PATRIARCHY IS FEMICIDE
Male violence against women is about so much more than toxic masculinity

Sonia Sodha
Sun, 6 March 2022

Photograph: Ian West/PA

The murder of Sarah Everard by a serving police officer a year ago prompted a wave of national shock. Her brutal abduction, rape and killing pierced the public consciousness to such a degree that feminist campaigners wondered if this tragedy might move us from seeing violence as something society has to live with to something that can be significantly reduced.

Today, those hopes look misplaced. A single statistic shows how little has changed: since Sarah’s murder, at least 125 women have been killed by men. Some, like Sabina Nessa, were murdered in a public place by a man they didn’t know; many more behind closed doors, often by their partners. The question, after having read report after report, is why, for all the never agains and pledges to do more, have we failed so badly to reduce violence?

Any analysis of violence has to begin with the stark difference between the sexes. The vast majority of violence is committed by men – more than four-fifths of violent crime and an even greater proportion of sex offences. While men are also more likely to be victims of violent crime, women are overwhelmingly more likely to be victims of severe domestic abuse. (One of the reasons single-sex spaces have become the norm in prisons, hospital wards and refuges: it is a simple rule of thumb to safeguard against male violence.)

Interestingly, the difference in physical aggression between the average man and the average women is moderate – to put it in context, about a quarter as significant as average sex differences in height. The big difference comes at the extremes of the distribution: there are many more very violent men than women.

What underpins this difference? In animals, scientists have found a clear link between testosterone levels and male aggression. But this is not replicated in humans, leading experts to believe that the complex interaction between genetic and environmental factors – the way children are socialised – plays a much greater role


A UK project has shed the feminist attachment to the idea that the key to reducing violence is teaching men to be better

And there are noticeable differences in the way boys and girls are socialised. Children’s worlds are infused with harmful gender stereotypes – the idea that girls are sweet and boys are tough – in everything from behaviour expectations to their toys and clothes. There are some school-based programmes that try to tackle damaging masculine stereotypes, which draw on evidence of the effectiveness of peer-based programmes to tackle bullying in encouraging friends to call each other out on unhealthy behaviour towards girls. It can only be a good thing to challenge the stereotypes that are corrosive to boys and girls.

Perpetrator programmes for violent men have also run with this idea of reprogramming masculinity. That makes sense when you consider that, a few decades ago, the only people interested in reducing domestic violence were grassroots feminists who understood male violence primarily as a symptom of patriarchy: the age-old structural power imbalance between men and women that socially constructed itself out of differences between the sexes. They developed the Duluth model, named after the Minnesota city where it was conceived in the 1980s, which included a curriculum that aimed to educate the patriarchy out of perpetrators.

It is used widely today in the US, the UK and Australia, but evidence of its effectiveness is equivocal at best. That is not altogether surprising: the idea that attending a weekly support group will transform lifelong patterns of violent behaviour for most men seems far-fetched.

The difference between the sexes is a vital starting point for understanding violence, but cannot be the endpoint. Just as important are differences between men: why are some more violent than others? Some will have the kinds of personality disorders that mean they are incapable of feeling empathy. But longitudinal research finds that adverse childhood experiences – such as parental or domestic abuse, having a father in prison or growing up around alcohol or substance abuse – are associated with poorer outcomes in adulthood for boys and girls and one of those outcomes for some boys is a greater propensity to violence.

Yet the services that exist to support children with trauma have been cut to the bone over the past decade. It is not to excuse adult violence to say that some perpetrators have been resoundingly failed as children.

This difference between men has also been elided when it comes to perpetrator programmes. One of the most effective is a UK project called Drive, developed by two domestic abuse charities. It has shed once and for all the feminist attachment to the idea that the key to reducing serious violence is teaching men to be better. It works with the highest-risk domestic abusers. They are all assigned a case manager, who can help them access the support they need, such as housing or mental health services.

But it also functions as a surveillance system for dangerous men: they are monitored on an ongoing basis and case managers bring in other agencies such as the police and social services to disrupt their violent behaviour. The results are stunning: an 82% and 88% sustained drop in physical and sexual abuse respectively. But just 1% of serious domestic abuse perpetrators get funnelled into targeted interventions. If we were serious about reducing violence, we would be channelling money into a national rollout of this programme in the same way we spend vast sums on counter-terrorism.


Long-standing research shows that alcohol restrictions produce beneficial health outcomes and reduce violence

This idea that we need to disrupt rather than try to fix dangerous men has other implications. There is longstanding research that shows that alcohol restrictions – policies such as minimum pricing, limits on sales of strong alcohol in violence hotspots and timing restrictions – produce not only a range of beneficial health outcomes, but reduce violence. Of course they are a superficial lever and there is much they don’t address, but they reduce harm. Which raises the question: why don’t we use them more?

I ended up in a different place than I imagined I would when I embarked on a new documentary for Radio 4. Of course, you cannot understand violence without understanding differences between the sexes, but male violence is about much more than toxic masculinity. And we need to put the same effort into disrupting violent men from killing their partners as we do in stopping them from committing dreadful acts of terrorism.

• Sonia Sodha is an Observer columnist

Violence Against Women A Moral Outrage

Women do not speak of domestic violence - WHO
One in six women worldwide suffers domestic violence - some battered during pregnancy - yet many remain silent about the assaults, according to the World Health Organisation.
"Women are more at risk from violence involving people they know at home than from strangers in the street. There is a feeling that the home is a safe haven and that pregnancy is a very protected period, but that is not the case," WHO director-general Lee Jong-Wook said.

