs 262–311. Wandita, G. (1998) ‘The tears have not stopped, the violence has not ended: political upheaval, ethnicity, and violence against women in Indonesia’, Gender and Development 6(3): 34–42. Wieringa, S. (1999) ‘Reformasi, sexuality and communism in Indonesia’, Paper presented at First conference on Sexuality and Human Rights, Manchester, July.

7

Chilean feminism(s) in the 1990s Paradoxes of an unfinished transition Marcela Ríos-Tobar

Introduction More than a decade after a plebiscite marked the end of military rule in Chile, the arrival of democracy has had contradictory results for feminists. As the first ten years of restored democratic government came to an end, the women who had contributed towards the re-emergence of feminism1 and the reconstruction of a broad-based women’s movement strongly disagreed about the effects democracy has had on feminist ideals and proposals. Many of these women believe that feminism has had an impact on Chilean society and has contributed towards improving the condition of women. During the past decade women’s integration into public life has increased, while legal discrimination is being slowly eliminated.2 As an array of socio-economic indicators demonstrates, women’s integration into public life has followed closely the country’s socio-economic modernisation.3 Moreover, the first democratically elected government after a 17year dictatorship established an institution responsible for ‘women’s affairs’ and ratified international and national agreements. Offices and programmes for women multiplied at all levels of public administration (municipalities, ministries, services), as well as in universities, trades unions and political parties. In general terms, some of the demands put forward by previously isolated feminists have gained increased social legitimacy. Nowadays, the media and other public forums have taken up concepts, discourses and issues that were previously considered taboo or irrelevant for society. Once used only by a limited group of activists and intellectuals, these concepts and discourses have spread to an ever-increasing number of women and sectors within Chilean society (Valenzuela 1998; Baldez 1999). Despite these achievements, both critics and activists agree that the public presence of the women’s movement,4 including feminist organisations, has gradually disappeared as a political force5 in post-transition Chile. Paradoxically, feminists’ voices have disappeared precisely as the discourses and demands they had struggled for were being incorporated

140

Marcela Rios-Tobar

into public agendas. In other words, as the modernising discourse on ‘equal opportunities for women’ was advancing, the political agent that originally promoted it disappeared. This is the paradox that confronted Chilean feminism in the 1990s, and is one of the reasons for the distrust and discomfort many feminists exhibit towards this period of democratic rule. Feminist activism and ideals have unquestionably changed, conditioned by global processes both social and political in nature. Yet other conditions of national scope have probably had a key impact on these changes. These have modified the opportunities and constraints that shape the development of civil society, including collective action, citizen participation and social movements. In other words, the transformation of feminist politics has at the same time coincided with and been shaped by the change in political regime. In the case of Chile, this transition had a negative impact on the ability of social actors to mobilise politically and represent their interests in the public sphere (Garretón 1995; Moulian 1997; Drake and Jaksic 1999). The newly installed regime has not only failed to strengthen the development of civil society, but its very existence has also made previous forms of organisation and mobilisation obsolete. Despite the importance of structural factors for the development of social actors, the transformation of the feminist movement cannot be understood as a mere by-product of these structural processes. Any analysis of its reconfiguration must necessarily consider the internal dynamics of the movement, its links with the political system and alliances with other civil society actors, as well as its capacity to react with and adjust to new social and political conditions. It is precisely the interaction between these macro- and micro-levels that characterises the specificity of feminist action and distinguishes it from similar experiences by other social actors. This article addresses these issues in two main sections. The first analyses some aspects of the political opportunity structure relevant for the development of civil society and social mobilisation. The second focuses on the changes in feminist activism and organisation in the 1990s. It looks in particular at the transformation of the feminist field through the expansion of its discourses, the diversification of its organisational structures and the changing relationship between feminism and socialism. The article concludes by highlighting the challenges posed by the reconfiguration of the feminist field for the advance of both feminist ideals and democracy in Chile.

Social actors in the midst of an unfinished transition The Chilean transition to democracy has been extensively studied.6 Diverging from similar processes in other countries of the region, this transition was neither the result of institutional breakdown nor an entirely

Chile

141

concerted event, but was clearly conditioned and controlled by the mechanisms and norms set out by the dictatorship.7 The change in political regime had long-lasting repercussions for the relationship between the state and the system of political representation, and civil society (Garretón 1995). Paradoxically, as in other South-American countries, the return to democratic rule, which eliminated repressive measures and opened the structure of political opportunities, had the short-term effect of reducing the opportunities for the development of civil society and previous forms of social mobilisation. Relevant international trends During the past few decades the world has increasingly become an interconnected arena, where events at one end impact and are known almost instantly in all other regions. In this context, social actors, including feminists, have formed cross-national alliances and networks that are able to influence international institutions, exchanged knowledge and information, and mobilised politically. Their efforts have in turn reproduced and amplified dissident voices positioning alternative visions and information at the centre of international debates (Alvarez 1998; Keck and Sikkink 1998). The international community, specifically the United Nations system, has stimulated the emergence of a new agenda of rights that includes a ‘gender perspective’ as one of its components. This new ‘gender-friendly’ approach has sparked two simultaneous processes: first, international agents exert pressure and provide incentives in favour of gender policies; and second, there is increased demand and resources for specialised knowledge and skills on gender issues. It is precisely feminist activists and academics who possess this knowledge and are urged to participate in this globalised process. Furthermore, in this same period development agencies that had traditionally supported Latin-American feminist activism have implemented drastic policy changes. Whereas in the past they had supported initiatives to strengthen civil society vis-à-vis the state, especially those focused on the popular sectors, over the last few years they have reduced their funding in Chile.8 These processes have forced Latin-American feminists not only to modify the practices that they had originally developed to confront a hostile authoritarian context (Alvarez 1998), but also to professionalise their activities and organisations and develop specialisms. Hence the politics of confrontation have been transformed into the politics of negotiation, requiring intricate knowledge of policy-making processes. This is not to say that they are void of conflict, or that international spheres have ceased to be contentious, but that the script for interaction has changed and in the process has pushed those involved to change their strategies to secure influence in the future.

142

Marcela Rios-Tobar

Political culture Political culture is a key dimension in a structure of political opportunities.9 In Chile, this culture has been traditionally both state and institutionally centred. Citizens expected the state to assume the political initiative and satisfy their demands.10 Chilean political culture can be interpreted, in Nancy Fraser’s (1997) terms, as one that privileges the existence of a hegemonic public sphere, undermining the existence of ‘subordinate counter-publics’ that might serve to balance the power at the centre. This is particularly troublesome for subordinate groups, such as feminists, who have historically had greater difficulty in accessing institutional public spheres. The process of transition introduced new elements to this traditional political culture. Among the most relevant are the fear of conflict and the pathological search for consensus (Lechner and Guell 1999), which together have discouraged public debate and promoted a type of self-censorship among those sectors committed to democratisation. In contrast to other countries in the region, conservative sectors have maintained considerable political power in post-transition Chile. This has translated into a renewed conservative hegemony or, as many believe, a ‘modernisation without modernity’, with the Catholic Church as one of its driving forces. Throughout this period the Church has managed not only to maintain but also increase its political clout in most areas of political life. The debate around the still pending issue of divorce is illustrative of this trend. After several failed attempts, a group of representatives finally succeeded in placing a proposal to reform current legislation on civil marriages in the legislative agenda.11 Bishop Errazuriz – Archbishop of Santiago – publicly reprimanded the group, which included three Christian Democrats, who were finally forced to meet with Errazuriz and assure him they were only interested in promoting ‘the integrity of the family’.12 Moreover, continued Church opposition has proven more successful than the initial indications on the part of President Lagos in support of this reform. More than two years after Lagos came to power the initiative still sits in Congress, without receiving the necessary support from the Executive to be included in the legislative agenda.13 The current situation is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, the power of conservative sectors is increasing, and in particular that of the Catholic Church, while the space for political manoeuvre on contentious issues is decreasing. On the other hand, progressive sectors have failed to construct an anti-hegemonic block capable of legitimating values and world visions able to counteract the symbolic power of the Church. Hence both the fear of conflict and the relative weakness of secular discourses have contributed towards silencing feminist voices. Either moved by political pragmatism or pushed by fear of authoritarian regression, some feminists seem to have accepted the imperatives of the ‘new democratic

Chile

143

model’. According to Grau et al. (1997), a sort of ‘discursive accommodation’ has taken place within feminist circles, where discourses are accommodated to the requirements of the interlocutor – thus a self-imposed censorship prevails. This explains, in part, the difficulties encountered when attempting to articulate autonomous arguments in favour of some of feminism’s most contested demands (Ríos and Aravena 1997). The party system If there is a distinctive feature to Chilean political life, it is undoubtedly the party system, which emerged in the first half of the twentieth century. This system was deeply embedded in society, and solidly established in cultural and institutional terms. Before the 1973 military coup, parties represented true micro-cultures around which collective and individual identities were built. They monopolised the representation of social interests and demands, mediating between social actors and the state and often interfering with the former’s autonomy (Garretón 1993). This relationship between parties and social actors began to erode under the dictatorship, in part due to the regime’s explicit policy to dismantle the party system and banish the left from political life. Political repression and the destruction of public spheres combined to diminish the control of parties over social actors. Yet, despite a considerable loss of power and legitimacy, the party system proved strong enough to survive. Public policies State policies and discourses are crucial in generating the opportunities, resources and constraints social actors must confront (Melucci 1985; Tilly 1985; Canel 1992; Tarrés 1992; Calderon 1995; McAdam et al. 1996). The form this impact takes and its effects depend, among other factors, on the state’s capacity and will to repress dissident groups; institutional norms and procedures that regulate the emergence of social organisations; specific policies aimed at civil society; symbolic referents and discourses constructed by public institutions; the legitimacy of non-institutional actors to represent their interests; and strategies for inclusion or exclusion of certain issues and actors from public debates. In sum, the question is not whether the state intervenes directly in the organisation of civil society, but what role it plays in establishing the rules that condition political life. Civil society in post-transition Chile is thus confronted with a new political structure of resources, opportunities and constraints. For most analysts this structure has had a negative effect on the development of civil society and hindered the survival of non-governmental and social organisations (Moulian 1997; Guillaudat and Mouterde 1998; De la Maza 1999). The Concertación governments have shown little programmatic coherence

144

Marcela Rios-Tobar

in fostering a relevant role for civil society in the newly established democratic system. Their policies have been particularly deficient in restoring the social fabric, promoting the development of social and nongovernmental organisations, and fostering greater citizen participation. Coupled with conflicting visions within the ruling coalition this deficiency has led toward fragmentary and contradictory measures, insufficient in some cases and outright adverse in others. The inauguration of a public institution responsible for women’s issues during the first democratic government had a lasting effect on the way in which the women’s movement, and feminists in particular, would relate to the state. President Aylwin’s government, responding to a demand posed by the Concertación of Women for Democracy, created the National Woman’s Service (SERNAM) ‘to promote the participation of women in national life and equality of opportunities between the sexes’ (SERNAM 1994). Yet SERNAM’s mission was a source of political conflict from its inception. Right-wing parties, which saw the institution as a concession to feminist demands, attempted to limit its power to a mere coordinating role and away from direct interaction with women’s organisations (Valenzuela 1998). Despite the government’s commitment to the creation of the institution, the coalition parties, and especially the Christian Democrats, gave little real support to SERNAM, whose demands it viewed as feminist and therefore too challenging. Furthermore, SERNAM itself has been erratic in its approach towards women’s and non-governmental organisations. A study conducted by the Centro de Estudios de la Mujer concludes: SERNAM’s strategy has sought to establish links with those actors who might transfer power back to it, especially different types of expertise in the gender domain . . . There are only marginal efforts aimed at fostering the organisation and political participation of women situated in other spheres and to generate formalised channels of communication with civil society. (Guzmán et al. 1999: 133) Other studies found that state institutions, and in particular SERNAM, were eager to relate to non-governmental organisations and women’s organisations as technical experts able to support public policy-making, but seldom recognised them in their capacity as ‘citizen representatives’ of civil society (Alvarez 1997, 1998; Valenzuela 1998; Guzmán et al. 1999). By recognising these actors only as professional experts, the state undermined their political importance and their traditional hybrid identity as part of a social movement (Alvarez 1998). In light of this disappointing record, the election of Ricardo Lagos in December 2000 generated high expectations among many feminists. He

Chile

145

was to be the first Socialist president since the overthrow of Salvador Allende in 1973, a man who had explicitly acknowledged his commitment to secularism and social equality. Once in power, he named Adriana Del Piano as SERNAM´s minister. Lagos decided to leave SERNAM under the direction of the progressive wing of the Concertación, and in so doing broke the Christian Democrats’ decade-long control over the institution. As a militant of the Partido por la Democracia (Democratic Party), Del Piano had occupied several government posts in the last decade and had a history of political involvement, yet she had neither participated in the women’s movement nor identified herself as a feminist (El Mercurio 2000). Soon after her appointment it became evident that the minister wanted to move away from many of the policies and discourses that SERNAM had been supporting since its inception. Six months after assuming her post, Del Piano participated in the UN Beijing Plus Five Conference, where she not only stayed clear of any commitments towards improving the country’s track record on reproductive rights but explicitly said her government would pursue a ‘pro-life’ policy.14 Moreover, she declared her doubts about the concept of gender, which she saw as too ‘complex and vague’ for people to understand, and proposed that it was time for SERNAM to stop talking about discrimination and start focusing on the more positive aspects of women’s contribution to society. In sum, the new administration has proven to be yet another disappointment. With regard to women’s issues, Lagos’s government has prioritised those areas that can readily produce concrete results for ‘urgent problems’. At the same time there has been an explicit decision to steer away from contentious issues, deemed to be either too radical or too feminist, that might cause internal conflict in the coalition. The end result has been little, if any, progress on more central rights issues, such as divorce, affirmative action or abortion.15

Feminism in the 1990s: from the ‘glorious history’ to the present Undoubtedly, discomfort and malaise have permeated feminist voices throughout the 1990s. As the transition unfolds many activists search for answers, perplexed by a new scenario that blurs the meaning of their previous political militancy and ideals. What became of those 20,000 women who on International Women’s Day filled the Santa Laura Stadium in 1989 to celebrate the return of democracy?16 They appear absent from public life in post-transition Chile. Only in 1998, and due in part to the former dictator’s imminent appointment as life-time senator, did feminists and other women’s organisations became visible in the streets again. Close to 5,000 women marched on 8 March under the slogan ‘Democracy is in Debt with Women’, to protest against what they perceived to be a symbol of the precariousness of the new regime. Notwithstanding this interlude, the

146

Marcela Rios-Tobar

following years have again witnessed the invisibility of feminists as political actors. Since 1998 there have been no further attempts to connect feminist mobilisation to other national political issues. Even the unfolding conflict over Pinochet’s legal prosecution ceased to play a mobilising role among women’s groups.17 In order to understand better the development of the feminist movement in the 1990s, we need first to outline the second wave of feminism during the 1980s. Feminism re-emerged in Chile after a long period of ‘feminist silence’ (Kirkwood 1986) following the suffragist mobilisation. Patricia Chuchryk (1984) dates the first public appearance by second-wave feminists on 11 August 1983, during the darkest years of military repression. A group of 60 women met in front of the National Library, and extended a banner that read: ‘Democracy Now! Feminist Movement of Chile’. It was at this time that many women began to organise politically and a broad-based movement began to come together as three distinct spheres of activism converged: human rights organisations, popular women’s groups (talleres de mujeres pobladoras) and feminist organisations. Second-wave feminism emerged as a reaction against the authoritarianism present throughout Chilean society – from the brutal authoritarianism imposed by the military regime to that in everyday life (Chuchryk 1984). As in the rest of Latin America, this feminist project owed much of its identity to a socialist ideology. This connection became central for Chilean feminism, which, contrary to the experience in some industrialised countries, linked theoretically and politically the transformation of gender subordination to that of capitalism. As a result, the left, especially its parties, became feminism’s omnipresent interlocutor. Feminists saw their political activism as a struggle for democracy and against military rule. The political strategies and internal conflicts that characterised the movement were conditioned by national politics, and its commitment to democracy served as a unifying force between feminists and other sectors of the women’s movement. Notwithstanding their position as a minority within this movement, feminists provided discursive sustenance and identity for women’s larger mobilisation. The slogan ‘Democracy in the country and in the home’, coined by feminists and adopted by the women’s movement, attests to this leadership. However, this did not translate into widespread or unconditional support for feminist ideals. On the contrary, the fragility of this support made for unstable political alliances around gender issues. Having sketched the key contours of the second wave of feminism in the 1980s, we now explore in greater detail the development of feminism(s) in the 1990s. Once the transition began, the weakness of a shared political agenda nourished those cleavages that had historically strained the movement. Those cleavages were furthered strengthened by the resurgence of party control over the political process. Political parties once again subordinated social actors to a secondary role. However, this time

Chile

147

they also pushed them into a dichotomised political struggle (Garretón 1993). Since most research on the transition has focused on the conflictual relationship between party militants and feminists, or between party militants and popular women (pobladoras), the scope and content of conflicts within the feminist field have been overlooked. Hence there is little consensus regarding the content of ideological confrontations and the manner in which the feminists’ movement began to lose its previous ‘cohesion’. What is clear is that electoral politics and partisan conflicts had a profound effect on feminist discourses, activism and its subsequent fragmentation. This confirms a fundamental characteristic of Chilean feminism, namely its permanent and obstinate relationship with party politics. With the return of democracy, ‘second-wave’ activism came to a close, opening the way for new forms of political mobilisation and organisation. In recent years, some academics have tended to over-emphasise and idealise the internal cohesion the movement once had. History has been rewritten from the perspective of the ‘institutional’ sector of the movement, overlooking the conflicts with and trajectories of those considered deviant from this sector. Mainstream feminist discourse suggests that the women’s movement created the Concertación of Women for Democracy so as to present their demands to the new democratic government. Feminists then returned to political parties and the state, while others remained in non-governmental organisations (NGOs). This discourse also emphasises the affinity of feminists to the newly elected governing coalition. A study in progress at the Centro de Estudios de la Mujer (Godoy et al. 2001) has found that this ‘official story’ has become a very powerful collective discourse among feminists. The overwhelming majority of feminists interviewed in this study18 reproduced a similar sequence of events when asked about the path followed by the feminist movement during the transition. Notwithstanding this consensus, the study found significant discrepancies between the dominant discourse and the political trajectories of many women interviewed, who neither agreed nor were invited to participate in the Concertación of Women for Democracy. They were either linked to political parties of the left that had not joined the Concertación,19 or had never been party militants in the first place. Moreover, only a small minority of those linked to the Concertación were appointed to government positions, while a few others were employed by the state only much later and never occupied leadership posts. My central argument is that the dominant discourse regarding the role of feminists in the transition needs to be modified to take account of the multiplicity of paths, trajectories and strategies that feminists chose to follow. These in turn have shaped the present field of action, including conflicting political projects and the contestation of the dominant reconstruction of a shared history.

148

Marcela Rios-Tobar

In the last two decades, traditional forms of organisation and mobilisation have declined or disappeared while new ones have emerged. Now it is more accurate to speak of a field of action rather than a traditional social movement. As Alvarez (1998: 3) states, this is an ‘expansive, polycentric and heterogeneous [field], which extends beyond the organisations or groups characteristic of a movement’. The sites where women who declare themselves feminists take action have multiplied. They no longer act only in the streets, in autonomous or consciousness-raising groups or in workshops for popular education. Although feminists continue to participate in those spheres, they are also present in a wide range of other cultural, social and political arenas. Nevertheless, most agree that the movement has lost the cohesion and visibility it acquired in the previous period.20 We will now explore in depth the particular characteristics of feminism(s) in the 1990s. We will focus in turn on the dissemination of feminist discourses, the links between feminism and political and ideological transformation, the changing organisational forms, the restructuring of the feminist field, and the phases of mobilisation in the 1990s. Dissemination of feminist discourses Feminists today must confront an increasing expansion and diversification of issues and spheres of action. Their demands, discourses and ideals, which were previously confined to the opposition movement, have increasingly permeated public agendas. They have been taken up by women from diverse sectors of society, covered by the mass media, discussed in academic circles and regularly appear in political debates. The variety of sites where these discourses circulate has also increased. Whereas in past decades feminists’ activism was limited to a few urban centres, such as Santiago, Valparaiso and Concepción, in the first half of the 1990s groups emerged in different regions of the country.21 In this sense, there is no longer a single geographical and thematic centre, but a multiplicity of micro-centres at local, regional and national levels. This expansion thus poses new challenges for maintaining cohesion within the movement, as well as for the circulation of knowledge and information. In a similar vein, academics, political activists and networking activities are focusing increasingly on specific issues rather than on a general project for social change. The most significant issues for mobilisation have been domestic violence, reproductive and sexual rights, the feminisation of poverty and women’s rights. Furthermore, an array of specific political identities have also become salient for those women who identify with a common sexual orientation, ethnicity, class or generation, but have difficulty establishing ties with other feminists. In practice, these trends have questioned the very notion of a unified feminist subject and, with that, the possibility of concerted political action.

Chile

149

Feminists are thus confronted with a two-fold process: an increasing diversity of interests, identities and projects; and the weakening of a common project capable of articulating and mobilising them. Once again this poses a complex and, to a certain degree, contradictory scenario. While the growing plurality and heterogeneity sets the stage for greater participation of women who traditionally had not mobilised around a gender identity, it also causes fragmentation and a lack of articulation among feminists. Each group or network mobilises around its specific objectives, organises its own activities, and elaborates discourses, strategies and proposals, without them being necessarily complemented, informed or coordinated with those of other organisations. There is often a weak and conflictual dialogue between different parts of the field, and little capacity to mobilise and act on issues of interest to all. The increased difficulty in articulating shared public strategies has become evident in the commemoration of key feminist milestones such as International Women’s Day, or 28 September (the Latin-American day for the depenalisation of abortion). In every case there is a multiplicity of unconnected activities of a similar nature, each of which has little mobilising strength. Political–ideological transformation The initial connection between feminism and socialism has gradually disappeared over the past decades, due in part to feminism distancing itself from its Marxist origins, to the left’s ideological transformation, and to cultural and political changes brought about by the breakdown of state socialism. As a result, it is no longer possible to speak of a singular feminist ideological project. It becomes necessary to speak of feminisms in the plural, with a multiplicity of ideological positions from liberal through to radical. Feminists now confront a democratic system which is fundamentally different from that of a military dictatorship that offered neither spaces nor incentives for dialogue or participation, and used repression as a political weapon. Faced with a ‘common enemy’, feminists were forced to maintain cohesion. Yet once this was gone, an anti-establishment stance ceased to serve as the basis for unity. Despite many feminists’ manifest dissatisfaction with the type of ‘democracy’ achieved, they no longer share a common vision regarding the government or the economic model. While some have actively participated in the Concertación governments, others continue to criticise and oppose their policies. While the former argue that democratic governments have adopted, at least in part, the demands made by the women’s movement, the latter claim that such governments have betrayed those demands. Whilst the former are closer to both political power structures and public debates, the latter have become increasingly marginalised from mainstream political life.

150

Marcela Rios-Tobar

Organisational forms: continuity and change The movement’s organisational structures have also experienced significant change throughout this period. Informal organisations, groups and workshops in which feminists came together in the past have given way to a growing diversification of collective arrangements. These changes have in turn influenced objectives, membership, political strategies and articulation with other social actors. A case in point is the trend towards professionalisation and institutionalisation. Many groups that arose under military rule showed early signs of institutionalisation. They formalised internal procedures, and focused on issues that would allow them to increase their social impact and safeguard their survival in a context of rapid social and economic transformation. Groups which were created as informal collectives for reflection and political mobilisation became NGOs as a required step towards consolidation. Sonia Alvarez (1997: 153) has referred to this process as the ‘NGO-ization’ of the feminist field, present throughout Latin America but particularly ubiquitous in the case of Chile. NGOs represent one of the most prevalent organisational forms in the feminist field today, even though they are neither one-dimensional nor a homogeneous group. On the contrary, they are characterised by a great diversity of institutional arrangements, operating mechanisms, political strategies and membership composition.22 Despite this diversity, NGOs have come to play a central role in feminist politics in post-transition Chile. The study in progress by the Centro de Estudios de la Mujer found that an incredible 38.4 per cent of feminists interviewed were employed in this type of organisation. It also suggests that this percentage was much higher in the first half of the decade, after which development agencies changed their policies in Chile, provoking the current funding crisis amongst NGOs. Issue-oriented advocacy networks provide another important organisational form within the feminist field. Throughout the 1990s several such networks were created; among the most important in terms of membership and activism are the Chilean Network against Domestic and Sexual Violence, the Information Network on the Rights of Women (RIDEM), the Latin-American Network of Women’s Health, the Women’s Alternative Communication Network in Latin America (FEMPRESS), the LatinAmerican and Caribbean Feminist Network against Domestic and Sexual Violence, and the Women’s Network of Popular Education (REPEM). There are also networks of women’s social organisations, such as the Network of Women’s Social Organisations (REMOS) and the Association of Rural and Indigenous Women (ANAMURI). These networks are committed to advocacy and lobbying strategies, especially those directed at governments and intergovernmental organisations. They coordinate the efforts of individuals and collectives across different regions of the

Chile

151

country, while some explicitly promote the mobilisation of grassroots organisations. If there is an organisational form distinctively linked to the democratisation process, it is academic gender studies programmes. In 1991 a group of humanities scholars established the first such programme in the country, Programa Interdisciplinario de Estudios de la Mujer, at the University of Concepción. Its emergence, and that of other such programmes, should be understood as part of the growing legitimacy gained by gender as a public and academic concept, and as the expression of political and cultural openness fostered by the transition to democracy. This openness allowed universities to revise their structures to incorporate debates, discourses and knowledge that had been marginalised during the dictatorship. By the end of the 1990s there were at least 14 gender studies programmes in 13 universities across the country.23 Most of these programmes are located within social science or humanities faculties, combining teaching and research activities. The key differences between them relate to the magnitude of resources at their disposal, both material and human, and the degree of legitimacy and stability within their respective institutions. They also differ from other feminist organisations in a variety of ways, including their membership. The majority of these programmes are staffed exclusively by professionals, who in general (and in contrast to members of NGOs) do not necessarily have a history of traditional movement activism. Moreover, with some exceptions – including Concepción’s PIEM – most of these programmes do not identify themselves publicly or explicitly as feminist institutions or as part of a larger feminist movement.24 Some of the women involved suggest that the absence of a feminist identity is a strategy to legitimise gender studies within very conservative academic establishments. They argue that acknowledging ties to feminist principles would be detrimental for their claims to academic ‘rigour and objectivity’. However, their internal membership and the political trajectories they have pursued might also be an element influencing this selection of strategies. The debate over ‘gender’ and ‘feminism’ has caused friction amongst academics, and between academics and other feminists, who see themselves more directly linked to a political movement and therefore question the commitment of academics to feminism. More importantly, this sharp division between political feminism and academe has blurred the historical links between feminist struggles and the emergence of gender studies. Hence, despite the growing strength and recognition that some gender scholars have gained, there is little public awareness of the historical connections between the feminist movement and gender studies. Other, more traditional, organisational structures are also present in post-transition feminist politics. These tend to be less structured types of

152

Marcela Rios-Tobar

organisation, with few formalised procedures and different levels of cohesiveness and stability, yet by and large with an explicit feminist identity. The majority of these groups are linked to a feminist current that emerged in the early 1990s, namely, feminismo autonomo.25 There are also other informally organised groups that do not necessarily adhere to a specific ideological current.26 Many of these were established by women from different social and generational backgrounds to those of the ‘historical’ militants. Despite the existence of all these different types of organisations, a key challenge in the 1990s was to maintain some cohesion amongst these different groups. At the beginning of the decade an attempt was made through the national Encuentros27 to strengthen these organisations by creating spheres where feminists could come together and build common political platforms. However, early on it became clear that a breach had emerged between feminists who participated in more movement-type spheres and those active in political advocacy and academic work connected to political parties, the state, networks or gender studies programmes. The national Encuentros were the first major sites for these divisions to be played out as a conflict with both political and ideological overtones. While some believed the only route was to build an ‘autonomous’ movement away from the ‘structures of patriarchal power’,28 others proposed a more moderate strategy that would seek changes within current political structures. As a result, and in contrast to other historical periods, the 1990s were characterised by the relative weakness of sites for non-institutional political activism or social organisations based on their members’ voluntary participation. In brief, there was a lack of militancy understood in its more conventional sense and an increase in more ‘technical’ intervention in the construction of public agendas at all institutional levels. Finally, significant numbers of feminists have opted for individual activism away from strictly movement-type arenas. They conduct their ‘militancy’ in different cultural sites and artistic forms, such as radio stations, magazines, alternative bookstores, literature, dance, theatre and music. According to Collin (1999: 5), this cultural production represents the only way to strengthen feminism in our era: ‘a New World cannot be initiated without new words, without new forms’. These self-proclaimed independent feminists also attest to the diversity of individual trajectories and political strategies present throughout this period. Restructuring the feminist field The growing professionalisation and specialisation of feminist organisations has also contributed to the movement’s transformation. These trends have been fostered by new challenges posed by the democratisation process and specific state policies, by international transformations and by

Chile

153

a change in funding priorities on the part of development agencies. These international factors have dramatically shaped feminist political activism over the last decade by stimulating the production of a ‘gender’ knowledge and expertise necessary to legitimise feminist demands and accommodate their discourses and proposals to the complex reality of a rapidly modernising society. However, these processes have had contradictory effects on the feminist field. The trend towards professionalisation has meant in practice that a majority of organisations are led and staffed by professional activists, leaving few opportunities for either newcomers or non-professional volunteers. As these organisations became institutionalised they turned away from traditional recruiting mechanisms that had previously enabled inclusion of women from different social and generational backgrounds to those of ‘second-wave’ activists. The restricted nature of communication networks and information flows in relatively elitist academic and professional circles reinforced these trends. While some parts of the movement have become increasingly professionalised, others (and especially formal institutions such as NGOs, advocacy networks, gender studies programmes and organised party militants) have continued to try to influence political and institutional agendas. In particular, they have attempted to incorporate some of the movement’s demands into the Concertación government’s programmes and to participate in public policy-making and international debates, as well as to establish alliances with women cross-regionally and globally. The reverse side of this strategy is the relative abandonment of consciousness-raising and more traditional political mobilisation, both characteristic of the previous period. However, some feminists, especially those excluded from the transitional pact, have not shown the same level of coherence in the selection of political strategies. In general, they have not generated alternative antihegemonic projects in tune with the new democratic context. The diversity of trajectories, experiences and political stances is such that it is difficult to identify a single homogeneous path, equivalent to that followed by the ‘institutional sector’. However, in spite of this heterogeneity, there are some recognisable trends. Self-proclaimed ‘autonomous feminists’ have advanced the most coherent alternative project. This group has opted to remain on the margins of the political system, proposing to construct ‘autonomous’ sites of feminist activism and strengthen the movement as a social actor away from institutional power of any sort. In practice, they oppose any form of contact with political parties, state and intergovernmental institutions, development agencies and even NGOs, which they do not recognise as part of the movement. Unfortunately, their extreme dogmatism and rigidity has weakened this strategy, blocked the possibility of constructing alliances and triggered multiple internal conflicts among autonomas’ organisations themselves.

154

Marcela Rios-Tobar

The autonomas’ main success has been of a symbolic nature. They have been able to transform discourses and debates within Chilean and LatinAmerican feminist fields, forcing at the same time a long-postponed discussion about feminist political practices. They have also managed to articulate a common discourse that cuts across national frontiers.29 The moment of greatest political salience for the autonomas came with the organisation of the Latin-American and Caribbean VII Feminist Encounter, held in Cartagena, Chile in 1996. By organising this regional gathering, the autonomas took control of one of the most important venues for feminist political activism and succeeded in monopolising most movement-type events for the better part of the decade. Apart from these general strategies, many feminists have followed a variety of courses of political action. In doing so they have continued to use some of the more traditional forms of political activism identified with previous feminist politics, such as grassroots organisation and consciousness-raising. They have sought alliances with the state and other civil society groups around issues such as domestic violence, reproductive rights and labour participation. These feminists, who, according to some, make up a majority within the movement, have kept a relative distance from the ideological disputes between the ‘autonomas’ and ‘institutionales’. Even though most of these feminists disagree with the political tactics of the autonomas and their stigmatisation of the institutional spheres, they often concur with their arguments about and criticisms of the advocacy strategy pursued by the institutionales. Phases of mobilisation in the 1990s The complexities of the changes confronting feminist activists and the contentious nature of the internal dynamics of the movement have influenced feminism in often contradictory ways. Moreover, the diverse yet connected processes we have discussed have unfolded at varying speeds. We must therefore interpret feminist politics in the 1990s not as a single coherent process, a homogeneous sequence of events, but as being composed of different phases of activism. Godoy and Guerrero (2001) argue that the 1990s can be divided into three main phases; the first from 1990 to 1993, the second from 1994 until 1996, and the third from 1997 to the end of the decade. The initial phase was characterised by the organisation of national gatherings (Encuentros and Foros Nacionales)30 aimed at generating autonomous political spheres, meeting-places for feminists that could foster a common collective identity. The second phase started as the initial search for unity failed and feminists began to pursue differentiated political strategies. In the midst of ‘escalating differences’, two events turned out to have farreaching consequences for feminist politics; namely the Fourth UN Conference on Women held in Beijing in 1995 and the VII Latin American

Chile

155

Encuentro held in 1996. These events were organised by and for a different set of constituents, who increasingly saw their paths as divergent from and in contradiction with each other. Those feminists connected to the state, political parties and NGOs, and most closely associated with a strategy of advocacy, began to organise around the UN Conference, while others, mostly linked with the autonomas, tended to gather around the organisation of the VII Encuentro.31 Finally, a third phase, described by Godoy and Guerrero (2001: 10) as ‘a new feminist silence’, began in 1997. During this last phase, feminist activism declined dramatically. Few events were organised, public mobilisation was rare, many organisations disappeared, and a widespread pessimism settled within feminist circles regarding the prospects for renewed activism. As Maruja Barrig (1997: 12) has eloquently argued: ‘the movement (women/feminist) does not move much, renews itself little, and congregates in the streets even less’.

