Women CAN Earn More Than Men - But Only In One Industry. Porn.

@RHRealityCheck

This month, one of Belgium’s women’s rights organizations, zij-kant, caused quite a stir with their annual “Equal Pay Day” message. Instead of merely high-lighting that women in Belgium, on average, earn 22 percent less than men, the organization launched a video starring porn actress Sasha Grey with the message “Porn is about the only way women can earn more than men; find a better alternative.”

The campaign has not surprisingly garnered quite a lot of interest, ranging from outrage that Sasha Grey is supposedly presenting herself as a victim, to amusement with the video’s explicit content, to applause. I find myself in the third camp, for three main reasons.

First of all, it is getting more and more difficult to garner outrage over the continued fact that women almost uniformly and in every single country in the world earn less than men for similar work. In June 2011, the US Supreme Court narrowly decided that it would not even hear a case regarding pay and promotion discrimination against women, because “women” are not a class. The plaintiffs had argued that, while there surely are many differences between women, when it comes to pay and promotion we share one key characteristic: we tend to be under-valued at work. The Belgium video short-circuits the glassy-eyedness that often follows a comment about entrenched gender pay gaps. If only because the protagonism of a porn actress titillates, at least the ad has people listening, including potentially a few who would otherwise have resisted sitting through a minute and a half of “feminist propaganda.”

Secondly, the core message—that porn is one of the very few professions where women consistently earn more than men (sex work being another)—is more likely to jolt people into action than a more generic “isn’t it awful” comment about continued pay inequity. Porn and sex work, generally, are still relatively stigmatized professions in many countries. Moreover, even for those who understand that sex work, including as a porn actress, can be a choice, the point is precisely that no one should be forced to carry it out. Therefore, the notion that women would have to have sex for money in order to overcome pay discrimination is a stark reminder that something has to be done.

Thirdly, the ad impressively strikes a balance between presenting Sasha Grey as an empowered woman who is choosing to work as a porn actress, and using the stigma of pornography and sex work to get a crucial message across. This is all the more remarkable because subtle messaging around pornography and sex work is so rare. A recent article in The Atlantic highlights how politicians’ reluctance to even talk about sex work keeps policies in place that seriously hamper the effectiveness of HIV prevention initiatives. While New York City distributes free condoms by the millions, for example, city police have destroyed or confiscated thousands of condoms found on suspected sex workers, and use condom possession to justify arrests.

The Sasha Grey ad is bound to make some people uncomfortable, even very uncomfortable, because of its explicit language and peripheral nudity. But what really should make us uncomfortable is the continued undervaluing of women in the formal workplace. I am thrilled that Sasha Grey has thrown her fame behind this message.

Fatal Consequences: Women, Abortion, and Power in Latin America

Lucila was twenty-two when I spoke with her in 2004 in the mud-floored office of a women’s group on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, while conducting research for a report on reproductive rights in Argentina. During her first pregnancy two years earlier, the doctors at the local public hospital had diagnosed her with a rare heart condition, which converted her otherwise healthy pregnancy into a potentially lethal situation. Lucila was told, in no uncertain terms, that another pregnancy could kill her.

Nevertheless, when Lucila begged these same doctors to sterilize her, they refused the operation, telling her that she was “too young” to stop procreating. Lucila suffered regular beatings and rape at the hands of her husband and was unable to prevent another pregnancy—when I talked to her, she was already showing. And though she qualified for a legal abortion, even under the very strict Argentina law, she was barred from having one due to lack of proper regulation and the extreme stigma attached to abortion.

I later learned Lucila had managed to terminate her life-threatening pregnancy illegally. I did not hear under what conditions, though chances are they were not good. The Argentine health ministry admits that illegal abortions account for approximately one-third of maternal deaths in the country.

(This post is chapter from a newly published book, The Unfinished Revolution: Voices from the Global Fight for Women's Rights)

While Lucila’s situation probably is extreme, it is by no means exceptional. Latin America is home to some of the world’s most restrictive abortion laws. Three countries criminalize abortion in all circumstances, even when the pregnant woman’s life can only be saved through terminating her pregnancy: Chile, El Salvador, and Nicaragua.

Across Latin America, most countries apply an “exceptions” model where abortion generally is outlawed but penalties are waived in specific circumstances, such as if the pregnancy threatens the life or health of the woman, if the pregnancy is the result of rape or incest, or if the fetus is so seriously damaged it is unlikely to survive birth. Only in Mexico City and Cuba is abortion freely available to all women and girls who need the intervention, as long as they seek an early termination.

