What really struck me in the readings this week was how much change and progress occured on the local and personal level. With the exception of Cuba, there were few states discussed that underwent real legal and judicial reform in the area of women’s rights and reproductive rights. The widespread family planning efforts that Mooney discusses in Chile were largely funded by international groups, and supported by Chilean NGO’s, like APROFA, who used a pro-life narrative to educate women about family planning (Mooney, Murray; 300). As Cynthia Gorney discusses, the nationwide attitude towards family planning was very much impacted by the Brazilian women’s movement of the 1970s and 80s and by the popularity of novelas, which were ubiquitous across the country and portrayed the ideal Brazilian family as one with only a few children (Gorney, Murray; 306). Beyond just the idea of having fewer children, Brazilian women also supported one another in their active family planning efforts, giving each other dosage information for Cyotec and helping spread the information as to where to get it, despite the laws against abortion and its illegal street vending (Gorney, Murray; 307, 308). 

Outside of women supporting other women, the more localized power brokers (priests, doctors, etc.) helped to facilitate spiritual and physical healing from women’s, often illegal, reproductive decisions and actions. Priests were instructed to not absolve women if they confessed to having an abortion to them, and doctors were legally obligated to break doctor-patient confidentiality if they treated a women who had received an unsafe abortion. Most doctors and priests did not follow the instructions from the greater hierarchy at play, and supported the women who came to them. Since politicians were in the pocket of the church, essentially, and since they were of a higher class, and therefore did not have experience with dangerous abortion methods, there was no real reason for them, in their own minds, to push for much legislative change. In states like Chile, where the Church has particularly intense power, Bonnie Shepard sums it up well by stating, “morality is conflated with the law, so that making divorce or abortion or adultery legal is tantamount to giving them moral approval.” (Shepard, 132)

April 6-10:

In both nascent liberal states and dictatorial states, we see a clear and deliberate effort to regulate the personal lives of men, women, and families. These attempts essentially stem from the same impulse: control. It can be argued that a newly independent state is only attempting to regulate the personal lives of its citizens while a new social order is being put into place, but as we often see — the regulation of specifically women almost always continues even after the “growing pains” of independent and liberal statehood, even when there are marked attempts to ingratiate women within the larger goals of the state. As someone who is mostly familiar with the Cuban Revolution and Fidel Castro through the relationship with the USSR and the US, it frankly surprised me that Castro called out his, and by extension, the rest of the country’s, internalized misogyny (“even her own class scorned and underrated her”). Before reading Murray’s chapter, I assumed that this type of recognition of internal biases and prejudices would be more contemporary. However it is important to note that after claiming that he recognized that he used internalized misogyny (he uses different words), he now claims that Cuba is both free of misogyny and also racism, which speaks to his limited understanding of what it actually takes to dismantle the structural pillars of misogyny and racism (this is definitely part of a more contemporary discussion of oppression, and therefore the expectation might be anachronistic).

In this same vein, I think it’s fascinating that in the case of the Nicaraguan revolution, there is a very clear through line as to the politicization and radicalization of the not just women, but poor women, and how that was recognized by the FSLN who, like Castro, officially recognized that the actual revolution itself did not end in women’s emancipation, with Tomas Borge publicly stating that “women remain fundamentally in the same condition as the past.” I think that, interestingly, the Nicaraguan revolution shows a clearer connection between class and gender and how that leads to politicization and the rise of socialist action than Cuba, who pursued a governmental system that was far truer to the tenets of Marxism than Nicaragua’s.

April 13-17:

I feel like when I think about the use of the word feminism historically, and often by groups who include feminism as part of their ethos but are not strictly feminist or politcal groups, I feel like its used essentially as a synonym for a politicized or political women (often viewed by the opposition as radical and threatening). This is, in part, why I found this set of readings so interesting. As the perceived left-ist or feminist groups that are being discussed are more traditional and apolitical than the right-wing group (or are put in a position where they need to conform to more traditional roles and assumptions for their safety). Both the Madres de Plaza de Mayo and Poder de Feminino were based in the non-political role of motherhood, but they have very different claims and aims. The Madres are “without partisan affiliations” and their “objectives are humanitarian”, they don’t even claim their children’s innocence, they simply want to know “where they are and [crimes] they are accused of” (Murray, Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo). They are only seen as political because they acknowledge the detainments and disappearances. This basic act of caring for their children, the number one job of mothers, has them deemed terrorists by the junta and stripped of their “right to motherhood” (Murray, Diane Taylor; 274). Whereas, PF, had leaders who had “years of political experience” regularly asserted that they “did not understand politics” since they defined it as a male activity and that their actions were “solely to protect their children”. (Murray, Power; 259) Their children were not in direct harm, like the Madres de Plaza de Mayor, they claimed motherhood as a political shield to “chase military men, troops, and officers alike, to action by questioning their masculinity”. (Murray, Power; 262) They had a clear role in the violent military uprising, and were routinely credited by the military. That is radical, political action.