Conclusion This article has sought to understand the paradox confronting Chilean feminism after the transition to democracy: while feminist discourses and demands received increasing public attention and a gender perspective became slowly accepted within institutional agendas, feminism weakened both as a social actor and as a political force. In other words, feminists slowly lost their capacity to intervene in public life from an autonomous political platform, and hence to maintain visibility within society. Throughout this discussion we have argued that this paradox results from the interplay between the structure of political opportunities and the internal dynamics of the movement. The structure of political opportunities that emerged after the transition to democracy resulted in unfavourable conditions for the development of civil society. Among the key features influencing the transformation of feminist politics are the reemergence of the party system and the consequent realignment of state–society relations, government policies, the dominant political culture and relevant international trends. The lack of clear policies regarding civil society and diminishing incentives for social organisation and citizen participation have encouraged feminist demobilisation. The recognition only of a specific sector of feminists as a valid political interlocutor on the part of democratically elected governments has intensified internal conflicts and excluded other feminists from public debates, silencing their views and overshadowing their positions for the rest of society. Moreover, the increasing legitimacy of discourses of rights and equal opportunities coupled with the modernising project of Concertación governments has privileged the interaction with civil society as being with technical and professional experts rather than citizens and political actors. The combination of these trends has on

156

Marcela Rios-Tobar

the one hand contributed towards the invisibility of feminists as a political force, and on the other hand made possible the inclusion of some of their demands in public agendas. The attempts by SERNAM’s last minister to distance herself from the concept of ‘gender’ has in this sense served only to deepen the breach between feminist ideals and the Chilean state’s brand of equal opportunity policies. These trends have both encouraged and converged with the internal changes within the movement. These changes include the widening of discursive and thematic boundaries, professionalisation, specialisation and institutionalisation, lack of internal channels for communication and articulation between feminist organisations, and changes in the type of political strategies followed. Even though the feminist field was never a unified or homogeneous social force, individuals and organisations within the field had achieved a significant degree of articulation around common objectives – namely, to regain democracy and contribute towards the definition of its future content. Once the fundamental basis for unity disappeared, breakdown became imminent. This was further reinforced as the ideological links between Chilean feminism and socialism weakened. Hence the emergence of a multiplicity of ideological positions, none of which has the strength to articulate and mobilise a majority of feminists. On the other hand, political strategies and organisational dynamics have been transformed in such a manner as to distance feminist politics from the activism typical of previous decades. Today, many feminist groups operate more like ‘interest groups’ than traditional social movement organisations. This is particularly so in the case of the most prevalent organisational forms during this period, namely NGOs, gender studies programmes and advocacy networks. These organisations can meet the technical requirements imposed by the state and therefore participate at the policy level. However, they have failed to promote the participation of women from wider sectors of society and to generate stable links with different social and political actors. In sum, these groups have shown both an unwillingness and inability to promote and articulate autonomous political mobilisation from civil society. Moreover, organisational transformations, including institutionalisation, have inhibited the participation of women from different social and cultural backgrounds in feminist organisations. Today, information, knowledge and alliances among feminists remain reserved for a group of ‘initiated militants’. This movement field is fed and reproduced by those women who, in one way or another, participated in the emergence of second-wave feminism in past decades. Consequently, the inclusion of new generations and women from different origins and experiences has remained problematic. It would seem that this difficulty in the reproduction of the movement is due to ‘the impossibility to communicate experiences from one generation to another’ (Bellesi 1999), and to translate

Chile

157

diversity and pluralism into power-sharing. The present challenge then is to open up spaces not only for new generations, but also for women who are beginning the search for a political discourse with which they can identify (Guerrero and Ríos 1998). While an important section of feminists has tried to adapt strategies and proposals to new national and international contexts, more classical strategies of political mobilisation have been abandoned. This has resulted in ‘a prioritisation of certain aspects of political citizenship, neglecting the most “disputed” contents, diluting demands for democratisation, avoiding strategies for cultural and political transformation and civil society sites for contestation’ (Vargas 1998: 13). Hence the decline of an autonomous agenda and the deterioration of a social base rooted in civil society, capable of sustaining and strengthening feminism and its ability to struggle against a patriarchal order. Last but not least, the debate regarding autonomy versus institutionalisation has become yet another historical cleavage and represents, ultimately, a struggle between those sectors excluded and those included by the political system. The impossibility of dealing with these differences in a constructive manner, as expressions of feminist diversity and plurality and not as insurmountable fractures, explains to a great extent the inability of feminism to become a significant political force in post-transition Chile. The reconfiguration of the feminist field poses theoretical and political challenges for all those interested in fostering democratisation and strengthening civil society vis-à-vis the state. Even if we recognise the impossibility of reconstructing past strategies and scenarios, and reject a nostalgic vision of an idealised past, is it possible to expect the emergence of social actors with the necessary political force to push for political democratisation from civil society? Considering the heterogeneity within the feminist field, the multiplicity of organisational expressions, discourses and identities, and the increasing fragmentation, is it possible to expect political responses to those conservative forces seeking to reverse current gains for women? And finally, can feminists push for reforms without jeopardising their political independence as well as their subversive potential? Current political strategies and dynamics within the feminist field call our attention to these and other questions. Undoubtedly, the manner in which feminists themselves confront these challenges is fundamental for the future of feminism as a political force and its capacity to influence social and political transformations.

Notes 1 The terms ‘re-emergence’ and ‘second-wave’ feminism are used to distinguish the contemporary movement from the suffragist mobilisation during the first half of the twentieth century.

158

Marcela Rios-Tobar

2 In 1994 Congress approved the Intra-family Violence Law. After the transition, several reforms to the Labour Code were introduced to eliminate discrimination and improve women’s rights. The Civil Code was modified to eliminate the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate children (depending on whether they had been born in or out of wedlock) and adultery was eliminated as a civil offence. Adultery was previously considered a felony only when perpetrated by women. 3 The economically active population among women increased from 31.8 per cent in 1990 to 36 per cent in 1998. The level of women’s schooling surpassed that of men by a year (10.6 years in comparison to 9.6). The percentage of women under the poverty line decreased in this decade from 39.2 per cent to 22 per cent. Maternal mortality rates were reduced to half, from 0.4 to 0.2 for every 1,000 live births. 4 A ‘social movement’ refers to a specific type of collective action, a multipolar system or field of action (Melucci 1985). It is a fragile and heterogeneous social construction, in which a great spectrum of methods, forms of solidarity, organisations, as well as meanings and objectives are joined in a relatively stable manner. 5 It should be noted that this article focuses specifically on the feminist movement and not on a more general mobilisation of women. The feminist movement is understood as the group of actors, organisations and individuals that mobilise and/or adhere to a set of principles that recognise the existence of a system of gender domination and are committed to its transformation. For women’s versus feminist movements in Chile, see Frohmann and Valdés 1993; Ríos 1997, 1998; Alvarez 1998; Vargas 1998; Baldez 1999. 6 See, amongst others, Garretón 1995; Jocelyn-Holt 1998, Menéndez-Carrión and Joignant 1999; Drake and Jaksic 1999; Moulian 1997. 7 The regime abolished the country’s Constitution and drew up a new legal body in 1980 that is still in place. This new legal body defined the terms and itinerary for the transition process. 8 Some of the agencies that have reduced or ceased their work in Chile are Oxfam (UK and Canada), HIVOS, NOVIB (both Dutch) and a number of other German and French institutions. 9 Political culture refers to a social construction that defines what is considered ‘political’ in a certain society. It refers to frames of meanings and discourses that make intelligible, legitimise and order the functioning of political systems (Alvarez et al. 1998). 10 A study conducted by the Centro de Estudios de la Mujer found that most of the social actors interviewed expected the government to promote their political participation and organisation. Women’s groups favoured establishing links with the state and political parties rather than with other organisations within civil society (Guzmán et al. 1999). 11 This proposal was presented to Congress on November 28, 1995. The House of Representatives and a special Senate commission have both voted in favour of the idea to legislate. Since the return of democracy, two other initiatives had failed to pass to the second stage of legislative debate. 12 This motion is far from ideal in terms of individual rights. It is perhaps its very conservative basis that has allowed its initial approval where other reforms had failed. In essence, it was designed to serve as a deterrent against divorce. Therefore, if approved, a divorce would turn into a long, complex and expensive legal process, while the current institution of annulments, which until now served as an escape route, would be abolished. 13 In 2001 there was a heated debate within the government coalition around this issue. Some, including the Minister of SERNAM, came out in favour of includ-

Chile

14 15

16 17

18 19

20

21 22

23

24

25

159

ing the ‘divorce proposal’ in the legislative agenda; others, including the Christian Democratic Party, opposed the idea, concerned over the effect such a divisive issue would have before the parliamentary elections scheduled for December. This position finally prevailed, with no further discussion after the elections. Unpublished speech read by the Minister and distributed among the Chilean NGO delegates and other participants. The only notable exception is the proposal to reform the law on domestic violence (Intra Familial Violence Law 19.250). The specific content of the changes remains unclear, as this will depend on the Executive’s ability to secure the support of the opposition to approve this in Congress. That year a broad-based coalition of women’s organisations organised the 8 March celebration under the slogan ‘Democracy goes because women are present’ (‘La Democracia va porque la Mujer esta’). In both 1999 and 2000 there were at least four or five different events on 8 March. None of these gathered more than 100 women. The same was repeated in 2001, when a group of organisations (NGOs, mostly those in Grupo Iniciativa, advocacy networks and gender studies programmes) organised a ‘civic day for women’: a street fair where information on women’s rights and services was provided. The initiative was criticised by some groups because it was organised in front of the government palace and followed exactly the same format as other activities that the Lagos government had organised. Altogether a total of 90 women in 3 of the country’s largest cities – Santiago, Concepción and Valparaiso – were interviewed. Of the women interviewed, 12 per cent said they had been members of the Chilean Communist Party and 15.7 per cent members of the Movimiento de Izquierda Revolucionaria (Movement of the Revolutionary Left). Some of these women continue to participate in these parties (Godoy et al. 2001). This is repeatedly pointed out in the publication of a seminar held in Santiago at the beginning of 1998. In this publication Sonia Alvarez, Raquel Olea, María Elena Valenzuela, Susana Cubillos, Marcela Ríos and Elizabeth Guerrero, among other participants, corroborate the absence of a feminist political referent (Ríos 1998). See also MEMCH 1998 and Fempress 1999. Groups such as Red de Mujeres in Valdivia and Colectivo Mujeres in La Serena as well as gender studies programmes in universities in Iquique, Antofagasta, La Serena, Concepción, Valdivia and Santiago. There has been little empirical research on this issue. However, according to the 1999 institutional directory (Guía Silver), there are 24 NGOs dedicated exclusively to women’s issues in the country, and 16 programmes within larger NGOs. For further discussion on women’s NGOs, see Barrig (1997). There are regional programmes at the Universities of Concepción, La Serena y Valdivia, Arturo Prat in Iquique, José Santos Ossa in Antofagasta, Playa Ancha in Valparaiso and De la Frontera in Temuco, and in Santiago at the Social Science and Humanities Faculties at the University of Chile, at the History Institute of the Catholic University, at the Institute for Advanced Studies in the University of Santiago, as well as in the Academia de Humanismo Cristiano, Universidad Bolivariana and Cardenal Silva Henríquez (ex Blas Cañas). This is evident both in their declared institutional missions and objectives and in their discourse. (Interviews with the directors of the programmes at Universidad de Concepción, Facultad de Humanidades Universidad de Chile, Facultad de Ciencias Sociales Universidad de Chile, Universidad de Santiago, Universidad de La Serena, conducted as part of the study in progress at Centre de Estudios de la Mujer 2001). The organising Commission of the VII Encuentro Feminista Latinoamericano

160

26 27 28 29 30 31

Marcela Rios-Tobar

y del Caribe was made up of some of these organisations. A few of the groups that remain active are the Collectives Clorindas y Agridulce, Autonomous Feminist Movement (MFA) and Movement for Autonomy, among others. Such is the case of Feminist Collectives Bajo Sospecha in Santiago, Kaleidas in Valparaiso, Enredadas in Valdívia and Al Borde in Concepción among others. Literally, ‘encounters’. Margarita Pissano (1996). She is one of the central figures and ideologues of the current that advocates an autonomous strategy. This sector organised three national meetings and five forums between 1991 and 1997 as well as the first (and thus far the only) self-proclaimed Autonomous Feminist Encuentro in 1998 at Sorata, Bolivia. The Encuentros were held in Valparaiso in 1991, Concepción in 1993 and Santiago in 1995. Foros were held, in different cities, twice in 1993, thrice in 1994, in 1996 and in 1997. For details on the unfolding debate regarding the VI Encuentro, see the May 1996 issue of Cotidiano Mujer (a feminist magazine based in Montevideo).

References Alvarez, S. (1997) ‘Articulacion y trasnacionalizacion de los feminismos latinoamericanos’, Debate Feminista, Year 8, 15: 146–170. —— (1998) ‘Feminismos Latinoamericanos: reflexiones teóricas y perspectivas comparativas’, in M. Ríos (ed.) Reflexiones teóricas y comparativas sobre los feminismos en Chile y América Latina, Santiago: Notas del Conversatorio, pp. 4–22. Alvarez, S.E., Dagnino, E. and Escobar, A. (1998) Cultures of Politics, Politics of Culture: Re-visioning Latin American Social Movements, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Baldez, L. (1999) ‘La política partidista y los limites del feminismo de Estado en Chile’, in P. Drake and I. Jaksic (eds) El modelo chileno: democracia y desarrollo en los noventa, Santiago: LOM. Barrig, M. (1997) De Cal y Arena: ONGs y Movimiento de Mujeres en Chile, Santiago: mimeo. Bellesi, D. (1999) ‘Todas íbamos a ser ancianas indecentes . . .’, Especial/Fempress: Feminismos fin de siglo, Santiago: Fempress. Calderon, F. (1995) Movimientos Sociales y politica: La decada de los ochenta en Latinoamerica, Mexico: Siglo Veintiuno Editores. Canel, E. (1992) ‘New social movement theory and resource mobilisation: the need for integration’, in W. Corroll (ed.) Organizing dissent: Contemporary social movements in theory and practice, Toronto: Garamond. Chuchryk, P. (1984) ‘Protest, politics and personal life: the emergence of feminism in a military dictatorship, Chile 1973–1983’, Doctoral Thesis, Toronto: York University. Collin, F. (1999) ‘Una herencia sin testamento’, Especial/Fempress: Feminismos fin de siglo, Santiago: Fempress. De la Maza, G. (1999) ‘Los movimientos sociales en la democratización de Chile’, in P. Drake and I. Jaksic (eds) El modelo chileno: Democracia y desarrollo en los noventa, Santiago: LOM. Drake, P. and Jaksic, I. (eds) (1999) El modelo chileno: democracia y desarrollo en los noventa, Santiago: LOM. El Mercurio (2000) ‘La Ministra se defiende. Esta vez habrá transparencia’, Entre-

Chile

161

vista with Adriana del Piano, El Mercurio, June 4 (available at www.emol. com/diario_elmercurio). Fempress (1999) Especial/Fempress, Feminismos fin de siglo, Santiago: Fempress. Fraser, N. (1997) Iustita Interrupta: Reflexiones críticas desde la posición postsocialista, Santa Fe de Bogotá: Siglo del Hombre Editores y Universidad de los Andes. Frohmann, A. and Valdés, T. (1993) ‘Democracy in the country and in the home: the women’s movement Chile’, Serie Estudios Sociales, Santiago: FLACSO, No. 55. Garretón, M.A. (1993) ‘La oposición política y el sistema partidario en el régimen militar chileno. Un proceso de aprendizaje para la transición’, in P.W. Drake and I. Jaksic (eds) El difícil camino hacia la democracia en Chile, 1982–1990, Santiago: FLACSO. —— (1995) Hacia una nueva era política: Estudio sobre las democratizaciones, Santiago: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Godoy, L. and Guerrero, E. (2001) ‘Trayectoria Del Movimiento Feminista en Chile en la Década de los Noventa’, Paper presented at the 2001 meeting of the Latin American Studies Association, Washington, DC, 6–8 September. Godoy, L., Guerrero, E. and Ríos, M. (2001) ‘El movimiento de mujeres en el Chile de hoy: actores sociales y transición a la democracia’, Proyecto de investigación, Santiago: Centro de Estudios de la Mujer, unpublished document. Grau, O., Pérez, F. and Olea, R. (1997) IV Conferencia Mundial de la Mujer, Beijing 95: Actores y Discursos, Santiago: La Morada. Guerrero, E. and Ríos, M. (1998) ‘El camino que lleva a la plaza: delineando el campo de acción feminista hoy’, in M. Ríos (ed.) Reflexiones teóricas y comparativas sobre los feminismos en Chile y América Latina, Santiago: Notas del Conversatorio. Guillaudat, P. and Mouterde, P. (1998) Los movimientos sociales en Chile, 1973–1993, Santiago: LOM. Guzmán, V., Hola, E. and Ríos, M. (1999) ‘Interlocución entre Estado y Sociedad en la Implementación del Plan de Igualdad de Oportunidades para las Mujeres’, Santiago: Documento de Trabajo, Centro de Estudios de la Mujer. Jocelyn-Holt, A. (1998) El Chile perplejo: del avanzar sin transar al transar sin parar, Santiago: Planeta/Ariel. Keck, M.E. and Sikkink, K. (1998) Activists Beyond Borders, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kirkwood, J. (1986) Ser política en Chile. Las feministas y los partidos políticos, Santiago: FLACSO. Lechner, N. and Guell, P. (1999) ‘Construcción social de las memorias en la transición chilena’, in A. Menéndez-Carrión and A. Joignant (eds) La caja de pandora: el retorno de la transición chilena, Santiago: Planeta/Ariel. McAdam, D., McCarthy, J. and Zald, M. (1996) Comparative Perspectives on Social Movements: Political opportunities, mobilizing structures, and cultural framings, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Melucci, A. (1985) ‘The symbolic challenge of contemporary movements’, Social Research, Vol. 52, No. 4: 789–816. MEMCH (1998) Seminar ‘Barreras y potencialidades del movimiento de mujeres en Chile’, Santiago: MEMCH. Menéndez-Carrión, A. and Joignant, A. (eds) (1999) La caja de pandora: el retorno de la transición chilena, Santiago: Planeta/Ariel. Moulian, T. (1997) Chile Actual: Anatomía de un Mito, Santiago: LOM and Universidad ARCIS.

162

Marcela Rios-Tobar

Pissano, M. (1996). Un cierto desparpajo (S. Lidid, ed.), Santiago: Ediciones Número Crítíco. Ríos, M. (1997) ‘Institucionalización de las políticas de género y consolidación democrática: la experiencia Chilena’, Paper presented at the Congress of the Latin American Studies Association. Guadalajara, Mexico, April 23–25. —— (ed.). (1998) ‘Reflexiones teóricas y comparativas sobre los feminismos en Chile y América Latina’, seminar held in Santiago, April 2 & 3. Ríos, M. and Aravena, P. (1997) Temas y estrategias en torno a los cuales se organizan las mujeres en el ámbito público, Santiago: Final Report for SERNAM, unpublished manuscript. SERNAM (1994) Plan de Igualdad de Oportunidades para las Mujeres 1994–1999, Santiago: SERNAM. Tarrés, M.L. (1992) ‘Perspectivas analíticas en la sociología de la acción colectiva, Estudios Sociológicos X: 30. Tilly, C. (1985) ‘Models and realities of popular collective action’, Social Research. Vol. 52, No. 4, 717–747. Valenzuela, M.E. (1993) ‘Las mujeres en la transición democrática’, in El difícil camino hacia la democracia en Chile. 1982–1990, Santiago: FLACSO. —— (1998) ‘Las mujeres y el poder: la acción estatal desde una perspectiva de género en Chile’, in M. Ríos (ed.) Reflexiones teóricas y comparativas sobre los feminismos en Chile y América Latina, Santiago: Notas del Conversatorio. Vargas, V. (1998) La lucha por los derechos y la autonomía desde feminismos latinoamericanos, mimeo, unpublished manuscript.

8

The impact of feminist civil society and political alliances on gender policies in Mexico1 Linda S. Stevenson

Introduction An overview of the actions of feminist social movements since the 1970s and women’s non-governmental organizations (NGOs) in Latin America since the 1980s reveals steady strides made toward gender equality in the region (Sternbach et al. 1992; Jaquette 1994; Alvarez et al. 2003). Concurrently, since the mid-1970s the shifts of nearly all Latin-American societies and governments toward democracy from military regimes or one-party systems are widely cited as part of the third wave of democracy around the globe (Huntington 1991; Diamond 1996). Many would assume that these two processes necessarily complement each other, in a sort of feminist optimistic equation: the more democracy in a given country, the more gender equality, and vice versa. The reality, however, is that the ways in which these processes affect one another are complex, and the results across the region are very uneven – on both counts (Htun 1999; Diamond 2000). My work focuses on these processes in Mexico, where the hegemony of a one-party authoritarian system for over six decades was broken down in the 1970s and 1980s and finally destroyed by the combined forces of multiple civil society2 and political opposition actors in the 1990s. Mexican women undoubtedly have played a key role in these changes, and there are many more women in institutional politics, in decision-making roles of greater weight, now than there were 20 or even just 10 years ago (Martínez 1993; Rodríguez 1998; Stevenson 2000). However, key questions remain as Mexico moves from this transition period to the work of consolidating the democratic gains, and the new plural political system becomes competitive with greater multi-party, organizational and women’s representation at local, state and national levels. In what ways has women’s political work – most of it still outside of conventional institutional political spaces, in feminist movements or NGOs – had an impact on policies promoting gender equality? How can we assess what Mexican women have gained in Mexico’s liberalizing processes? Has democratization diminished the power of machismo or the conservative Catholic

164

Linda S. Stevenson

Church, two of the primary socio-cultural obstacles for women? And conversely, what has Mexican society and the reformed political parties and institutions gained from women’s voices, demands and different ways of doing politics? The primary thesis of my work is that alliances between politically active women inside and outside of institutional politics must be present for even the least controversial of women’s issues – such as reforms to confront violence against women – to attain legislative success and implementation. As such, the more formalized hypothesis follows: the greater the degree of alliances between policy advocates for gendered issues between different parties, and cross-organizationally with civil society groups such as feminist NGOs3 and social movements nationally and transnationally, then the greater the degree of success of policy proposals in moving through the legislative process.4 A secondary thesis applies for more controversial issues, such as challenges to the illegality of abortion. The second hypothesis follows: the more a gendered issue challenges deeply ingrained cultural and religious values, the more active the opposition to it, resulting in lesser or null degrees of legislative success or policy implementation. Finally, with regard to the questions on the relationship between gender equality and democratization, I posit that on a descriptive level this relationship is improving. That is to say, the numbers of women’s civil society groups, women in parties, legislatures, and so on are gradually increasing. However, on a substantive level deeper changes are limited or lacking, in that few gendered policy changes are filtering down to benefit the average Mexican woman’s life. Therefore, in order to examine this deeper level of the relationship between democracy and gender equality, I use policy analysis related to these questions. This is because an examination of the actual passage of a law and, better yet, proof of its implementation provide concrete measures for assessing the varying degrees of substantive change for women in politics in Mexico. In Latin America, there is a long history of politically motivated passage of laws that no one expects to be enforced, denoting at best symbolic change, or at worst lipservice to a group’s demands. Therefore, measuring policy actions and ranking them on a scale in this work is an attempt to measure change in a way that few researchers have yet carried out in the study of Latin American gender politics. To test these hypotheses, I compare the actions of political and policy actors – from inside government and political parties, as well as civil society – across a spectrum of six feminist issues, examining and evaluating the varying levels of success of legislation and implementation of specific gender policies. In the first section of the chapter I begin with historical highlights of Mexico’s recent authoritarian past, the Mexican state’s political reforms to try gradually to become less authoritarian but maintain one-party power, and then opposition party gains and dominant

Mexico

165

party losses. This trajectory of political change is presented in concert with the parallel processes of feminists’ and women leaders’ efforts to make policy proposals during these three decades.5 Building on this brief background, the political contextualization of gender politics and democratization is enriched in the second section with insights from a variety of women political actors themselves, introducing some of their perspectives on gender politics and democracy as Mexico moved through its transition in the 1990s.6 The commonality of the women’s comments reveal how the political struggles in which they fought separately in their respective parties or groups for many years dovetailed with the political opening for opposition parties and women’s civil society groups in the late 1980s and 1990s. The differences between their perspectives – particularly the women leaders inside the government contrasted with those on the outside – also reveal the work that still needs to be done. The next two sections then quantify and analyze policy actions taken by 14 different sets of political actors7 on key issues of gender equality during these last three decades.8 The actions are placed in tables to be able to see when different groups worked together or not (see Table 8.2). Subsequently the same actions are then placed on a policy process scale to examine the different degrees of policy success attained by the different actions (Tables 8.3, 8.4). The issues include: 1) violence against women (including sex crimes, such as rape, as well as domestic violence in this category); 2) gender equality in the law; 3) decriminalization of abortion;9 4) electoral quotas for female representation in political parties and legislatures; 5) sexual harassment; and 6) gender discrimination in the hiring and firing of pregnant workers in the workplace. These issues were selected because all were included in the recommendations emitted from the Fourth International United Nations Women’s Conference in Beijing in 1995, and as such represent global women’s issues. This selection also represents a wide spectrum of women’s and feminists’ issues, from what most consider a valence issue for women (being against violence) to a highly controversial issue even among women (the right to an abortion). Furthermore, this range of issues includes some defined by feminists in the early 1970s and others only gaining access to gender advocates’ agendas in the mid-1990s.10 As such, the assessment of actions both across the spectrum and over time reveals the varying degrees of gender equality and change for women relative to the gradual moves toward democracy in Mexico’s political system and society. In the last three sections of the text, I expand upon the quantitative analysis and use the policy process scale to show how policy-making on the gender issues was advanced by the different actors. I find that the most significant actors were feminist civil society movements and NGO groups, followed closely by transnational actors, and each has a section dedicated to explaining its actions and alliance-building more fully. In the next section I include the remaining political actors, whose collaboration was

166

Linda S. Stevenson

less common but often essential for building political alliances for certain policy proposal successes. These include the more traditional political actors, known by many as “policy entrepreneurs and policy communities” (Kingdon 1995), who specialize in capitalizing on political opportunities, crafting policy proposals and building effective (albeit temporary) political coalitions at the right place at the right moment. These actors include opposition parties, state-level governments, female legislators, Mexican presidents, political parties and governmental agencies. Finally, I conclude that the procedural aspects of democracy in Mexico – including the rise of a competitive party system, electoral reforms, and free and fair elections – were indeed necessary changes for advances for women in politics, and democracy in general. However, I also find that these changes alone are insufficient for more participatory, equalityrelated women’s demands, and even less so for some feminists’ demands such as the decriminalization of abortion.

Highlights of political opportunities and obstacles for feminist policy proposal development, 1968–2000 While movements for civil rights, democracy and justice rocked the political landscape of the world during the 1960s, Mexican democratic movements also made increasing demands on their government for change. The one-party government/state, controlled by the Partido Revolucionario Institucional (PRI, Institutional Revolutionary Party),11 had been in power for nearly 40 years, and many Mexicans were ready for more and real choices, and respect of their human and political rights. However, the PRI was not ready to cede its power. After repeated efforts to try to democratize the system from the inside and outside, in 1968 the antagonism between the PRI government and its opposition culminated in an army massacre of a huge protest led by university students, in conjunction with workers, peasant farmers and many others in opposition to the government, in Tlatelolco. No one knows the exact number, but thousands were killed, or disappeared (Poniatowska 1971). Just before the world would watch the Olympics in “modern” Mexico City that same year, many dissidents were silenced and forced into exile in order to maintain the façade of democracy while international reporters, fans and athletes enjoyed the games. But after the initial shock and silence waned, all kinds of political groups arose to defend their human and civil rights. Many women were among these fledging political parties, guerrilla groups and early human rights groups, but often they found that their ideas, skills and leadership were sidelined by their male counterparts, who felt they had the “right” to lead, according to traditional gender roles. Therefore, in a way similar to that of women in the United States leaving civil rights or anti-war movements in the 1960s to form their own feminist circles, many Mexican activist women took on new roles. They either became “double militants,”

Mexico

167

going to both the mixed-gender meetings of their ideological stripe and separate women-only meetings, or they focused their efforts only on feminist issues in new women-only groups. As such, in the governmental arena, a new era of legislative efforts by gender equality advocates began in 1974. President Echeverría proposed a constitutional reform that was passed by the National Congress, calling for equality between men and women, and the right of individuals to choose the number and spacing of their children. Echeverría was still working to assuage the demands of leftist parties (some of which had ties to clandestine guerrilla groups) and feminists associated with them, after the truth about the 1968 massacre had slowly become public and been acknowledged by international sources. Thus, by passing this amendment he was trying to improve Mexico’s tarnished international image in preparation for the first United Nations conference on women in Mexico City in 1975, and quell the demands of Mexican leftists and feminists. Once again, Mexico wanted to project itself as a “modern democracy,” and the promotion of women’s rights was one that had few political costs to the PRI but made for laudable headlines in international news (Middlebrook 1995). Finally, the introduction of broad political reforms in 1977 by President Lopez Portillo opened up a more realistic chance for opposition parties to have some representation in the National Congress, and presented a second political opportunity for feminists and opposition parties to be active within the political system. Because of this shift, there was a flurry of proposals formulated and proposed from 1978 to 1979. However, this moment also revealed the limitations of the opening, and the lack of experience of the political actors. In reality, opposition parties could obtain only a very limited number of congressional seats (Camp 2003: 174–179), and building trust, let alone consensus, between left-leaning parties and feminists was no easy task. Therefore, in a sense the policy window in the formerly closed system had opened, but only a crack. The PRI did not want to lose its hegemony with this modification of the rules of the game. Disheartened by the lack of success at this time, many feminists put their energies into establishing non-governmental structures in the early 1980s (Bedregal 1991). Numerous NGOs were formed for providing services, education, research and information dissemination. Later, in the 1980s and 1990s, the expertise of these groups was used to argue for new versions of the proposals of the 1970s, and to be worked gradually into institutional politics. Owing in part to the economic and earthquake crises of the 1980s, the hairline cracks that divided the PRI in the 1970s became fissures in the next decade and nearly brought down the entire PRI structure in 1988. These deteriorating conditions reached a nadir for the PRI in the 1988 elections, which gave rise to a new opposition party, eventually the Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD, Party of the Democratic Revolution), and very nearly a left-leaning, non-PRI president.12 The election also

168

Linda S. Stevenson

yielded the highest number of women yet in the Mexican Congress (see Table 8.1 – 12.2 percent in the Chamber of Deputies, and 18.8 percent in the Senate) – and renewed hope for the non-PRI voters and activists in the potential of making change through governmental institutions. The 1988 to 1991 legislative period was a watershed for female legislators, feminists and other advocates of gender issues, as cross-party and crossorganizational coalitions were formed and managed to push forward their agenda in the Congress. But alas, the glory and hope of gender equality advocates were cut short by the results of the 1991 mid-term elections, which were stained by broad accusations of fraud by the PRI. As a result of the election the PRI regained a solid majority in the Chamber of Deputies and the number of women declined to levels similar to those of 1973 (8 percent in the Chamber of Deputies and 3.1 percent in the Senate). Although stunned by the apparent institutional whim of the abrupt loss of their only recently won power, gender equality advocates joined forces with others to bring their issues to the table alongside those rallying for electoral reforms. Once again, many women leaders returned to civil society during this period and NGO efforts were fundamental in continuing the struggle for feminist demands, as many institutional policy windows were slammed shut between 1991 and 1994. Electoral reforms were passed in 1993, and presidential and congressional elections took place in 1994. After much concerted work with the PRD and multiple NGOs, women made a comeback in the Congress (13.8 percent in the Chamber of Deputies and 13.3 percent in the Senate, as noted in Table 8.1; Stevenson 1998). The electoral reforms of 1996 contributed to the next watershed in Mexico’s electoral democratization process in 1997. For the first time in the twentieth century the mayor of Mexico City was elected by its residents, as opposed to being appointed by the president. And better yet for the cause of women, the left-leaning PRD and its leader, Cuaúhtemoc Cárdenas, were victorious. Concurrently, for the first time in nearly 70 years the PRI lost its absolute majority in the Chamber of Deputies, with the PAN (Partido Acción Nacional, National Action Party) and PRD (Partido de la Revolución Democrática, Party of the Democratic Revolution) having almost the same number of opposition seats. Moreover, the percentage of women elected to the Chamber of Deputies rose to an unprecedented 17.2 percent, and 21.9 percent in the Senate, as seen in Table 8.1. In the civil society realm of politics, by 1997 women’s rights advocates from NGOs were much more adept at strategizing around the political opportunities of electoral and legislative cycles. For example, consensus on the five most important women’s issues was reached by a broad group of multi-party and independent gender equality advocates (including women from the right-leaning PAN) prior to the elections, and candidates from all parties signed on to these “women’s proposals.” By the end of the 1990s the accumulation of experience of the women’s rights advocates

7.3 13 3.3 2

% female deputies No. of female deputies % female senators No. of female senators

8.2 19 3.3 2

1973 11.2 21 6.3 5

1976 9 32 6.3 5

1979 11.3 42 12.5 6

1982 10.8 42 12.5 6

1985 12.2 59 18.8 10

1988 8 44 3.1 4

1991

13.8 70 12.5 16

1994

17 87 15.7 19

1997

15.6 78 13.3 17

2000

17.8 89 18.8 24

2003

Source: Martínez 1993; Fernández Poncela 1995a, 1995b; Federal Electoral Institute 1997 (as cited in Stevenson 1999); Programa Nacional de la Mujer (National Program for Women) 1997; Cavaría 2000; del Valle 2000; Secretaría de Servicios Parlamentarios, Dirección General de Apoyo Parlamentario (Secretariat of Parliamentary Services, General Center for Parliamentary Support), 2002; Senado de la República, (Senate of the Republic) 2004.