The restrictions placed on access to legal abortion have not made the practice scarce. In Argentina, an estimated 40 percent of all pregnancies terminate in induced abortions. In Peru, that proportion is 37 percent, and in Chile 35 percent. Most other countries in the region, including Mexico but also the United States, maintain a 20 percent ratio—one induced abortion for every 4 live births.

In fact, if you look at criminal law as only one of many potential policy instruments to affect the social phenomenon that is abortion, it would appear to be a very ineffectual choice: where abortion is illegal, it is equally—if not more—prevalent than in jurisdictions where it is legal. Also where abortion is illegal, it is much more likely to be unsafe. “You get overwhelmed by desperation,” a thirty-five-year-old mother of ten children told me in Argentina. “You seek all the ways out, pills, anything. But if there is no way out, then you take a knife or a knitting needle.”

Despite these facts, there are harsh criminal consequences for abortion in most Latin American countries. When it comes up in political or legislative debate, the criminalization of abortion is justified with reference to a need to protect the right to life of the unborn, and to a reluctance to “promote” abortion, which is considered a moral evil. In Peru, a prominent member of congress reportedly said it is better for a pregnant woman to die—and for her unborn child to die with her—than for her to have an abortion. This same argument was aired in Nicaragua when the parliament in 2007 decided to criminalize so-called therapeutic abortion (to save a woman’s life and health), which had been legal since 1893.

Complex Notions of “Right” and “Wrong”

It is of course true that any government has a vested interest in promoting a civic sense of right and wrong. As human rights activists we routinely expect governments to promote laws that dictate certain morals, such as equality between men and women, the inappropriateness of corporal punishment, and the need to abolish the death penalty. The difference between these issues and abortion is not that abortion is too complicated. There is actually quite broad agreement in most Latin American countries that while abortion is “wrong,” so are blanket bans of the practice.

The difference is that laws that promote equality and ban violence are generally effective in doing just that. Constitutional protections of equality, for example, have led to guarantees of equal pay for equal work. And the effective prosecution of domestic violence and even jaywalking has been proven to deter those practices, at least in part.

By contrast, the morals expressed through the stigmatization and criminalization of abortion are routinely set aside by women and girls who feel they need to terminate their pregnancies. In fact, of the hundreds of women I have interviewed over the years about pregnancy and choice, many have only a rudimentary or confused understanding of the law, but they have a clear sense of what is right. I have spoken to many women from various countries in Latin America who have expressed beliefs about the moral acceptability of abortion in specific circumstances, depending on the financial, marital, or emotional situation of the pregnant woman, and her ability to love the child if he or she were ever born.

“I don’t think [abortion] is really all that criminal during the first month,” Marienela, a thirty-seven-year-old mother of six, confided in me, as we were huddling in the corner of a dark old stable that functioned as a social hall in a slum quarter outside of Santa Fe, Argentina. “But if you already are seven months pregnant, then you have to have it.”

“Sometimes abortion is the best option,” a staunch pro-life activist said to me in 2006. The same woman declared not to believe in the need for modern contraception, but readily conceded the untenable nature of the current setup in her neighborhood, a muddy slum on the outskirts of Tucumán, Argentina: “The most usual form of contraception here is nothing: people either have children or badly done abortion...It’s still something I am thinking through, but I know we have to work on making sure that no one needs to get to that point.” She then looked at me and said quietly, “You cannot even imagine what women end up putting in their uterus.”

The sentiment that abortion is not a moral evil if you didn’t want to be pregnant in the first place is both prevalent and pragmatic in the many women I have spoken to, and also surprisingly clear. “Abortion is necessary,” said one woman in Nicaragua in 2007. “You can’t just bring an undesired child into this world, especially when you didn’t try to have one.” In fact, women and girls already know what they need in order not to need abortions. The vectors that influence real choice are neither fetal rights nor physical autonomy in the abstract. It’s a very concrete sense of what is possible and what makes for a better life—mostly for the child.

Time and time again, women articulate concern about economic stability and the need to feed an existing family. They talk about apprehension with regard to bringing a child into an abusive relationship, often only commenting in passing on their own suffering and pain. They talk at length about difficulties in accessing affordable, easy-to-use, safe, and effective contraception of their choice.

