Fred Sai 1924-2019

Fred Sai, though diminutive in size, was a giant at International Planned Parenthood Federation and globally for women’s rights and health.

We met far too infrequently, most memorably at the International Conference on Population and Development (ICPD) in Cairo in 1994, where Fred was the chair, and at an IPPF meeting in New Delhi in 2002 where Fred gave a rousing speech to the delegates. He had experience chairing various international conferences, experience which stood him in good stead in the contentious plenary meetings in Cairo, where there was sharp dissent to making women and women’s rights the center of family planning programs and development. After days of a small but contentious band of opponents having their say, Fred Sai declared, “Consensus has been reached” and banged his gavel, signaling the adoption of the Program of Action. It was a historic moment for women’s rights.

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I had the honor to nominate him for Lasker Award but unfortunately the Lasker Committee did not see the giant that the rest of the world saw.

I was honored when Fred presented to me the IPPF Individual Volunteer Award in 2011. I will never forget his eloquence, dedication and passion for our great cause.

 

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Indigenous women and the patriarchy of conquest

By Debora Diniz, a Brazilian anthropologist and researcher at Brown University,
and
Giselle Carino, an Argentinean political scientist and director of the International Planned Parenthood Federation/Western Hemisphere Region (IPPF/WHR)

The word “poop” emerged from the sewers and became news in Brazil when President Bolsonaro positioned it as an environmental threat. First, he suggested disciplining one’s intestines: one should only defecate “every two days” as a means to protect the environment. Then, pressured by what many see as an attack on indigenous territories through his environmental policies, he mocked indigenous communities by stating that their “petrified poop” would render the land useless for economic exploitation. This nonsense is an authoritarian amusement of power, the “political ridiculousness” described by Marcia Tiburi: he mentioned the unmentionable in the public sphere, and his environmental policies promote deforestation and the dispossession of indigenous lands.

Bolsonaro’s vulgar maneuver is also spontaneous discourse because he views indigenous nations as human waste. The repetition of “poop” when talking about the environment is an ideological metonymy to dehumanize indigenous lives. But, since political life is chaotic, historical events can be simplified and seen as the “cause and consequence” of the abuses of power. During the same week that Bolsonaro reveled in his scatological vocabulary, 2,000 indigenous women from 120 groups met in Brasilia for the first march of indigenous women in Brazil’s history—Territory: our body, our spirit. They joined forces with 100,000 other rural women workers known as the Margarida’s March, the largest permanent movement of Latin American women. Ro’Otsitsina Xavante, who does not see herself as the leader of the indigenous women’s movement but rather as a spokeswoman said, “we want to join the Margaridas to show that we have an alliance.”

The alliance will jumpstart an effort to unravel the historic patriarchy that never ceased to exist in Latin America: indigenous and rural women are among the main victims of what Rita Segato calls “patriarchal crimes.” By joining the Margarida’s March, indigenous women are defying the patriarchal arrogance that describes them as a residue of history, while also defying the restrictive cultural rules of their participation in the “white world.” During the march, indigenous women chose to occupy a symbol of white power—the government building where indigenous health policies are elaborated. The occupation was a gesture designed to show how the indigenous massacre took place in Latin America: by the spread of disease and by the exploitation of the environment.

The violations imposed on indigenous bodies is an extension of the expropriation of indigenous territories to advance capitalism. Indigenous lands are described as “unexplored territories” and their conquest aligns with the patriarchal order of power. The expression “colonization of power” is found in Latin American critical theory to describe how the intersection between capitalism and racism is entrenched in political power throughout the region. Rita Segato prefers to call it the “conquestiality of power,” an endless male mandate for the feudalization of indigenous territories based on racism and patriarchy. It is through this framework of colonial predatory power that fascist leaders shape the war against women and the environment: the crimes of the patriarchy were already established as a hallmark of power before the spread of the misogynist world order.

If the patriarchy of “conquestiality” was perpetrated through possession and arrogance, so was the installation of the Catholic-evangelical and military order of our countries. Indigenous and rural women have suffered this permanent looting of life, as seen in the alarming rates of domestic violence and femicide in countries as diverse as Mexico, Bolivia, and Brazil. If indigenous and rural women rise up and shout “we are united and we will not be silenced,” it is up to women in the “white world” to listen and request participation in the alliance. According to Segato, all forms of power gravitate around the issue of gender. This is exactly where unexpected narratives about the perversion of patriarchal and racist power will emerge to transform politics.