1970

Year

Table 8.1 Percentages and numbers of female deputies and senators in Mexico, 1970–2003

170

Linda S. Stevenson

outside as well as inside of Mexican politics (and with an increasing number working in both areas) led them to take advantage of cyclical political opportunities in more aggressive and persuasive ways. In addition to the power of women’s rights advocates and the political opportunities of electoral and legislative changes, the gradual decline of the power of the president in Mexico also helped women in forwarding their agenda. In spite of efforts by multiple presidents to co-opt women’s demands and pacify them with minimalist concessions, gender equality advocates were among the first to challenge presidential prerogative and work their demands through Congress, in spite of differences with the president’s proposals (Stevenson 1999). Another set of political opportunities is related to Mexico’s federalist system and increasing decentralization, moving more power to state legislatures. If a proposal does not succeed in the national Congress, in many types of law there are numerous other political entities in which to try to pass reforms – Mexico’s 31 states and the Federal District, as well as the municipal levels. As data collection methods are improving and state information is being standardized, comparisons at the state and local levels will be increasingly important to use as precedents in other policy venues (Martínez Assad and Ziccardi, as cited in Tulchin and Selee 2003). On the other hand, the increasingly political role played by the hierarchy of the Catholic Church presents the serious challenge of potentially limiting political opportunities for advocates of women’s rights. This shift began in 1992 with the constitutional reforms that officially recognized the institution’s existence and reinstated political rights for church clergy (Camp 1997). Furthermore, support for a return to traditional gender roles has been promoted with the growing dominance of the conservative perspective and doctrines emitted from the Vatican over the course of the last 20 years. Many bishops’ and priests’ conservative positions and advocacy of such to their parishioners on controversial issues like abortion are contributing to a backlash against “gender” issues (Domínguez and McCann 1996; Camp 1997, 2003). In light of this overview of the changing political opportunities and obstacles to women’s politics and policymaking over the last three decades, the next section provides a more personal introduction to women leaders from the three primary political parties as they have become defined in the 1990s (the PRI, PRD and the PAN), and then to two of their counterparts in civil society, feminist NGO groups. Four of their comments are indicative of the ways in which many women leaders worked together to try to form alliances to advance women’s demands in various policy arenas. However, the final civil society woman’s comment reminds us that this is as yet insufficient to make for substantive change in an average Mexican woman’s life.

Mexico

171

Women leaders reaching across political parties and civil society: are alliances possible? As the PRI began to lose power during the 1980s, in the midst of economic crisis and political breakdown, some key leaders departed from it in the late 1980s, forming other competing parties. However, others who opted to stay in the PRI also called for change. For instance, Gloria Brasdefer, a congressional deputy for the PRI at that time, avowed that democracy cannot exist in a society that purposely undervalues and subordinates half of its population, and further declared “we cannot speak of democracy until we women occupy the place in society that we deserve” (Brasdefer, as cited in Lagunes 1991; translation by author13). Although critics of the PRI might be quick to judge such a comment as purely rhetorical or used for instrumental purposes, Brasdefer’s comments did not fall on deaf ears in 1991, as they might have done in the past. In fact, PRI women leaders’ interest in increasing women’s participation revealed new ways for members of other political parties and civil society groups to work with the PRI, instead of against it. Another key figure in the political parties was Rosario Robles, who agreed with Brasdefer’s call for respect for women’s rights, but had a distinct vision of what the relationship between women and democracy should be. Robles is one of the founders and leaders of the newly formed left-leaning Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD, Party of the Democratic Revolution).14 Previously she was a congressional deputy for the party in 1995 and then the first female mayor of Mexico City from 1999 to 2000, appointed to the post after Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas of the PRD won the mayorship for the first time ever in 1997.15 She explained her notion of women and democracy by noting women’s different vision of what democracy could or should mean. She affirmed the need for a competitive party system, real respect for the vote, electoral transparency and multi-party representation (through Mexico’s system of proportional representation for two-fifths of the Chamber of Deputies). But she noted emphatically that this was insufficient for women’s political demands to be met. To meet these demands, the system needed to be transformed to be more women-friendly, respectful of women’s multiple roles in society, and at the same time promote gender equality in decision-making in politics.16 Robles’ perspective sums up the traditional way of defining procedural democracy, but also makes clear that she and many other women’s definition of what they want democracy to be is something more, as Brasdefer also demanded. Robles claimed that women’s presence in politics will transform the system, not only reform it. From the other end of the political spectrum, Patricia Espinosa brings an unusual right-leaning and feminist perspective. Espinosa was a Congressional Deputy between 1997 and 2000 for the conservative Partido Acción Nacional (PAN, National Action Party). After the PAN candidate won the

172

Linda S. Stevenson

presidential election in 2000, she was then appointed to head the new women’s state agency, the Instituto Nacional de las Mujeres (National Institute of Women). She claimed that women could dignify politics or morally vindicate what politics should be.17 Espinosa’s idea of how women are going to change politics is different from Robles’. She uses the rhetoric of the conservative Catholic right-leaning party, but she delivers it with a feminist twist – women are also to be a part of the process of “dignifying politics.” One could see how one leader “transforming” and another “dignifying” politics could work together, at least some of the time. The political parties represented by the three women quoted above were fundamental in changing the face of Mexican politics. However, as is often overlooked by many mainstream scholars but is well known by opposition party and grassroots leaders, the parties could not have made the strides that they did without the impetus of civil society leaders and groups – in various forms of demands, protests, debates, support and press. These groups started to form very gradually during the 1970s, when the PRI opened up formerly closed spaces for political activism, as will be discussed in more detail in the next section. Then, with the multiple economic and political crises of the 1980s, the number of NGOs increased much more rapidly in response to the growing demands from popular and political sectors. By the mid-1990s, the number of NGOs continued to rise in correlation with unprecedented political liberalization of the Mexican system on multiple levels. This included political parties working to figure out how or how much it was possible to meet the needs of its members, and a general decentralizing trend as the PRI and the federal state declined. María Luisa Tarrés, a sociologist in Mexico, reports that during the 1970s the number of NGOs working specifically with women’s issues increased slowly and steadily, averaging about one new group (with staying power18) per year. Over the 1980s the pace increased, with an average of ten women’s NGOs being founded every year. By the end of the 1990s, Tarrés’ work indicates that 97 women’s NGOs were functioning (the Department of Interior’s figures mentioned earlier corroborate this report of 90 women’s NGOs in 1994). The single most important area of activity by women’s NGOs in Mexico was health, with 48 percent of groups attending to health concerns such as reproductive health, family planning, and mental health. This was followed in importance by violence and human rights (often two sides of the same coin), with 28 and 25 percent of organizations working on these issues. The next most important area of activity for the NGOs is called “gender theory,” meaning that, regardless of what else they may do, 25 percent of these organizations include the study, discussion and dissemination of feminist ideals, such as women’s empowerment and notions of gender equality, with their services (Tarrés 1998: 137–138). Tarrés’ summations of her findings on NGOs add two dimensions that

Mexico

173

are essential for understanding the importance of NGOs for women as opposed to their male counterparts. She concludes, “NGOs are interesting because they provide a rather nomadic space [emphasis mine], with very little institutionalization when compared with more traditional arenas. An NGO conducts research without the need to become a university and debates issues of national interest without the need of becoming a parliament” (Tarrés 1998: 144). This observation reveals some of the different ways that Mexican political women are practicing politics in recent times. Most political women, as their entry into institutional politics is still rather tentative, maintain a more nomadic style of politics than most of their male counterparts. An example of this type of nomadic political woman, who has moved back and forth between the worlds of civil society and formal political institutions, is Ana Lilia Cepeda. During the mid-1990s, Cepeda worked simultaneously in civil society, by co-founding Mujeres en Lucha por la Democracia, A.C. (MLD, Women in the Struggle for Democracy)19 and in the PRD. She allied herself with the PRD to be able to assume a congressional seat via proportional representation in the national legislature between 1994 and 1997. When asked about her and women deputies’ roles in politics she declared, “It’s a way to transformation, right? We are currently working on a legislative initiative, to transform the law on the media [in the Chamber of Deputies]. But we are only able to do so because we are inside – and we have a group pressuring from the outside.”20 Cepeda spoke directly from her own experience and that of a growing number of representatives of that period between 1994 and 1997, when the Congress was in its incipient stages of becoming an independent institution, separate from the domination of the Executive branch and the one-party system. She also points out the necessity of having internal and external political support in order to get legislative proposals through the policy process and voted into law. Finally, in contrast to the other political women cited above, Patricia Duarte represents political women who have occupied the kind of place and space that most feminists have preferred and at which they have been most adept. Duarte is the founder and director of the non-governmental organization (NGO) Asociación Mexicana Contra la Violencia hacia las Mujeres, A.C. (COVAC, Mexican Association Confronting Violence against Women). This organization works in the trenches, so to speak, of women citizens’ struggles for equality – in confronting domestic abuse in their homes and sexual violence on the streets. Although Duarte was in contact with many networks of the political women elite in Mexico City, in the parties and the Congress, her work gave her a different take on Mexico’s political transition. She remarked that “I see lots of change in the discourse, but I do not see changes in the acts.”21 Rhetoric and optimism aside, Duarte’s curt comment brings us back to reality. Duarte’s perspective reminds us that political change occurs gradually and that, although

174

Linda S. Stevenson

the procedural parts of democratization may have come relatively quickly for Mexico, transformation of politics in the home and on the streets, as mentioned by Robles and Cepeda, moves at a different, much more uneven pace. In light of the increasingly open political opportunity structures and potential for alliances from the political women’s perspectives, the next section moves from these macro- and personal levels to the policy analysis of the 14 political actors and the policy actions that they took during this period.

Quantitative comparison of key actions22 of gender politics actors In Table 8.2 it is possible to observe two dimensions of the policy process: the 6 policy issue areas and 14 sets of actors actively promoting or countering gender equality. The “Total actions by actor” column at the far right side of the table reveals that the feminist movements23 and transnational actors accounted for the highest numbers of policy actions on the issues at hand. The next highest score among the actors was that of the feminist NGOs. These scores suggest that these three actors – feminist movements, transnational actors and feminist NGOs – were the most influential in making an impact on all of the issues. This clearly shows the importance of feminist civil society actors in Mexican gender politics. It also reflects the increasing degree to which the Mexican government and society are influenced by international standards and politics. The particular actions taken by the feminist social movements and NGOs are discussed in more detail in the next section, followed by analysis of the transnational actors. The next set of actors, with medium-level scores of policy actions, include the PRD, the State/DF governments,24 the PAN and the small leftist parties. This finding highlights the importance of the opposition parties in working to change the status quo for women after the PRI’s many years of minimal change or lipservice to feminist demands. In addition, it is indicative of the decentralization of politics toward state and local level politics, from the highly centralized style of the PRI for the previous six decades. The next grouping of actors includes: President, Government agencies, the PRI and Female legislators. This is a particularly interesting finding, as it reveals the consistency of the PRI’s low level of response to women’s demands across the institutions that it controlled during this time period. Finally, the actors with the lowest scores of policy actions taken on these issues are the National Congress and the Catholic Church. One way to interpret this finding might be that these are major institutions and policy actions taken by them carry more weight than those taken by other actors, since they happen less often. However, one cannot ignore the traditional male bias of these institutions, which also explains why so few policy actions were taken on women’s issues in their chambers.

Source: Stevenson 2000.

Total actions by issue

Feminist social movements Transnational actors Feminist NGOs PRD Small leftist parties PAN State/DF governments President Government agencies PRI Female legislators National Congress Catholic Church Anti-feminist NGOs

Actors ↓

Issues →

30

4 7 6 0 1 0 4 2 1 1 3 1 0 0

Sex crimes

18

5 3 4 0 2 0 0 0 3 1 0 0 0 0

Pro-choice (decriminalization of abortion)

8

0 1 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 1

Pro-life (keep abortion illegal)

13

5 3 0 1 1 0 0 2 0 0 0 1 0 0

Gender equality

Table 8.2 Key actions by gender politics actors on six policy issues, 1978–2000

10

0 1 0 4 1 1 0 0 0 2 0 1 0 0

Electoral quotas

3

1 0 1 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Discrimination against pregnant workers

2

0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0

Sexual harassment

–

15 15 11 5 5 5 5 4 4 4 4 3 3 1

Total actions by actor

176

Linda S. Stevenson

Because all of the 14 actors have particular political interests that are articulated and/or disarticulated by the political process, they qualify as policy entrepreneurs in this system, each vying, strategizing and pushing for its demands, in the same way that Kingdon (1995) defines multiple political, party and interest group players in mainstream US politics. As such, the actions of the different actors and their networks, allies (or as Kingdon calls them “political communities”) will be analyzed later in the chapter under “Policy entrepreneurs and communities.”

Analysis of policy actions on the rhetorical–symbolic–material policy process scale In order to assess the differing values of the various policy actions, I used and modified a policy continuum that ranks the actions into one of three categories. This policy process scale is borrowed from Amy Mazur’s work, which analyzes the policy processes of five versions of equal opportunity employment proposals in Fifth Republic France, including the varying degrees of implementation of the laws she examined (Mazur 1995). She used the “Symbolic–Material Policy Continuum” with a trichotomous range from “highly symbolic” to “symbolic” to “material” categories in order to show the varying degrees of legislative and implementation success of the proposals (Mazur 1995: 6–7). I modify Mazur’s continuum in two ways. First of all, Mazur’s designation of “highly symbolic” is changed to “rhetorical,” while the other descriptive terms of “symbolic” and “material” are maintained. I find the term “rhetorical” is preferable to “highly symbolic” because the term at one extreme of the continuum should be the opposite of the term at the other extreme. “Rhetorical” denotes the fact that the proposal attained a minimal amount of social or political value by being mentioned in discourse by politicians or persons who brought it to the public’s attention. Alternatively, it may have been passed for merely instrumentalist reasons. Furthermore, in these rhetorical instances the proposal is frequently designed to fail (Schneider and Ingram 1997; Stone 1997). The policy issue proposal is used or manipulated mainly for political reasons, generally counter to the motives of the policy community that advocates it. “Symbolic” is distinct from “rhetorical” because when a proposal attains symbolic status it has greater social or political benefit than simply to be used for political ends in public discourse. More concretely, symbolic status means the policy issue attains agenda status in a given legislature, is discussed and covered in the media, and/or is passed into law at that level. Thus the policy issue gains social and political value by becoming a law, but it does not yet necessarily generate material change or benefits. The intangible benefits include being a demonstration effect for other initiatives in other arenas, providing political learning for participants and observers, and potentially raising the consciousness of a broader part of

Mexico

177

the population by presentation in the media in a positive light. Each of the first two terms is significantly different from the other “material” extreme of the continuum. “Material” signifies actual, tangible outcomes related to the implementation of the policy. This is typically measured by concrete changes, such as the creation of a new agency, or by quantifiable items, such as budgets. Finally, the second modification I make to Mazur’s work is that I use the term “scale” rather than “continuum,” to denote the ascending nature of the value of the policy actions. Whereas continuums tend to be degrees of difference between two opposing concepts, such as liberal and conservative, on the RSM scale the lowest level is rhetorical, followed by the medium placement in the symbolic category and the most favorable ranking in the material category. The value of a policy proposal or action accumulates as it moves from left to right on this scale, as can be seen on the RSM scale in Figure 8.1. The policy actions included in this study are defined as any policy proposal or initiative that made agenda status in a legislature on these particular issues. The years that the policy actions occurred are included and ranked on the rhetorical–symbolic–material (RSM) policy process scale in Table 8.3. These will be explained in more detail in the second part of the work, but from an initial glance at the table one can see a clear distinction between the larger number of actions rated as symbolic compared to those in the rhetorical and material categories. This indicates that the advocates of these policies have made progress, but that much of it has yet to be implemented in ways that will result in material change. At the same time, although more material advances would be more favorable for feminists and gender equality advocates, symbolic gains can serve as stepping stones for advocates to use to move toward more substantive changes. The case of reforms on sex crimes is the exception to the overall pattern of symbolic gains, with material policy actions that resulted from all of the efforts of women working across party and organizational lines, forming coalitions and building consensus, in order to pass their proposals. One of the results was the establishment of new

Material Symbolic Rhetorical

Figure 8.1 Rhetorical–symbolic–material policy process scale.

178

Linda S. Stevenson

Table 8.3 Policy actions on the rhetorical, symbolic and material (RSM) policy scale Policy issue

Rhetorical

Symbolic

Material

Violence against women

1984, 1989

1978, 1984, 1988, 1988, 1990, 1995, 1996, 1997

1987, 1989, 1990, 1994, 1997, 1998

Decriminalization of abortion

1974, 1975, 1979, 1983, 1984, 1990

1974, 1980, 1990, 1991, 1993, 1998

Affirmative action quotas

1994, 1997, 1998

1990, 1993, 1995, 1996, 1996, 1999

Sexual harassment

1990

1984, 1988

Discrimination against pregnant workers

1994, 1997

1998

Source: Stevenson 2000.

government-sponsored specialized agencies to attend better to the needs of women who are victims of sex crimes. On the positive side, these agencies never would have been created if it were not for the efforts of feminists and women in coalitions to push the issue. On the negative side, the way in which the agencies were established is precarious, as funding is not guaranteed for the agencies from one presidential six-year term to the next; nor are there sufficient funds to keep up with increasing demand and the need to train and re-train agency personnel (interviews with Torres and with Yllán, Mexico City, January, May 1998).25 The other issues will be discussed in more depth in the next section. Table 8.4 uses the RSM scale to provide a focus on the actions of the various political actors on all of the above issues combined. The rankings reveal again that civil society groups played a very important role, with the feminist NGOs attaining the highest number of material policy actions. This suggests that they were able to open more shelters, provide more services and push the government to do the same, and hence were able to make the most concrete changes for women. Feminist social movements and the PRD ranked next in line, with three policy actions each in the material category, and the highest number of all in the symbolic category for the feminist social movements. This is indicative of the study and documentation centers opened by the movement, and the offices and programs put in place by the PRD once it was in power in the Federal District. These places and programs obtained institutional funding and offered new political spaces for women to improve themselves in many ways. The state and federal district governments, the president, government agencies, the PRI and the anti-feminist organizations ranked next in the table,

179

Mexico Table 8.4 Political actors and ranking of policy actions on RSM scale Actors

Rhetoric

Symbolic

Material

Feminist NGOs Feminist social movements PRD State/DF governments President Government agencies PRI Anti-feminist NGOs Transnational actors PAN Small leftist parties Female legislators National Congress Catholic Church

1 2 1 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 1 0 0 0

4 11 1 3 3 2 2 0 15 5 4 4 3 3

6 3 3 2 1 1 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0

Total

7

60

18

Source: Stevenson 2000.

by obtaining 1 or 2 material actions, 0 to 3 symbolic actions and 1 rhetorical action each for the president and the government agencies. The details of these actions will be presented in the next part of the chapter, but in brief this range of actions informs us that these actors had very low levels of support for material change for women’s issues, low levels of support for symbolic change, and in some instances merely rhetorical responses. The anti-feminist NGO Pro-Vida (Pro-Life) is included to indicate counteractions to the decriminalization of abortion issue, such as when they opened up an office. The high number of symbolic actions taken by transnational actors is also notable in Table 8.4. This datapoint attests to the increasing degree of political openness in the Mexican system between 1978 and 2000, which allowed for actions from outside the country to influence the domestic political scene. It can also show how domestic actors learned to coordinate and use international conventions and standards to challenge problems in their own system. The low numbers of symbolic actions for the PAN, the small leftist parties and the female legislators could indicate that they were not major players in the policy process of these issues. However, these players were very important in the alliance-building at key moments in the processes, at times tipping the balance in a new direction that the feminist NGOs and movements, and PRD, could not do by themselves. Likewise, the low numbers of symbolic actions reported for the National Congress and the Catholic Church can be viewed in a similar way. They did not act often, but the weight of their institutions may have made a difference on the issues in a major way. The qualitative analysis in the next sections reveals more details about the different actors.

180

Linda S. Stevenson

The significance of feminist civil society on women’s policymaking As mentioned above, the “Total actions by actor” column in Table 8.2 makes it clear that the combined number of actions by feminist movements and NGOs totaled the largest number of actions. What is also interesting, as seen from the “Total actions by issue” row in Table 8.2, is that the greatest number of policy actions that took place was on the issue of sex crimes reforms, with a total of 30 policy actions – by 10 of the actors. This means that although the feminists may have begun the process of consciousness-raising about the issue in the 1970s, by the 1990s many different kinds of groups and key individuals supported multiple policy actions as the process moved forward. This change indicates that many feminists softened their ideological concern of remaining autonomous from party and government actors over the years, and that key actors in parties and government agencies were able to overcome cultural and institutional barriers.26 In addition to the feminists’ actions, support came from human rights groups, urban popular movements, progressive Catholic groups, and citizens’ groups demanding reform of the penal code on sex crimes. This eventually led to the establishment of the first specialized female-run agencies for victims of sex crimes. Simultaneously, elite leaders, including several presidents,27 along with legislators, party leaders and government bureaucrats, made and pushed proposals through the Congress. This is evidenced from the multiple policy actions recorded in Table 8.3 in the following years: 1978, 1984, 1987, 1988–1990 and 1994–1998. Although this led to many positive and creative alliances between gender equality advocates, it still took 20 years to define and redefine the issue and coordinate their work with successful political openings in order to pass and implement successful sex crimes reform policies. This is in spite of the fact that violence against women is a valence issue – it is difficult not to be against wife-beating and sexual abuse of women. This is thus a good example of the way in which democratic and gendered transformation in society is very slow in coming. The call to be “pro-choice” and to try to decriminalize abortion in Mexico was the next most important issue treated by feminist movements and NGOs, as can be seen in Table 8.2, with half of all the actions taken by these two actors. The years of these actions are visible in Table 8.3 – 1974–1975, 1979–1980, 1983–1984, 1990–1991, 1993 and 1998 – and most closely correspond to the years of the greatest political reforms or openings during this period. One of the difficulties for promoters of decriminalized or legal abortion was that feminists’ initial problem definition of the issue gained them few allies and generated numerous and powerful opponents. Over the years, the advocates of decriminalization redefined the issue from “women’s liberation” to the right to “women’s health and democratic individual choice.” This won feminists new allies among the

Mexico

181

urban popular movements, women and men in human rights groups, and some medical and legal experts (Centro Legal para Derechos Reproductivas y Políticas Públicas (CRLP, Legal Center for Reproductive Rights and Public Policies)) and Grupo de Información en Reproducción Elegida (GIRE, Research Center on Reproductive Choice), 1997). On the pro-life side of the issue, as can be noted from Table 8.2, Catholic groups united with PAN leaders to propose legislation or even constitutional amendments protecting life from the moment of conception, and opposing any kind of legal exceptions (such as in case of risk of the mother’s life, or rape) for abortions. The actions and reactions on this issue are notable in that the state delicately orchestrated attempts to compromise between the two poles over time (Stevenson 2000: 263–304). In the 1990s, as the relationship between the Mexican government and the Catholic Church grew closer and the right-leaning PAN party gained power in many states, and most recently in the Congress and Presidency in 2000, the number of reactions from the pro-life camp has increased. The general issue of “Gender equality” had the next highest number of policy actions, as seen in Table 8.2. One of the primary actions by feminist movements and NGOs on this issue is having Encuentros Feministas Latinoamericanos (Latin American Feminist Encounters), where ideas and strategies are exchanged and debated, and new standards set in the evolving definitions of gender equality in the region. The establishment of women’s studies centers in universities in Mexico is a major advance for the causes promoted by feminists. Other policy actions in this category include approval and ratification of the UN-sponsored Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), pushed onto the congressional agenda by left-leaning parties and finally approved by Mexican presidents. On the issue that had the next highest number of policy actions in Table 8.2 (affirmative action electoral quotas), feminist movements and NGOs had little influence on the actual policy actions. The role they played here was much more in the media and in support of disseminating information and generating debate about quotas in the parties. Citizens’ groups such as the Mujeres en la Lucha por la Democracia and Movimiento Ciudadano por la Democracia,28 alongside of increasingly strong opposition parties, took up the demand for equal women’s political representation. For some, the idea of quotas complemented their non-partisan initiatives on electoral reforms and their work to increase citizen participation. For other groups, such as a number of human rights, independent labor and progressive NGOs, the idea challenged them to reconsider gender formations and in some cases mandate fairer gender representation within their own organizations.29 Therefore, at least initially, there was a high degree of fragmentation on the issue, which made it difficult to organize collectively at the federal level. Each party or group first took up the issue internally, and apparently after battling it out at that level few were

182

Linda S. Stevenson

interested in joining others for another round of fighting at the federal level. However, these battles apparently laid important groundwork for actions that were taken up again after 2000, and have since moved on to the state level. This issue arose due to an unprecedented mix of procedural democratic openings from 1988 through the 2000 elections – the emergence of the PRD and strengthening of the PAN, including liberal female leadership inside the party. The low number of actions by feminist movements and NGOs on workplace issues in Table 8.2 – sexual harassment and discrimination against pregnant workers – reveals another area where feminists were weak on policy action until their alliances were much stronger with labor and human rights groups and different parties. Policy action is noted in Table 8.3 in 1984, 1988, 1990 and 1998. For years there was a lack of support from a relatively strong labor movement in Mexico, which reveals one of the most difficult challenges confronted by feminists on this issue – how to make alliances with working-class movements and unions. As in much of Latin America and the United States, unions in Mexico are still dominated by masculine, hierarchical, clientelistic forms of organization, and for the most part they are not particularly interested in including women in their leadership, or gender issues on their agendas. In spite of this set of obstacles to the issues of gender equality in the workplace, the support from transnational actors for feminists and their allies on most issues shows that pressure from changing international standards is having an impact on women’s policy-making also.

Transnational actors play consequential roles The transnational actors’ work on sex crimes reforms parallels those utilized by feminist movements for pro-choice proposals, in the form of recommendations arising from the four United Nations (UN) Conferences on Women in 1975, 1980, 1985 and 1995. However, in total there are more transnational actors working on violence against women than on decriminalizing abortion (see Table 8.2). Human rights activists’ declarations also call for governments to work to create nations where abuses are minimized, including women’s freedom from domestic violence. However, in spite of the existence of so many international agreements and declarations and Mexico’s approval of them, they have only limited symbolic power when it comes to changing national policies. International policies have little impact on nations unless the system is open enough so that support among the populace and a core group of legislators organizing around the issues can reform the laws. For example, despite the existence of UN recommendations and human rights declarations all through the 1970s and 1980s, material changes from Mexican legislation on sex reforms did not come until the political openings of the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Mexico

183

The issue of abortion generated the greatest number of actors in distinct international arenas working to shape the issue – for freedom of reproductive choice and pro-life positions. In the pro-choice area, arguments were based upon the United Nations conventions such as the Convention for the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the Inter-American Convention to Prevent, Sanction and Eradicate Violence against Women agreed to at Belem do Pará in 1994,30 and the recommendations from the 1974 and 1994 UN-sponsored Population conferences. Also influential were the interventions by US presidents on both sides of imposing and lifting the international “Gag Rule,” on whether or not family-planning programs are permitted to discuss the existence and option of abortion in their counseling. President Reagan was the first to impose the Gag Rule in 1984, and it was also supported by his successor George Bush during his term from 1988 to 1992. Then the Clinton administration (1993–2000) eliminated the “Gag Rule” and restored funds to the Population Councils. Almost immediately after his inauguration in 2001, Republican President George W. Bush once again reversed the ruling, reducing funding to international donor programs that support abortion clinics. On the pro-life side of the issue, the 1984 Population conference, Vatican pronouncements and the Pope’s visits at key moments, and the international Pro-Life movement supported claims and proposals for legislation favoring the rights of the unborn over a woman’s right to choose. These varied and strong influences have increased polarization on the issue worldwide. The transnational actions taken for the remaining three issues were fewer and of less political weight. For affirmative action quotas, international support came from the UN recommendations emitted from the 1995 Beijing conference, and examples of electoral quotas in other countries around the world. The short amount of time that quotas were recommended in Mexico (since 1996) compared to the conventions passed on violence against women and a right to choose may account for some of the lack of effect. Nonetheless, there is still significant disagreement about the best way to carry out and implement quotas, if they are really to be something more than symbolic legislation. On the workplace issues, rulings in the National Administrative Organizations (NAOs), put into place by the North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) between Mexico, the United States and Canada, have drawn attention to these issues and put limited pressure on the transnational companies and the Mexican government to abide by their laws and/or improve them. However, once again these transnational rulings have little authority per the present design of the NAFTA, and after the initial shaming by media coverage and some individual plant-related concessions to individual workers, in spite of numerous proposals to date no change has occurred in national-level labor-related reforms or the NAFTA (Stevenson 2003).