Slain woman 'brought smiles to everyone' family remembers
CBC News
A pregnant teenager found in a Mill Woods townhouse Wednesday night died from multiple gunshot wounds, the medical examiner's office said Friday. A 19-year-old man, who police say had known Olivia Talbot since childhood, has been charged with first-degree murder in connection with her death.

The right wing will now decry this and call for more law and order, but it is their religious morality that is the cause of this violence against women.

Violence against women is the result of patriarchy, of the religious ideology that says women are the chattel property of their husbands, fathers, brothers.

It matters not which religious sect of monothiesm espouses the belief in the Sacredness of Marriage, those that speak of such sacredness are merely excusing their right to 'own' their wives. To do with them as they will, which includes beating and even killing them.

Recently, Mr. Oppal characterized the gang violence afflicting his community in Greater Vancouver as a "cancer." More provocatively, he said the difference in the way many Indo-Canadian families raise sons and daughters is a contributing factor. "There are still a lot of families who celebrate the birth of a boy but don't celebrate the birth of a girl," Mr. Oppal said in an interview. "And you see this reflected in the way they bring up their children. The boys get carte blanche treatment and the result is they grow up to be gangsters in many cases."

It is a moral depravity of these religions of patriarchy, and should be seen as such. While the religionists around the world are quick to denounce the moral turpitude of secular society, we must remember that this so called secular society is the result of humanities revlusion to the moral decadence, political power and its abuse by the theocracies that have ruled our lives.

Every time the religious establishment denounces sex education, womens rights, and humanism in general they are creating the continued conditions of oppression of women.

To say the unborn child takes precedence over the mother and her rights as a woman to choose, is to say she is chattel property.

To fail to have a comprehensive human relations education, sex ed if you like, in our public schools will continue to haunt us with examples like that above.

While denouncing sex education, what the religionist does is throw the baby out with the bathwater. For in having human sexuality education one learns tolerance, one learns about the problems of relationships including jealousy.

We cannot pray away these very real human emotions, nor can one hope they will not occur, they do in all relationships, and in order to mature into a relationship one needs education, including moral education. But that moral education needs to be humanist, to recognize the problems that exist in our relationships with each other and to also honour each other as inviduals not for our social roles.

The moral bankruptcy of leaving sex ed/human relations education to the Church/Temple/Synagouge etc. and to the parents continues to result in the abuse and death of women and children.

Until we recognize womens individuality, to their right to ownership especially over their own persons, and to own property, then violence against women will continue, it is the disease of patriarchy.

The Failure of Christianity

by Emma Goldman

Everywhere and always, since its very inception, Christianity has turned the earth into a vale of tears; always it has made of life a weak, diseased thing, always it has instilled fear in man, turning him into a dual being, whose life energies are spent in the struggle between body and soul. In decrying the body as something evil, the flesh as the tempter to everything that is sinful, man has mutilated his being in the vain attempt to keep his soul pure, while his body rotted away from the injuries and tortures inflicted upon it.

Why India is still struggling with an unrelenting rape crisis

A month after the sexual assault and murder of a Kolkata doctor, demands for justice and women's safety continue to reverberate.

NILOSREE BISWAS
TRT/AA

A doctor holds a banner during a protest demanding justice following the rape and murder of a trainee medic at a hospital in Kolkata, in New Delhi, India, August 19, 2024.

Over the past couple of days, it has rained incessantly in Kolkata, the capital of India's West Bengal state. But that hasn't stopped the West Bengal Junior Doctors Front and citizens from all walks of life from taking part in massive protests demanding justice for a doctor who was raped and killed at RG Kar Medical College last month.

It's been more than 36 days since the doctor was killed at one of the oldest medical colleges in the country. Since then, demonstrations have gripped Kolkata, with protesters demanding justice and successfully spurring the sacking of the city's police commissioner and state government health officials.

The public outrage has spilled over across the nation, as well as to 25 cities through Europe and North America.

In an Independence Day speech last month, Prime Minister Narendra Modi alluded to the crime, saying state governments should instill the fear of punishment in the perpetrators and boost confidence in society. However, his BJP party appears to grapple with its own rape problem.

Still, what happened on the night of August 9 has not only opened a floodgate of fury, but also reopened scars of the past, forcing Indians to once again ask hard questions about rape culture, a disorder that has gripped our society for too long.

In the past month, several notable events have taken place in India.

For one, India's Supreme Court has begun hearing the proceedings of the Kolkata case, and the Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) has assumed jurisdiction over the matter.

Meanwhile, a district court in Siliguri (in North Bengal) has announced a guilty verdict in a rape and murder case that occurred in the Matigara area of Siliguri subdivision, roughly a year ago. The perpetrator was sentenced to death.

Additionally, more cases of rape continue to be reported around the country, including a rape of a woman in broad daylight in Ujjain, Madhya Pradesh, and the rape and murder of a 14-year-old Dalit girl in Bihar, as well as reports that two kindergarten students (girls) had been sexually abused by school staff (in charge of cleaning) in Badlapur, Maharastra.

And these are just the incidents that have made it to the news headlines.

From all of these concurrent events, it's fair to conclude that India is in a complex, distressing situation where two things hold true.