REDUCING INFANT ATTACHMENT INSECURITY

REDUCING INFANT ATTACHMENT INSECURITY: A LONG-TERM APPROACH TO PROMOTING GENDER EQUALITY


The Thula Sana Project in El Salvador

El Salvador is a small country nestled in Central America, about the size of Massachusetts, with a population of 6 million. The countryside is beautiful. It’s volcanic, has stunning beaches, and its hilly roads are drawing more tourists each and every year. Coffee used to be the main crop, but now they also grow rice, beans, corn, sugar, and harvest coconuts.

But despite the natural beauty, over half the population lives in poverty, and fifth of the population lives in extreme poverty.

Sexual and reproductive rights have a long way to go in the country. Abortion care is illegal in all circumstances, including the life of the woman. Dozens of women are serving jail sentences for alleged abortions and miscarriages. Early childbearing is almost universal, with about 70% of women giving birth before reaching 18. Violence against women is endemic, with about a quarter of all women reporting being a victim of physical or sexual violence—and regardless where you are in the world, gender-based violence is severely underreported.

Poverty, lack of autonomy, limited social networks, and low level of schooling makes it challenging for young mothers. Infants whose experience with a caretaker are negative are more likely to develop attachment insecurity. Specifically, infant attachment insecurity is a result of a poor emotional relationship that does not make them feel secure, and social studies have found a clear link between infant attachment insecurity and gender-based violence. Witnessing violence and cognitive development also have an impact.

Pro-Familia, a non-profit organization in El Salvador, is dedicated to advancing sexual and reproductive health and rights in the country. Also known as the Demographic Association of El Salvador (ADS), it has twelve clinics across the country dedicated to family planning, cancer screenings, and STI testing and treatment. The organization has trained over 1000 volunteer health promoters who are well-known and trusted in their communities. Many of them do this work at great personal risk—violence against clinic staff and outreach workers is a real possibility. Outreach staff is careful to meet with gang leaders ahead of time, gain their trust, and operate with their permission.

Recently, ADS has been working on an initiative called the Thula Sana project, with the goal of evaluating whether a community-based intervention model would be successful at lessening maternal depression and promoting secure early attachment between adolescent, first-time mothers and their infants. Community outreach workers identified over sixty families to work with and divided them into two groups, a control group and one that would receive training. Those who received training would receive two ante-natal visits and 14 post-natal visits over six months. Outreach workers do a series of exercises with mother and baby to build the mother’s confidence and train her to better recognize infant needs. 

Interestingly, outreach workers found that the role of the extended family became an obstacle. In cases where there was marriage or cohabitation with parents, the adolescent was often controlled by her mother or mother-in-law and often disempowered and scared. They concluded that cooperation of the adolescent’s mother or mother-in-law was vital, so they focused on building trust with the younger mother and the extended family.  

I visited one mother, Veronica, and her daughter Angelica. They live with her parents and her brother in a home with a dirt floor. There’s no electricity or running water, and chickens and puppies roamed in and around the home. The parents and brother work on a nearly coffee plantation. 

I’ve traveled to many remote places, and one of the things that always impacts me is the hospitality and generosity that I encounter, even in the most impoverished places. Veronica roasted fresh coffee beans, bought us pastries, and made the best coffee I have ever had. Her family had been angry when they found out she had gotten pregnant, and even angrier when her partner left to live with another woman—whom he also got pregnant. But, “you can’t abandon your family,” her mother said. 

Veronica was most appreciative of learning how to breast feed, and how to observe what her baby was doing and how to respond to her actions. Angelica lived up to her name, she was bubbly and clearly comfortable with her mother, her grandmother, and eventually, me. It was a beautiful experience. 

The second home we visited belonged to Julia and her husband, Esteban. It was made out of cinder blocks, had electricity, running water, and even a fridge. But it was in a rough area, so we had to take vehicles that were familiar to the local gangs to avoid creating suspicion. The outreach workers even wore ADS vests that identify them whenever they go into the neighborhood (in the moment, I had wished they had given me one too!)  