184

Linda S. Stevenson

Policy entrepreneurs and communities’ alliances make for policy proposal success This section focuses on the policy actions taken for and against the feminists by the following actors: the three major parties (PRI, PRD and PAN); small leftist parties (especially early on in the 1970s and 1980s, prior to the existence of the PRD); the state and Federal District governments; presidents; the National Congress; government agencies; the Catholic Church; and anti-feminist NGOs (such as Pro-Life groups). In the late 1970s, it was the feminists and a small leftist party, the Partido Socialista Unificado de México (PSUM, United Socialist Party of Mexico), who were the first policy entrepreneurs to bring the issue of sex crimes to the Chamber of Deputies. However, given the domination of the PRI in the Congress, and the rubber-stamp nature of the Congress in relation to the president, they were unsuccessful in 1978. During the 1980s the issue gradually gained allies, but most feminists still preferred to work on the issue from outside of the PRI’s political institutions and only an exceptional few female bureaucrats worked on it from the inside.31 As can be seen by the placement of these years in Table 8.3, in 1984 and 1988, Presidents de la Madrid (1982–1988) and then Salinas (1988–1994) tried to jump on the bandwagon of women’s interests in these issues, but promoted only rhetorical and symbolic proposals, conceding little to feminists’ demands. The norm of co-optation by PRI presidents continued to dominate until 1990, when a coalition called the “Grupo Plural pro Víctimas” (Plural Pro-Victims Group) formed an alliance and challenged the president’s proposal by presenting their own proposal first in the national Congress. The group was comprised of female legislators from all the parties, and representatives from numerous NGOs working on violence against women.32 Amazingly, the alliance won congressional support for the Grupo Plural’s proposal – without the intervention of the president – and got the proposals passed. This was a first for women’s groups who took on the power of the presidentialist politics in Mexico (Stevenson 1999). After this legislative success, more policy entrepreneurs joined the legislative battles on the issue of sex crimes reforms to the penal code. By 1997, President Zedillo supported the proposal of a feminist coalition led by a new NGO called Diversa, instead of trying to impose his own watered-down proposal (Yáñez 1997; Lamas 2003). These broad alliances and policy passage in 1997 led Mexico to become the first Latin-American country to recognize conjugal rape as a crime (Stevenson 2000: 105–132). On the issue of decriminalization of abortion, those allying themselves with the feminists were the small leftist parties early in the struggle, the PRI on a certain, highly politicized occasion in the state of Chiapas, and key gender equality advocates in government agencies as noted in Table 8.2. Those against the decriminalization of abortion included the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, the PAN, and anti-feminist NGOs. This was

Mexico

185

distinct from the social movements because the battles over the issue were fought at a professional legal–medical level, rather than with petitions or protests in the streets. In spite of numerous proposals pushed by both sides, the alliances created around this issue were generally unsuccessful in this legislative realm. This is because the issue of the right to choose an abortion for an individual woman gives her power over herself and her family that directly confronts the male dominance that is still the norm in most Mexican families. And the perspective of this issue as the right to life of the unborn compounds the challenge to traditional norms of Mexican society because of the dominance of Catholic beliefs that prohibit abortion regardless of any circumstances. Affirmative action electoral quotas attracted some new policy entrepreneurs, different from the sex crimes and decriminalization of abortion issues. As this issue touches on the question of equal gender representation, cultural and religious concerns are not present. As such, high-level leaders across the major parties and some of the smaller parties all took up the issue, in conjunction with numerous liberal women’s and feminist groups who wanted more female representation. One of the divisive aspects of the issue was whether equality should be mandated by electoral design, such as a percentage or quotas, or, as the PAN’s initial stance purported, that gender equality should be attained by merit, not by quotas. Key leaders such as Amalia García and Rosario Robles in the PRD, María Elena Chapa and eventually María de los Angeles Moreno in the PRI, and Patricia Mercado of the Partido Convergencia Democrática (PCD, Party of Democratic Convergence)33 came to support quotas in their respective parties, gradually convincing the PAN that not enough women could or would make it into politics based solely on merit. Also, as data on voter choices and demographics improved over the course of the 1990s, and it became evident that women’s votes were a decisive factor in PRD’s electoral victories in the mid-term 1997 elections, the PAN reconsidered its position for very pragmatic reasons. Women voters were interested in or drawn to female candidates, and as each legislative seat was becoming more and more valuable with increasingly shifting majorities in the Congress, every party needed every vote it could get. Thus Patricia Espinosa of the PAN then became the leader of the call for parity among PAN candidates in the 2000 elections. As mentioned previously, alliances on this issue were never strong, and another reason is the increasing degree of competition between the parties. For example, in the early 1990s PRI legislators did not seek to strengthen alliances; because the PRI had the majority in the Congress they did not have to use widespread consultation and consensus-building as methods for promoting their proposals. And when differences of opinion have arisen within the PRI along gender lines, with such low numbers within the high level leadership in the party, PRI women generally have had to settle for less. This was the case with the passage of a weak recommendation for gender quotas as opposed to a

186

Linda S. Stevenson

mandate in the 1996 federal electoral code reforms (Chapa 1996a, 1996b). On the issues of gender discrimination in the workplace, early on PRI deputy Hilda Anderson was the primary instigator of policy proposals in the Chamber of Deputies, presenting symbolic proposals in 1983 and 1988. Later in the 1990s, policy entrepreneurs from the PRD and the PAN also took up the discrimination against pregnant workers issue, preparing to advocate for reforms in the Federal Labor Law in 1998. However, neither the policy entrepreneurs’ proposal nor the Federal Labor Law emerged from agenda status. The PAN and the PRD were divided on their reform proposals, and the PRI was not really interested in change, as its constituents in the Confederation of Mexican Workers were quite nervous about the changes proposed by the business elites of the PAN. In addition, few feminist groups have prioritized working women’s issues highly on their agendas. Alliances were weak and, as such, policy success was not forthcoming (Stevenson 2003). In addition, the way in which sexual harassment was defined in the law practically made the whole effort rhetorical, as is noted by the year 1990 in that category on Table 8.3. Over the last ten years many more people have become aware of what sexual harassment is, but settlements have only been reached outside of court due to the weak wording of the law.34 Concurrently, one of the peculiarities of Mexican unions, as opposed to the rest of Latin America, is that the majority of them had strong ties to the PRI/State/government. This relationship is undergoing significant changes currently with the new PAN President as of 2000 and plural Congress as of 1997. However, for most of the last seven decades most unions have had a dense network overlapping between the union, the PRI Party and the government. Therefore the CTM (Confederacion de Trabajadores Mexicanos – Confederation of Mexican Workers) has generally toed the party line. As the PRI stance on the issue was made clear by the weak sexual harassment legislation passed in 1990, and the weak 1996 legislative outcome on affirmative action quotas (both in the rhetorical categories in Tables 8.3 and 8.4), compliance with the party line is another reason why most unions did not support feminists’ demands in the workplace. These positions were in spite of the fact that PRI women legislators were the ones advancing the proposals.35 As for the small but growing minority of independent unions in Mexico in recent years, their fights against sexual harassment and discrimination against pregnant workers have been focused in two other political arenas, and therefore they have not focused entrepreneurial efforts in the policy arena. First, one priority has been to educate the rank and file members about local resources and procedures rather than joining legislative campaigns to reform national laws.36 Second, with support from human rights groups and via the new tri-national governmental institutions created by NAFTA, labor groups have worked to expose problems and contradictions

Mexico

187

in Mexican workplaces owned or affiliated with transnational companies by taking them to US and Canadian judicial bodies. In this way, they pressure the Mexican government to enforce its own labor codes. This was especially important in the case of discrimination against pregnant workers (Stevenson 2003). Finally, the most recently appearing policy entrepreneur on the pregnancy discrimination issue is President Fox. After a recent meeting with the now permanent National Women’s Institute,37 President Fox made a pronouncement on television publicizing his support for women workers not to be subjected to pregnancy tests prior to hiring, or fired owing to pregnancy.38 This is an important form of support, but in the legislative reality only government or public places of employment thus far are affected. No successful legislation has been passed mandating private companies, such as Coca-Cola for which Fox used to work, to treat pregnant workers fairly.

Conclusion From this study it is possible to see that women’s political work in Mexico – and particularly by feminist civil society – has made a tremendous difference in promoting gender equality in multiple policy arenas over the last 30 years. It is also evident that alliances are essential between feminists and gender equality advocates in the increasingly competitive political parties, legislative assemblies, government agencies and the executive branch for pushing all kinds of gendered proposals through the legislative process and/or into implementation. Even on the least controversial issues, alliances have had to be formed in order to overcome opposing attitudes and actors. In order to assess what women have gained in Mexico’s liberalizing political processes, I have presented a policy process scale to evaluate policy actions by multiple actors. Findings reveal that most of the policy actions taken by a wide variety of actors ultimately are considered to be “symbolic,” meaning that a policy proposal attained agenda status, made it part of the way through the process and/or was actually passed by a legislative body. This signifies that general progress has been made for gender equality; however, more “material” actions, such as apportionment and spending of budgets directly on women’s concerns or programs, will be necessary to have a really significant effect on the lives of most Mexican women. Machismo is still prevalent in many people’s lives, and its manifestation as male bias in legislatures, courts and government agencies is still dominant. Moreover, despite democratization of many aspects of Mexico’s political system, advocates of gender equality are facing increasing challenges and obstacles set in place by the conservative Catholic Church. Finally, although this research may temper one’s inclinations toward the feminist optimistic equation – that of a correlation between an increase in democracy and an increase in gender equality – there is no question that

188

Linda S. Stevenson

Mexico has been changed for the better by the increasing number of women’s voices, feminist demands and women’s different ways of practising politics. Mexican society, from movements and NGOs, to political parties, legislatures and agencies have had to broaden their definitions of problems and reconsider multiple approaches to solving them because of the work of feminists and gender equality advocates in the last three decades, and it is likely that they will continue to have to do so.

Notes 1 Support for this research came from the following sources: Center for Latin American Studies, University of Pittsburgh (1995); Fulbright Commission (1997–1998); Provost’s Fund for Dissertation Research, University of Pittsburgh (1998–1999); Faculty Development Fund, Morehead State University (2001). I am also grateful to Esteban Romero, Harry Field, Laurel Weldon, Susan Hansen, Jude Howell and three anonymous reviewers for comments on and support of this work. 2 I am defining “civil society” narrowly in this text to refer to non-governmental organizations (NGOs) formed to address certain problems or fulfill certain needs in society, generally as non-profit entities. In Mexico, few comprehensive data were collected or compiled to illustrate the growth of NGOs in the 1970s and 1980s, and numbers compiled more recently vary widely, but these figures show the tremendous growth of NGOs in Mexico in the 1990s. According to the Secretaría de Gobernación (Mexican Department of the Interior, as cited in Aguayo 2000), there were 1,324 NGOs in 1994. Just five years later, figures from the Secretaría de Hacienda y Crédito Público (Mexican Department of Taxes and Public Credits, as cited in Aguayo 2000) reported the number of NGOs to be 4,162 in 1999 (registered for tax purposes). Over the same period, an independent source, the Centro Mexicano para la Filantropía (CEMEFI, Mexican Center for Philanthropy, as cited in Aguayo 2000), reported a total of 2,364 NGOs in Mexico in 1995–1996, increasing by 191 percent by 2000 to 6,887 NGOs. The number of NGOs increased in every state and the Federal District during this period (Aguayo 2000: 310–311). The year 2000 may represent a numerical peak for NGOs, however, as economic recession has hit the nonprofit sector hard in Mexico since 11 September 2001. 3 “Feminist NGOs” are defined as small groups of mostly female activists, scholars, researchers and others interested in a specific issue or policy area. This group may carry out all, several or a few of the following types of activities to sustain and carry out the mission of the group: formal research and writing, publishing of own media or writing for feminist and/or mainstream media, public speaking, drafting of policy proposals, provision of social services or legal counsel for target groups of women with certain needs (such as victims of domestic violence, rape, family planning, pregnant workers), fundraising and grant acquisition. Feminist NGOs become a part of the feminist movement by participating in coalition-building on key proposals, and in forming alliances with other mixed or male-led groups on certain issues. 4 By legislative process I am referring to a proposal first attaining agenda status in a state or national legislature, passing through the relevant committees or commissions, and being voted upon favorably. In addition, I include a measurement of implementation of the law once passed, as is explained in the section “Analysis of Policy Actions . . . ,” later in this chapter. 5 This section of historical highlights is a synopsis of those included in the con-

Mexico

6 7

8

9

10

11

12

13 14

189

cluding chapter of my dissertation. For a more complete trajectory, see Stevenson 2000. These quotations were selected from a series of in-depth interviews conducted with women leaders of political parties, NGOs, movements and governmental institutions between 1995 and 2001 in Mexico City. These actors include: feminist social movements, transnational actors, feminist NGOs, Partido de la Revolución Democrática (PRD, Party of the Democratic Revolution), small leftist parties, State and Federal District governments, presidents, government agencies, Partido Revolucionario Institutional (PRI, Institutional Revolutionary Party), female legislators, National Congress, Catholic Church, anti-feminist NGOs. Detailed explanations of each are provided in subsequent sections. Data for the analysis are from documents from political parties, non-governmental organizations (NGOs), the Chamber of Deputies and feminist presses, as well as the aforementioned in-depth interviews collected in Mexico City between 1995 and 2001. There is debate among pro-choice advocates about whether “decriminalization” or “legalization” of abortion is preferable in the policy proposals. At this point in time the dominant feminist opinion is that the state should have the least involvement possible in women’s choices about abortion. Therefore, the demand continues to be framed with the language of not making abortion a crime for which one can be prosecuted or sent to jail, but also not making it legal and thus possibly opening the door to more potential forced abortions, with the tacit consent of the state. This has historically been a problem particularly with poor, illiterate indigenous women in state hospitals, and very young pregnant girls in order to maintain the “honor” of their families. In addition, with this particular issue I include analysis of the anti-feminist (or pro-life) actors pushing against decriminalization as well, since their actions have had important consequences on the lack of progress with this issue. In order to limit the scope of this work, the selection of gender issues excludes those related to women and the family, such as those more in the category of social welfare, since they tend to involve a much wider variety of political actors. From the 1930s through the 1980s, while the PRI maintained a semi-authoritarian grip on power and dominated nearly every aspect of the political system, most Mexicans equated the terms of the “political party, PRI,” with the terms “government” and “state”(as in, the apparatus of the government). The PRD was formally founded in 1989 from a coalition of PRI defectors, leftleaning small parties, and social movements that comprised the Frente Democrático Nacional (FDN, National Democratic Front), which challenged the PRI’s 60-year hegemony of presidential power by nearly electing Cuauhtémoc Cárdenas in 1988. The elections were riddled with fraud, and despite great controversy and near civil strife about the final results, the PRI officially won by a slim majority. Despite the electoral defeat, the near victory was a catalyst for the political left, and in the following year, many of those supporting Cárdenas went about the business of formalizing their politics into a new leftleaning party, including those mentioned above and many activists formerly unidentified with a party (Bruhn 1997). All interviews and Spanish language articles are translated by the author unless otherwise specified. The formation of the PRD (mentioned previously) was particularly important and controversial for feminists, because up until this time part of their political ideology and strategy was to remain autonomous from political parties and government, where past experiences had nearly always left them in

190

15

16

17 18

19

20 21 22

23

Linda S. Stevenson

marginalized positions with no real power. So for some feminists who joined the party, like Robles, the PRD became a direct, new channel of potential political power. For other feminists, many felt they at least had a more trustworthy political ally than they had had in the PRI or could have in the right-leaning PAN (Stevenson 1998). Although Robles was not elected, when she took over Cárdenas’ post in 1999 her government was instrumental in improving the credibility and legitimacy of the PRD party. She was able to staff her government with people who were able to accomplish much with few resources in a short amount of time, showing many skeptics and their political competition that the PRD were agile politicians as incumbents, not just as an opposition party denouncing the flaws of the government in power. The PRD won the city mayor’s position again in 2000. Interview with Rosario Robles, activist in Mexico City union circles for many years, founder and leader of the Partido de Revolución Democratica (PRD, Party of the Democratic Revolution), Federal Deputy and President of Social Development Commission, Chamber of Deputies 1994–1997 (Mexico City, July 1995). Interview with Patricia Espinosa, Federal Deputy, Partido Acción Nacional (PAN, National Action Party), 1994–1997 (Mexico City, April 1998). Tarrés also notes that the number of NGOs fluctuates frequently depending upon the way one counts them related to the length of time they exist. The lifespan of an NGO depends on a number of factors, two of the most important being the sources of funding (in particular the availability of external funding) and the ability and willingness of the NGO members to do volunteer work for the cause (Tarrés 1998: 133–134). Women in the Struggle for Democracy was founded in 1988 as a nongovernmental organization with representatives from multiple opposition parties whose initial focus was to demand and support the process for cleaning up the electoral process in Mexico, and/or exposing fraud if it occurred. In the late 1990s, MLD was one of the few non-governmental organizations to be recognized (and consequently financially rewarded) for its efforts in Mexico’s 31 states and the federal district of Mexico City by the autonomous Instituto Federal Electoral (IFE, Federal Electoral Institute). Interview with Ana Lilia Cepeda, Director of NGO Mujeres en Lucha por la Democracia (MLD, Women in the Struggle for Democracy), Federal Deputy with the PRD, 1994–1997 (Mexico City, July 1995). Interview with Patricia Duarte, Director, Asociación Contra la Violencia hacia las Mujeres, (COVAC, Association against Violence against Women) (Mexico City, July 1995). As noted in the title, the actions included in Table 8.2 are the key actions taken on these particular policy issues during this period in the National Congress, and in some state legislatures, as evidenced by cross-checking legislative documents such as the Diario Oficial (Official Daily), political party documents, and from information gathered in interviews with actors from different political parties, movements and NGOs. The definition of “feminist movement” in this text is rooted in the perspectives of Marta Lamas, Alicia Martínez, María Luisa Tarrés and Esperanza Tuñon, which are encapsulated in a book chapter they wrote together (Lamas et al. 1995). The Mexican feminist movement took on a public identity in the early 1970s of working to augment interpersonal, supportive relations between women, such as women’s cafés, centers, and literature, as well as to organize to challenge the male bias (machismo) of the political and economic power structures from the household to the streets to the government, so as to foster

Mexico

24

25

26

27

28 29 30

191

gender equality and women’s rights in those different spheres. Feminist discourse and strategies gradually shifted over the course of the 1980s, in order to broaden the base from middle-class professional women, opening up to more civic elements of political activism of the time. This included integrating the feminists’ unwavering demands of voluntary motherhood, an end to violence against women, and gay and lesbian rights with other women’s demands – such as human rights concerns, like the mothers of disappeared children (often activist youth taken by the government’s security forces); working women in popular neighborhoods for public service, improvement in infrastructure and decent jobs; and finally women with direct ties to political parties, all of whom were interested in women gaining more access to political positions of power. This movement held and holds multiple forums and meetings for political purposes, and runs feminist media and presses as well as more social events such as commemorations or festivals on Mother’s Day and International Women’s Day. The movement is organized by a dense social network, often through personal contacts, and increasingly through electronic forms of communication. The feminist movement is not inclusive of women who do not tolerate or blatantly oppose the three primary demands noted above, such as many of the new right-leaning PAN legislators; nor has the feminist movement been very effective in reaching out to women in extreme poverty, especially in rural and highly indigenous areas (particularly in the southern states of Mexico). This refers to the state level of politics (Mexico is a federal system composed of 31 states), plus the federal district (Distrito Federal, DF), or the capital seat of the Federal Government, which is a special political category with less political power or independence than a state (this is highly comparable to the US system of 50 states and a federal district, or Washington, DC (District of Columbia). Interviews with: Patricia Olamendi Torres, Director of Promujer, Governmental Program for the Federal District (Mexico City, January 1998); Barbara Yllán, Directora General de Atención a Víctimas, Procuraduría General de Justicia del Distrito Federal (Director General of Attention for Victims, Attorney General’s Office, Federal District) (Mexico City, January, May 1998). Services deteriorated so much by the late 1990s that human rights cases were taken to the Federal District Commission of Human Rights and investigated, and recommendations made publicly that new, improved and continuous training was necessary to insure proper attention to female victims of sex crimes (De la Barreda 2000). A primary cultural obstacle was the heavy male bias for leadership in government institutions, parties and opposition groups, and institutionally politics were dominated by a semi-authoritarian one-party state, with limited openings for opposition parties. The presidents who passed legislation on sex crimes were Miguel de la Madrid (1982–1988), and Carlos Salinas (1988–1994). Although these were supportive gestures, many feminists interpreted them as rhetorical policy actions, or forms of co-opting the feminists’ issues, without really taking up their specific proposals (Torres 1999). Interviews with: Ana Lilia Cepeda, cited previously; Luz Rosales, Director of Movimiento Ciudadana por la Democracia (MCD, Citizens’ Movement for Democracy) (Mexico City, July 1995). Interviews with: María Teresa Gómez Mont, Senadora Suplente, PAN (Alternative Senator) (Mexico City, August 1998); Amalia García, Federal Deputy for PRD (Mexico City, June 1995); Patricia Espinosa, cited previously. I wish to thank one of my anonymous reviewers for the advice to include this important Convention.

192

Linda S. Stevenson

31 Interviews with: Yllán (1998) and Torres (1998), cited previously. 32 Interviews with: Carolina O’Farrill, PRI Deputy (Mexico City, June 1995); María de la Luz Lima, PRI Deputy (Mexico City, July 1995); Cecilia Romero, PAN Deputy (Mexico City, June 1995). 33 Patricia Mercado was later president of another new opposition party called Partido México Posible (PMP, Mexico Possible Party). 34 Interviews with: Luis De la Barreda Solórzano, president, Comision de Derechos Humanos del Distrito Federal (Federal District Human Rights Commission) (Mexico City, July 2001); Rosario Ortiz, former Director of the Program for Protection of Women and Minors, Department of Labor and Social Services, Federal District, and a member of the Red de Mujeres Sindicalistas (Network for Women Unionists) (Mexico City, July 2001). 35 Interview with Hilda Anderson, Director, Sección de Mujeres del Conferderación de Trabajadoras Mexicanas (CTM, Women’s Section of the Confederation of Mexican Workers), former PRI deputy and senator (Mexico City, 30 April 1998). 36 Interviews with: Hilda Ramírez, Regional Coordinator, Women’s Program, Frente Auténtico de Trabajo (FAT, Authentic Workers’ Front) (Mexico City, July 2001); Jenny Cooper, a member of the Red de Mujeres Sindicalistas (Network for Women Unionists) (Mexico City, February, May 1998); Berta Luján, Co-director of the Frente Auténtico de Trabajo (FAT) (Mexico City, July 1995). 37 The Instituto Nacional de las Mujeres gained a permanent status in the executive branch of the Mexican government during the transition period after the July 2000 elections and before the newly elected President Fox took office in December 2000, according to information from interviews with: Teresa Inchaústegui, General Secretary, Instituto Nacional de las Mujeres (National Institute of Women); Francisco Cos-Montiel, General Director for Planning, Instituto Nacional de las Mujeres (National Institute of Women) (Mexico City, July 2001). 38 Interview with Mercedes Barquet, Member of Consultative Council, Instituto Nacional de las Mujeres (National Institute of Women), personal communication (Mexico City, July 2001).

References Aguayo, S. (ed.) (2000) El Almanaque Mexicano, Mexico City: Grijalbo. Alvarez, S.E., Friedman, E.J., Beckman, E., Blackwell, M., Chinchilla, N., Lebon, N., Navarro, M. and Ríos-Tobar, M. (2003) “Encountering Latin American and Caribbean feminisms,” SIGNS Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 28(2): 537–579. Bedregal, X. (1991) “Hilos, Nudos y Colores: En la Lucha Contra la Violencia Hacia las Mujeres,” in X. Bedregal, I. Saucedo and F. Riquer (eds) Hilos, Nudos y Colores: En La Lucha Contra la Violencia Hacia las Mujeres, Mexico City: Ediciones CICAM. Bruhn, K. (1997) Taking on Goliath. The Emergence of a New Left Party and the Struggle for Democracy in Mexico, University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Camp, R.A. (1997) Crossing Swords: Politics and Religion in Mexico, New York: Oxford University Press. —— (2003) Politics in Mexico: The Democratic Transformation, 4th edn, New York: Oxford University Press.

Mexico

193

Cavaría, M. (2000) “Sólo 12 mujeres llegarán al Senado de la República, en la XVIII Legislatura,” 3 July 2000. Mexico City: Comunicación e Información de la Mujer, Asociación Civil (CIMAC, Communication and Information on Women, Civil Association). Retrieved 24 January 2004 from http://www.cimac.org.mx/ portada.html. Centro Legal para Derechos Reproductivos y Políticas Públicas (CRLP) and Grupo de Información en Reproducción Elegida (GIRE) (1997) Derechos Reproductivos de la Mujer en México: Un Report Sombra, Mexico City: GIRE. Chapa, M.E. (1996a) “Por Que el 30% Mínimo de las Porotunidcades Políticas Para las Mujeres,” Congreso de Mujeres por el Cambio, PRI, Debate Feminista, Year 7, vol. 14 (October): 411–420. —— (1996b) Partido Revolucionario Institucional, Congreso de Mujeres por el Cambio: Propuesta de Trabajo para 1996, Mimeo. De la Barreda, S.L. (1995) “Recomendación 6/95,” public document, Mexico City: Comisión de Derechos Humanos del Distrito Federal (Commission for Human Rights of the Federal District), photocopy. —— (2000) “Recomendación 3/2000,” public document, Mexico City: Comisión de Derechos Humanos del Distrito Federal (Commission for Human Rights of the Federal District), photocopy. Del Valle, S. (2000) “Se reducirá en 20% la representación femenina en la Cámara de Diputados,” 3 July 2000. Mexico City: Comunicación e Información de la Mujer, Asociación Civil (CIMAC, Communication and Information on Women, Civil Association). Retrieved 24 January 2004 from http://www.cimac.org.mx/ portada.html. Diamond, L. (1996) “Is the third wave over,” Journal of Democracy 7(3): 20–38. —— (2000) “Is Pakistan the reverse wave of the future?,” Journal of Democracy 11(3): 91–107. Domínguez, J.I. and McCann, J. (1996) Democratizing Mexico: Public Opinion and Electoral Choices, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Fernández Poncela, A. (1995a) Participatión Política: Las Mujeres en México al Final del Milenio,” Mexico City: El Colegio de México. —— (1995b) “Las Mexicanas en el Congreso de la Unión y en el ejecutivo hoy,” FEM Year 19, No. 147, June. Htun, M. (1999) “Women in Latin America: unequal progress toward equality,” Current History 98(626): 133–139. Huntington, S. (1991) The Third Wave, Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press. Jaquette, J.S. (1994) Women’s Movement in Latin America, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Kingdon, J.W. (1995) Agendas, Alternatives, and Public Policies, 2nd edn, New York: Harper Collins. Lagunes, H.L. (1991) “Día Internacional de la Lucha contra la Violencia: Sólo habrá democracia cuando la mujer ocupe su lugar en la sociedad: Brasdefer,” Doble Jornada, 2 December: 11. Lamas, M. (2003) “The role of women in the New Mexico,” in J.S. Tulchin and A.D. Selee (eds) Mexico’s Politics and Society in Transition, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Lamas, M., Martínez, A., Tarrés, M.L. and Tuñon, E. (1995) “Building bridges: the

194

Linda S. Stevenson

growth of popular feminism in Mexico,” in A. Basu (ed.) The Challenge of Local Feminisms, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Martínez, A.I. (1993) Mujeres Latinoamericanas en Cifras: Mexico, Santiago, Chile: Instituto de la Mujer, Ministerios de Asuntos Sociales de España y Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales (FLACSO). Mazur, A. (1995) Gender Bias and the State: Symbolic Reform at Work in Fifth Republic France, Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Middlebrook, K. (1995) The Paradox of Revolution: Labor, the State and Authoritarianism in Mexico, Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Poniatowska, E. (1971) La Noche de Tlatelolco: Testimonios de Historia Oral, Mexico City: Ediciones Era. Programa Nacional de la Mujer (National Program for Women) (1997) Más Mujeres en el Congreso, Mexico City: Secretaría de Gobernación. Rodríguez, V.E. (1998) “The emerging role of women in Mexico,” in V.E. Rodríguez (ed.) Women’s Participation in Mexican Political Life, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Schneider, A.L. and Ingram, H. (1997) Policy Design for Democracy, Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas. Secretaría de Servicios Parlamentarios, Dirección General de Apoyo Parlamentario (Secretariat of Parliamentary Services, General Center for Parliamentary Support), 2002. LVIII Legislatura. Fecha de Actualización 12-XI-02. Table of Political Parties. Retrieved 24 January 2004 from http://www.cddhcu.gob.mx/ servicios/bancoleg/albumcp/xgenero.PDF. Senado de la República (Senate of the Republic) 2004. Integrantes de la LIX Legislatura. Retrieved 12 January 2004 from http://www.senado.gob.mx/ legislatura.php?ver⫽senadoras. Sternbach, N.S., Navarro-Aranguren, M., Chuchryk, P. and Alvarez, S.E. (1992) “Feminisms in Latin America: from Bogotá to San Bernando,” in A. Escobar and S.E. Alvarez (eds) The Making of Social Movements in Latin America: Identity, Strategy, and Democracy, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Stevenson, L.S. (1998) “Las Mujeres Políticas y la Izquierda en México: Reclamo de un Nuevo Espacio en la Política Institucional,” in M.L. Tarrés (ed.) Género y Cultura en América Latina, Mexico City: University of Mexico. —— (1999) “Gender politics in the Mexican democratization process: electing women and legislating sex crimes and affirmative action, 1988–1997,” in J. Domínguez and A. Poiré (eds) Towards Mexico’s Democratization: Parties, Campaigns, Elections and Public Opinion, New York: Routledge Press. —— (2000) “Gender politics and policy process in Mexico, 1968–2000: symbolic advances for women in an emerging democracy,” unpublished PhD dissertation, Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh. —— (2003) “Organizing for women workers’ rights in Mexico after NAFTA: women and labor creating new forms of transnational contention,” Paper presented at Gender and Globalization Conference, University of Costa Rica, San José, Costa Rica, April. Stone, D. (1997) Policy Paradox: The Art of Political Decision Making, 2nd edn, New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Tarrés, M.L. (1998) “The role of nongovernmental organizations in Mexican public life,” in V.E. Rodríguez (ed.) Women’s Participation in Mexican Political Life, Boulder, CO: Westview Press.

Mexico

195

Torres F.M. (1999) “La lucha contra la violencia hacia las mujeres: 1970–1997,” unpublished dissertation, Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, Unidad Xochimilco. Tulchin, J.S. and Selee, A.D. (eds) (2003) Mexico’s Politics and Society in Transition, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Yáñez, A. (1997) Avancemos un Trecho: Propuestas para la Nueva Periodo Legislativo, Mexico City: Diversa y Equidad.

9

The dimensions and policy impact of feminist civil society Democratic policy-making on violence against women in the fifty US States S. Laurel Weldon

Introduction In Vancouver, Canada, in the 1990s, feminist activists often spoke of working or acting in the “women’s community.” This term was usually used to refer to the network of diverse institutions and events that were run by and for women: this included the annual “Women in View” Festival, which celebrated women’s achievements in the arts; the women’s newspaper Kinesis; the women’s bookstores; women’s cafés; the rape crisis centers; the battered women’s shelters; feminist activists and caucuses in political parties; women’s cultural and political organizations; and the loosely affiliated network of women who reliably attended rallies and protests of all kinds. This community created a very strong sense of women’s presence on the political scene. I am proposing to call this phenomenon “feminist civil society.” Some would deride the idea of a feminist civil society as an oxymoron. Feminist scholars have criticized the very concept of “public sphere” as male-biased because it rests on a public/private distinction and assumes a disembodied citizen, apart from her group affiliation and identity. Yet the concept of civil society offers important insights into feminist politics, and should be reconstituted rather than discarded. I propose that women’s self-organizing to further their own empowerment constitutes a sort of counter-public of women that can influence the broader, male-dominated (and raced and classed) public sphere in which it is embedded. The development of feminist civil society makes democratic policy-making processes more inclusive of women’s voices and reflective of their perspectives by providing a forum for the development of these voices and perspectives and by introducing them into the broader public sphere. Further, I argue, the development of feminist civil society greatly enriches feminist and democratic politics, and should improve state responsiveness to women’s concerns. However, not all women’s associational activity contributes equally to democratic policy-making (Putnam 2000; Young 2000). Indeed, the value

The USA

197

of private or self-regarding groups and large, bureaucratic social movement organizations are particularly disputed. I discern a number of different dimensions of feminist civil society, and identify those elements most important for improving government responsiveness to violence against women in the 50 States of the USA. I find that political and civic organizations, including large social movement organizations, are critical for improving democratic policy responsiveness. Such organizations specifically seek to advance women’s issues in the mainstream public sphere through grassroots campaigns, protest, or lobbying, and diffuse a feminist perspective to the public, thereby improving policy responsiveness on violence against women. In the absence of such outwardly-oriented groups, insights generated in more inwardly-focused or self-regarding organizations, such as cultural organizations designed to speak primarily to women, will not influence public discussion of policy issues.