One, that law-abiding processes are in place, the judiciary is working towards offering justice, and verdicts and punishment are pronounced and implemented. Two, sexual violences and rape still continue.

So what is the problem, and why can't India fix it? The near-distant past offers a clue.

Attempts to change

On December 16, 2012, a 23-year-old physiotherapy student was gangraped by six men in a moving bus in New Delhi.

The victim, nicknamed Nirbhaya, or Fearless, in media reports as Indian law prohibits naming a rape victim, succumbed to her injuries days after the attack.

The crime was a sexual offence that sent shock waves across the nation, leading to massive outrage for months, drawing international attention and prompting sweeping changes, including introducing a new anti-rape law that sanctions the death penalty for offenders on a case-by-case basis.

The four men found guilty were convicted and hanged on March 20, 2020 at Tihar Jail. The fifth had committed suicide while serving his sentence and the minor offender who was less than 18 years old at the time of the crime was released after three-year term, the maximum under juvenile law in India.

In 2018, another grim case came to light: the rape and murder of a minor (baby girl) in Indore, Madhya Pradesh. This resulted in a three-week fast-track trial, the fastest ever in a rape case in post-independent India, with the 26-year-old male offender found guilty and sentenced to death.



The messages sent through both cases were loud and clear, but incidents of molestation, rape and murder continue to run rampant through the years.

Fast forward to the third quarter of this year. Multiple judgements on various cases have been announced and sentences rendered, including the death penalty, and they will all likely be implemented.

In a country where legal process takes years, verdicts are welcome and offer a ray of hope.

However, the on-the-ground reality remains grim. International and national data reveal a spine-chilling graph of unabated incidents of violence against women, including rape and murder. Consider the last three years alone.



According to the National Crime Bureau Report (NCRB), which released 2022 crime stats at the end of 2023, India saw a 4 percent surge in crimes against women including rape, murder, dowry deaths, molestations and acid attacks.


In 2020, there were 371,503 registered cases of crimes against women. Since then, there has been an alarming increase in crime rates with 445,256 cases tabulated in 2022.


Rape cases registered in 2021 stood at 31,677, or an average of 87 cases a day - an increase of 19.34 percent from 2020. Notably, rape-related convictions documented between 2018-2022 stand only at 28 percent.


Last year, the Georgetown Institute's Women, Peace and Security Index ranked India poorly - 128th out of 177 countries in terms of women's security, justice and inclusion.


Malicious cycle

So what should India do about its rape problem?



Earlier this year, West Bengal passed the Aparajita Bill. The legislation introduces newer provisions related to sexual offences, including rape. The bill is intended to further strengthen the protection of children and women in West Bengal. Other states are working to pass laws along the same lines and courtrooms across the nation are escalating efforts to get justice.

But why does rape still remain one of the most common crimes against women in India? Why is India struggling to curb its rape culture? The answer isn't a one liner.

In a deeply divided country, rape signifies more than a standalone sexual crime. It is a weaponised act of vengeance within caste politics and settling personal scores.

That brings us back to India's draconian patriarchy and deep-rooted misogyny, wherein abusing and torturing women is permissible and where women are shamed for being raped.


Junior doctors protest to demand the resignation of city police commissioner and condemn the rape and murder of a medic, in Kolkata on September 2, 2024 (AFP).

Given this societal flaw, it is unlikely that rape numbers will go down or stop altogether. This is also why historical judgements as in Nirbhaya's case have failed to initiate any noticeable change. It shows the absence of fear of law, as neither life sentences nor death penalty scare the offenders.

With past lessons never taken seriously, no counter culture that challenges patriarchy, male social conditioning at all levels, and sensitisation towards a gender, a just and inclusive society could be established.

Additionally, there are lags in police reporting and registration of complaints, impeding faster implementation of the existing laws against sexual offences.
,,

It's a long journey towards a counter culture that could finally beat patriarchy, toxic masculinity and misogyny in India.

As the Kolkata protests peak, it is high time to draw on lessons from the past to break down the rampant problem of sexual crime at every social level, nurture and encourage a gender -sensitive, safe environment.

Otherwise, making sweeping changes under the criminal justice system or with legislation may only work temporarily. It's a long journey towards a counter culture that could finally beat patriarchy, toxic masculinity and misogyny in India.

One can hope that amnesiac India will wake up!

SOURCE: TRT WORLD

Nilosree Biswas
Nilosree Biswas is an author and filmmaker who writes about history, culture, food and cinema of South Asia, Asia and its diaspora.
peachtreespeaks

#IWD

Women march in major cities across Pakistan against 'pandemic of patriarchy'

Dawn.com | Imtiaz Ali | Imran Gabol

Published March 8, 2021 - 

Activists of the Aurat March hold placards during a rally to mark International Women's Day in Islamabad on March 8, 2020. — AFP/File

A banner shows messages from participants at the Aurat March, Lahore. — Photo by Imran Gabol


Women, men and allies participated in Aurat Marches in all major Pakistani cities on Monday to mark International Women's Day and call for the protection of women's rights.

The first Aurat March was held in 2018 in Karachi. The next year, it was extended to more cities, including Lahore, Multan, Faisalabad, Larkana, and Hyderabad. This year too, the marches were held in Karachi, Lahore, Islamabad, and other cities.

Karachi

In Karachi, the march took place at Frere Hall. In view of the prevailing coronavirus situation, organisers had emphasised standard operating procedures (SOPs), including wearing masks and maintaining a distance of six feet.