Julia was thankful for the training. She particularly enjoyed the encouragement to express her emotions—in Salvadoran culture, women are sometimes conditioned to suffer quietly and endure whatever is thrown their way. She was also thankful to have somebody to answer the many questions she had about child-rearing, and was so inspired by the training she decided to become a volunteer for ADS. She now organizes other mothers in neighborhoods and provides information on family planning. 

The unsung heroes of the program, though, are the outreach workers themselves. Many of them are mothers, and despite the dangers, they are fearlessly committed to their work. Their compassion, dedication, and professionalism is reflected by the affectionate bonds they created with adolescent mothers in need.

The results of the program are inspiring. When compared to the control group, the intervention proved to create stronger bonds between mothers and their infants. It provided adolescent mothers with parenting skills, improved their communication, and taught them tools to deal with conflict management and stress. Most importantly, the feedback from the mothers who participated was overwhelmingly positive. There was also little opposition from gang members to the program, even though one of the long-term goals of the program is to reduce violent tendencies. 

ADS receives no funding from the Salvadoran government, nor does it receive foreign aid. It does receive funding from the International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF), and ADS would like to expand the program across El Salvador. The positive results from the project inspired other non-profits within the IPPF network to get involved in similar efforts to prevent gender-based violence. Iniciativas Sanitarias in Uruguay, for example, is working with public health authorities to train midwives using the Thula Sana methodology. Most exciting are the plans in the works to scale up the intervention to encourage secure attachment between infant and primary care giver, a factor that plays an unfortunate role in long-term chances of gender-based violence.  

Profamilia Colombia

I paid a visit last week to the Profamilia clinic in Cartagena, Colombia. The waiting rooms were full of women seeking education and clinical services. The clinic offers full sexual and reproductive health care, including GYN surgery, tubals, vasectomies and surgical and medical abortions (85% of women choose medical abortion). They see about 3,000 patients a month. The staff was dedicated, hard working and focused on providing what the clients need.

I met two dozen youth educators, 3 boys and the balance girls – we clearly need more boys in the mix. There were outgoing, ebullient and knowledgable, ready to give answers to teens who need answers.

Go Argentina

No, not for the World Cup, but for the vote today in the lower house of its Congress to decriminalize abortion up to 14 weeks gestation. The vote was 129-125. The bill next goes to the Senate. It will be close. We are ready and actively lobbying.

IPPF Member Association in Kenya Reducing Services Due to Global Gag Rule

Kenyan Clinic Rejects Trump Abortion Policy, Loses $2 Million In U.S. Aid

On Jan. 23, 2017, President Trump signed an executive order that bans U.S. aid to any health organization in another country that provides, advocates or makes referrals for abortions.

The full impact of the order won’t be felt until September. That’s when the U.S. government fiscal year comes to an end. At that point, every international organization that does not comply with the order will be excluded from U.S. funding, says Marjorie Newman-Williams, president of Marie Stopes International, an organization that provides contraception and safe abortion in dozens of countries.

But health groups that aren’t complying with the policy are already feeling the effects. The U.S. has pulled the plug on funds that had been previously allocated but not yet spent prior to the Trump order. “Marie Stopes can talk about its own sad stories of programs that have had to close,” says Newman-Williams. Its outreach services, which were funded by USAID in countries like Uganda, Kenya, Senegal, Madagascar, Pakistan and Myanmar, have already stopped, she says.

That’s the case for Family Health Options Kenya, Kenya’s oldest provider of sexual and reproductive health services. FHOK disagreed with the terms of the “Mexico City” policy, which has been reinstated by every Republican president since Ronald Reagan first issued it.

In October 2017, $640,000 that was in a four-year pipeline for ongoing work was lost because the funds, which came from the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief, were discontinued. Since then, $1.56 million more has been lost because FHOK was unable to renew project funds and bid for future U.S. funding, says Amos Simpano, director of clinical services. FHOK says that amounts to nearly 60 percent of the organization’s funding.

On a visit to Washington, D.C., this spring, Melvine Ouyo, an FHOK reproductive health nurse, sat down with NPR to discuss the effects of losing that much funding. One of the organization’s 14 clinics has closed down, and a clinic in Kibera, Nairobi’s largest slum and where Ouyo works, could be next. FHOK has also ceased outreach services to underprivileged communities, which it estimates has affected more than 76,000 women and young girls to date.