The concept of feminist civil society Civil society is a type of activity, rather than a particular institution or location. It is a form of social organization that relies on coordination of activity through discussion, persuasion and agreement, in contrast with large-scale systems of social organization such as bureaucratic rulefollowing or the profit-driven logic of markets (Cohen and Arato 1992; Young 2000: 159). On this view, civil society does not map onto particular institutions or locations. Those groups that are self-organized within state or corporate bureaucracies (such as the women’s caucus in the legislature, or a group of social workers aiming to improve the treatment of welfare recipients) are part of civil society, even while the broader institutions of which they are a part (such as the social welfare bureaucracy) are not. Thus, civil society consists of those voluntary interactions and associations that are governed by discussion. Feminist civil society refers to those voluntary associational activities aimed at undermining male domination and promoting the empowerment or status of women (or some sub-group of women) (cf. Beckwith 2000). This includes reformist organizations that focus on improving women’s status by aiming for equality with men as well as groups that focus on gender power relations. Many feminist organizations, of course, focus on issues besides gender oppression or gender equality narrowly construed, including (for example) racial and class oppression in their purview. Indeed, many feminists argue that adhering to feminist principles requires the adoption of a stance against domination and oppression of all kinds (Davis and Martinez 1998; hooks 2000; McIntosh 2000). On the other hand, many feminist groups have resisted efforts to include “other” forms of oppression in their purview. From an analytical standpoint, what distinguishes feminist groups from non-feminist groups is that, at a minimum, women’s status or gender

198

S. Laurel Weldon

oppression more generally is a key agenda item and a focus of the organization. The degree to which feminists actually embrace other axes of oppression beside gender is an empirical question (Beckwith 2000). Feminist civil society, then, includes a wide spectrum of women’s self-organizing, including any women’s organizations that aim to promote women or women’s status, that aim at the empowerment of women or the eradication of male dominance, or that call themselves feminist. Because feminist organizations usually aim to make the empowerment of women a priority, feminist organizations and institutions tend to be run by women. The network of women’s newspapers, magazines, theatre festivals, poetry readings, protests and lobby groups constitute a sort of diffuse discussion among women about their lives, priorities and differences. Because women constitute both the speakers and the audience in this arena, stories and issues tend to be discussed with reference to the conditions and circumstances that divide and unite women. Thus feminist civil society is a sort of women’s public sphere, where women self-organize to work to undermine those social practices and norms that devalue women and the feminine, and keep women subordinate (for comparable arguments with regard to African American public spheres, see Dawson 1994; Squires 2000). On its face, the idea of a women’s public sphere may seem like an impossibility. Feminist theorists have criticized the very concept of the public sphere as being male-biased because it involves a public/private split. For example, feminist critics have argued that certain aspects of life previously deemed private (for example, how a husband treats his wife) should not be understood as beyond the power of the State. In fact, the state ought to intervene in the family to prevent harm. This critique of the public/private distinction asserts that some things that have been thought of as private in the past, ought to be seen as the proper arena for state action – that is, ought to be public (cf. Landes 1988; Pateman 1988; 1989; MacKinnon 1989; Okin 1989). Nevertheless, the concepts of “public” and “private” can be reconceptualized to avoid this problem (Young 1990; Fraser 1992, 1995). If public is understood as meaning open and accessible to everyone, civil society can be said to function as a public sphere if voluntary associational activities are open or accessible to everyone (Young 1990: 73; Fraser 1995: 289). This conceptualization presumes nothing about the issues to be discussed, how discussion will proceed, or the people who will be involved in discussions, so it does not a priori exclude any people or issues from the public sphere, or confine them to a private realm beyond state action. But the assumption that the public sphere is or even can be equally open to everyone regardless of gender or other ascriptive identities is problematic. The notion of a gender-neutral citizen, a citizen considered independently of group affiliation, masks group inequality rather than mitigates it (Young 1990; Fraser 1995). By denying members of marginal-

The USA

199

ized groups the opportunity to draw attention to group inequality and to their differences from dominant groups, such group neutrality implicitly takes dominant group practices and features as norms. For example, assuming that no distinctions can be made according to gender and race precludes the possibility of positive measures to address group-based discrimination, such as some affirmative action policies. Some scholars have further argued that inequalities and exclusions are a necessary part of public spheres because concepts of universality and equality assume a sameness among citizens that punishes those who do not conform to the norms established by dominant groups (Landes 1988; Fraser 1992; Griffin 1996). Actually-existing civil society is riven by the same inequalities that structure society as a whole. Race, gender, class and sexual orientation significantly determine who commands attention when they speak, and whether they are heard. In civil society, as elsewhere, those without money and status are at a disadvantage vis-à-vis those who have these advantages (Fraser 1992; Young 2000; Howell and Pearce 2001). For example, Michael Dawson and Cathy Cohen (1993) have demonstrated that African Americans who live in inner cities have less access to social networks providing political information and opportunities, and thus have a more limited ability to participate in associational and deliberative contexts. Structural group inequality, then, is a significant barrier to the realization of the ideal of civil society as a public sphere, as a “discussion free from domination.” However, this does not mean that subordinated groups have no access to civil society, or that they do not participate in public discussion. Women do seem to have discussions among themselves in a sort of women’s public, and women’s movements certainly influence public discussions in influential ways sometimes (Weldon 2002a). Rather than positing a single public discussion to which all have access, civil society is more like a set of public spheres, including a dominant public sphere in which marginalized groups are silenced and excluded, and subaltern public spheres or counter-publics where marginalized groups are able to organize and express themselves more freely (Fraser 1992; see also Dawson 1994). “[A] postmodern conception of the public sphere theorizes both the multiplicity of public spheres in contemporary late capitalist societies and also the relations among them. It distinguishes, for example, official government public spheres, mass-mediated mainstream public spheres, counter-public spheres, and informal public spheres in everyday life; and it shows how some of these publics marginalize others” (Fraser 1995: 308; Young 2000). These publics are involved in relationships of contestation and struggle rather than deliberation. Feminist civil society, then, is a counter-public of women.1 Women must struggle to form publics apart from a “mainstream” public sphere that favors the forms of masculinity associated with privileged groups of men.

200

S. Laurel Weldon

Civil society deepens democracy when subordinated groups can selforganize to resist domination and press their perspective on the dominant public through argument, protest and other expressive interventions. In civil society, group inequalities are somewhat mitigated by the ability of marginalized groups to self-organize into counter-publics. “However despised or disfranchised, people who are disadvantaged or marginalized can find each other and form associations to improve their lives through mutual aid and articulation of group consciousness”(Young 2000: 166). Indeed, civil society may provide the avenues for social change that are most amenable to feminist activity, which often emphasizes grassroots, incremental change through consciousness-raising and changing public awareness of women’s issues more generally. Because civil society is a type of voluntary, self-generated activity it is more amenable to diverse organizational strategies, and constructing independent, women-centered forms of organization is easier than it is under the purview of institutional or economic hierarchies where organizing principles such as profit-making or rule-following restrict activity. The formation of a feminist civil society is one way for women’s movements to influence democratic policy-making. Civil society provides a crack in the structure of domination that permits otherwise excluded and oppressed groups to voice their concerns in a public arena. The formation of subaltern publics is a process of “withdrawal and regroupment,” and such publics function as “bases and training grounds for agitational activities directed towards wider publics” (Fraser 1992: 123–124). These counter-publics can also disseminate new concepts and ideas, such as sexual harassment, to the dominant public sphere (Fraser 1992). These new ideas are sometimes taken up into the government agenda (Kingdon 1984; Young 2000; Weldon 2002a). Because counter-publics are defined in relation to dominant publics, both kinds of public can be conceptualized as separate parts of a single civil society that have varying degrees of integration or connectedness. In some places counter-publics are completely cut off from dominant conversations, and in others they have better lines of communication. As long as counter-publics are not completely cut off from interaction and engagement in a more general conversation about the general welfare, they provide an important avenue through which marginalized groups can develop and voice their concerns to the broader public (Young 2000). In order to improve democratic processes, counter-publics must focus both on providing a safe or dedicated arena for discussions of marginalized groups among themselves and on making efforts to communicate the positions and perspectives developed in such contexts to the wider public. Of course, this does not ensure that the wider public will receive them favorably or even give them attention, but it makes it much more likely.

The USA

201

Civil society and social movements Numerous scholars have already demonstrated the importance of autonomous women’s movements for policy processes (Gelb and Palley 1982; Gelb 1989; Koven and Michel 1993; Stetson and Mazur 1995; Elman 1996; Weldon 2002a). What is the utility of introducing this new concept of feminist civil society? Social movements are important participants in civil society, and autonomous women’s movements create feminist civil society (cf. Fuentes and Gunder 1989). However, civil society in general exists without social movements, including women’s movements, and includes many participants that are not members of social movements (Eberly 2000; Putnam 2000; Young 2000). Conceptualizing feminist networks as part of a broader civil society draws attention to the broader context of public contestation and expression in which these organizations and actors operate (Fraser 1995). It also draws attention to the engagement (or lack of engagement) of these organizations in the broader public sphere. In addition, the concept of civil society helps illuminate how feminist movements are able to provoke democratic policy change when they are mostly absent from male-dominated arenas of power such as legislatures and boards of Fortune 500 companies (Fraser 1995). They are able to do so by influencing government indirectly, by changing the substance and tone of public debate outside government circles. The concept of civil society clarifies the mechanism by which this influence is exerted. Thus, the concept of a counter-public provides insight into how feminist movements make policy processes more inclusive of women’s perspectives and voices.

Types of civil society organization While we may consider all forms of voluntary associational activities to be part of civil society, not all forms of self-organization contribute equally (or in the same way) to deepening democracy. Indeed, Putnam (2000) argues that although social movements build “social capital” and contribute to democracy, large, bureaucratic social movement organizations may not. National lobby organizations such as the Sierra Club, National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL) and the National Organization for Women (NOW), according to Putnam, involve only checkbook participation, and such thin modes of political participation do not increase participatory democracy. On the other hand, Putnam argues, small group interaction in bowling leagues, card parties, dinner parties and other social settings creates social capital and fosters a sense of interconnectedness among citizens. This interconnectedness contributes to our civicmindedness, spills over into other associational activities and enriches democracy (Putnam 2000: 338–345).

202

S. Laurel Weldon

Iris Young (2000) adopts precisely the reverse account of these different forms of organization. Organizations aimed merely at being sociable, and confined to a particular set of people, are characterized as private organizations. It is difficult to see, Young (2000) observes, how bowling leagues as bowling leagues contribute to a broader discussion of public policy issues or encourage the development of a critical and informed public. She notes: Private clubs such as these . . . belong to that vast layer of associational life where people do something they enjoy, in the company of friends and neighbors, for the sake of that enjoyment. Such private association is a wonderful thing, but it contributes little to the good of wider society . . . Private association, moreover, sometimes is depoliticizing or brazenly self-regarding . . . Too much private association relative to civil and political association . . . may weaken democracy and concern for social justice, because people and groups may care little for outsiders, and indeed may be hostile to others. (Young 2000: 162) Civic associations, unlike private associations, are oriented outwards, towards the wider community. Civic associations produce public goods from which it is likely that some strangers will benefit, such as improving a local park, providing assistance to battered women or poor people, and creating or participating in community newspapers or specialized newsletters: “Unlike private association, civic association tends to be inclusive in this sense that it is open in principle to anyone . . .” (Young 2000: 161). Civic associations may be large, like the United Way, or small, like a local soup kitchen. Political association focuses self-consciously on claims about what the social collective will do: “Political activity consists in voicing issues for public debate about what ought to be done, what principles and priorities should guide social life, what policies should be adopted, how the powerful should be held accountable, and what responsibilities citizenship carries. It allows conflict to surface, and proposes means of adjudicating conflict” (Young 2000: 163). These organizations are also oriented outwards, towards the wider public. Many organizations operate in all three (private, political and civic) ways. Both Putnam and Young agree that civic associations that are run by volunteers and provide services to other citizens are key to a flourishing civil society. The value of private association is less clear. Not all private associations are schools for democracy. Indeed, many are authoritarian in structure and are not democratically organized at all. Even to argue, as Putnam (2000) does, that such activities develop the skills required to participate in other organizational activities (i.e. public speaking, organizing agendas, etc.) seems strained. How does one learn civic virtues at a

The USA

203

dinner party? The connection between such activities and the contribution to a public sphere of critical discussion and political awareness seems tenuous. The link between the professionalized social movement organizations and the public sphere, on the other hand, is more direct. Although these groups may lack face-to-face interaction, their contribution to democratic policy-making does not depend on intimate connection, which makes them well adapted to modern democracy. Although it is true that a donation is often all that is required of members, many such organizations enjoy the support of volunteers (Young 2000). Moreover, the connection between a contributor to NARAL and the organization’s activities extends beyond the exchange of funds. Indeed, such organizations do a great deal to keep citizens informed of developments in Washington, and they encourage political action by members (such as letter writing, telephone calls, etc.) on issues of importance. They organize protests that are open to anyone, member or not, and when they speak in public debates, those who contribute to the organization feel glad to see someone is speaking out on the issue of importance to them. These organizations do tend to be larger and more bureaucratized than some other social movement or neighborhood organizations, but such groups provide a critical function for civil society that complements the function played by smaller and more intense groups. They provide an institutionalized framework, an organizational memory and point of reference for social movement participants (Young 2000). They also make claims on the broader public, which takes considerable resources and organization – resources that are often beyond a small-scale women’s group or a neighborhood association. Through larger bureaucracies that draw on the activities of these smaller groups, the arguments and perspectives developed in local contexts can be translated (albeit not always smoothly or directly) into expression on the national scene. Thus, as part of a vital network of associations, large social movement organizations and some citizen lobby groups can contribute a great deal to the development of civil society. The contribution to public discussions of political issues seems clearer for these groups than it is for card parties or bowling leagues. Still, it is also possible that private associations indirectly strengthen civil society. Putnam argues that such associations create personal connections that can later be used for other purposes, such as political organizing and activity. Indeed, pre-existing social networks are thought to provide the connective tissue through which social movements act (Tarrow 1998). Perhaps private or more inward-looking associations provide indirect, rather than direct, benefits. Still, the direct benefits of political and civic organizing should be greater. This discussion has concrete implications for the study of feminist civil society and its impact on democratic political processes. Feminist civil society involves many different types of organizing, which contribute to

204

S. Laurel Weldon

deepening democracies in different ways and different degrees. Feminist civil society activities, then, will not fall along a single dimension, but will instead be multi-dimensional. Specifically, we should distinguish between private, civic and political/social movement organizations. Putnam (2000) expects that civic organization will be closely related to private or social activities, and is distinct from national, professionalized social movement organizations. Following Young (2000), I posit the opposite relationship: Organizations dedicated to serving others and to addressing the broader public, that is, civic and political associations, should be more closely related to each other than to private or inwardly-focused associations. Moreover, I expect that outwardly-oriented feminist organizing (civic and political organizations) will have a greater direct effect on policy processes than more inwardly-oriented activities (such as private or cultural organizations). Inwardly-oriented activities, however, may be more important for the development of analyses of systems of oppression, group consciousness and solidarity as well as for the development of social networks needed to sustain civic and political organizing (but this would be an indirect effect).

Feminist civil society in the US States In this section, I examine the dimensions and policy impact of feminist civil society across the 50 US States. The 50 States are relatively similar in terms of culture, language, legal and institutional frameworks.2 In addition, comparable data on many aspects of women’s self-organization and on relevant policy issues is available or attainable. For these reasons, the US States provide a good context for exploring a complex concept such as civil society in a comparative manner. The dimensions of feminist civil society Feminist civil society is a complex phenomenon that is likely to be too difficult to observe directly. However, we can examine the symptoms of, or proxies for, the presence of a feminist civil society (the underlying phenomenon) to try to get at the different kinds of associational activities described above. What are the best indicators of the existence of a women’s counter-public? Can we find indicators of the different dimensions of women’s organizing? Are these dimensions, and the indicators associated with them, distinct from one another, or are they closely related? Civil society, as noted, refers to the realm of self-organized citizens who are organized to promote some value or idea apart from the regular operation of state or for-profit activities. The most obvious indicator of such activities might be the prevalence of organized activity. Of course, this statement hides the complexity of the task of measuring civil society: much “organized activity” is loosely or informally organized, and is diffi-

The USA

205

cult to get at empirically (Putnam 2000). In addition, different forms of organization have different effects on civil society, as noted above. Feminist civil society, as noted, suggests the existence of a women’s public. A women’s public consists of organizations and institutions created by and for women. I examine eight types of information about women’s organizing for each of the 50 States. These indicators are: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Membership in national women’s organizations per capita The number of feminist organizations per capita The number of women’s centers per capita The number of rape crisis centers per capita The number of women’s bookstores per capita The number of women’s cultural festivals per capita The existence of a women’s agenda project The existence of a women’s caucus in the legislature.

Although officially-organized groups of women are not the whole story, the number and membership of women’s organizations should tell us something about the state of feminist civil society across States. Feminist organizations are women’s organizations that aim to promote women and to improve women’s status (or at least claim to do so). I examine the number of feminist organizations as well as the number of women belonging to several key women’s organizations for each State.3 Some organizations provide services to women at the same time as they serve the function of providing a space for discussion or self-organization. Such organizations also at times provide bases for action or organizing in regard to policy. Women’s centers and rape crisis centers are organizations that are both civic and political in the terms defined above. As noted, cultural institutions such as cultural festivals and theatre are critical to a marginalized group’s development of a sense of itself, and are critical to the function of self-development for marginalized groups (cf. Sawyers and Meyer 1999). In order to get at the development of this womenfocused cultural life, I examine the number of women’s bookstores and cultural festivals for each State. These indicators also likely capture some of the less formally organized aspects of civil society. In some States women’s organizations forge independent coalitions aimed at developing a women’s agenda, sometimes called agenda projects. I compare States that have such independent coalitions to those that do not.4 Finally, activists sometimes carry on the activities of civil society within institutions like the state. Here I tap this type of activity by examining whether or not there is a women’s caucus in the legislature (Institute for Women’s Policy Research 1999). The data here are from a variety of different years, but mostly from the period 1999–2000. Where older data are used, it is because more recent versions are not available. The use of some data from earlier years,

206

S. Laurel Weldon

however, is not a serious problem in this case. Civil society may be a nebulous target, but it is not fast-moving. Indeed, Putnam notes that the patterns of civic involvement he detects are remarkably enduring, persisting over centuries (Putnam 1993, 2000). Although the individual indicators might change from year to year, I expect that development of a women’s civil society is something that would not vary dramatically over the space of a few years. Rather, the development or decline of a women’s public is generally a long-term process, so using data from a period over a few years gives us a snapshot of women’s counter-publics over that period. I expect that data spanning decades would be necessary to get at big changes in the development of a women’s public (Sabatier 1999).5 Having many types of information about women’s associational activity should permit a more nuanced analysis of that activity. However, with so much information about all 50 States, detecting subtle differences and relationships among indicators by constructing tables of variables for comparison, or by constructing narratives of policy development in each State (typical case study techniques) is a formidable challenge. One solution would be to examine a few cases (say two or three States) in more depth. The disadvantage of pursuing such a strategy is that it does not use all the available information. Such a study would likely be helpful for illuminating the causal mechanisms by which associational activity affects policy outcomes in particular States, but the details of the causal story likely vary considerably across the 50 States. Complex interactions between causal variables can be detailed in case studies, but sorting out which causal variables or interactions among variables are likely to be important in general is more difficult. In such a case, the tools of quantitative analysis can help to organize information and identify patterns. Since we expect to see a number of different dimensions or aspects of civil society, we can use factor analysis to discern whether such dimensions actually do characterize women’s associational activity. Factor analysis helps to sort out whether sets of indicators can be said to vary closely enough together to be indicators for the same concepts or “source variables.” The technique is frequently used in designing surveys of attitudes: it is a way of telling whether all of a series of questions are indicators of the same attitude, or whether there are in fact multiple attitudes being tapped by a set of questions. In this case, we can see whether different types of women’s associational activity are more or less equally related to each other, or whether some types of association tend to cluster, suggesting that they tap some common element not tapped (or more weakly tapped) by the other types of association (Rummel 1967). Factor analysis permits us to group indicators according to these clusters or components (Rummel 1967; Jae-On Kim and Mueller 1978: 69).6 Such an analysis reveals three distinct clusters of types of organization (see Table 9.1).7 The first cluster is mainly defined by the number of women’s

The USA

207

Table 9.1 The dimensions of feminist civil society in the US States component matrix* This table shows the major patterns of variation in the data revealed by the factor analysis. The number of factors or components may be thought of as distinct categories by which the data may be classified. The intersection of row and column gives the loading for the variable onto the component or factor.** Loadings measure “which variables are involved with what factor to what degree” (Rummel 1970). Loadings that are closer to 1 mean that the variable is more strongly related to the factor. Variables with zero or near-zero loadings are unrelated to the factor. Variables with negative loadings are inversely related to the factor. Variables

Women’s centers Bookstores Festivals Rape crisis centers Number of feminist organizations Number of women belonging to large national women’s groups Agenda project Women’s caucus

Components 1 Political and civic organizations

2 Cultural organizations

3 Intragovernmental organizations

⫺0.84 ⫺0.02 ⫺0.05 ⫺0.71 ⫺0.94 ⫺0.61

⫺0.30 ⫺0.74 ⫺0.68 ⫺0.08 ⫺0.02 ⫺0.40

⫺0.00 ⫺0.31 ⫺0.39 ⫺0.09 ⫺0.03 ⫺0.12

⫺0.20 ⫺0.11

⫺0.47 ⫺0.17

⫺0.47 ⫺0.85

Notes * This is an unrotated component matrix. ** Loadings are correlation coefficients between variables and factors. The square of the loading times 100 equals the percent variation that a variable has in common with a factor (Rummel 1970). For example, in the first factor or component shown. “Number of feminist organizations” is the variable most strongly related to the factor or component (since it has the highest factor loading for that component), varying with the factor 88 percent of the time. The variable is unrelated to the second and third factors, varying with those components less than one-tenth of 1 percent of the time.

organizations and women’s centers, and captures the dimension of women’s civic and political association. The second dimension captures women’s cultural organizations, those organizations involved in creating a women’s public, but usually not directly or explicitly focused on or organized around public policy issues. The indicators that are most important for defining this second dimension are women’s bookstores and women’s cultural festivals. A third dimension of women’s civil society is women’s organizing within the state, as indicated by a women’s caucus.8 The fact that the first dimension taps both civic and political organizations (such as the lobbying groups) suggests that these two forms of organization are closely related. This finding suggests that membership in big national women’s organizations is positively related to organizing to provide services through rape crisis centers, coming together in women’s

208

S. Laurel Weldon

centers, and the proliferation of women’s groups more generally. Of course membership in national organizations is more weakly related to this dimension than the other three indicators, but it appears to be part of the same phenomenon of externally-oriented organization.9 This suggests that Putnam and other critics of these large social movement organizations may be undervaluing their contribution to civil society. The main distinction between types of women’s organizing appears to be those that are outwardly oriented, aiming towards political action and the provision of care to others (including potential strangers) and those that are more inwardly oriented, intra-group activities: festivals organized by and for women; bookstores that seek to provide women’s books to women. These latter activities do not aim to change the broader public sphere, but rather to develop the counter-public of women itself. They tend to involve diffuse interaction, and are usually relatively independent of government organizations. Associational activity that is less explicitly organized and more internally oriented tends to follow different patterns than organizing that is more outwardly oriented, either providing services to other women or engaging in dialogue with the general public. Interestingly, women’s organizing inside the state may be negatively related to women’s organizing of agenda projects outside the state. Agenda projects appear to be negatively associated (⫺0.47), with the dimension reflecting intra-state organizing (mainly women’s caucuses) (Table 9.1). Perhaps the need for an agenda project, to establish a women’s policy agenda, seems less pressing when there is a women’s caucus to examine and set policy priorities for women. Even more intriguing is the association of the likelihood of establishing an independent agenda project with the cultural dimension of women’s self-development (0.47) (Table 9.1). It may be that cultural festivals and independent agenda projects are more likely where women’s civil society has a more separatist focus on women’s culture. Indeed, Sawyers and Meyer (1999) argue that the radical, more culturallyoriented arm of the women’s movement is more internally oriented and shuns direct involvement in established political processes. The fact that women’s intra-governmental organizing falls along a different dimension than any organizing women do outside the state suggests that organizing within major state (and perhaps also economic) bureaucracies tends not to follow the same patterns as women’s independent organizing. Thus, if we want to count these activities as part of civil society, we must recognize that the institutional location of such activities seems to make them distinct from independent organizing.10

Feminist civil society and government responsiveness to violence against women Does a more developed feminist civil society result in a policy-making process that better reflects women’s perspectives? Does a greater number

The USA

209

and diversity of women’s self-organizing efforts make policy processes more responsive to women’s concerns? If policy processes are more responsive to women’s perspectives in general, we should see this in the area of policies to address violence against women.11 Feminist scholars have identified violence as a key factor in maintaining women’s subordination (Brownmiller 1975, 1999; Martin 1976; MacKinnon 1989; Elman 1996). In addition to creating a climate of fear and dependency that is destructive to women’s lives and aspirations in and of itself, violence undermines women’s attempts to establish independent households or careers. Policies to address violence against women (unlike say, maternityleave policies or mothers’ pensions) are hard to formulate without challenging traditional gender roles: they challenge male dominance in the family and unfettered male sexual access to women. Violence is also one of the rare issues that cuts across lines of class and race. Because violence against women is an issue that originates with feminist groups outside the apparatus of government (Weldon 2002a), and is an issue of critical importance for the liberation of all women, it is a good starting point for examining whether feminist civil society affects democratic policy processes. Government responsiveness to violence against women has been measured by examining the scope of the policies responding to violence against women (Weldon 2002a). Scope refers to the number of different policy areas across which government response ranges. A government that addresses more areas receives a higher score, while a government that addresses fewer areas receives a lower score.12 Eight areas of government responsiveness were examined for each State. For each area for which the State took action, it received a score of “1” (otherwise zero). The scope of government action on violence is simply the sum of these scores, that is, the number of areas in which the government takes policy action. The measure covers the following policy areas: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Is there a law against assault and battery between intimates? Is stalking legally recognized as a felony or misdemeanor on the first offense? Is there provision for a warrantless arrest for perpetrators of domestic violence? Is there domestic violence training for police? Is there sexual assault training for police and prosecutors? Is there State funding for medical exams for victims of sexual assault? Is there any specific effort by the State government to address violence against women of color? Is there State funding for shelters for victims of domestic violence?

Data for items 1–6 are taken from Institute for Law and Justice publications (1998a, 1998b, 2001a, 2001b), and reflect the status of State

210

S. Laurel Weldon

legislation as of the end of 2000. Data for items 7 and 8 are from interviews with domestic-violence coalition representatives in each State, conducted during fall 2000 and spring 2001. If feminist civil society improves policy responsiveness to women’s concerns, then we would expect to see a positive association between a more developed feminist civil society and policy responsiveness to violence against women.13 Given that we have identified three separate dimensions of feminist civil society, we will want to explore the relationship between each of these dimensions and government responsiveness to violence against women. We can do this using multiple regression analysis. Multiple regression is a form of analysis that helps in sorting out how much of the variance in one variable or factor (the dependent variable) can be reasonably attributed to changes in one of several possible explanatory factors (independent variables). Strictly speaking, such analysis examines how strongly the dependent variable is associated with each independent variable controlling for the influence of the others. Multivariate analysis is very useful for evaluating the relative importance of a number of closely intertwined variables. The coefficients in the regression equation (B’s) provide an idea of the change in the number of policy areas one can expect to be associated with each unit of increase in the independent variables (i.e. the number of women in government and so on). A positive coefficient indicates an increased range of government action, a negative coefficient indicates the reverse. One can get an idea of how useful an explanatory variable is as a predictor of scope of government action by looking at the errors (in the SE column) associated with the coefficient for that variable. If the error is likely to be as big as the coefficient, for example, the variable is a poor predictor.14 As many scholars have noted, policy-making is a complex process with multiple levels: local, State/provincial, national, regional and international policy processes are embedded in one another. Processes in one level or arena are affected by others: ideas and resources filter up from local to national to international arenas, and vice versa (Sabatier 1999). Analytically, however, it is impossible to study all levels at once, even for a single policy issue, so most scholars (especially scholars of comparative politics) must set their sights somewhat lower. Most study policy dynamics at one or two levels, and look for ways to apply and speak back to theories of policy-making more generally (Yin 1994; cf. Putnam 1993). Here I analyze policy processes at the sub-national, State/province level. One complication involves the difficulty of generalizing about the category “women” at all. Beckwith (2000) notes that feminist concerns about generalizing across groups of very different women have prompted some scholars to avoid comparisons, or the category “women,” altogether. In order to ensure that my measure of government responsiveness includes measures that respond to the needs of disadvantaged sub-groups of women, I specifically examine whether State governments adopt policies

The USA

211

to address women of color. I also analyze funding for medical exams for rape victims and domestic violence shelters as policies that will be of particular importance to poor women (although many women from wealthy families may also make use of these services). Other aspects of differences among women are not considered. Control variables Several standard control variables are included in the regression equation. Previous studies have suggested that social and economic factors are important in determining government response to violence against women (Call et al. 1991; Weldon 2002a). These include measures of economic development (State gross domestic product), the proportion of the population living in urban areas (the proportion living in metropolitan areas), and the diversity of the population (measured as the proportion of the population that is either Hispanic or African American, or both). These data are from the US Census Bureau (2000). Since the diversity of the population did not appear to affect the outcome in this case, it was left out of the final analysis. One might expect government response to be greater where violence against women is more pervasive. Despite the many problems with official crime statistics, particularly as they pertain to rape, I investigated using the rate of forcible rape from the FBI’s Uniform Crime Reports as an indicator (albeit terribly imperfect) of the scale of the problem of violence against women. Crime data are taken from the Statistical Abstract of the United States. Including this indicator actually did not improve the explanatory power of the model. Since previous analyses have suggested that levels of violence do not seem to predict policy responsiveness, and since the data are so poor, I eliminated this indicator from the model. Previous studies have found that women’s commissions, when effective, can improve policy responsiveness to violence against women and gender equality policy more generally (Stetson and Mazur 1995; Weldon 2002a). In this study I examine the impact of both the existence and effectiveness of women’s commissions in each of the States. Effectiveness scores are based on the resources (staff, money) and access to the legislative and executive branch that each commission could command. Access by the public and activists was also considered part of effectiveness. The data were based on interviews with commission staff conducted in the summer of 2000, and were supplemented by an analysis of documentary evidence (e.g. annual reports, brochures, newsletters, web pages) wherever possible. Data are for the previous year (1999). State political culture was not included as a control variable since standard measures are incomplete for some critical States in the study (for example, Alaska) (Wright et al. 1985). However, analyses not shown here revealed that controlling for political culture does not appear to make

212

S. Laurel Weldon

much of a difference to the relationship in question – that is, the relationship between feminist civil society and policy outcomes on violence against women. Table 9.2 presents the results of a regression analysis of the relationship between civil society and government responsiveness to violence against women. Controlling for economic development and other relevant variables, it appears that political and civic organizing has a positive association with government responsiveness to violence against women (Model 1). Doubling the amount of civic and political organizing would likely be associated with between one-half and two additional areas of government action (B ⫽ 0.60 ⫹/⫺ 0.28) (Model 1). This could mean adding funding for shelters, legal reforms to address domestic violence and sexual assault, and/or paying for medical exams for rape victims. One or two of these additional actions would be a significant improvement for women victims of violence. A more developed set of cultural organizations, and perhaps independent organization more generally, on the other hand, appears to have little association with government responsiveness to violence against women. The errors for this variable (0.23) are bigger than the coefficients (⫺0.11) Table 9.2 Regression coefficients – State government responsiveness to violence against women, US States, 1999–2000 (R 2 = 0.28) Explanatory variables

B

SE

Civil society variables Political and civic organizing Cultural organizing Intra-governmental organizing

⫺0.60* ⫺0.11 ⫺0.22

0.28 0.23 0.21

Control variables Urbanization Gross State product per capita % women in state legislature Women’s commission effectiveness

⫺0.03** ⫺0.00 ⫺0.01 ⫺0.11

0.01 0.00 0.03 0.11

Notes B – regression coefficients indicate change in the number of policy areas one can expect to be associated with each single unit of increase in the explanatory variables. (A positive coefficient indicates an increased range of government action, a negative coefficient indicates the reverse.) SE – the standard error associated with each coefficient tells us how confident we can be about the estimates we make using the coefficients. Large errors relative to effects mean that we cannot be very confident about the effects. R 2 – measures the amount of variance in the dependent variable (government responsiveness) explained by the model proposed (in this case, the model explains 28 percent, or about a third, of the variance). * Significant at the 0.05 level (i.e. roughly translated, this means there is a 95 percent chance that the observed relationship is not due to sheer chance). ** Significant at the 0.01 level (i.e. roughly translated, this means there is a 99 percent chance that the observed relationship is not due to sheer chance).

The USA

213

(Model 1). Although these organizations may be important for the development of a women’s public in the first place, a proliferation of cultural organizations does not appear to be associated with greater policy responsiveness to violence against women. Interestingly, women’s self-organizing inside the state, such as women’s caucuses, does not seem to influence policy response to violence against women. The error for this variable (0.21) is roughly equivalent to the coefficient (⫺0.22) (Model 1, Table 9.2). As noted, previous research had suggested that women’s caucuses might improve policy-making on women’s concerns (Thomas 1994). Similarly, other measures of women’s presence inside the state also appear to be unrelated to the scope of government response to violence against women. The percentage of women in the legislature similarly appears to be a very poor predictor of government responsiveness to violence against women. Again, the error (0.03) is larger than the coefficient (0.01) (Model 1, Table 9.2). This is consistent with previous research in the area of violence against women (Elman 1996; Weldon 2002a), although some research on other policy areas has found that a critical mass of women legislators improves policy responsiveness.15 The effectiveness of the women’s commission seems to have no association with responsiveness to violence against women when we control for the impact of feminist civil society. The apparent lack of impact of both a women’s caucus and women’s commission effectiveness are particularly surprising given previous research. It may be that the relationship between the effectiveness of these organizational or institutional variables is longer term and requires a greater lag time than this study allows. Or it could be that the issue is one of measurement. Specifically, the measurements of institutional effectiveness may be too refined: it might be more illuminating to compare rougher but more robust categories of effective and ineffective women’s commissions. Previous research finding such effects has used a more straightforward (but less refined) measurement approach to institutional effectiveness. The reverse problem may be obfuscating the importance of a women’s caucus: the mere existence of a women’s caucus may be an insufficiently refined category. Perhaps a measurement scheme more sensitive to the determinants of women’s caucus effectiveness, rather than mere existence, would prove more illuminating. On the other hand, it could be that this finding is accurate, supporting the claims of some feminist state theorists that the location of women’s organizing within the bureaucratic hierarchy of the state precludes (or at least works against) effectiveness (Walker 1990; Busch 1992; Elman 1996). Further research should investigate this issue. Thus, the development of a feminist civil society, particularly one in which extra-governmental political and civic organizations abound, likely increases policy responsiveness to issues of importance to women, such as violence against women. When more inwardly-oriented organizations

214

S. Laurel Weldon

dominate, the policy impact of feminist civil society may be diminished. An intra-group only focus results in cutting women off from the mainstream, from the general public sphere, and reduces women’s influence on public dialogue. Political and civic organizations are critical because they work against group parochialism, and do the work of translating insights garnered from cultural and other women-centered events into public, political claims on the rest of the polity. Through this translation function, they further the development of an inclusive public sphere and deepen democracy. The conclusion should not be drawn, however, that the more culturallyoriented institutions are bad for democracy or promote privatism. Feminist cultural groups and social events, although they are not civic or explicitly aimed at policy issues, may foster the development of a women’s community and culture that supports and reinforces more outwardly-oriented political activities (cf. Putnam 2000). As Young (2000: 166) notes, many of these group-focused cultural and social organizations are critical for the development of group identity and solidarity for oppressed groups such as women: “Through literature, theatre, song, visual art, social networking and exchange about civic projects, and critical analysis, relatively silenced social sectors envision and articulate new experiences and social perspectives.” More culturally-oriented activities (such as arts festivals and bookstore events) may be important for building the networks and relationships that are critical for social movement development. This broader forum for discussion also provides an opportunity to develop many of the ideas and analyses that lobbyists and organizers end up advancing in policy briefs and lobbying activities. This informal activity may be a critical part of a feminist civil society that creates a “national mood” in which women’s organizations have a greater impact (Kingdon 1984). Research that explores the nature of the interactions between different types of women’s organizing is needed to explore this interpretation. Women’s intra-state organizing appears to be distinct from women’s independent organizing outside the state. At the same time, intra-State organizing appears to have little impact on government responsiveness to violence against women. This suggests that when feminist civil society is entirely contained within the state, it is not sufficiently independent to permit the articulation of women’s distinctive perspective. Identifying such differences in the development of feminist civil society might help to describe and understand cross-national differences in democratic political processes. Swedish women’s organizations, for example, have been largely oriented towards, and even entirely contained within, state institutions, and yet the Swedish women’s movement has had relatively little impact on policy. The absence of an autonomous women’s counter-public, then, likely makes Sweden’s women’s movement relatively weak in terms of its influence over policy processes (Elman 1996; Gelb 1989). This suggests that if feminist civil society is to have its greatest

The USA

215

impact on democratic policy-making, it must remain somewhat oriented towards the broader public sphere but not be entirely contained within the state. These conclusions depend to some degree on whether these findings regarding policies on violence against women hold for other policy issues and other country contexts. Violence against women is a unique issue in that its impact is felt across divisions of class and race. Perhaps other issues that tended to appeal only to particular subgroups of women would follow a different dynamic. Similarly, feminist civil society may be particularly important in the United States because the federal system provides more points of access (Elman 1996).16 Exploring the impact of feminist civil society on other policy areas and in other national contexts would provide answers to these questions.