Strict security arrangements were put in place at the venue, with walkthrough gates installed at the entrance, where attendants were checked before being allowed to enter. The march itself attracted a sizeable crowd, comprising people of all ages and from all walks of life.


Read | Why do women march? A look at the Aurat March 2021 manifestos

The Karachi march was also broadcast live.



Qurrat Mirza, one of the organisers of the march, took the stage and reminded the crowd why they were here.

“In 2018, we held the first march,” she said. “Four years later, we have the same demands, which is why we are going to do a symbolic sit-in.”

She added that the organisers had a 15-point manifesto for the government, which it must implement.

“If we don’t see action on our demands in the next one month, we will devise a course of action in the next three months,” she said, adding that they would do a sit-in every day if they had to.

“Because it is not acceptable to me that someone rapes my daughter and her body is found in a garbage dump.”

Lahore

In Lahore, the Aurat March started from the Lahore Press Club and reached its destination outside the Punjab Assembly building.

The Aurat March Lahore organisers also laid out a "#MeToo blanket" on which women shared their experiences of sexual violence and abuse.

Participants of the march also displayed women's clothes with words written on them — termed "stains of patriarchy" — that reflected their experiences with patriarchy and the abuse suffered by them. The clothes were hung on wires across streets and walls.

"These are real stories of violence, but also an act of resistance because we no longer carry the shame associated with these acts. The same is now society's," a tweet by Aurat March Lahore said.

Clothes are hung as part of an art display in Lahore. — Photo: Imran Gabol



Islamabad

The march in Islamabad started from the National Press Club and ended at D-Chowk around 5pm. The participants of the event raised slogans about reclaiming public spaces for women.

Manifestos

Each chapter of the Aurat March has its own manifesto with the Karachi chapter focusing on patriarchal violence; Lahore on addressing healthcare workers and women’s health; and the Islamabad march is dedicated to the crisis of care.

The Karachi chapter's demands include an "end to gender-based violence by patriarchal forces as well as state-backed violence targeting activists, religious groups and communities and effective and transparent investigation of gender-based crimes and fair and expeditious trials".

Residents participate in the Aurat March in Lahore. — Photo: Imran Gabol

Other demands include criminalisation of virginity tests for rape victims, establishment of gender-based violence reporting cells in police stations across Sindh and Pakistan, and an end to sexual harassment.



In line with its focus on healthcare workers and women's health, the Lahore chapter's demands include fulfillment of basic necessities by the state and a better infrastructure given to survivors of abuse who need access to mental as well as physical care within a rehabilitative framework in order to adequately manage the long-term effects of the violence visited upon them.

Concerns about other health issues are also raised in the document, including, educational programs and training aiming to stop stigmatization and shame associated with gendered bodies, breast cancer, reproductive health, the gender pain gap, more gender sensitized medico-legal practitioners, charging for forensic services (including from rape victims), HIV, access to free medicines, rights of PWDs, implementation of the Transgender Act 2018, access to clean water and toilets, especially to avoid contraction of Covid-19, healthcare for female prisoners, and drug addicts and users, an end to underage marriage, and several other issues associated with the health sector.

Last year, the situation at the Islamabad Aurat March turned precarious after male participants of a rival 'Haya March' by religious parties threw stones at participants of the Aurat March, injuring at least one person. The situation was brought under control by police.
Tributes

Meanwhile, tributes poured in with ministers and politicians recalling the role of women in their lives while simultaneously calling for them to be given equal rights.

Army chief Gen Qamar Javed Bajwa in his message said Pakistani women had "contributed immensely for the glory and honour of our nation". Women were also at the forefront of the fight against the Covid-19 pandemic, he noted.

Talking about women in uniform, Gen Bajwa said they have "proved their mettle by contributing copiously in diverse fields serving the nation & humanity".

"They deserve our immense respect & gratitude," he added.

National Assembly Speaker Asad Qaiser said that the protection of women's rights was the "top priority" of the government because it was "imperative for the formation of a progressive society", according to a report by Radio Pakistan.

Minister for Information Shibli Faraz said March 8 "highlighted women's high status in society and their commendable services in different sectors".

He said that the Constitution was a guarantor of women's rights and they had played an important role in the building and progress of the country.

"Making women powerful and protected in society by ensuring equal rights and equal opportunities for progress for them is our determination," he stressed.




PML-N Vice President Maryam Nawaz also talked about women empowerment, saying she "dream[s] of a Pakistan where women excel in every field and play leading roles".




Special Assistant to the Prime Minister on Health Dr Faisal Sultan paid tribute to the female health workers "who put themselves in harm's way to deliver care, on top of fulfilling their personal responsibilities and braving societal barriers that often inhibit their careers".




Federal Education Minister Shafqat Mahmood paid tribute to all the women in his life, including his mother, wife, daughters, sisters and his colleagues at work and in politics.

"Thank you for making the world a better place," he wrote.




Minister for Science and Technology Fawad Chaudhry used the occasion to encourage girls to opt for science subjects to change their and the country's destiny.




Muttahida Qaumi Movement-Pakistan (MQM-P) leader and newly-elected senator Faisal Subzwari reminded people that respecting women also meant "respecting their liberty of making choices".

He called on people to encourage the women in their families, adding "we as a society badly need educated, confident & courageous women".