And they always describe variations on a theme that sounds ideologically motivated but happens to be empirically true: that while women in Latin America are socially dependent on men, men are not held responsible for the reproductive disasters that ensue from the unprotected sex they often pressure women into having. “She got herself pregnant” is invariably the response I get from public officials to questions about why a particular woman should suffer through an unwanted pregnancy or unsafe birth. At times it is delivered with a dismissive shrug: “She is responsible for herself.”

Why Legalize Abortion?

These very real experiences should make for excellent public policy: tackling the three issues of violence against women, access to contraception, and gender-based discrimination is what will make abortion less needed. The legalization of abortion will make the practice safe. Most of these facts are undisputed. The real question is why none are adequately addressed in Latin America today.

The short answer is power. Everywhere in the region, proposals to legally limit access to abortion, and even absurd moves to extend the right to child support for all ova fertilized through rape, are used as political chips.

In Nicaragua, a 2006 vote to eliminate access to abortion for women whose lives were threatened by their pregnancy was scheduled a mere ten days before the presidential elections, and most accounts suggest that this was no accident. The fact is that in all of Latin America, churches are powerful players in national politics—in particular the Catholic church—and few candidates want to be seen as “pro-abortion” and thereby lose the support of the church and other politically influential conservative groups. In this particular election, parliamentarians from the Sandinista party were reportedly ordered to vote for the penal code reform so that their candidate, Daniel Ortega, would win, but with an oral promise from the Sandinista party leadership that the issue would be “solved” after the elections. Meanwhile, Ortega went on record saying that “abortion is murder.” More than five years after the blanket ban on abortion went into effect in Nicaragua, it is still in force with disastrous effects on women’s health and lives.

In Mexico, after the Supreme Court in August 2008 upheld a Mexico City law to legalize abortion in the first trimester, several federal states in the country moved to amend their state constitutions to ban it.

Most of these constitutional changes have little effect on women’s real access to legal abortion in those states: it was nearly impossible before and obviously not much better after. However, the fact that state legislatures were willing to spend time and energy on laws that are likely to have little effect on their stated objective is testament to how politically viable anti-choice arguments are, and how little power can be gained by raising the fact that women and girls continue to have abortions—some safe and most unsafe—regardless the legislative framework. And during the presidential campaign in Brazil in 2010, the ruling left-wing party dropped the support of sexual and reproductive rights from its draft human rights plan, perhaps in the hopes that this would ensure the support of the Catholic church which had started publicly referring to then-President Lula as “Herod,” an allusion to the king who, according to biblical accounts, ordered baby boys to be killed. During the Pope’s 2007 visit to Brazil, Lula had already publicly pledged that his government would never propose the legalization of abortion, but this further step was thought necessary to appease the church.

The point is not that morality-based arguments for the criminalization of abortion are always a cheap veneer on actions that are motivated by political gain. In fact, my interaction with activists on both sides of the apparent abortion divide suggests to me that most people who profess to be either staunchly pro-life or staunchly pro-choice in fact are deeply attached to their beliefs and the morality on which they base them. With civility and mutual respect, these beliefs should be aired in public debate.

The point is that the morality of public policy depends on both its intention and its effect. The effect of abortion bans—in particular in the Latin American context of gender inequality and limited access to contraception—is death and suffering for the women who need abortions, with no discernable effect on lowering the number of abortions. As such, abortion bans are both ineffective and immoral.

Unfortunately, the bans continue. Six years after I talked with Lucila, I interviewed another woman in the same impossible situation. Silvia, who suffers from a serious kidney disease that could make another pregnancy near fatal for her, told me she received no help or even sympathy from the doctors who would tell her almost in the same breath, on the one hand, that she couldn’t be pregnant and, on the other, that she had to carry the pregnancy to term: “I said, ‘But you told me that I shouldn’t have it! . . . I am close to needing dialysis as it is.’ . . . I said, ‘Are you going to guarantee that nothing will happen to my health?’ . . . She said, ‘I can’t guarantee that.’”

Winds of Change

Despite this grim state of affairs, there are indications that things are slowly starting to change for the better. In April 2007, abortion was decriminalized in Mexico City, and this law was later upheld as constitutional by Mexico’s Supreme Court. In 2008, Uruguay’s congress approved a law to legalize abortion in the first trimester of the pregnancy. At the time, the law was immediately vetoed by the president, but a similar proposal is currently under consideration with much better prospects. In November 2010, the Argentine Congress also started a series of hearings on the legalization of abortion.