Conclusion Feminist civil society, then, is a form of women’s political activity that improves policy responsiveness to women’s issues and deepens democracy. In feminist civil society, women form a sort of counter-public in which they develop and express their distinctive viewpoint independent of the male-dominated public sphere. They also work to introduce this perspective into political deliberation more generally, thereby improving democratic government responsiveness to women’s concerns such as violence against women. Not all of women’s associational activity affects democratic politics in the same way or to the same degree. There are at least three distinct dimensions of feminist civil society: civic and political organizations, cultural organizations and intra-governmental organizations. The patterns of government responsiveness to violence against women suggest that an emphasis on civic and political organizations (such as large social movement organizations) more than self-regarding organizations (contra Putnam) makes sense in terms of promoting democracy. The first dimension, political and civic organization, appears to be the most important for determining policy influence because it contributes to the public spheres most directly linked to policy processes: government public spheres and mainstream public spheres. At the same time, this type of organizing is most effective when it is independent of state institutions: women’s intrastate organizing constitutes a separate dimension, and seems to have little impact on policies on violence against women. The finding that more overtly political organizations (such as lobby groups) are more strongly associated with policy change than cultural institutions such as bookstores is not a self-evident conclusion. As noted, some have argued that seemingly less political organizations provide more opportunities for meaningful political participation (Putnam 2000). In addition, many feminists see such women-centred organizations as the

216

S. Laurel Weldon

grassroots of the movement, as the source of the movement’s vitality. Social movement scholars in general emphasize the importance of social networks in facilitating mobilization. Nevertheless, it seems that organizational strategies that focus on developing women’s culture have less direct impact in terms of wider policy influence than do strategies oriented towards lobbying male-dominated institutions or transforming the broader, male-dominated public sphere. As noted, women’s cultural organizations may indirectly exert influence by facilitating the development of women’s perspectives in the first place. But these indirect effects, I argue, must work through a causal link between political and civic organization and government policy. For this reason, this study focuses on the task of establishing this important direct relationship. Political and civic organizations are, I contend, the key link between feminist civil society and policy-making processes. When a women’s public is entirely focused inwards, and only communes within the group, feminist civil society does not improve policy responsiveness. When self-regarding organizations are balanced with political and civic organizations, however, feminist civil society brings women’s perspective into the broader public sphere and makes democratic policy-making more responsive to women’s concerns.

Acknowledgments Manjusha Gupte and Pamela Lubin provided excellent research assistance. Lael Kaiser and Maureen Oakley generously shared their data with me. Amy Caiazza at the Institute of Women’s Policy Research provided invaluable assistance with locating sources and data. Susan Hansen provided valuable advice on contacting women’s organizations by State. Anya Bernstein, Aaron Hoffman, David Meyers, Pat Boling, Ethyl Brooks, and Iris Young read versions of the paper and provided valuable feedback. Bill Shaffer, Amy Elman, Suzie Parker, Marko Nilsson, Jay McCann, Rosalee Clawson and Harry Targ raised critical points and made helpful suggestions. Mary Hawkesworth, Jude Howell, Gillian Youngs, and Kathleen B. Jones also made helpful comments and suggestions. Thanks also to the many activists and civil servants, too numerous to name here, who provided data on their State for this study. Faculty Incentive Grants (2000, 2001) from Purdue University provided financial support for this research.

Notes 1 This counter-public itself is a decentered set of sub-publics, rather than a unified or domination-free discussion. 2 Of course, this is not to deny significant variation across the states: The state politics literature is focused on explaining such variation. Nevertheless, less variation in some key respects (dominant language, some aspects of the institutional framework, and so on) simplifies somewhat the comparative task at hand.

The USA

217

3 Numbers of feminist organizations and the different types of organizations are from the database of organizations called Electrapages (2000). This database permits searches by type of organization and by state. The database is compiled by the Women’s Information Exchange, an organization that aims to provide a database of feminist organizations and has been in operation since 1980. Bookstores’ data were checked against two other national lists of women’s bookstores. All population data for all indicators are from the US Bureau of the Census. The number of women that are members of major women’s organizations per capita is measured using an index developed by Lael Kaiser (1997), made up of the total membership in the National Organization for Women (NOW), the American Association of University Women (AAUW), Business and Professional Women (BPW), the League of Women Voters (LWV) and the National Council of Jewish Women (NCJW) (Kaiser 1997). It should be noted that although the latter indicator does not include any of the major national organizations of women of color, the other data sources on women’s organizations include many organizations of women of color. It would be a great contribution to the literature on women and politics in the US States to develop a database of membership in these organizations by state (Minkoff 1997). 4 I employ a dataset on the existence of state agenda projects in 1995 provided by the Center for Policy Alternatives. States are coded “1” for the presence of such an agenda project and “0” otherwise. Although the data are from 1995, I expect that even if the effort to establish an agenda project did not persist, the effects on policy-making would be considerable. Like the Beijing Conference, or Presidential or Royal commissions on women’s status, these agenda projects can provide a set of priorities even when the actual agenda forming body has been dispersed (although after some time, say ten years, a new agenda setting body would be needed). 5 Note that I am referring to feminist civil society here, and not women’s movements themselves. The network of institutions and organizations created by women’s movements takes longer to develop and persists much longer than periods of activity of women’s movements themselves. For example, the second wave of feminism in the UK is thought to have begun to taper off towards the end of the 1970s, or perhaps the mid-1980s, but by 1994 there were still 240 or more women’s organizations (Lovenduski 1995; Barrett 1993; United Kingdom 1993; United Nations 1995). Similarly, although many people are discussing the current “third wave” of feminism in the United States, “second wave” organizations (such as the National Organization for Women (NOW)) have never ceased to exist. 6 A note about the epistemological underpinnings of the work presented here may prevent misunderstanding. Some readers assume that the use of quantitative methods suggests a positivist epistemological orientation. Others argue that quantitative methods are “less feminist” than qualitative, hermeneutic methods such as ethnography. Contrary to these views, neither positivism nor feminism requires the use of a particular method. (For a straightforward and accessible discussion of feminism and method see Harding (1987), and for such a discussion of positivism (logical empiricism), hermeneutics, pragmatism and other approaches to social science see Diesing (1991).) Although I employ quantitative methods of analysis in this paper, my epistemological approach can probably be best described as a sort of pragmatism: I view methods as interpretive tools or techniques that are more or less useful depending on the question one seeks to answer and the information one has available. 7 These three components account for about 65 percent of the variance. 8 It is usual to eliminate factors defined by only one or two variables (singletons or doubletons) as they are assumed to be trivial, since they are associated with

218

9

10

11 12

13

S. Laurel Weldon

only one or two variables. The usual way of proceeding is to eliminate the less significant components by forcing the analysis into fewer components. In this case, such a procedure does not make sense. Although the third component is defined mainly by one variable (women’s caucus), that variable is highly theoretically significant. The fact that the variable does not fall along the same dimensions as the other indicators runs counter to one of our hypotheses and suggests that further research is needed. Similarly, the fact that one variable (agenda project) loads onto two components (in different directions) is not uninterpretable. For these reasons I chose to retain all three components in the analysis. As a matter of interest, analyses which did force the analysis into two components had the variable “women’s caucus” loading very weakly onto both of the first two components, but otherwise left the results for the first two components unchanged. I should note that I am considering those organizations in which women provide services to other women and agitate for justice for women, such as rape crisis centers, to be externally- rather than internally-oriented organizations. This may seem odd, since these organizations are women-focused in terms of their service provision. I count these organizations as civic rather than, say, cultural organizations, because of their focus on providing services to women and empowering women rather than on self-expression of the participants or on mutual communication (although this may also occur). In addition, rape crisis centers usually offer educational and other awareness programs oriented towards the general public, and representatives often act as public authorities on sexual assault and rape in their communities. So these organizations focus more on service provision, education and awareness (civic and political activities) than on the development of women’s culture or identity (although this is a likely by-product of their activities). The distinctions between different types of organizations here are intended to identify tendencies and clusters, according to the primary purpose of the organization or institution. These distinctions should not be overdrawn: Many organizations function as cultural, social, political and service institutions. Still, the type of organization can be used as a general indicator of the primary purpose of the organization in regard to cultural, social, political or service-oriented activities. The clustering of organizations observed above seems to support this approach. For a discussion of the concept of “women’s perspectives” in the context of deep division among women, and its relation to feminist movements see Weldon (2002b). Because the measure includes action across many different types of government action (including for example, both redistributive and regulatory policies) traditional measures of the degree of relationship among the elements of the scale do not apply (Weldon 2002a, 2002b). Of course, correlation or mere association is not proof of causation. As Hume (1975) pointed out, causes can never be directly observed, but rather can be inferred from constant conjunction (they always occur together) and causal sequence (the effect must not occur before the cause). Of course, proving causality is even trickier than Hume’s account would suggest. Often, a plausible story, narrative or account linking the cause and the effect is also required to build a convincing case that a relationship is causal. In this case, the theoretical account is intended to provide an account of how the cause might exert its effect, and the finding of an association is intended as evidence that supports the argument that certain forms of feminist civil society occurs before and with more responsive policies. In this analysis, the explanatory variables use data from years that are prior to the indicators of the dependent variable (govern-

The USA

219

ment response), some part of the causal relationship must be in the direction I posit. 14 Note that although I report statistical significance in Table 9.2, the population here is a total population of states and not a random sample. For this reason I do not refer to statistical significance in my analysis, and restrict myself to describing variation across the population of states. In this case, examining statistical significance would make little or no substantive difference in the interpretation of results. 15 Such a critical mass effect was not visible here. See Weldon (2002b) for a review of the literature on the impact of women’s representation. 16 For a discussion of the Americanization of the debate over civil society, especially in relation to development, see Howell and Pearce (2001).

References Barrett, J. (ed.) (1993) Encyclopedia of Women’s Associations Worldwide, London: Gale Research. Beckwith, K. (2000) “Beyond compare? Women’s movements in comparative perspective,” European Journal of Political Research 37: 431–468. Brownmiller, S. (1975) Against Our Will: Men, Women and Rape, New York: Simon and Schuster. —— (1999) In Our Time: Memoir of a Revolution, New York: Dial Press. Busch, D.M. (1992) “Women’s movements and state policy reform aimed at domestic violence against women: a comparison of the consequences of movement mobilization in the United States and India,” Gender and Society 6(4): 587–608. Call, J., Nice, D. and Talarico, S. (1991) “An analysis of State rape shield laws,” Social Science Quarterly 72(4): 774–788. Center for Policy Alternatives (1995) A Matter of Simple Justice: Beijing Blue Book, Washington, DC: Center for Policy Alternatives. Cohen, J. and Arato, A. (1992) Civil Society and Political Theory, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Davis, A.Y. and Martinez, E. (1998) “Coalition building among people of color: a discussion with Angela Y. Davis and Elizabeth Martinez,” in J. James (ed.) The Angela Davis Reader, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 297–306. Dawson, M. (1994) “A black counterpublic? Economic earthquakes, racial agenda(s) and black politics,” Public Culture 7: 195–224. Dawson, M. and Cohen, C. (1993) “Neighborhood poverty and African American politics,” American Political Science Review 87(2): 286–302. Diesing, P. (1991) How Does Social Science Work? Reflections on Practice, Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Eberly, D.E. (ed.) (2000) The Essential Civil Society Reader: The Classic Essays, New York: Rowman and Littlefield. Electrapages Directory (www.electrapages.org). Elman, R.A. (1996) Sexual Subordination and State Intervention: Comparing Sweden and the United States, Oxford: Berghahn Books. Fraser, N. (1992) “Rethinking the public sphere: a contribution to the critique of actually existing democracy,” in C. Calhoun (ed.) Habermas and the Public Sphere, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 109–142. —— (1995) “Politics, culture, and the public sphere: toward a postmodern

220

S. Laurel Weldon

conception,” in L. Nicholson and S. Seidman (eds) Social Postmodernism: Beyond Identity Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Fuentes, M. and Gunder, F.A. (1989) “Ten theses on social movements,” World Development, 17(2): 179–191. Gelb, J. (1989) Feminism and Politics: A Comparative Perspective, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Gelb, J. and Palley, M.L. (1982) Women and Public Policies, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Griffin, C. (1996) “The essentialist roots of the public sphere: a feminist critique,” Western Journal of Communication 60(1): 21–40. Harding, S. (1987) Feminism and methodology: social science issues, Bloomington: Indiana University Press; Milton Keynes: Open University Press. hooks, b. (2000) Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center, Boston, MA: South End Press. Howell, J. and Pearce, J. (2001) Civil Society and Development: A Critical Exploration, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Hume, D. (1975) Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and Concerning the Principles of Morals, 3rd edn, with text revised and notes by P.H. Nidditch. Open University Set Book, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Institute for Law and Justice (1998a) Review of State Sexual Assault Legislation, Alexandria, VA: ILJ (available at www.ilj.org). —— (1998b)Review of State Domestic Violence Legislation, Alexandria, VA: ILJ (available at www.ilj.org). —— (2001a) 2000 Legislative Session: Violence Against Women Legislation, Alexandria, VA: ILJ (available at www.ilj.org). —— (2001b) 1999 Domestic Violence, Stalking, and Sexual Assault Legislation, Alexandria, VA: ILJ (available at www.ilj.org). Institute for Women’s Policy Research (1999) Unpublished data (personal communication). Jae-On Kim and Mueller, C.W. (1978) Introduction to factor analysis: what it is and how to do it, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Kaiser, L. (1997) “The influence of women’s political power on bureaucratic output: the case of child support enforcement,” British Journal of Political Science 27: 111–155. Kingdon, J.W. (1984) Agendas, Alternatives, and Public Policy, 2nd edn, Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company. Koven, S. and Michel, S. (eds) (1993) Mothers of a New World: Maternalist Politics and the Origins of Welfare States, New York: Routledge. Landes, J.B. (1988) Women and the Public Sphere in the Age of the French Revolution, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Lovenduski, J. (1995) “An emerging advocate: the equal opportunities commission in Great Britain,” in D. McBride Stetson and A.G. Mazur (eds) Comparative State Feminism, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. MacKinnon, C. (1989) Toward a Feminist Theory of the State, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Martin, D. (1976) Battered Wives, San Francisco, CA: Glide Publications. McIntosh, P. (2000) “White privilege and male privilege: a personal account of coming to see correspondences through work in women’s studies,” in A. Minas (ed.) Gender Basics, Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

The USA

221

Minkoff, D.G. (1997) “Organizational mobilizations, institutional access, and institutional change,” in C.J. Cohen, K.B. Jones and J.C. Tronto (eds) Women Transforming Politics: An Alternative Reader, New York: New York University Press. Okin, S. (1989) Justice, Gender and the Family, New York: Basic Books. Pateman, C. (1988) The Sexual Contract, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. —— (1989) The Disorder of Women: Democracy, Feminism and Political Theory, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Putnam, R.D. (1993) Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. —— (2000) Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, New York: Touchstone. Rummel, R.J. (1967) “Understanding factor analysis,” Journal of Conflict Resolution XI(4): 444–480. —— (1970) Applied Factor Analysis, Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Sabatier, P.A. (1999) Theories of the Policy Process, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Sawyers, T.M. and Meyer, D.S. (1999) “Missed opportunities: social movement abeyance and public policy,” Social Problems 46(2): 187–206. Squires, C.R. (2000) “Black Talk Radio.” Harvard International Journal of Press/Politics 5(2): 73–96. Stetson, D.M. and Mazur, A.G. (eds) (1995) Comparative State Feminism, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Tarrow, S. (1998) Power in Movement: Social Movements and Contentious Politics, 2nd edn, Cambridge Studies in Comparative Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thomas, S. (1994) How Women Legislate, New York: Oxford University Press. United Kingdom, Foreign and Commonwealth Office (1993) Women in Britain, London: Foreign and Commonwealth Office. United Nations (1995) The World’s Women: Trends and Statistics, Series K, No. 9, New York: United Nations. U.S. Census Bureau (2000) Statistical Abstract of the United States, Washington, DC: US Department of Commerce. Walker, G. (1990) Family Violence and the Women’s Movement: The Conceptual Politics of Struggle, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Weldon, S.L. (2002a) Protest, Policy and the Problem of Violence Against Women: A CrossNational Comparison, Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. —— (2002b) “Beyond bodies: institutional sources of representation for women in democratic policymaking,” Journal of Politics 64(4): 1153–1174. Wright, G.C., Erickson, R.S. and McIver, J. (1985) “Measuring State political ideology with survey data,” Journal of Politics 47: 469–489. Yin, R.K. (1994) Case Study Research: Design and Methods, 2nd edn, Applied Social Research Methods Series, Vol. 5, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Young, I. (1990) Justice and the Politics of Difference, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Young, I.M. (2000) Democracy and Inclusion, Oxford Series in Political Theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

10 Who is the real civil society? Women’s groups versus pro-family groups at the International Criminal Court negotiations Marlies Glasius Introduction The Statute for an International Criminal Court (further: the Statute), was adopted on 17 July 1998, and entered into force on 1 July 2002. It came about after three years of negotiation under the auspices of the United Nations (UN), first in a series of Preparatory Committee (PrepCom) sessions between 1995 and 1998 and culminating in a final conference in Rome in the summer of 1998, on the basis of a draft Statute produced by the International Law Commission, a UN commission of legal experts, at the request of the UN General Assembly. The establishment of the International Criminal Court (further: ICC) can be considered as a small revolution in international law for two reasons. First, the International Criminal Court will be an important step in the ongoing transition towards an international legal order that is less based on state sovereignty and more oriented towards the protection of all citizens of the world from abuse of power. Secondly, it is ‘the first international treaty to recognize a range of acts of sexual and gender violence as among the most serious crimes under international law’ (Steains 1999: 357). Both of these features of the Court have already received much attention in the writings of legal scholars, diplomats and activists (see, for instance, Bos 1999, Bassiouni 1999, de Frouville 2000 on the significance of the Court to international law generally; on gender aspects of the Statute, see Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999, Oosterveld 1999; Steains 1999; Boon 2001). This chapter will focus on how the gender provisions came into the Statute, discussing the ICC negotiations as a critical episode in the recurrent clash within global civil society between the women’s movement and the ‘pro-family’ movement. The terms ‘women’s movement’ and ‘profamily movement’, used in this chapter, are of course oversimplifications. Both movements are pluralistic, consisting of many smaller alliances, which are sometimes at odds with each other. These terms, rather than others, are employed here because they are among the most frequently used self-identifying terms of both groups, but without endorsing the possible connotations they might appear to have – that all women are

International Criminal Court negotiations

223

represented by the former, or that those who are not part of the latter are somehow ‘anti-family’. The term ‘pro-family’ was preferred over ‘pro-life’, as the concerns of these groups at the ICC extended beyond abortion, including opposition to the use of the term ‘gender’. The term ‘women’s groups’ was preferred over ‘feminist groups’ because most organisations prefer this over the narrower and polarising term ‘feminist’, even though they would probably subscribe to some form of feminist value system if pushed on the matter. Both types of groups operate in the realm of civil society and, for the purposes of this chapter, in global civil society. Civil society, let alone global civil society, is a confusing term. As even a brief glance at the literature would show, it has many meanings. There are as many definitions of ‘civil society’, and ‘global civil society’, as there are authors – in fact there are more (for multiple definitions, see for instance Howell and Pearce 2001: 13–37; Lewis 2002; Kaldor 2003: 6–12). Nevertheless, I use this term rather than other current ones such as ‘global social movements’ (Cohen and Rai 2000), ‘advocacy networks in international politics’ (Keck and Sikkink 1998) or ‘global citizen action’ (Edwards and Gaventa 2001) quite intentionally to characterise the ensemble of people and organisations I describe in this chapter. I prefer this term for two reasons. First, the history of the term ‘civil society’ is bound up with the notion of rules to protect citizens (see, for instance, Seligman 1992; Keane 1998; Kaldor 2003). While this was initially a nation-based ideal, the post-World War II notion of universal human rights, coupled with a thickening network of international rules directly affecting citizens, has given birth to the utopia of a global rule-bound society. This history of humanitarian law and human rights law has been much more a product of the activities of people outside government than is commonly accepted (Glasius 2003, 2005: forthcoming). Hence, the idea of global civil society and humanitarian and human rights law are historically connected. This connection is of obvious relevance to this chapter with regard to the influence of civil society groups on the Statute for an International Criminal Court. The second reason for using the term ‘civil society’ is that, owing to Hegel (but accepted by all subsequent theorists), it suggests a separation from, but at the same time a relationship with, the state. In global civil society this relationship gets further complicated, as the concept expresses the possibility of emancipation from and leverage on one’s own state through cross-cutting alliances with other civil society groups as well as other states (Keck and Sikkink 1998; Kaldor 2003). This too is a main theme of this chapter. So what exactly is this global civil society? Elsewhere, with two coauthors, I adopted the following definition: ‘global civil society is the sphere of ideas, values, institutions, organisations, networks, and individuals located between the family, the state, and the market and operating beyond the confines of national societies, polities, and economies’

224

Marlies Glasius

(Anheier et al. 2001: 17). Here, I propose a definition that is both narrower and more concrete: global civil society consists of people organising to influence their world. Hence it involves some sort of deliberate gettingtogether, and it is a political definition, excluding people who organise to play darts or make money. However, it suggests that (global) civil society is a contested terrain, populated by value-driven actors, but not with a single harmonious value system: as this chapter will show, their values clash (see also Chapter 1). While confrontations between women and patriarchal power-holders are as old as the hills, national policy debates about sexuality and birth control in particular emerged in the West with the second generation of women’s movements in the 1960s and 1970s. The issue of abortion became the prime matter of controversy, especially in the United States. Various authors have discussed the subsequent transnational debates over feminist priorities and the eventual convergence of many women’s groups around the issue of violence against women, the controversies they faced and the strengths of what is now a vibrant global women’s movement (Friedman 1995; Keck and Sikkink 1998; Joachim 1999; Bunch et al. 2001; Sen 2003). However, little attention has been paid to the fact that pro-family groups, both Protestant and Catholic, but always supported by a globallyoriented Catholic Church, have also come to form a transnational movement which confronts the women’s movement at every United Nations (UN) forum which has any relevance to sexual issues.1 There is a clear need for further research into the beliefs, tactics and leadership of this movement generally. Such research will be helpful in understanding that global civil society is not the exclusive domain of ‘progressive’ human rights, environmental, social justice and women’s rights activists; it is a space co-inhabited by conservatives, anti-abortionists and religious fundamentalists. More particularly, knowing more about the pro-family movement will be helpful to the transnational women’s rights activists who continually have to confront them. This chapter will attempt to make a small contribution towards these aims by focusing on the interplay of the women’s movement and the pro-family movement with state delegates in the negotiations on the International Criminal Court. The surfacing of two social movements with contradictory aims at the same venue highlights the significance of recurring questions about civil society participation in international fora: Who is legitimate? Who is representative? Who has a right to be there? Women’s groups have been confronted with diverse voices from within the movement, but they still tend to be collectively considered at UN fora as the sole representatives of women’s concerns. Some pro-family groups explicitly question this notion. REAL (Realistic Active for Life) Women of Canada, for instance, argues: ‘No one organization or ideology can represent the views of all women any more than any one organization can represent the views of all men.

International Criminal Court negotiations

225

Until the formation of REAL Women of Canada, there was no voice to represent the views of those many thousands of women who take a different point of view from that of the established feminist groups’ (www.realwomenca.com). The remainder of this chapter will look into the claims to legitimacy and representativeness of both types of groups, as well as the manner and success of their lobbying activities, in the negotiations on the International Criminal Court (ICC).

The two movements at the ICC negotiations Women’s groups The emergence and main foci of the present-day global women’s movement have been described by others. This chapter will focus on the interest women’s groups came to have in emerging international criminal law, which brought together two sets of transnational advocacy experiences. On the one hand, this interest built on the United Nations conferences, often described as crucial to the emergence of a global women’s movement. After the earlier conferences of the UN Decade for Women (Mexico City 1975; Copenhagen 1980; Nairobi 1985) had played a major role in building women’s networks, it was particularly at the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna in 1993 and the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995 that progress was made in actually inserting gender concerns into the final declarations of the conferences (Keck and Sikkink 1998: 186–188; Bunch 2001: 219–221). These were not treaty-making conferences, however, and the challenge for women’s rights groups was to take the progressive texts of these ‘aspirational’ declarations into the ‘mainstream big-boy venue of hard-core international law’ of the ICC negotiations (Interview, Hall Martinez;2 cf. also Steains 1999: 360). On the other hand, experiences with the Yugoslavia tribunal were a particular inspiration to women’s groups’ advocacy for an ICC. While it had been pointed out earlier that women are always particularly vulnerable to abuse in conflicts (see, for instance, Erb 1998: 401–402 for a harrowing catalogue of war-related violence against women in the twentieth century), the use of rape as a component of ethnic cleansing in the former Yugoslavia brought the lack of legal protection to international attention (Steains 1999: 359). Although the statute of the Yugoslavia Tribunal did not contain any gender-specific mandate, its functionaries recognised that an ostensibly gender-neutral justice system would in fact fail to address gender-specific abuses, and took on board some of the concerns of women’s groups. An officer for gender issues was appointed within the prosecutor’s office, and it was decided to allow rape victims to give testimony anonymously and to prosecute rape as a war crime – an issue to which the first prosecutor, Richard Goldstone, was particularly committed (Sharratt and Kaschak 1999: 12–13, 31, 54). It was in their

226

Marlies Glasius

relations with the tribunal in The Hague that Yugoslav women and their European supporters had their first experience of inscribing women’s concerns into international criminal law, an experience they built on at the ICC negotiations in New York and Rome. Later, the Akayesu case before the Rwanda tribunal provided further illustrations to the case for gender justice: the suspect was convicted of genocide in the form of systematic rape and sexual violence after probing, but sensitive, questioning of witnesses by the only female judge, Navi Pillay (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999). The main civil society interest in the ICC negotiations came from human rights organisations. Lawyers (for instance, bar associations), global governance organisations, peace groups and faith-based organisations were also represented (Glasius 2002: 140–144). In 1995, an NGO Coalition for an International Court (CICC) was formed, which grew into a loose but very effective lobbying body, of which nearly all NGOs and individuals who took an interest in the Court were members. At the final conference in Rome, it split into three types of groups: regional caucuses, who lobbied state representatives from their own regions; thematic caucuses, including the Women’s Caucus, and 12 working groups on different parts of the draft Statute. The last of these shadowed the corresponding working groups of state representatives on different sets of chapters, and made daily reports available to NGOs and state delegates (Pace and Thieroff 1999: 394). While some women’s groups, such as Equality Now, had been involved since the first state negotiations on the ICC in 1995, most were relative latecomers to the process. The Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice was formed at the initiative of a small group of women’s rights activists present at the February 1997 PrepCom, who realised that, without a much stronger effort, gender concerns were not going to be adequately represented in the negotiations. It quickly grew to be a coalition within a coalition, with hundreds of member organisations by the time of the Rome conference (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999; Durham 2000: 829). While the Women’s Caucus was born out of the idea that gender concerns were not adequately represented by members of the existing Coalition, the Coalition did support the organisation and lobbying efforts of the Women’s Caucus, made it a member of its Steering Committee, and eventually adopted as one of its Basic Principles that the ICC ‘should ensure that all aspects of its work take gender concerns into account’ (CICC 1998). The Women’s Caucus could accurately claim to be representative of a global audience, as shown by a geographic breakdown of the women’s organisations accredited to the Rome Conference (Figure 10.1). This figure gives only a very partial picture of the make-up of the Women’s Caucus, for two reasons. First, it is only a snapshot of organisations present at Rome, not showing organisations who were active before and after

International Criminal Court negotiations Middle East/ North Africa 0%

Unknown 3%

227

International 3% North America 19%

Asia–Pacific/ Australia 19%

Latin America 13%

Europe 16%

Sub-Saharan Africa 27%

Figure 10.1 Women’s groups at Rome – geographical distribution.