In pictures: Women across the world make their voices heard on Int'l Women's Day - World - DAWN.COM

SEE

A patriarchy pandemic: The best of the Aurat March - Comment - Images (dawn.com)

FEMICIDE, MISOGYNY, PATRIARCHY

PAKISTAN

Women are angry. Men will witness
This was another case of a man thinking he needed to show a woman her place, and things got out of hand.

Aisha S

Published 3 days ago


It was a day of anger. Women were angry. And men were to bear witness.

This was a day different from all the other days. Usually, men are angry, women stand down. But on that day, when we staged a sit-in at the #JusticeForNoor protest in Islamabad; a Sunday — a day when most people in the capital stay home with their families, now there is a dark shadow cast on the word family itself. Yet, this seemed like a new family; these women who had come together for a cause.

I stood in an enclosure roped in by volunteers who wouldn’t let anyone in except women and trans people. A speaker at the protest said: This is our space and while we applaud the men who have shown up in solidarity, today we ask them to stand back and stay quiet.

We were also told that the district officer had not permitted us to march beyond the sit-in at the press club, but we insisted we must march to the point closest to our parliament. We were taxpayers and we had demands — it was a simple case of wanting representation and being heard.

A participant speaking at the protest calling for justice for Noor Mukadam in Islamabad. — Photo by writer

We walked from the press club to the famous D-Chowk, one foot after another. In front, a woman wearing two-inch platform heels walked too, finding it harder than the rest of us in traditional khussas, but walking nonetheless in the same formation, her short hair clumped together from the sweat. It was a scorching afternoon and the sun beat down on us at about half boiling point. Inside us all, there was a slight thaw from the numbness we all felt over the last few days when we received news of 27-year-old Noor’s beheading — a violent murder, but an intent all too common. A man thought he needed to show a woman her place, and things got out of hand.

These streets belong to all of us, they are not men’s property — a young woman yelled into a crackling microphone. She stood atop a pickup with a banner honouring the three recently slain women at the hands of the men. Her voice was shrill, from screaming azadi slogans, and from just being a woman. We need a base voice in the rally, I said to my friend who was also a speaker. She smiled back from behind her Covid mask. At that time, humour felt like resistance.

Behind me, young girls raised a poster over their heads that read — raise better men. Almost all of us had deep sunset orange henna on our hands, intricately applied. The day Noor was murdered was the day we were all supposed to celebrate Eidul Azha and be merry. We were supposed to make offerings; not be an offering.

Protesters calling for justice for Noor Mukadam. — Photo by writer

I was marching somewhere in the middle of the crowd. Some women had dyed their hair blue, pink, and silver — it’s in vogue. Girls were wearing sleeveless, there were women in niqabs and there were women who were dupatta-clad, some women were demure, others boisterous, all focused on one single motive — mourning.

We walked, we chanted shame-shame-shame, and we walked some more.

When we turned onto the eight-lane Jinnah Avenue, we grew wide like a river that meets an ocean, in front of us was Constitution Avenue. The symbolism was unmistakable. Our founding father and his sister side-by-side in politics gave Pakistan a visual blueprint of how to behave, and our constitution, guaranteeing our protection and our equality. Our founding father died a year after the nation’s birth, his sister suspiciously dead not long after.

In Pakistan, women’s Constitutional rights are guaranteed, but are generally out-claused by other matters that are more important to the country than 51% of its population. Still we walked, onwards. To our right was commercial area and on our left were the banks that help roll out loans to enable the commercialism — all of this is mostly for men. We marched between the two, daring to ask, daring to name our murderers, daring to be soft, daring to be hard and to be shell-shocked; one more loudspeaker chant: give patriarchy one last push to its final end!

An attendee speaking at the protest in Islamabad. — Photo by writer

I chanted dry-mouthed, voice grainy. Maybe for us women, pushing patriarchy down may require much more than a nudge. I was parched and asked a friend to buy me some from water from a street hawker. The water was like hot soup. I thought of blood; blood is drawn out of women, much like hot soup. I’ve become morbid. Dark thoughts are a consequence of knowing too much. It is also a consequence of choosing not to cope by ignoring the problems our society coughs up again and again — violence against women, domestic violence, victim-blaming, and the well-funded war on women.

Call the gender wars what you may, but the blood must remain within our skins — no need to bleed us out because of minor discomfort to a moral code like honour. Feel dishonour, but please do not kill for it. Someone recognised their friend and rushed to them for a hug; they trembled and held each other tight while we marched on around their little friendship island. I am so glad you had the courage to show up, she told her friend.

We were promised that Noor’s friend was to speak, but she couldn’t. She was overcome by the protest and by the trauma it unleashed. I would be too. We had heard witness testimony earlier of a sister of a slain woman. She spoke about her nieces witnessing the crime. She spoke of delayed justice. She spoke of evidence tampering. She spoke of death. Her voice didn’t rattle, she had recounted it over and over again, but the rest of us shuddered and cried over the relatability of it — the familiar feeling of not being believed. Of getting silenced. Every story began with silencing, and every story was un-silenced because of social media’s ability to garner support for the underdog.

We finally sat down on the road to the parliament — the road blazing hot. This was it. This is where we say goodbye to Noor, but not to our need to bring her up every day of our lives; in memory, in words, and in a very cautious life for our daughters.

Why do we wait for a hashtag to get justice? The last speaker asked us. We nodded. The question assumes that #JusticeForNoor will get Noor Mukadam justice.