Though abortion is legal under Kenyan law if the health or well-being of the mother is at risk, some pregnant women and girls who now lack access to medical care because of the funding cuts are resorting to unsafe measures out of desperation. They visit “curtain clinics,” she says — secret spaces run by people who aren’t nurses or doctors — or use household items like crochet needles to terminate their pregnancies.

The loss of funding has also jeopardized essential services that are unrelated to abortion — like cancer screening of reproductive organs, treatment for HIV, postnatal care and vaccinations for diseases.

The funding policy — called the “global gag rule” by its critics — is meant to discourage abortion. But a Stanford University study makes the case that restricting family planning funds can lead to more abortions. Researchers analyzed survey data in 20 African countries between 1994 and 2008 and found that rates of induced abortions rose sharply in countries that were most affected by the rule. A report by Population Action International found that when the policy was in effect between 1984 and 1992, “there was no evidence that the policy reduced the incidence of abortion.”

Ouyo was in the United States to attend Capitol Hill Days, a conference around reproductive rights that is hosted by Population Connection Action Fund. When she sat down with NPR, she said the decision not to comply with the Trump order was made by the International Planned Parenthood Federation, of which FHOK is a member organization. “It was a worthwhile decision, though it has negative consequences,” she says.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Tell me about how this has affected the clinic you work at in Kibera.

We had to lay off six staff [out of 10] just to be able to sustain the clinic. We also have not been able to acquire any [new] equipment in the past several months because of a lack of funding. We have not improved any of our equipment [such as autoclaving machines used to sterilize equipment]. It means we are still just operating from where we were last year.

What health problems do you see going unaddressed?

Because we have not been able to provide outreach services, which basically serve disadvantaged communities, we cannot provide screening services for HIV and AIDS and be able to initiate treatment for those who test positive, and provide health education [for prevention]. It means that people in these communities will live without any precaution. A child who requires immunization and [whose] parents may not be able to afford transport to facilities [could] get communicable diseases — measles, TB, diphtheria, hepatitis. And if one gets it, they infect another and another in the community.

Who are some of the people that rely on your clinic?

There was a young orphan girl, about 10 years old, who was sleeping at her uncle’s [home] after she lost her parents. And the uncle persistently sexually abused her. And when she got pregnant at 13 years, this is a pregnancy from incest, she would not just carry on the pregnancy. So this girl comes to you suicidal. What do you do as a professional? She had already attempted unsafe abortion. She had taken herbs given [to her] by friends. Her friends referred her to us and she was able to access safe abortion services.

With the funding loss, what is FHOK doing to survive?

We have to put a small fee on the services we are providing. It has caused the clients to shy away from seeking care. At the Kibera clinic, we are charging half a dollar, because it is within the slum and we know the clientele we are dealing with. And still, not all will be able to pay. We feel the pain of not being able to provide those services.

Other countries, like the Netherlands, have started raising funds to help international organizations that are suffering because they did not agree to the terms of the Trump order. The Dutch government created a funding initiative called “She Decides” and has raised about $200 million from governments, foundations and philanthropists. Are you receiving funding from elsewhere?

The main alternative that FHOK started was to start charging the client. We receive a reduced grant [by about $99,000] from the International Planned Parenthood Foundation.

What does it feel like for you right now?

It feels painful knowing that someone would benefit from your education, your passion, your career and you cannot do that. It kills your morale.

How do you cope, knowing that your health clinic isn’t as effective today?

Just like the previous years when we had the global gag order, I still have this hope that I have to hold on, to press on. I am hopeful that someone will hear my cry.

https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2018/05/02/604425181/kenyan-clinic-rejects-trump-abortion-policy-loses-2-million-in-u-s-aid

Thank you Cecile Richards

Cecile Richards stepped down today after 12 years as President of Planned Parenthood Federation of America.

It is a sign of my age that I have known many of her predecessors: giants like Alan Guttmacher and Faye Wattleton, and, dare I say, my grandmother.  To be great leader in our movement, and Cecile certainly was one, takes, above all, authenticity. This on top of all the skills required to raise the money, speak the speeches, lobby the lobby-able. You have to inspire, and this takes authenticity. A potential believer, supporter, donor can spot an actor, someone who is putting on an act to get on your good side, to get in your wallet, to get your vote. Cecile spoke from her life’s experiences, much as my grandmother did and Faye Wattleton did. She was the real thing.

I thank her for carrying the torch so boldly and so effectively for so long.