Rome, or only at the domestic level. Second, the Women’s Caucus was a network of individuals and organisations – one of its most active members, Rhonda Copelon, for instance, was not affiliated to any NGO – and this figure only shows the latter. Nevertheless, it shows that women’s groups from every region were represented, with the exception of North Africa and the Middle East. The lack of representation from this region, while unfortunate, is hardly surprising. In many of the countries in this region there is not enough political space for civil society groups to operate freely, and the situation for progressive women’s organisations is even bleaker. The Women’s Caucus was highly visible in Rome: it had between 12 and 15 people at Rome at all times (Facio 1998: 3–4). The delegation, moreover, included both women from conflict areas and experts on the ‘hard-core legal stuff’ (Interview, Hall Martinez). While the former could speak with moral authority about violations of women’s rights, the latter could invoke emerging precedents in national and international law. The Women’s Caucus was also able, due to its large numbers and energy but also its natural advantage in often (but by no means inevitably!) finding allies in female state delegates, to get many states on its side. One member of the Caucus mentions Australia, Bosnia, Canada, Costa Rica, Mexico, the Netherlands, European countries generally, South Africa for ten Southern African countries, and Sweden among the countries the Caucus had very good relations with (Interview, Hall Martinez). This list is particularly formidable because it includes the two countries chairing the negotiations (first the Netherlands and later Canada), two other countries that chaired

228

Marlies Glasius

working groups on different parts of the Statute (South Africa and Sweden), and the country chairing the special negotiations on gender issues (Australia) (List of Contributors 1999). One person from the Women’s Caucus (the ‘snake’, see below) became a member of the Canadian state delegation, another went on the delegation of Costa Rica (Facio 1998: 14). All this suggests that there was a strong overlap in values and aspirations between the Women’s Caucus and the so-called LikeMinded Group of states which drove the negotiations. ‘Family’ groups While abortion is the primary focus of the pro-family movement, some of the groups it comprises also campaign against euthanasia, contraception and cloning, promote what they call a Christian approach to politics, encourage women as home-makers, advocate for marriage and against cohabitation and homosexual and transsexual life-styles, and favour the prohibition of prostitution and pornography (see websites REAL Women of Canada; Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute (C-FAM); Campaign Life Coalition; Human Life International). In the latter two areas, their aims are by no means diametrically opposed to all parts of the women’s movement (see Sen 2003: 138–140, 145 on divisions within the women’s movement over the sex industry). At least one pro-family group, the Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute, has a permanent office at the UN in New York, and keeps a close eye on all UN processes that touch on its concerns. Its aims include ‘act[ing] as a liaison and network referral service on behalf of similar organizations worldwide’ (C-FAM website). In November 1997, this group published an appeal by the Vatican for stronger involvement of pro-family NGOs in UN Conferences. A month later, it warned that ‘the strong presence of many feminist NGOs in the preparation for the upcoming ICC conference’ should be of concern to pro-family activists (C-FAM 1997a, 1997b). The pro-family groups came to the scene even later than the Women’s Caucus. They came not just with an anti-abortion agenda, but also with concerns about ‘forced social change by feminist, homosexual and other radical groups’ (Campaign Life Coalition, quoted in ICC 1998). While they came to the negotiations in order to oppose what they saw as dangerous proposals by the Women’s Caucus, they did not so much strive for a Statute that would reflect their concerns as oppose the agreement of a Statute and establishment of a Court generally, as ‘many pro-lifers also see the court as a crucial step in the abandonment of national sovereignty, and the establishment of a tyrannical world government’ (ICC 1998). It is difficult to establish exactly how many pro-family groups attended the Rome Conference, because of the peculiar accreditation procedure for this conference. At the request of the legal office of the United Nations, the coordinator of the NGO Coalition for an International Crimi-

International Criminal Court negotiations

229

nal Court himself vetted groups for accreditation – a unique form of selfregulation not attempted before at international conferences (Pace 1999: 209). According to the coordinator, he ‘tried to treat groups that were coming to undermine the process on an equal footing with others. I only turned down one or two government-organised NGOs’ (Interview, Pace3). However, it was also made possible for groups who did not wish to go through this procedure to apply directly to the UN official in charge of organising the conference, Roy Lee: ‘a few came in directly through Roy Lee, sixteen or so were added to the list in that way’ (Interview, Pace). The tolerance of the NGO Coalition for an ICC for a wide range of views among its members went beyond accreditation: it allowed the profamily groups to participate in its meetings and make use of its facilities unless it became clear that they were hostile to the idea of a just, effective and independent court, in which case it would ‘try to have such groups leave through the back door’ (Interview, Pace). At least two pro-family groups, REAL Women of Canada and the International Right to Life Federation, were accredited through the CICC (United Nations 1998). Others may have been accredited directly through the UN’s legal office. Finally, particularly because of the special privileges accorded to pro-family groups through their close links with the Vatican (see below), it is also possible that there were groups present (and lobbying) which were not properly accredited. Either way, it is clear that at least two more groups were at Rome, the Campaign Life Coalition from Canada, and the Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute (C-FAM 1998a; Evans 1998). According to one participant, Human Life International was also there, which seems likely as it is the largest international pro-family organisation (Interview, Hall Martinez; HLI website). Although this may not be an entirely exhaustive list of the pro-family groups represented, two things stand out immediately in the comparison with the women’s groups: there were far fewer of them, and they only appeared to come from two countries – Canada and the United States. Although the views of the pro-family contingent may be shared by many worldwide, the groups actually at the ICC negotiations were very far from being globally representative in the same way the Women’s Caucus was. As the Canadian pro-family publication LifeSite Daily News acknowledges: ‘During the conference, the Women’s Caucus outnumbered the prolife/family contingent and were well-prepared and effective in their lobbying of the normally pro-family African and South American delegates . . . The small band of pro-family lobbyists . . . was prevented from achieving even more because of a crucial absence of any Spanish-speaking members and having only two French-speaking [presumably Canadian] members’ (LifeSite Daily News 1998). While tolerated by the Coalition, the pro-family groups were not exactly welcomed. Most NGOs and many state delegates greeted them with irritation and hostility. The Australian delegate who chaired negotiations

230

Marlies Glasius

on gender issues, for instance, called their lobbying an ‘unfortunate departure from the generally constructive role played by NGOs throughout the Conference’ (Steains 1999: 368). However, they also had some very strong state allies, particularly in the Vatican and, to a lesser extent, other Catholic and Arab countries (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999; C-FAM 1998b). Their links with the Vatican gave them a privileged position: they were given their own office in the building of the Food and Agricultural Organisation in Rome, where the negotiations took place, while all other NGOs had to share one room and very few state delegations had offices (Interviews, Pace and Hall Martinez). According to one source, moreover, it was rumoured that the Pope personally placed telephone calls to leaders of Latin-American countries on the issue of forced pregnancy (Interview, Hall Martinez). Relations between the two movements Relations between representatives of the women’s groups and the profamily groups were an exception to the general spirit of camaraderie among civil society delegates to the Rome conference. They can be described as hostile, even vitriolic. Members of the Women’s Caucus have described the involvement of the opposition as an ‘intense and sustained attack by an alliance of religious fundamentalists and conservative organisations’ (Oosterveld 1999: 39), ‘intent on undermining the Court’s ability to appropriately address sexual and gender crimes’, by making ‘misleading linkages’ (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999: 67). The pro-family groups usually referred to the opposition simply as ‘feminists’ or ‘radical feminists’ (probably a swearword in their circles), but occasionally they became more venomous: one chapter, for instance, claimed that a Canadian Women’s Caucus member was being referred to as ‘the snake’ behind her back (REAL Women 1998a), while another referred to the women’s groups as the ‘anti-life, anti-family movement’ (ICC 1998). Both sides accused the other of having privileged access to certain state delegates. The women’s movement complained about the close links of the pro-family groups with the Vatican, and in particular that, as described above, the pro-family groups were given their own office. The pro-family groups complained that two members of the Women’s Caucus had been made members of the official delegations of Canada and Costa Rica, and more particularly that the Women’s Caucus had been allowed to address a closed ‘informal’ meeting of 30 states at the Canadian embassy, a grievance discussed in a number of pro-family publications (Evans 1998; Life Advocate Magazine 1998; REAL Women 1998a). The implications of these links on both sides will be discussed in the conclusion. A member of the Women’s Caucus also made more damaging accusations that ‘a bunch of them has UN accreditation, but their tactics are

International Criminal Court negotiations

231

dirty. They will make hand-outs with no name of the group on it which is against the regulations’ and ‘they would for instance dump a pile of . . . documents into the garbage’ (Interview, Hall Martinez). She acknowledged, however, that this did not apply to all pro-family groups: ‘other groups also disagreed with us, other Catholics, but they were tolerant, they played by the rules’ (Interview, Hall Martinez). Again, the implications of such accusations will be discussed in the conclusion.

The issues The original draft for the ICC, drawn up by the International Law Commission in 1994, paid no explicit attention to the gender dimensions of any of the areas of law it covered (United Nations 1994). This reflected the existing state of humanitarian law and international criminal law, as codified in The Hague and Geneva Conventions and the statutes of the ad hoc tribunals for Yugoslavia and Rwanda. The practices and jurisprudence of these tribunals between 1995 and 1998 were beginning to change this situation, however, and provided inspiration for the demands of the women’s rights groups united in the Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice (Steains 1999: 359). Gender concerns related to many parts of the Statute. This section will focus on two of them: the definition of gender, references to the gender balance and gender-specific expertise of the judges and other staff of the Court; and inclusion of a sub-paragraph on gender-specific crimes, including forced pregnancy, in the definition of war crimes and crimes against humanity. Other concerns of the women’s groups, including a reference to gender in a general non-discrimination clause, a gender dimension to the definition of slavery, the inclusion of persecution on the basis of gender as a component of crimes against humanity, and protection for and gender-sensitive treatment of victims and witnesses, will not be dealt with here. All of these concerns, however, came to be reflected in the final Statute in a way that either completely or partially satisfied the Women’s Caucus (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999, Oosterveld 1999). Use and definition of gender The Women’s Caucus wanted to integrate a gender perspective into the entire Statute, and specifically to use the term ‘gender’, for two reasons. First, ‘[i]t is precisely because the vast majority of laws, legal instruments and institutions have been created without a gender perspective that the everyday violations of women’s human rights are invisible to the law and the most atrocious violations have been rendered trivial’. Secondly, ‘since the vast majority of those who commit the crimes or are responsible for them are men, one of the probable causes of these crimes may well be the social construction of the masculine gender and therefore one of the

232

Marlies Glasius

solutions may well lie in creating mechanisms that will help construct less violent men’. (Facio 1997) The women’s groups involved in the ICC negotiations came primarily out of the movement to combat violence against women, and the issue of gender crimes was therefore their primary focus. However, they also had institutional concerns, such as having a ‘gender balance’ in the panel of judges, as well as gender expertise among the judges and in the prosecutorial office. Pro-family groups objected to the use of the term ‘gender’ anywhere in the Statute. One group expressed fears that it might ‘provide protection for “other genders” including homosexuals, lesbians, bisexuals, transgendered, etc.’ (REAL Women of Canada 1998a). Another group went even further, stating that use of the term ‘gender’ ‘could be interpreted as criminalizing any national laws or policies that favor heterosexual marriage over homosexual couplings, on the grounds that homosexuality is a recognized “gender” ’ (C-FAM 1998c). The pro-family groups did not begin to challenge the term ‘gender’ until the early weeks of the Rome conference, when many (especially less controversial) clauses of the Statute had already been decided upon (Oosterveld 1999: 39). Hence the term has been retained in Chapter 7 (persecution on the basis of gender as a crime against humanity), Chapter 21 (no gender discrimination in the application of the Statute), Chapter 42 (gender expertise in the prosecutor’s office) and Chapters 54 and 68 (treatment and protection of victims and witnesses) (Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court 1998). In some instances, the pro-family groups succeeded in excising the ‘g-word’. The Statute now speaks of ‘a fair representation of female and male judges’ and ‘the need to include judges with legal expertise on specific issues, including, but not limited to, violence against women and children’ (Chapters 36.8(a) iii 36.8(b), Rome Statute). While this really makes no difference to the substance of the first of these clauses, women’s groups would argue that ‘expertise on gender violence’ is broader than ‘expertise on violence against women’, as it also encompasses violence targeted specifically against men, whether it be forced recruitment, execution or sexual violence. Even this was unacceptable to some delegates, but at this point the delegate from Burundi made an emotional appeal, describing the experiences of his own country, and insisting that special attention to women and children must not be abandoned. After protracted negotiations, in which some delegates (and their civil society allies) insisted that the term ‘gender’ be rejected altogether, while others (and the Women’s Caucus) insisted that the term was in general use throughout United Nations documents, and generally understood, the following definition of gender was agreed: ‘the term gender refers to the two sexes, male and female, within the context of society. The term gender does not indicate any meaning different from the above.’ The Australian coordinator of these negotiations later wrote:

International Criminal Court negotiations

233

While the Statute’s definition of ‘gender’ appears, on its face, to be rather unusual (with the tautological second part of the definition), it represents the culmination of hard-fought negotiations that managed to produce language acceptable to delegations on both sides of the debate. At the end of the day, it was the only definition of ‘gender’ to which the Arab states and others were willing to agree. At the same time, the reference to ‘within the context of society’ satisfied those delegations that wanted the definition to encapsulate the broader sociological aspects of the term, along the lines of earlier definitions. (Steains 1999: 374–375) Forced pregnancy and other gender crimes Deciding which crimes should be subject to the Court’s jurisdiction, and how they should be defined, was one of the core issues in the ICC negotiations. Early proposals relating to the definition of crimes made scant reference to rape as an ‘outrage on personal dignity’, and none to other gender-related crimes. This changed with a joint proposal in February 1997 by New Zealand and Switzerland to include rape directly as a war crime. This proposal was taken over almost verbatim from a paper by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC 1997), reflecting developments in the Yugoslavia tribunal in particular. The Women’s Caucus was just beginning to be formed at that time, and probably did not play much of a role. The United States, however, favoured a more restrictive definition of war crimes in general, and the whole text remained bracketed. At the same time, ‘rape, other sexual abuse and enforced prostitution’ were included, unbracketed, as a crime against humanity (Hall 1998: 127–128). In a paper for the December 1997 PrepCom, the Women’s Caucus first proposed a separate sub-paragraph on sexual and gender crimes in the definition of war crimes, which was to include ‘rape, sexual slavery, forced prostitution, forced pregnancy, forced sterilization and other sexual or gender violence or abuse’. It recommended this extra paragraph, partially based on the prosecutorial practices of the Yugoslavia and Rwanda tribunals, because ‘sexual and gender violence are severe and particular and their particularities should not be lost by mainstreaming. Where not explicit, they are too often ignored, even today’ (Women’s Caucus 1997). The sub-paragraph adopted by this PrepCom, which was substantially more comprehensive than the earlier proposals, mirrors almost exactly the wording proposed by the Women’s Caucus in their preparatory paper, and it can safely be assumed to have been proposed at their instigation. It was included in the draft text on war crimes for the Rome conference, without brackets, that is, reflecting widespread consensus among states, despite an objection from the Vatican to ‘enforced pregnancy’ (PrepCom 1997). In the next PrepCom, the Vatican sought to replace the term with

234

Marlies Glasius

the more restrictive ‘forcible impregnation’, the implication of which was that it was the impregnation alone that was criminalised, not any attempt to coerce the woman to carry the baby to full term (Steains 1999: 364–366). Pro-family groups joined the Vatican in voicing objections to the inclusion of forced pregnancy as a war crime, calling it a ‘code word for criminalizing any denial of access to abortion’ (C-FAM 1998d). To support this view, they cited a US domestic case against the state of Utah, in which the American Civil Liberties Union had defined the term as ‘. . . forcing women to continue pregnancy against their will for the purpose of serving the state’s declared interest in preserving unborn human life’, i.e. to describe an anti-abortion law or policy (REAL Women 1998b). Although supporting the Vatican’s ‘interim maneuver’, pro-family groups were hoping that ‘the language will be dropped altogether, and UN veterans cite growing sentiment even among liberal delegations to do just that’ (CFAM 1998a). This became the most contentious gender issue at Rome, with opponents, including the Vatican and some Catholic and Arab states, arguing that making enforced pregnancy into a crime implied a state obligation to permit abortion. Proponents of the clause, including many Western states, but also conflict states like Bosnia and Rwanda, and Muslim states such as Azerbaijan and Turkey, argued that it was meant to codify a terrible crime, such as witnessed in Bosnia, and had nothing to do with viewpoints on abortion (Steains 1999: 366). Bosnia issued a paper documenting the practice and calling for retention of enforced pregnancy as a separate crime in the Statute, and lobbied other Muslim countries on the issue (On The Record 1998; Oosterveld 1999: 39). After three weeks in Rome an informal working group was formed, chaired by an Australian delegate, to bring the two positions on genderrelated issues closer together and try to define forced pregnancy in a mutually satisfactory way. The definition that came out of these negotiations in the final week of the conference was ‘the unlawful confinement of a woman forcibly made pregnant, with the intent of affecting the ethnic composition of any population or carrying out other grave violations of international law. This definition shall not in any way be interpreted as affecting national laws relating to pregnancy.’ The second sentence was clearly inserted to protect the anti-abortion laws of the objecting countries (Steains 1999: 366–368). The sub-paragraph was then included both in the war crimes section and in the crimes against humanity. While the insertion of the clause on gender crimes into the treaty can be ascribed to the influence of the Women’s Caucus, its preservation over strong opposition, against forced pregnancy in particular, probably owed more to a few crucial state representatives than to the Women’s Caucus, although the Caucus’s statement in Rome that ‘this will not affect national abortion laws’ (On The Record 1998), may have been helpful. The strong

International Criminal Court negotiations

235

advocacy of Bosnia, which had the moral high ground on this issue, and the patient but tough negotiating by Australia kept the comprehensive clause on gender crimes in the treaty.

Conclusions As a result of the compromises reached, the Women’s Caucus and the pro-family groups could both claim victory. The definition of gender is described in one publication as a compromise produced by ‘hard work from pro-lifers’, although ‘the phrase “within the context of society” worries some pro-lifers, who fear it will be used to get around the qualification, and to promote redefinitions of marriage and family’ (Evans 1998). A leading member of the Women’s Caucus, on the other hand, writes that the definition ‘is unfortunate, [but] having the term in a legal or “hard” international document as opposed to a policy or “soft” document . . . is a gain for real justice’ (Facio 1998). In the case of forced pregnancy, members of the Women’s Caucus celebrate the fact that the ‘Rome Statute is the first international treaty specifically listing the crime of forced pregnancy’ (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999), while a pro-family group points out that ‘virtually all the sting has been removed . . . courtesy of strictly limited definitions’ (C-FAM 1998d). While both positions had gained something in the compromise, it is clear that the results were more disappointing for the pro-family groups. While publications by members of the Women’s Caucus bear titles such as ‘The making of a gender-sensitive court’ (Oosterveld 1999) and ‘Ending impunity for gender crimes’ (Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999), the postRome commentaries by pro-family advocates are titled ‘The International Criminal Court – world nightmare’ (REAL Women of Canada 1998b) or ‘ICC: promise of justice or threat of tyranny’ (ICC 1998). The latter chapter states that ‘while the ICC could be a wonderful tool for building true justice and freedom everywhere, in the context in which the court has been established and will be used, we fear it will be an extremely powerful weapon in the hands of the international anti-life, anti-family movement’. The pro-family groups’ main tactics had been to equate use of the term ‘gender’ with endorsement of homosexuality (an argument strengthened by the fact that ‘gender’ is difficult to translate into other languages, including Arabic), and use of ‘enforced pregnancy’ with support for the right to abortion. This probably had some impact in the last preparatory negotiations and early in Rome, but it was countered by the tactic developed by the Australian delegate of negotiating an agreed definition to both terms to allay fears of such interpretations. Once such definitions had been agreed their role was pretty much played out, and although the Women’s Caucus might have preferred more progressive definitions, it cannot be said that these groups had a noticeable influence on the wording of the Statute.

236

Marlies Glasius

A few lessons can be drawn from this episode of civil society involvement in international negotiations. First of all, there is a pervading sense in the women’s movement generally that those who work on gender concerns are necessarily disadvantaged and marginalised. The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, Mary Robinson, echoed this idea when she congratulated the Caucus for ‘overcoming intense opposition from many representatives’ in ensuring that gender violence was included in the Statute (Robinson 2000). This sense of being the underdog, undoubtedly justified in many local, national and international settings, should not be assumed to be applicable to every situation, however. The Women’s Caucus did not, in fact, meet with intense opposition from many representatives; it met with intense opposition from very few representatives. The Women’s Caucus may initially have had to overcome indifference and lack of understanding from many delegates, but it did not meet with widespread hostility. Moreover, the hostility did not come from the permanent members of the Security Council, whose position on the ICC was considered crucial in the negotiations, but from the Vatican, a few Arab states and, in the case of forced pregnancy, some ‘Catholic’ states, with Ireland playing a particularly prominent role (see Bedont and Hall Martinez 1999: 75; endnote 44, for a full list of states with objections to forced pregnancy). As discussed above, it had a powerful list of allies among state delegates, some of which (including Canada, the Netherlands and South Africa) were the main drivers of the negotiations. It also had the backing of the CICC, which worked closely with this ‘like-minded’ group of states (Glasius 2002: 152–153; 2005: forthcoming). Despite their close links with the Vatican, it was in fact the pro-family groups who were marginalised at this particular forum. The coordinator of the CICC speaks of ‘the very large majority of advanced women’s organisations and a minority of organisations absolutely devoted to preventing any international policy that would in any way endorse abortion’ (Interview, Pace). As demonstrated in the quotation of the Australian delegate above, they were disliked not just by the NGOs but generally by the ‘likeminded’ delegates in favour of a strong ICC, who realised that while these groups were at the negotiations to influence debate on gender issues, they did not favour the establishment of an ICC generally. This chapter does not wish to suggest that these groups did not deserve to be marginalised, or that they should have been made more welcome by states or civil society actors. Since not only their narrow aims but indeed their whole worldview was diametrically opposed to that of most state and civil society delegates at the conference, that was not to be expected, and the author of this chapter is firmly with the majority on the substance of these issues. However, global civil society is not a harmonious entity with a single set of shared values. It is populated by actors with strongly held values, ‘organising to influence their world’ (see above), but these

International Criminal Court negotiations

237

strongly held values are not all the same. They may diverge or even clash. Plurality and even discord are part and parcel of global civil society. Therefore, if multilateral institutions like the United Nations are serious and sincere about being ‘open to civil society’, they should be open to all civil society representation, not just the kind of representation that is deemed desirable by most delegates. This is important for two reasons. First, although civil society involvement is not a substitute for democracy (this will be elaborated in Glasius 2005: forthcoming), it is an important element of the legitimacy of multilateral institutions. In global decision-making, it is no longer enough that we are represented by our diplomats, appointed by our – in most cases elected – governments. As world citizens, we can now claim a right to participate either directly or through people we support and trust, by becoming active in an existing organisation or network, or forming one, and making our voices heard. The United Nations, although more in some parts than in others, has in recent years explicitly embraced the notion that civil society participation is one of the elements of its legitimacy. It has modernised its accreditation system, and more recently the Secretary-General has invited a Panel of Eminent Persons to ‘review past and current practices and recommend improvements for the future in order to make the interaction between civil society and the United Nations more meaningful’ (SecretaryGeneral’s Panel, website). If we believe that there is such a right to participate or interact, then excluding certain types of groups from participation would infringe on this right. If women’s groups have a right to be active at forums such as the ICC negotiations, and they have fought hard for that right, then so do pro-family groups. Second, if one believes that multilateral institutions are, however much they may be in need of reform, still the best place to make international decisions, then it is encouraging, and to be encouraged, that groups which are in principle hostile to such institutions make a strategic decision to participate in multilateral forums and subject themselves to the procedures that prevail there. This, at the same time, should be the criterion for accreditation and participation: it does not matter that pro-family groups would prefer to see the United Nations abolished, or even that they are working actively towards that goal, as long as they play by the rules of the game. Therefore, any accusations that any kind of group – liberal, conservative, secular, religious, pro-life or pro-choice – is not playing by the rules, such as the accusations of dumping documents in the rubbish levied against some pro-family groups in the ICC case, should be taken extremely seriously. Routine breaking of the rules could undermine the legitimacy of civil society participation as a whole. It might be advisable for the United Nations, within its NGO liaison office, to appoint an NGO ombudsman who would actually be present at all major conferences, who could deal with such complaints and, if necessary, withdraw accreditation.

238

Marlies Glasius

While in the first two decades of United Nations lobbying the women’s movement found adversaries only among states, and could count on the solidarity (or at least neutrality) of fellow NGOs, the presence of profamily groups at UN forums is now a reality that is not likely to go away. However, it is not just a painful reality. The women’s movement should recognise that these groups’ right to participate in these forums is a logical corollary of their own right to do so. As long as pro-family groups play by the rules, activists in the women’s movement should fight them, not by putting their energy into vitriolic attacks, but simply by being better – being more present, more energetic, more global, more grassroots, more expert – and continuing to solicit more support from mainstream NGOs. They did so at the ICC negotiations, winning a gender-sensitive Statute, and they can do so again.

Notes 1 Some attention is paid to this movement in Kulczycki (1999: 25–28) and Keck and Sikkink (1998: 189–191). 2 Interview with Katherine Hall Martinez. Deputy Director, International Program, Center for Reproductive Law and Policy, 4 December 2001. 3 Interviews with William Pace, Coordinator of the NGO Coalition for an International Criminal Court, 3 and 17 December 2001.

References Anheier, H., Glasius, M. and Kaldor, M. (2001) ‘Introducing global civil society’, in H. Anheier, M. Glasius and M. Kaldor (eds) Global Civil Society 2001, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bassiouni, M.C. (1999) ‘Historical survey: 1919–1998’, A Draft International Criminal Code and Draft Statute for an International Criminal Tribunal, Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff. Bedont, B. and Hall Martinez, K. (1999) ‘Ending impunity for gender crimes under the International Criminal Court’, Brown Journal of World Affairs 6(1): 65–85. Boon, K. (2001) ‘Rape and forced pregnancy under the ICC Statute: human dignity, autonomy and consent’, Columbia Human Rights Law Review, 32(3): 628–674. Bos, A. (1999) ‘The International Criminal Court: recent developments’, in H. von Hebel, J. Lammers and J. Schukking (eds) Reflections on the International Criminal Court: Essays in Honour of Adriaan Bos, The Hague: TMC Asser Press. Bunch, C. with Anthrobus, P., Frost, S. and Reilly, N. (2001) ‘International networking for women’s human rights’, in M. Edwards and J. Gaventa (eds) Global Citizen Action, London: Earthscan. Campaign Life Coalition (http://www.lifesite.net/). Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute (http://www.c-fam.org/index.html). C-FAM (Catholic Family and Human Rights Institute) (1997a) ‘Rome makes urgent call for life and family voices at UN conferences’, Friday Fax 1(9): 21 November.

International Criminal Court negotiations

239

—— (1997b) ‘International Criminal Court takes a giant step in UN general assembly’, Friday Fax 1(12): 19 December. —— (1998a) ‘Last minute Holy See proposal may guarantee debate on “enforced pregnancy” at International Criminal Court in Rome’, Friday Fax, Special Edition 2, 6 April. —— (1998b) ‘Catholic, Muslim nations unite against “enforced pregnancy” and “gender justice” ’, Friday Fax, 1(39): 10 July. —— (1998c) ‘Feminists refuse to define their “gender agenda” for the International Criminal Court’, Friday Fax, 1(37): 26 June. —— (1998d) ‘Rome conference ends without consensus for creating International Criminal Court’, Friday Fax, 1(40): 18 July. CICC (Coalition for an International Criminal Court) (1998) Basic Principles for an Independent, Effective and Fair International Criminal Court, CICC. Cohen, R. and Rai, S. (2000) Global Social Movements, London: Athlone. de Frouville, O. (2000) ‘La Cour Pénale Internationale: Une Humanité Souveraine?’ Les Temps Modernes, 55(610): 257–288. Durham, H. (2000) ‘Women and civil society: NGOs and International Criminal Law’, in K. Askin and D. Koenig (eds) Women and International Human Rights Law, Vol. 3, Ardsley, NY: Transnational Publishers, Inc., pp. 819–843. Edwards, M. and Gaventa, J. (2001) Global Citizen Action, London: Earthscan. Erb, N.E. (1998) ‘Gender-based crimes under the draft statute for the permanent International Criminal Court’, Columbia Human Rights Law Review, 29: 401–435. Evans, J. (1998) ‘Pro-lifers win limits on new UN Criminal Court’, The Interim (available at http://www.theinterim.com/feb98/). Facio, A. (1997) ‘A word (or two) about gender’, The International Criminal Court Monitor (available at http://www.iccnow.org/publications/monitor/06/monitor 06.199711.pdf). —— (1998) ‘The Rome diplomatic conference: a report’, unpublished report, by permission. Friedman, E. (1995) ‘Women’s human rights: the emergence of a movement’, in J. Peters and A. Wolper (eds) Women’s Rights Human Rights; International Feminist Perspectives, New York: Routledge. Glasius, M. (2002) ‘Expertise in the cause of justice: global civil society influence on the statute for an International Criminal Court’, in M. Glasius, M. Kaldor and H. Anheier (eds) Global Civil Society 2002, Oxford: Oxford University Press. —— (2003) ‘How activists shaped the court’ (available at http://www. crimesofwar.org/icc_magazine/icc-glasius.html). —— (2005) The International Criminal Court: A Global Civil Society Achievement, London: Routledge. Hall, C.K. (1998) ‘The Third and Fourth Sessions of the UN Preparatory Committee on the establishment of an International Criminal Court’, American Journal of International Law 92: 124–133. Howell, J. and Pearce, J. (2001) Civil Society and Development: A Critical Exploration, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Human Life International (http://www.hli.org/). ICC (1998) ‘Promise of justice or threat of tyranny?’, The Interim (available at http://www.theinterim.com/august98). ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross) (1997) ‘War crimes: Working

240

Marlies Glasius

Paper prepared by the ICRC for the Preparatory Committee for the Establishment of an International Criminal Court’, New York, February. Joachim, J. (1999) ‘Shaping the human rights agenda: the case of violence against women’, in M. Meyer and E. Pruegl (eds) Gender Politics in Global Governance, Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield. Kaldor, M. (2003) Global Civil Society: An Answer to War, Cambridge: Polity Press. Keane, J. (1998) Civil Society: Old Images, New Visions, Cambridge: Polity Press. Keck, M. and Sikkink, K. (1998) ‘Transnational networks on violence against women’, in M. Keck and K. Sikkink (eds) Activists Beyond Borders; Advocacy Networks in International Politics, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 165–198. Kulczycki, A. (1999) The Abortion Debate in the World Arena, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Lewis, D. (2002) ‘Civil society in African contexts: reflections on the usefulness of a concept’, Development and Change, 33(4): 569–586. Life Advocate Magazine (1998) ‘Rome conference ends without consensus’, Life Advocate Magazine, 13(2) (available at http://www.lifeadvocate.org/9_98/ nation6.htm). LifeSite Daily News (1998) ‘Lifesite report on the approval of the International Criminal Court’, LifeSite Daily News, 19 July. ‘List of Contributors’ (1999) in R. Lee (ed.) The International Criminal Court: The Making of the Rome Statute; Issues, Negotiations, Results, The Hague: Kluwer Law International. On The Record (1998) ‘National abortion laws will not be undermined by inclusion of forced pregnancy as a crime against humanity, pledges Women’s Caucus’, On The Record 1(9): 29 June. Oosterveld, V.L. (1999) ‘The making of a gender-sensitive International Criminal Court’, International Law FORUM du droit international, 1(1) (February): 38–41. Pace, W.R. (1999) ‘The relationship between the International Criminal Court and non-governmental organizations’, in H.A.M. von Hebel, J.G. Lammers and J. Schukking (eds) Reflections on the International Criminal Court: Essays in Honour of Adriaan Bos, The Hague: TMC Asser Press. Pace, W.R. and Thieroff, M. (1999) ‘Participation of non-governmental organizations’, in R.S. Lee (ed.) The International Criminal Court: The Making of the Rome Statute; Issues, Negotiations, Results, The Hague: Kluwer Law International. PrepCom (Preparatory Committee on the Establishment of an International Criminal Court) (1997) ‘Working group on definitions and elements of crimes: war crimes’, Article 20C, UN Doc. A/AC.249/1997/WG.1/CRP.9. 12 December. REAL Women of Canada (http://www.realwomenca.com). —— (1998a) ‘Canada courts disaster with world court’, REALity Newsletter, 16(10): July/August. —— (1998b) ‘The International Criminal Court – world nightmare’, REALity Newsletter, 16(9): May/June. Robinson, M. (2000) Speaking on the occasion of International Women’s Day, 8 March (quoted at http://www.iccwomen.org). Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court (1998). U.N. Doc. A/CONF.183/9. Secretary-General’s Panel of Eminent Persons on Civil Society and UN Relationships (available at http://www.un.org/reform/panel.htm). Seligman, A. (1992) The Idea of Civil Society, New York: Free Press. Sen, P. (2003) ‘Successes and challenges: understanding the global movement to

International Criminal Court negotiations

241

end violence against women’, in M. Kaldor, H. Anheier and M. Glasius (eds) Global Civil Society 2003, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sharratt, S. and Kaschak, E. (1999) Assault on the Soul: Women in the Former Yugoslavia, New York: Haworth Press. Steains, C. (1999) ‘Gender issues’, in R. Lee (ed.) The International Criminal Court: The Making of the Rome Statute; Issues, Negotiations, Results, The Hague: Kluwer Law International. United Nations (1994) Report of the International Law Commission on the Work of its Forty-sixth Session, UN Doc. A/49/355, 1 September. —— (1998) ‘Non-governmental organizations accredited to participate in the conference’, UN Document, A/CONF.183/INF/3, 5 June. Women’s Caucus for Gender Justice in the International Criminal Court (1997) ‘Recommendations and commentary for December 1997 PrepCom on the establishment of an International Criminal Court, United Nations Headquarters December 1–12, 1997’, Women’s Caucus (available at http://www.iccnow.org/ romearchive/papers/5PrepCom/5PrepComRecommWomensC.pdf).

11 Conclusion Jude Howell

This book set out to initiate a debate and critical reflection on the relationship between gender and civil society. Despite the reams of paper devoted to the subjects of both civil society and gender and the energies of civil society activists, it is curious that the two ideas have not encountered each other with greater force or depth. The failure to ‘tango’ cannot be blamed on either party; each has been busy with its own affairs. Neither has seen the urgent relevance of engaging with each other. For some feminists civil society has not been a significant analytic category, their prime interest lying in the family and the public/private divide; for many civil society theorists and empirical researchers the dominant theme has been state–civil society relations, to a lesser extent the market, and to an even lesser extent the family. As a result, the family has served as a mere residual marker of boundaries. However, the lack of enquiry into the relationship between gender and civil society has left unaddressed a host of issues ranging from the distinctiveness of women’s organising to the gendered structure of civil society. This volume has explored the relation between gender and civil society by focusing on women’s participation and organising in civil society around gender issues. It has taken up three key matters for investigation: first, the role of the political environment and the nature of the state in shaping how women organise; second, the factors which affect women activists and organisations’ attempts to influence state policies on gender; and third, identifying in what ways, if at all, women’s organising is different to other forms of organising in civil society. In this concluding section we briefly summarise the key findings of the chapters in relation to these questions. We then reflect upon the insights that can be gained from using a gender lens to view civil society. Finally, we set out an agenda for future research, debate and critical reflection.