When we slowly walked back home from D-Chowk, banners in toe, the birdsongs from the trees along the well-heeled parts of Islamabad were louder than usual. I gathered some wildflowers along the roads leading back to my home. They now sit blooming in an earthen vase near a poster from the protest. They are also loud.

Aisha is a freelance writer and the Co-Founder of Women’s Advancement Hub.

Azzi: The patriarchy's worst fear – women who think and compete

Robert Azzi,
Portsmouth Herald
Sun, June 5, 2022, 

“In the nineteenth century," Adrienne Rich wrote in The Theft of Childbirth, "the educated woman was seen as a threat to the survival of the species…. Patriarchal society would seem to require not only that women shall assume the major burden of pain and self-denial for the continuation of the species, but that a majority of that species—women—shall remain essentially uninformed and unquestioning.”

Today, in the twenty-first century, 50 years after the passage of both Title IX and Roe v. Wade, it appears that patriarchal interests continue to assault - from the womb to the football pitch - women's bodies and interests.

Much has been written recently, after the leak of Justice Alito's hateful attack, about Roe v. Wade and what overturning it would mean to women.

Less has been reported about attacks on Title IX, which was passed to prohibit sex discrimination - including on issues of pregnancy, sexual orientation, and gender identity - in any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance.

Over time it created new opportunities for women - opportunities denied them for generations by the misogynistic manipulations of cisgendered, patriarchal white men.

Before 1972 there were fewer than 300,000 girls playing sports in only about 15,000 American high schools, compared with over 3,600,000 million boys in virtually every school.

Today, because of Title IX, there are over 3,400,000 girls (in over 312,000 schools) competing across a sports spectrum - including at what Americans call soccer - with many hopeful for college scholarships unavailable before 1972.

Last month, 50 years after Title IX was passed; 50 years after women were given sports platforms upon which to compete and showcase their athletic abilities, an historic agreement was struck that guarantees that all national team soccer players - regardless of gender - will receive equal pay when representing America.

Finally, the U.S. Soccer Federation (USSF) agreed to pay athletes equally for doing exactly the same job: A job, I might add, where men, since 1934, have never finished above 8th place while America's women have won four World Cups since 1991!

“When my coach said I ran like a girl," Mia Hamm recounted, "I said that if he could run a little faster he could too.”

A job where previously women soccer players couldn't earn more than $260,000 while male losers could earn more than $1,000,000.

According to the NY Times, “U.S. Soccer will distribute millions of extra dollars to its best players through a complicated calculus of increased match bonuses, pooled prize money and new revenue-sharing agreements that will give each team a slice of the tens of millions of dollars in commercial revenues that U.S. Soccer receives each year ...”

This isn't about equity - it's about equal pay for equal work!

Right-wing activists have for some time been attempting to conflate "equality" and "equity," in the minds of suggestible followers, intimating that somehow Democrats and progressives are trying to assure equal societal outcomes.

Nothing's further from the truth: Equity and Equality may sound similar but they're not.

Equality means all individuals or groups should be given the same resources or opportunities while equity recognizes that because some individuals or groups have different (often limited) circumstances they may need different resources and opportunities in order to equally compete.

For example, students with broadband at home are advantaged over students who have to sit on the curb in front of McDonalds to access the internet.

Teams with fully-equipped weight rooms are advantaged over teams that don't.

To suggest that women athletes should not be equally compensated with men because they've been competing for fewer years is to suggest, perhaps, that Black American votes should count less since they've been voting for fewer years than privileged whites.

Perhaps, as women have only been voting for 102 years, their votes should be devalued by 50%; perhaps Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's opinions should've mattered less because she occupied a seat believed reserved for white men.

Some critics whine that sports “equity” means that some male sports programs may have been eliminated by making room for women, reasoning that ignores that for generations only men decided who got to play what.

Today, an overwhelming number of high-ranking women executives at Fortune 500 companies say their opportunity to compete in sports contributed to their success in fields previously dominated by white men.

Perhaps that is really patriarchy's fear.

"When I was a little boy," Will Smith recounts in King Richard, "my mom used to say, 'Son, the most powerful, the most dangerous creature on this whole earth is a woman who knows how to think.'"

Women who think: May their presence persist.

Robert Azzi, a photographer and writer who lives in Exeter, can be reached at theother.azzi@gmail.com. His columns are archived at theotherazzi.wordpress.com

This article originally appeared on Portsmouth Herald: The patriarchy's worst fear – women who think and compete

'The Amazon is the entry door of the world': why Brazil's biodiversity crisis affects us all
Indigenous leader Célia Xakriabá and Vagina Monologues author V discuss the destruction of Brazil’s forests and why this is the century of the indigenous woman

V (formerly Eve Ensler)

Mon 10 Aug 2020

Play Video
2:41 'The Brazilian government is committing genocide', says indigenous leader Célia Xakriabá – video


Célia Xakriabá is the voice of a new generation of female indigenous leaders who are leading the fight against the destruction of Brazil’s forests both in the Amazon and the lesser known Cerrado, a savannah that covers a fifth of the country. V, formerly Eve Ensler, is the award-winning author of the Vagina Monologues, an activist and founder of V-Day, a global movement to end violence against all women and girls and the Earth. The two recently held a conversation in which V asked Xakriabá about what is happening to Brazil’s biodiversity and indigenous peoples, and why women are the key to change.