Cosse’s article obviously is a bit different. She’s looking at women within radical socialist organizations, not women’s groups. But still, within her piece, she shows us very clearly that avowed leftist women were also forced into demoting the importance of gender equality, and were not really allowed to exist outside of the traditional conception of women and women’s roles, within these socialist groups. In the ERP women were expected to marry and have babies, as outlined in the 1972 rulebook of sorts, “Moral y proletarizacion”. (Cosse, 432) This, in effect, remove’s women’s agency within their own personal life. This same type of hypocrisy was also rampant amongst the Montoneros who could punish infidelity with death, and forced their members to report all personal relationships to their superiors. These groups were explicitly Marxist, and perhaps on the outside more “feminist” than their opposition, yet the ways in which the men who led these groups organized and centralized their power always comes by the repression of women.

The short film brings up something we’ve been discussing in class since probably the second week of class: family is considered to be the microcosm of the nation. In revolution women/mothers are allowed to do anything for their families/nation and it is deemed admirable, just as long as they stop when it’s deemed inappropriate. Wanting to know where your child is, as opposed to cajoling men into an armed uprising against the government, is not radical and is barely political.

In Bliss’ article, I was fascinated by women’s use of the mirrored ideas of sacrifice as an inherently female and revolutionary act, in terms of gender roles and the business of prostitution. In previous readings we’ve done, where often women subverted gender roles (or were victims of sexual abuse and assault) during the process of revolution, the primary sources tended to not see those actions as radically redefining the social status of women, but as traditional acts of sacrifice that women — as the mothers of families and therefore the nation itself — take to ensure the success of the revolution. Seeing that contemporary women also used the argument of sacrifice in explaining a more individualized and perhaps morally dubious act is very interesting. Whether it is an act of savvy to connect these two via language conventions, or it was purely their explanations from the heart, framing their choices as an action to save not only their own families, but the families of the men who seek prostitutes, was thought-provoking.

As I was reading Cano’s article, many comparisons came to mind regarding the life of Amelio Robles and current trans issues and rhetoric really struck me. Cano states that the acceptance of Robles’ identity was largely to due to Robles enforcing gendered stereotypes of war and masculinity (I use the term acceptance very broadly here, as we know that in private, many of his compatriots and colleagues referred to him using his old female name and pronouns). This made me think of the proliferation of violence against trans women, particularly trans women of color. While the trans community as whole suffers from violence, the rate is much higher for women. ‘Embracing’ masculinity is still largely seen as more acceptable or palatable, even though trans-identity is more than a simple embrace, than vice versa. I don’t know if any clean conclusions can be made from this, but as I was reading Cano’s piece, I just kept on thinking about the extreme violence and abuse that trans women of color endure and the ingrained stereotypes that continue to factor into the discrimination, even if it some of it has become more implicit, against trans community. 

The imagined roles of women were, practically, not that different in the struggles for Independence and the New Republics. They rest on the idea of “republican motherhood” that Chambers refers to in her article. During the civil wars for independence, women were asked to have very different practical roles in order to help the cause of republicanism and independence. This was not seen as necessarily ideological, but stemmed from the woman’s role as the protector of domesticity. Men were able to frame the supplementary, independence-driven actions of women as an extension of the domestic sphere. If the men were the legal and social powers in the households, and women therefore followed their lead, by doing tasks and activities that were very much outside of the traditional domestic realm, they were still acting solely in defense of the domestic sphere. This way, the men were able to force women back into their usual domestic roles after the New Republics were formed. Since they were back to a state of stability, women needed to return to their roles so that men could protect the stability of the nation — which women could easily disrupt if they were allowed to continue to participate in public spheres.

However, as we saw in the articles for Tuesday, the way that women assigned themselves roles, in a real and practical way, were not necessarily in line with domestic defense that men had “entrusted” women with. In the story of Vicenta Ochoa, women were able to use the guise of their sole role as mothers and wives, to enter the public sphere in a small, but meaningful way, and ultimately were the first, big proponents of the outlawing of capital punishment. Since a woman had the “special privilege” of reproduction, by giving expectant Vicenta the death penalty, the state was depriving her of serving the future of the state. Women were able to use this logic to advocate for a simple expression of their rights, which had not been legally or constitutionally established. Women across many social groups could participate in this exercise.