Does the political context and nature of the state matter? Women’s organising does not take place in a vacuum. The international, national and local political environments, as well as the changing nature

Conclusion

243

of the state in specific contexts, have an important bearing on how people organise, the kind of issues they articulate and the discourses they use. This is true not only for human rights groups, professional organisations, business groups, trades unions, coalitions, networks and advocacy groups but also for women’s organisations. In her study of Africa, Aili Mari Tripp finds that the shift from military to democratic rule has in diverse ways opened up new spaces for women to organise, which they have used to address more sensitive issues such as domestic violence. Similarly in Indonesia, Diane Mulligan describes how the collapse of the New Order in 1998 stimulated the rise of new, more independent women’s organisations. The consequences of democratic regime change for women are not always predictable, nor necessarily conducive to changing gender relations in a way that benefit women. As Barbara Einhorn and Charlie Sever demonstrate, the conflict and violence that can often accompany transformation poses complex challenges to women organising, particularly when new political identities are formed along ethnic and religious lines. In Chile, Marcela Ríos-Tobar highlights some of the unintended consequences of democratisation that led to the fragmentation and decentring of the autonomous women’s movement. New political conjunctures tend to disturb the balance of power amongst institutions, classes and interests, altering the context within which feminists operate. Salient here is the rise to hegemonic prominence of the Catholic Church in Poland, which through its ideological dominance set the terms of debate at particular moments amongst feminists, or the surge in Islamic fundamentalism in the Middle East and Indonesia, which has fuelled more conservative ideologies and castigated women’s demands for rights as perjoratively ‘feminist’ and ‘Western-influenced’. In many sub-Saharan African countries the move towards multi-party democratic systems has served to unsettle some of the old patronage networks that linked women’s organisations financially and ideologically to political parties and government leaders. The partial political liberalisation in China and the concomitant opening up of spaces for autonomous association in the reform period has altered the institutional landscape of organising around women’s issues. In Chile, democratic regime change led feminists to alter their strategies, tactics and forms of organisation, moving away from confrontational politics to a politics of negotiation and engagement. The international context can also at particular historical moments play a significant role in the way civil society organisations and actors emerge. In many sub-Saharan African countries democratic regime change brought with it an influx of international development agencies, foreign advisors and international consultants, all armed with their particular diagnoses of ‘the problems’ and their own set of remedies. In many subSaharan African countries, China, Chile and Eastern and Central Europe, international donor agencies played a key role in fostering the

244

Jude Howell

development of local NGOs and promoting gender agendas. As Marcela Ríos-Tobar points out in her account of Chile, such interventionism can have ambiguous effects, leading on the one hand to the advocacy of gender issues by more professional and expert organisations and individuals and on the other hand to the weakening of feminist activism and autonomy. Key international events can also be important milestones in the development of women’s movements. In China, for instance, the holding of the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995 played a catalytic role both in the transformation of the official Women’s Federation and in the development of new, more independent women’s organisations. Similarly, international forums such as the negotiations around the International Criminal Court provide a focus for contending women’s voices, catapulting a range of women’s issues onto a larger political stage.

Influencing the state on gender Getting women into the state and politics is a basic starting point for engendering state policies. However, the presence of female politicians and bureaucrats does not guarantee that women’s varied interests will be pursued in the corridors of power. Not all female politicians and bureaucrats are feminists, whether liberal, socialist or radical. The UN has advocated a minimum critical mass of 30 per cent for female politicians and bureaucrats, for women to make any inroads into changing policy and politics. The studies in this volume point to at least three other factors that can have a bearing on whether or not women can influence the state on gender. These are respectively state–civil society alliances, electoral and legislative cycles, and the nature of the women’s organisation. Aili Mari Tripp, Jude Howell, Marlies Glasius and Marcela Ríos-Tobar all demonstrate the importance of alliances between women actors in civil society, female state bureaucrats and politicians. In the case of China, the close ties between the All-China Women’s Federation and Party and government officials have proved crucial in pushing forward issues such as recognition of domestic violence. In turn, the personal connections between women involved in more independent women’s organisations and the All-China Women’s Federation provide informal channels of influence and leverage. Such alliances can work for different ideological ends, as Marlies Glasius illustrates well in the case of the pro-family and women’s groups involved in the negotiations of the International Criminal Court. Aili Mari Tripp shows how it is the nature of alliances, rather than alliances per se, that are important. Where women’s organisations are embedded in patronage networks with political parties and leaders, they have less room for manoeuvre to advocate positions that are critical of government policy. Alliances that preserve some autonomy can be more effective in promoting women’s issues.

Conclusion

245

However, as Linda Stevenson argues, alliances can only function if women are actually in positions of power. Her study demonstrates the links between progress in engendering policies and electoral and legislative cycles. When the number of women in elected office is relatively high, there are greater opportunities for women activists to promote policy changes around domestic violence and other issues. Women’s organisations can thus strategise around electoral and legislative cycles. For Laurel Weldon, the degree of influence is contingent on how women organise. Her study of the USA suggests that civil and political organisations have greater success in influencing policy than intra-governmental groups such as caucuses and lobbying groups.

Are women’s organisations different? Several of the chapters in this volume suggest that women’s organisations not only share similar constraints and opportunities to other organisations, but also, in certain circumstances, navigate and strategise differently. Aili Mari Tripp, for example, brings out forcefully the dynamism and the sheer size of the new women’s organisations in countries such as Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. Compared to many other narrower civil society organisations, women’s organisations in sub-Saharan Africa are far larger and far more inclusive, cutting across ethnic, religious and regional lines. Also compared to other civil society groups, women’s organisations are able to draw on their assigned roles as mothers and carers as crucial political and moral resources. Women deployed ‘motherhood’ as a strategic device to gain public sympathy, to articulate their demands and to keep spaces open. In Indonesia, women provided food packages to protesting students and demonstrated for food prices they could afford. Women thus manipulated the acceptability and moral authority of their roles as mothers and carers for the purpose of dissent. Similarly in China, Jude Howell argues that women’s organisations, including the official AllChina Women’s Federation, have been able to push issues around women’s rights more forcefully than, say, labour activists on labour issues because of the state construction of woman as the weaker sex in need of protection. However, notions of ‘motherhood’ and ‘weaker sex’ are discursive and symbolic devices that can be appropriated in different ideological agendas, both progressive in feminist terms and conservative. As women become the symbolic bearers of ‘the nation’ and its culture, particularly in moments of national crisis, any efforts to resist limits on their independence are also often condemned by manipulating the signifiers of culture and nation. In the Middle East, conservative Islamic clerics and national leftists undermine the claims of women activists by presenting their demands as contrary to ‘authentic culture’. Similarly in China, Party officials and less progressive All-China Women’s Federation cadres resist

246

Jude Howell

attempts to rework official ideology on women’s emancipation by caricaturing it as ‘Western’ and ‘feminist’, therefore alien and bourgeois. Linda Stevenson suggests that women do politics differently than men, and tend to move more easily between formal state positions and civil society. Whilst women are nomads, floating between the state and civil society, men are pastoralists, grazing in the fertile pastures of state power. Civil society may be a springboard for men into state power, but once there they tend to stay put. Women activists turn out to be more ‘fluid actors’ in that they also weave the personal with the political, bringing gender relations in the household into the public. This was exemplified in the debate over sexuality in Indonesia, in relation to domestic violence in China and other countries, and in relation to male violence around women’s political activism in sub-Saharan Africa. Nearly all the contributions highlight the considerable diversity of women’s organising, in terms of the institutional forms, ideological breadth, the discourses women deploy and the issues they articulate. In the case of Indonesia, women’s organisations are distinct from other civil society organisations in their concentration in the capital city of Jakarta and in the middle-class predominance of their members. Whilst in Indonesia women’s lack of participation in the public sphere has apparently constrained their activism, particularly in forging cross-regional, ethnic and religious links, in subSaharan Africa women’s longer experiences than men in creating and sustaining associations has enabled them to take fuller advantage of the opening up of political spaces in liberalising regimes. Finally, several of the authors strike a note of caution in assuming that gender politics might lead women to organise their internal structures differently. Both Jude Howell in relation to China and Nadje Al-Ali with regard to the Middle East suggest that women’s organisations tend to reproduce the hierarchies and inequalities found in other social and political institutions.

Does the gender lens alter our vision of civil society? Exploring civil society through the lens of gender, our fourth point of investigation, forces researchers to gauge their understanding of empirical civil societies, to question the assumptions about the relationship between democratisation, civil society and gender equality, and to query the idea of civil society and feminism as universally valid concepts. Furthermore, it invites them to reassess different theories of civil society, and in particular those that emphasise the plural and benign dimensions and those that highlight its conflictual dynamics. Finally, it forces researchers to reexamine the idea of autonomy and separatedness. These studies demonstrate how viewing civil society through an investigation of women’s organisations allows the researcher to look afresh at the contours and processes within civil society, leading not only to the affirmation of past empirical observations and findings, but also to the rev-

Conclusion

247

elation of new perspectives. In the case of China, the proliferation of women’s organisations confirms the observations by many scholars that the spaces for self-organisation and association have expanded in the reform era. This allows the possibility of comparing the growth of women’s organisations with other kinds of organisations in society. Compared to labour issues, political reform or religion, it has been easier to organise around gender issues in China, raising broader questions around the construction of womanhood and femininity. Furthermore, the coexistence of a range of women’s organisations with varying degrees of autonomy from the Party-state underlines the unevenness of civil society in China and the ongoing need to negotiate and contest boundaries with the Party-state. Yet the fact that women cannot establish independent professional associations, but have to accept a subordinate status of affiliated, second-level associations, compels the researcher to consider how gender relations shape processes and structures of organising in civil society. In contexts where political space and critical dialogue remain strained, women’s organisations can play an important symbolic role in keeping spaces open for more autonomous organising and creating crevices of opportunity for other civil society organisations. The emergence of new women’s organisations in China diluted the discursive, organisational and theoretical monopoly of the ACWF, whilst at the same time creating a new public sphere of critical reflection and dialogue around gender issues. Similarly in sub-Saharan Africa, a heightened politicisation of the gender problematique through the new landscape of women’s organisations, coalitions and networking sets the scene for other activists and organisations to engage in critical debate about government policies. In this respect women’s organisations serve as a useful barometer for assessing the development of civil society in a context of state dominance and rapid socio-economic change. Using a gender lens to view civil society opens up questions about the impact of democratic regime change on civil society organising and gender equality. Whilst democratic regime change can create opportunities for civil society actors to occupy positions in the state or to engage directly in state policy processes, it can also have ambiguous consequences for the autonomy of civil society and the depth of policy change. In Chile, women’s organisations, like other civil society organisations, experienced a process of professionalisation and institutionalisation in the transition context, with implications for their autonomy and political agency. However, while NGOs, gender studies and advocacy networks have pushed gender issues into policy processes, they have not been able to mobilise women’s autonomous action within civil society in the way that occurred in the pre-democratic context. Only the feminist autonomas, who adhered to a class analysis and opted strategically to mobilise at the margins, enjoyed some limited success, albeit symbolic and discursive, in fashioning a more autonomous feminist agenda. Such analyses not only underline

248

Jude Howell

the need for further research on the impact of professionalisation and institutionalisation of other pre-transition social movements, but also call for a more critical examination of state–civil society relations in contexts of regime change. In particular, they undermine the simplistic notion that democratisation can only be good for civil society and for gender equality. In a similar vein, Linda Stevenson also problematises the idea that democracy must necessarily herald an improvement in women’s economic and political position. She concludes that though there is a positive relationship between democratisation and gender equality, as evidenced in the numbers of women’s civil society groups and women in formal politics and government, deeper changes are limited. In particular, Stevenson suggests that few policy changes relating to gender issues filter down to the benefit of the average Mexican woman’s life. They remain at the symbolic level – that is, they attain agenda status and may be passed by a legislative body. However, they do not translate into material actions such as budget expenditure directed at women’s concerns or programmes that could make a difference in the everyday lives of Mexican women. Moreover Stevenson points to the prevalence of machismo in Mexican society and the conservative influence of the Catholic Church as factors countering the force of policy changes. Democratisation may increase opportunities for women’s organisations to advocate for changes in state policies, and indeed lead to significant policy gains for women. However, the influence of conservative elements in civil society, such as the Catholic Church, and the gendered norms and values they espouse can hinder the translation of such policies into tangible benefits for women. The different responses of women to regime change in Chile and Eastern and Central Europe, the new modes of organising, and the different political and ideological processes mediating women’s political subjectivities illustrate well the pitfalls of operating with universalistic interpretations of both the feminist process and the development of civil society. Expecting civil society actors across the world to organise in similar ways around a similar set of issues as has occurred in Western liberal democracies inevitably runs the risk of failing to recognise the political points of vulnerability, significant forms of collective action and the specific political and ideological factors that shape particular civil societies. Similarly, expecting women in all contexts to organise in the same ways, around the same issues and with the same energies blinds the analyst from understanding the diverse ways, means and issues through which women organise in different situations. Einhorn and Sever’s analysis implicitly warns against the temptation to transfer historically rooted conceptions of civil society and linear, evolutionary interpretations of how women’s movements should emerge and develop to other contexts. For them, the tendency of Western feminists to overlook the activities of women in Central and Eastern Europe reflects not only their own subjective, partial and contextualised understandings of what constitutes political activity, but also

Conclusion

249

their own biases concerning how a feminist movement should develop. Expecting the women’s movement to evolve in the same way as the liberal democratic West leads only to misinterpretation, unjustified teleological vision and biased accounts of reality. Similarly, Tripp cautions (Western) feminists against hastily condemning appeals to motherhood as unfeminist, arguing that the discourses and metaphors that women deploy in their struggles cannot be assumed to have universal meaning. This investigation into women organising also gives credence to the Gramscian conceptualisation of civil society as a site of conflict and ideological struggle. Glasius’ account of the interactions between the progressive women’s movement and the conservative pro-family groups during the negotiations of the International Criminal Court not only endorses this point but also illustrates the complexity of such struggles. The battle between the pro-family groups and women’s movement lay not only around gender issues such as abortion, homosexuality and the very concept of gender, but also masked a deeper struggle over the very establishment of an International Criminal Court, the pro-family lobby being fundamentally opposed to this. Recognising the diversity of ideologies, values and institutional forms in civil society and the potential of counterhegemonic resistance presents a practical political dilemma of how, in a democratic context, to negotiate this multiplicity of competing interests. When deeply conservative groups such as some pro-family groups seek influence in multilateral forums, should they be allowed to participate? Glasius contends that they should, provided they comply with the rules of the game. Such issues inevitably bind feminist debates to broader discussions around democratic deliberation, accountability and voice. They also should alert feminist activists to the importance of taking on not only the state but also other elements in the terrain of civil society. Given the diversity and plurality of women’s organisations in terms of ideology, values, influence, size and issues addressed, and the notion of civil society as a site of contestation, the utility of aggregated notions of civil society becomes increasingly strained. Drawing attention to this diversity and potential for conflict serves to resist the reduction of women’s struggles to a uniform, essential category, and of civil society to an undifferentiated space of organisation. Just as feminist theorists called for the disaggregation of the apparently gender-neutral household to expose its gendered nature, so too civil society theorists need to disaggregate ‘civil society’ to capture the way gender, class and ethnicity operate through the institutions of civil society. A further theoretical insight arising out of this collection relates to the issues of separateness and interconnectedness. Several of the authors demonstrate the importance of state–civil society alliances for the promotion of feminist agendas. Interpreting civil society through the dichotomous, oppositional lens of ‘civil society versus the state’ not only distracts from a full analysis of processes of political and policy change, but also

250

Jude Howell

does not permit a strategic practical politics of alliance-building and coalition-building between state and civil society. This calls for a theoretical shift away from an obsessive preoccupation with definitional boundaries, oppositional dichotomies, and a puritanical concern with autonomy, towards a refocusing on the interconnectedness and fluidity of spheres. Shifting one’s gaze to the interconnectedness between spheres will give texture and depth to the understanding of power relations, and in particular to how gender norms and practices are reproduced and resisted in different spheres.

Future agenda for research, debate and critical reflection The contributions in this volume have prised open a number of conceptual and theoretical issues around universalism; the constricting dominance of the ‘civil society versus state’ paradigm; the limited explanatory utility of conceptually bounded spheres; and the relationship between democratisation, civil society and gender equality. It has only begun to address these cavities in knowledge about gender and civil society. Much remains to be done. In this last section I outline some of the areas for future investigation, discussion and critical reflection. First, there is a huge gap in the literature concerning the gendered composition of civil society, the gendered norms and practices prevailing amongst civil society organisations, and the barriers to women’s participation in civil society. There are no disaggregated data available on the gendered make-up of civil society. How many male-dominated/ female-dominated associations are there, and what kinds of issues, sectors or activities are these associated with? What is the gender distribution of membership? What percentage of volunteers and employees are women, and how does this vary across time, country context and sector? How do we explain the predominance of men or women in particular types of groups? What proportion of directors, trustees and managers of civil society organisations are male or female, and why are women under- or over-represented in different country contexts? How has this changed over time? What legal and/or regulatory mechanisms facilitate the exclusion or inclusion of women from participating in civil society? Through what gendered norms and practices, such as the lack of childcare facilities or the times of meetings, are women effectively excluded from taking part in different civil society groups? How do gender relations within the household affect the way women participate and organise, be it in women’s organisations or other kinds of civil society groups? Second, there is a need for further empirical studies and theoretical work to describe and explain the distinctiveness of women’s organising. In what ways does women’s organising differ to that of human rights groups, business associations, trades unions or professional associations? What unique material, psychological and discursive resources can they deploy to

Conclusion

251

promote their agendas? What kinds of organisational forms are best disposed to advance gender issues in state policy? To what extent are the internal ways of organising and leadership different in women’s organisations to in other civil society organisations? Do women do politics differently to men, and if so, in what ways and with what effects? Third, there is a need to theorise further the interconnectedness of different spheres and the flow of gendered discourses, practices and norms within and between spheres. Why is it that activism in local civil societies and social movements tends to provide a springboard for men into formal politics, but less so for women? How does state policy on gender alter gender relations in civil society? How do gendered norms and practices within the family reverberate through state institutions and civil society? To what extent do theories of power or gender relations or civil society illuminate these processes? Fourth, the concept of ‘civil society’ needs to be disaggregated not only into different types of organisations with divergent ideological and political predilections but also into individuals, structured by societal divisions such as class, gender, and ethnicity. The focus within civil society studies on organisations1 as well as the tendency to reduce ‘civil society’ to a singular actor and voice has analytically steered the gaze away from the constituent individuals, who come together in the spaces of civil society. Similarly, though many feminist theorists cautiously refer to ‘feminisms’ in the plural, there is still a tendency to work with aggregate notions of ‘the women’s movement’, which can mask rather than reveal the ideological nuances amongst women’s groups. Fifth, at the theoretical level there is a need for a focused effort to review the gendered nature of the concept of civil society as used in Western political thought, and similar concepts used in other traditions, to unmask the gendered assumptions underlying the distinction between family and civil society, and to query the boundedness and autonomy of spheres and concepts. Sixth, accounts of women’s organising need to take on board the increasingly global set of players engaging with national and local civil societies. In particular, there is room for further research into the role of international donor agencies, global networks and international women’s coalitions on the development of women’s organisations in different contexts. To what extent do international donor agencies reproduce ‘Western’ understandings of the public/private divide,2 of civil society and of gender relations in their support to women’s groups in aid-recipient contexts? What is the impact of major international events, such as UN Conferences on Women, on discourses, agendas, frameworks and practices in different contexts? In what ways do global women’s coalitions and organisations set gender agendas, contribute to processes of change at global and national levels, and frame debates on issues such as domestic violence and genital mutilation?

252

Jude Howell

Finally, at the practical level there are a number of challenges that need to be addressed in creative and productive ways. How do we evaluate the professionalisation and/or NGO-isation of women’s organising and gender issues in post-transition contexts? How do we deal with contestation amongst groups of women with different gender ideologies, values and politics? Who should mediate these struggles and how? This may be an ambitious agenda. However, the start of a dialogue between civil society and feminist theorists should not only enrich knowledge in both fields, but also strengthen the effectiveness of feminist strategies to bring about changes in gender relations. For civil society activists, too, there is a need for a moment of reflection and probing, if the arena of civil society is to serve as an emancipatory terrain for both men and women.

Notes 1 I am grateful to Karen Wright for this observation about the focus on organisations, made during a presentation of a draft version of this conclusion at a seminar on gender and civil society at the LSE in February 2004. 2 I am grateful to Hakan Seckinelgin for this comment on donors and the public/private divide, made during a presentation of a draft version of this conclusion at a seminar on gender and civil society at the LSE in February 2004.

Index

Abdullah, Hussaina 80 abortion 19, 36–7, 39, 42, 149, 164–5, 170, 180–5, 224, 228, 234–6, 249 Abou-Bakr, O. 131 Acsády, Judit 32 Africa 11–12, 16–17, 78–98, 227, 229, 243–7 African Americans 199 AIDS 97 Algeria 10, 102–3 All-China Women’s Federation (ACWF) 9, 14, 17, 54–71, 244–7 alliances 244, 249–50 Alsop, Rachel 37 Alvarez, Sonia 148, 150 Amin, Idi 80 Anderson, Hilda 186 Arat, Yes¸im 111–12 Arato, A. 3 Australia 14, 228, 235 ‘autonomous’ feminists 153–4, 247 autonomy of women’s groups 87–91, 98, 108–9 Aylwin, Patricio 144 Azerbaijan 234 Babangida, Maryam 81 Baden, S. 129 Bali 124 Barrig, Maruja 155 Basmah Bint Talal, Princess 108 Beckwith, K. 210 Bedont, B. 230, 235 Beijing Conference on Women (1995) 9, 32, 34, 54–8, 67, 69, 78, 84, 94, 154, 165, 182–3, 225, 244 Bellesi, D. 156 Belloni, R. 33 Berman, Sheri 8 birth control 10, 38, 172, 183, 228

Blackburn, S. 118–19, 122–3 Bosnia 33, 227, 234–5 Botswana 90, 96 Brasdefer, Gloria 171 Bulgaria 29, 31 Bush, George snr 183 Bush, George W. 183 Busheikin, Laura 25 Byanyima, Winnie 95 Cameroon 97 Canada 183, 186–7, 196, 224–30, 236 Cárdenas, Cuaíhtemoc 168 Catholic Church 9, 14–15, 35–8, 92, 142, 170, 174, 179, 181, 184, 187, 224, 229–30, 243, 248 Central and Eastern Europe 8–9, 23–46, 243, 248 Cepeda, Ana Lilia 173–4 Chapa, María Elena 185 Chile 12–13, 17, 139–57, 243–4, 247 Chiluba, Vera 81 China 9, 13–14, 17–18, 54–72, 243–7 Chuchryk, Patricia 146 civic associations 202–3 civil society: in Africa 93; in Central and Eastern Europe 24–35, 39–40, 45–6; in Chile 140–4, 155–7; in China 55–7, 67–71; concept of 1, 16; and the family 1–5; and feminism 4–7, 249; feminist 196–201, 208–16, 242; and gender relations 3–8, 19, 242; global 14–15, 222–4, 236–7, 243–8; in Indonesia 117, 122–3, 126, 131–5; in Mexico 163–5, 174, 178, 187; in the Middle East 102–3, 106–7, 110, 113–14; needs for further research on 250–2; and the state 5, 249–50; types of organisation in 201–4; in the US 203–8

254

Index

Clinton, Bill 183 Cohen, Cathy 199 Cohen, Jean 2–3 collective action by women, distinctiveness of 91–2 Collin, F. 152 communist parties 14, 26, 40, 55–8, 64–72, 118–19, 122, 125 Congo 86 Connell, R. 113–14 Costa Rica 227–8, 230 Côte d’Ivoire 80 ‘counter-public’ concept 200–1 cultural organisations 15, 85, 197, 205–8, 212–16 Czechoslovakia 27–8, 31 Dahlerup, Drude 5 Dawson, Michael 199 Del Piano, Adriana 145 DeLue, Steven 3 democratic processes 13, 17–18, 102, 112–14, 117, 121, 125–6, 130–4, 139–40, 145–9, 156–7, 163–6, 196–7, 200–3, 243, 246–8 Duarte, Patricia 173–4 Duffy, Diane 24 Duhacˇek, D. 24–5, 41

163–5, 172–4, 178–87; in the Middle East 101–4, 111–14; political context of 243–52; restructuring of 152–4; types of 103 feminist civil society 197–201, 208–16, 242 Ferguson, Adam 1, 4 Ferree, Myra Marx 25 first ladies 81 Ford Foundation 58 France 176 Fraser, Nancy 2, 70, 142, 200 Gal, S. 25 García, Amalia 185 gender, definition of 231–5 gender-friendly policies 141 gender mainstreaming 34 gender studies 151, 156, 247 genital mutilation 10, 98, 104, 109 genocide 226 Germany, East 27–9 Ghana 12, 80–2, 90 Godoy, L. 154 Goldstone, Richard 225 Grau, O. 143 Guerrero, E. 154 Gunawan, R.F.X. 129 Guzmán, V. 144

Eastern Europe see Central and Eastern Europe Egypt 10, 18, 102–12 passim e-mail 78, 84 empowerment of women 198 Eritrea 11, 82–3 Errazuriz, Bishop 142 Espinosa, Patricia 171, 185 European Parliament 39 European Union (EU) 34, 39 Evans, J. 235

Habermas, Juergen 2 Hall Martinez, K. 227, 230–1, 235 Hassan, Riffat 123–8, 131, 134 Hasso, Frances 130 Hatem, Mervat 107–8 Hearn, Jonathan 5 Hegel, G.W.F. 1–4, 223 Hockey, Jenny 37 Hungary 27, 29 Hussein, Saddam 103

Facio, A. 231–2, 235 factor analysis 206–7 family life 1–5 femininity, images of 125–6 feminism 2–13 passim, 17–18; in Africa 94–7; in Canada 196; in Central and Eastern Europe 25–35, 38–41, 45–6; in Chile 139–57; in China 61; dissemination of 148–9; in Indonesia 121–2, 125, 130–3; and the International Criminal Court negotiations 223, 230; in Mexico

Ibrahim, Saad Eddin 103 Internet resources 78, 84 Indonesia 11, 16–17, 66–7, 117–35, 243, 246 International Criminal Court (ICC), negotiations on 13–14, 18–19, 222–38, 244 Inul Daratista 11, 117, 124–33 Irama, Rhoma 128–9 Iran 10, 102, 126 Iraq 10, 103, 108 Ireland 39, 236

Index Islam and Islamism 10–11, 101–2, 105–14, 117, 123–34, 243–5; see also Muslim societies Israel 108 Jalusi´c, Vlasta 31–2 Java 122–3, 126, 133 John Paul II, Pope 230 Jordan 10, 103–5, 108 Kabira, W.M. 88, 91 Kamalkhani, Z. 126–7 Kandiyoti, D. 114, 130–1 Kaunda, Betty 12, 81 Kenya 11, 12, 16, 45, 80–2, 85–92 passim, 96 Kiano, Jane 80 Kigongo, Olive Zaitun 86 Kingdon, J.W. 166, 176 Kligman, G. 25 Lagos, Ricardo 142, 144–5 Landes, Joan 2 Lang, Sabine 29 Latin America 141, 146, 154, 163–4, 182, 230 Lebanon 102, 128 Lee, Roy 229 Liberia 86 lobby groups 15, 45, 150, 215, 238 Locke, John 3 Majid, A. 134 Malawi 90 Mali 16, 83, 92 Marx, Karl 4 Mazur, Amy 176–7 Mexico 13–18, 163–88, 227, 248 Meyer, D.S. 208 Middle East 9–10, 18, 101–14, 227, 243–6 Mintrom, Michael 34 Moghadan, V. 130 Moghissi, Haiden 125, 131 Moreno, Maria de los Angeles 185 Morocco 103 Morokvasi´c, Mirjana 40 motherhood, conceptions of 16, 30, 79, 95–6, 245, 249 Mrsˇevi´c, Zorica 43 Mubarak, Hosni 106 multiple regression 210–12 Museveni, Janet 81

255

Muslim societies 101–2, 127, 131; see also Islam and Islamism Nairobi Conference on Women (1975) 54, 78, 85, 182, 225 Namibia 86 Nash, Rebecca 27 Nasser, Gamal Abdul 107 national identity 9, 133 nationalism 9–11, 41–2, 101–2, 114, 118, 122 Netherlands, the 227, 236 New Zealand 233 Ngugi, M. 80 Niger 81 Nigeria 80–1, 85–8, 97 non-governmental organisations (NGOs) 11–18; in Africa 78, 81–4, 88–98; in Central and Eastern Europe 33, 39, 41; in Chile 147, 150–6 passim; in China 55–60, 66–7; in a global context 244, 247; in Indonesia 122; and the International Criminal Court negotiations 226–30, 236–8; in Mexico 163–74 passim, 179–87; in the Middle East 104–13 passim North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 183 Nzegwu, N. 86 Nzioki, E.A. 88, 91 Okin, Susan Moller 4 Olojede, I. 88 Oosterveld, V.L. 235 Owiti, J. 84 Paine, Tom 1 Pakistan 125 Palestine 10, 102–5, 108–9 Pandeni, Constantia 86 Pateman, Carole 3, 5 patriarchy 113, 117, 127–8, 133, 157 Peter, Chris 89 Phillips, Anne 3–6 Pillay, Navi 226 Poland 9, 15, 24–9, 34–40, 243 ‘policy entrepreneurs’ 166, 184–7 political culture 142–3, 211–12 political parties 143, 155 pornography 129, 132, 228 Portillo, Lopez 15, 167 Posadskaya-Vanderbeck, A. 33 Prasodjo, Iman B. 125

256

Index

private sphere 105 professionalisation 153, 156, 247–8 ‘public sphere’ concept 2, 71–2, 133, 140–2, 196–9, 246 Putnam, R.D. 201–8 passim, 215 Qu’ran, the 112, 124, 127, 129 rape victims 43–4, 66–7, 98, 121, 123, 181, 225–6, 233 Rawlings, Jerry 81 Rawlings, Nana Ageman 12, 81 Red Cross 233 Regulska, Joanna 37, 39 Rendra, W.S. 117 Renne, Tanya 24, 33, 40 Rinaldo, R. 122 Risman, Barbara 25 Robinson, Mary 236 Robles, Rosario 171, 174, 185 Roman, Denise 30–1 Romania 29–31 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques 1, 3 Russia 28 Rwanda 86, 226, 231–4 Rweyemamu, Robert 90 Ryan, Mary 2 Sawyers, T.M. 208 September 11th 2001 attacks 124 sexuality, women’s 125–34 Sha’rawi, Huda 101 Shahidian, Hammed 131 Sierra Leone 86 Slovenia 42 social movements 201–3, 214–16, 224 socialism 103, 146, 149, 184 Soetito, L. 128 Solidarity 35–9 Somalia 86 Sörös Foundation 33 South Africa 93, 97, 227–8, 236 Sperling, Valerie 25, 33 state institutions, influences on 13–16, 244–5 Steains, C. 222, 229–33 Suharto, Raden 118–22 Sukarno, Ahmed 118, 122, 124 Sweden 214, 227–8 Switzerland 233 symbolic policy actions 176–9, 187 Tamari, S. 109

Tanzania 12, 16, 83–92, 97, 245 Tarrés, Maria Luisa 172 Thiitu, Gladys 96 Tibbetts, Alexandra 96 Time magazine 130 Timmerman, C. 129 de Tocqueville, Alexis 1, 4 Tohidi, N. 134 transition, democratic; in Chile 140–5, 149; impact of 28–30; in Mexico 163–5; myths of 24–5 True, Jacqui 34 Tsikata, E. 82 Tucker, Judith 102 Tunisia 10, 103, 108 Turkey 18, 102–3, 111–12, 234 Uganda 11–12, 16, 80–1, 85–6, 90–4 passim, 97, 245 umbrella organisations 80, 118 United Nations 80, 120, 141, 244, 251; Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) 34, 111, 127, 181, 183; Decade for Women (1975–85) 109, 225; and the International Criminal Court negotiations 222–30 passim, 237–8; Universal Declaration of Huam Rights 125, 183; see also Beijing Conference; Nairobi Conference United States 15, 83, 124, 166, 182–3, 186–7, 197, 204–16, 224, 229, 233–4, 245 Van Allen, Judith 95–6 Vargas, V. 157 Vienna Conference on Human Rights (1993) 225 violence against women 10, 14–15, 18, 23, 37–8, 41, 44, 66–7, 98, 104–6, 121, 123, 154, 165, 173, 180, 208–15, 244–5 Wahid, Abdurahman 129 Wal˜esa, Lech 29 Wall of Love movement 42 Wandita, G. 123 war crimes 225. 233–4 Wieringa, S. 133 women’s organisations 6–19; in Africa 78–94; in Central and Eastern Europe 23–32, 38–9, 42–5; in Chile

Index 139, 150–2; in China 54–71; debates within 97–8; distinctiveness of 245–6; in Indonesia 118–24, 132–4; internal structure of 110–13; in the Middle East 103–13; and the state 8–13, 91, 106–9; types of information about 205–6 women’s rights 95–6, 103–8 passim, 124–31 passim, 168–70

257

women’s studies 41, 181 Young, Iris 200–4 passim, 214 Yugoslavia 9, 24, 33–4, 40–5, 225–6, 231–3 Zajovi´c, S. 44 Zambia 12, 81 Zedillo, Ernesto 184 Zimbabwe 90