V: Many people, especially in the west, don’t really understand what’s happening to the Cerrado in Brazil. Can you tell us what’s happening to the forests?
C: It’s very tough at this moment. Every minute one person dies of Covid-19, but also every minute one tree is cut. And whenever a tree is cut, a part of us is cut, a part of us also dies, because the territory dies and with no territory there is no air, no good air for everyone in the world. People can’t breathe. So all this Covid contamination, it gets to the territory through the miners, the gold miners, the loggers and the rangers. And now that we are getting to August, we get even more worried about the fires, all the fires that burned the Amazon last year. It’s going to come back.Q&A
What is Brazil's Cerrado and why is it in crisis?Show

And what happens to all the animals, and to the birds and to every living thing in the forest? What happens to them?

When the forest is burned, the birds and the animals, they are either burned or they go away. And this doesn’t affect only the animals, but it also affects us. We rely on them to eat. So with no animals, we have to rely on food from the outside, and this ends up making our children and our women sick, here with the Xakriabá people. I can hear the song of the birds now, but it’s also a song of misery, of sadness, because most of them, they are alone. They have lost their partners. The birds, they usually sing as a couple. And many of them are now singing alone. And we, the indigenous are becoming more alone, because they’re taking people from us
.
The Brazilian tribe leader Célia Xakriabá, November 2019.
 Photograph: Thomas Samson/AFP via Getty Images

When I first met you, we laughed because we were talking about vaginas and you told me that the Amazon was the vagina of the world. So can you talk a little bit about that?
The Amazon’s like the vagina of the world because it’s where people come from. It’s like the entry door of the world. When this opening is sick, the future generations, they will be sick also. People lost this connection to the Earth because they don’t see Earth and land as a relative. For me, the Earth is like a grandmother, because it’s Earth who gave birth to all of the mothers of the world. Earth is like the first independent woman that created humanity and Earth needed rivers and water to create humanity. But now people just see Earth as a thing. They can design big cities, but they can’t see this connection to Earth. They go to the supermarket, to the grocery store, and they don’t know where that food comes from.


It’s so powerful to see how many indigenous women are leading the struggle to defend the forests and the land. Why do you think this is important?
I’ve been saying that this 21st century, it’s the century of the indigenous woman, because you can’t cure with the same evil that first caused the sickness. You have to overcome this colonising power that is mainly male. I like to say about the matrix of destruction that it’s not matrix, it’s the patrix because it’s based on patriarchy, not matriarchy. And the women, they are the ones who are in this century regaining power over the land, because they know how to cure the Earth. Women have this knowledge and that’s why we are on the frontline right now. I am fighting to not only strengthen the role of women in the territory and in the fight, but also in politics, with indigenous women running for positions in parliament, in the Brazilian Congress. Who can take better care of humanity, if not women?


People just see Earth as a thing. They can design big cities, but they can’t see this connection to Earth

Can you talk a little bit about how patriarchy has disconnected us from the land and the connection of patriarchy and capitalism?
When Pedro Álvares Cabral first invaded Brazil in the 1500s, the first thing that got his attention was the wood from the pau-brasil, which is where the name Brazil comes from. In 1511, this guy named Fernando de Noronha exported 5,000 pau-brasil to Europe. So that’s when it all began. Since then, they don’t respect the relation of the indigenous peoples with time. That’s why capitalism sees indigenous peoples as a threat. You have to take everything you can in as little time as possible, but that’s not how indigenous people relate to time and to labour. Yeah, the indigenous people weren’t keeping up with the “progress” of humanity but it’s not that we are late, it’s because they’re killing us. In the last year there was more than a million hectares of destruction in all the six biomes of Brazil. Since the 1500s, until now, no Earth, no land, no mother, no woman can support this kind of destruction

A fire in the Cerrado, October 2018. The area is one of the world’s oldest and most diverse tropical ecosystems. Photograph: David Bebber/WWF-UK/PA

Can you tell me what is the lived experience of the struggle for life and the struggle of the indigenous peoples in this phase of the onslaught of the extractive industries, and now with Covid exacerbating the situation? What is happening?
During this pandemic we are making this effort to remain in our territories, in our houses, in our homes, but also at the same time, we have to challenge, to fight, because very far away in Brazil, in the Congress, they are negotiating our territories, our homes and our houses. During the pandemic, hundreds of indigenous people have died. But we have to think about how many people would die if we don’t fight. You have to think about the pandemic that is killing us, about the racism that is killing us, about the macro politics, about the colonisation, the absence of the state. It’s hard to tell which weapon is more dangerous, because we are getting killed by many different weapons.

'Like a bomb going off': why Brazil's largest reserve is facing destruction


It appears very clear that President Jair Bolsonaro has weaponised Covid against indigenous peoples. Can you talk a little bit about this?