While the approach Manuela Sáenz took was less egalitarian in terms of the types of women who could participate, she was successful in framing a whole new role for women in the New Republic. That of an impartial confidant and mediator. Upper-class, more learned women could participate politically, but not in the public political sphere. This allowed women to work within the existing system, and advocate for themselves and causes, but without the male pretense of vying for a promotion or self-advancement.

When people attribute gender inequality in Latin America to European conquest they mean that the historical patriarchal and hierarchical structures that existed and oppressed women within Europe were then moved over to Latin America during conquest and used to oppress women in the “new world”. While the conquest certainly provided more than enough oppression of Latin America, this argument does not actually serve any of the communities today. Saying that locates the misogyny, but does nothing to combat it. I find that it’s often largely used as a throw-away argument and allows more traditional historiography to continue without problematizing any of its long-held assumptions about the agency of women, and the social and communal structures that were created. Assuming that women have never done anything to work around the structures that were put in place, intentionally or unintentionally, minimizes women and assumes a level of inherent subservience.

On a somewhat different, and slightly more personal note, the last paragraph of Ahmed’s article tied back in a really interesting way to the last few weeks of readings. The argument that feminism is a western or colonial import and therefore has no place in modern Latin America, and perhaps especially within its indigenous communities, sat with me in a way as I often feel the basic tenets of equality should be universal, as I can forget to challenge my western biases. After reading Ahmed’s piece I was reminded that the presentation and conception of feminism in both Latin America and the Middle East (in the case of Ahmed’s work) is framed through traditional western feminist literature which complains of the oppression of women with no recognition of their own lack of background in the socio-political and historical contexts within which these societies exist. Ahmed’s final point that the mischaracterization and malignity of the idea of gender-based equality and justice by men to hold their position of power is ultimately a fool’s errand, as the revolution will succeed seems to me to be a bit more optimistic than perhaps I think is reasonable. However, it stuck with me and I hope she’s correct.

When reading the first two articles listed on the syllabus, written by Nina Lakhani and Paula Godoy, I was horrified but not surprised about the content. These two articles deal with the more explicit elements of the perversion and struggle both over women’s bodies and physically on them. Historically, women’s bodies have always been contested spaces. Sights of the physical debates surrounding civility — we must civilize the “savages — and socio-cultural and political differences. The attacks against women, whether sexual in nature or culturally-based, are meaningful, deliberate acts of desecration. My experience with this in the academic sphere mostly comes from my studies of the colonization of southeast Asia and the attempts to “modernize” Soviet Asia, in which the recorded attacks are more symbolic, and often include the dismantling a cultural institution or practice that women take part in. While I am sure sexual and gender-based violence occurred within the system, that was not necessarily the primary aim of the tactic.

Therefore, the first article, in my mind, follow the logical progression from attacks on a wide group, to targeted attacks on women who belong in increasingly smaller demographic groups for strategic, social gains. The second then deals with the historical, social, cultural, and political contexts in which Guatemala belongs that allows femicide to flourish. Again, while horrifying, this progression of both action and scholarship surrounding said action makes some logical sense to me.

The third article really forced me to rethink my conceptions around what gender and sexual-based violence actually can be in practice. As Theidon brings up, the state-sponsored campaign led by an entire state department is much harder to grapple with in a practical, legal sense than actions taken by “a few bad apples” in the armed forces. But the more I reflected on it, the more this state-sponsored activity seems like a truer continuation of a colonial practice.

Post 5pm edit:

I was also struck by the brilliance of the former president to claim that the campaign was to fight poverty. While poverty in practice, is incredibly loaded both in who makes up impoverished people and how to fight against it, it is generally understood to be bad, and fighting it therefore feels like a valiant effort. Physical attempts to move people from areas or gentrifying areas can be violent and messy, and so the idea of voluntary sterilization seems like a non-violent way to actively confront the problem of poverty. But as Theidon points out, the Peruvian underclass in ethnicized and therefore sterilization does become a sort of social cleansing, and especially when coupled with the demands of the ministry itself, led to the “success” of the program. 

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

• Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
• Because it will help you focus you own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

• Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
• What topics do you think you’ll write about?
• Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
• If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.