Indigenous peoples in Brazil, they are 1% of the general population, but they’re almost 9% of the victims of Covid-19. When people say that Covid-19 doesn’t choose class or race or gender, it’s kind of a lie, because the state, they choose who will die. The government, it can justify all of this, saying that it’s just a disease, it’s a fatality. When an elder, when an important leader of indigenous peoples dies, a part of us also dies with them. It’s like the ancestors and the elders, they’re the hands that hold the rattles when you’re singing. It doesn’t matter if I stay alive, a part of me, or some parts of me have died in this pandemic.
Brazilian indigenous women march in Brasilia on 13 August 2019, to denounce the ‘genocidal’ policies of President Jair Bolsonaro. Photograph: Evaristo Sa/AFP/Getty Images

I love the campaign #CuraDaTerra [Cure of the Earth], because it expresses this idea of indigenous peoples as the cure, the antidote, the growth space past capitalism through living in symbiosis with nature, indigenous stewardship of land, traditional indigenous environmental knowledge. How is this being received in Brazil?
One thing that is very important is we pay attention to these things like reconnection, retaking, re-enchantment, because that’s one thing that indigenous people do to hope for a better world. It’s not the chemicals or the active principles generated in laboratories around the world that are going to cure the Earth. What is going to cure the Earth is our capacity, our ability to reactivate our connection to the Earth, to reactivate our culture and to reactivate the power of our ancestors. We have this culture deep inside us, and you can’t change that. We can’t cure evil without curing the Earth, because the Earth is bleeding. It’s full of scars because of its children. And if you don’t listen to the Earth, we will all die. Some people may not die directly in territory conflicts, but they will die, because they won’t have anything left to breathe. All they will have left is poison.


Like in the US, Brazil is going through a kind of dark night of the soul with Bolsonaro in power.
Bolsonaro likes to say that indigenous peoples are becoming more human, but the indigenous peoples don’t like the kind of humanity that doesn’t respect the Earth, doesn’t respect the animals, because you can only know how to be a human if you know how to be a plant, how to be a seed, how to be food. And so actually this project, it’s an anti-humanitarian project of the government. It represents a sick lung, a sick organ of the body of the Earth.

An indigenous woman looks at dead fish near the Paraopeba river in the Cerrado. Photograph: Adriano Machado/Reuters

And why do you think at this moment that we have so many leaders in the world like Trump or Duterte or Modi or Putin or Bolsonaro?
All of this is because we are living in a moment of disputes, disputes of values. They are not part of this project of regaining and retaking the values of life. They are like boils on your skin, and they emerge with all the fury, these boils, like a cancer to these values of life. They emerge with this fury because they appear to have the desire to extinguish all diversity – the diversity of life, the diversity of culture, the diversity of seeds, the diversity of territory.


[Leaders like Bolsonaro] emerge with this fury because they appear to have the desire to extinguish all ... the diversity of life

What is the mood and the feeling in Brazil right now?
Some people who thought we were invisible, they didn’t look, didn’t pay attention to the indigenous populations, now they’re starting to pay attention to us. And the indigenous people, they have within themselves the sense of solidarity and of connection that other peoples don’t have. And that’s something that can help heal the Earth and heal our world because humanity, without love, it’s a dead humanity.


And how do you stay grounded in the midst of all these changes happening in the Cerrado and then the planet at large?
The fight is what feeds me. So every time I think about taking a step away from the fight, I can’t. And as an indigenous person, you fight to survive. You don’t really have another choice. I think about the fight as the children that I haven’t generated yet, the children that I and the indigenous peoples will give birth to in the future. I remember that some time ago in another genocidal process that was going on, the leaders and the indigenous peoples weren’t allowed to paint themselves. So the women would keep these painting pots in their houses. It was a way of not forgetting the paintings and the patterns. And now when I think about that, I think about my body as a pot. I like to paint myself because it’s a way of getting all this memory eternalised, and not forgetting, because more than fighting, painting myself is a way of continuing what my ancestors were doing. Some feel pretty when they put on their best dress. I feel pretty when I paint myself. And it’s not only that. When I paint myself, I feed my spirit and I keep my mind strong. And my headdress gives power to my thoughts and to my fight. So, when I paint myself, when I put my headdress on, I’m not only doing that to show others, I’m doing that to keep myself, my mind and my spirit strong and fed, to keep singing.

A Kayapo indigenous woman paints her daughter with a traditional drawing. Photograph: Amanda Perobelli/Reuters

What can allies in the global north do to be in solidarity with you, your community, and the affected communities of Brazil?
People can fight along with the Indigenous peoples as if they were fighting for their own children. Because when you fight together with indigenous peoples, it’s not just a matter of solidarity. It’s like you’re fighting for your own family, your own children, your own grandchildren, because the indigenous populations, they protect around 82% of the world’s biodiversity.


What’s your vision of the future?
My hope for the future is being alive. And by that I don’t mean just my body being alive. But our voice has to be alive. Our memory, our chants, our singing, and our womb, because you can’t be alive in your body if the womb of the Earth is sick, because when the Earth is sick, we can’t get food. And what’s the point of keeping your body alive if all around you is dead?

And lastly: please describe your vision of what the “re-enchantment” means.
Re-enchantment is within us. People are very worried about this Covid emergency, about being able to touch other people and to feel an effect, a love of affection for other people. But what really is this re-enchantment? It’s the love that we feel for the rivers, for the forest, for food. We have to think that the real borders of the world, it’s not the borders between Brazil and the United States, or between the Amazon and the Cerrado. The real borders of the world are the borders between racism and biodiversity. We can’t drop this fight. We have to keep fighting for the biodiversity, for this cure of the Earth, and for our territories, because one who has territory has a place to return, and one who has a place to return has refuge, has warmth. And that’s why we need to keep fighting.

Find more age of extinction coverage here, and follow biodiversity reporters Phoebe Weston and Patrick Greenfield on Twitter for all the latest news and features