All of these developments are fueled by a growing empathy for the plight of poorer women, in particular. Most people know someone who has had an abortion, and it is increasingly an open secret that the criminalization of abortion mostly affects women who can’t afford to go to the United States or to a private clinic for an illegal but safe intervention. The general rhetoric of the Latin America media on abortion has changed radically, even just over the past five years: questions and comments are now more about why women need abortions, not how to punish them for it.

Indeed, surveys confirm that most people in the region have a much more nuanced understanding of abortion than their elected officers: it must be legal, accessible, and rare. It is only a matter of time before policymakers catch on.



Limbaugh is Sorry for Calling Fluke a "Slut," But Why Were We ALL Sorry, Too?

@RHRealityCheck

This week’s back-and-forth over Rush Limbaugh’s use of the words “slut” and “prostitute” illustrates our deep discomfort with women’s sexuality.

And in saying this, I am not referring to the fact that Rush Limbaugh massively misstated, misunderstood, and misrepresented Sandra Fluke’s congressional testimony on the medical need for contraception. Anyone with even a basic knowledge of the subject matter will know that 1) private health insurance is not paid for with tax dollars; and 2) you have to take birth control pills with the same frequency (once a day) regardless of the amount of sex you have.

I am talking about the discomfort with women’s sexuality demonstrated in the outpouring of support for Sandra Fluke. Lawmakers, pundits and even the president have reached out, expressing sympathy for the pain it must have caused her to be called a slut. Advertisers have pulled support for Limbaugh’s program. And Limbaugh himself found it necessary to apologize for his use of words, all the while reiterating his absurd read of the content of Fluke’s original testimony.

Implicit in all of this is the notion that it is a very bad thing to be called a slut. But why? There is, as Yasmin Nair pointedly says, nothing wrong with women who like to have sex “with one person or with many, at the same time, or sequentially.” And if that is true, how is it that advertisers can be convinced to pull support for a highly profitable show solely on the premise that it is bad for business to be seen to support someone who calls a woman a slut?

Part of the reason is historic. Perceived chastity has traditionally been linked to the legal definition of defamation and libel. In this way, English common law historically considered it libellous or defamatory “per se”—that is, without the need for further explanation—to insinuate that a woman is unchaste. Interestingly, some definitions of defamation per se considered impotence and a want of chastity to be equally damaging notions. Rush Limbaugh might agree with that, considering his run-in with prosecutors over carrying Viagra and his somewhat frequent use of the word “slut” as an insult.

What is disheartening is that some of the of sympathy for Fluke comes from a similar place of discomfort with and judgement of liberated female sexuality. If we say that slut is a bad word, we are implicitly saying it is bad for women to want to have sex. If we say that prostitute is a bad word, we are saying that taking money for sex is an insult. Neither is automatically true.

Limbaugh’s negative judgement of a woman having sex for anything other than procreative purposes is obvious and direct. After all, that is what his rant was about in the first place.

For many others the judgement is more insidious and in some cases directed at ourselves. Many of my most actively feminist friends have at some point or another expressed genuine concern that some man will think they are a slut because they had sex with him on a first, second, or third date. Apart from the obvious double-standard (the man had sex on a first, second or third date too—is he also a slut?), most people in the United States, at some point, have sex outside marriage and without a deep and lasting emotional connection. In other words, most people may be sluts, but only women pay a social price for it.

Limbaugh’s juvenile tirade illustrates the many levels on which women are held to different standards than men. A woman who speaks publicly about sex, even clinically, is automatically a slut, but no such term automatically attaches to men who routinely affirm their sexual needs and desires. Women who ask that the insurance they pay for cover contraception are not only freeloaders but are also prostitutes, while the men who rely on their female partners to take care of their contraception needs are presumably virile.

In addition, both Limbaugh’s carefully worded apology, and quite a lot of the anti-Limbaugh media flurry this week miss an essential point in Fluke’s testimony: women and men have different health care needs because of their different physiology, and those needs should be met equitably.

But more than that: until we stop assuming that women are bad if they have sex with someone they don’t know, don’t love, or aren’t married to, we will never be a modern democracy with equal protection under the law.

The Dangers of Being Female

@HuffingtonPost

This month was big on bad news for women. First, a family in Canada was convicted for killing four female relatives, then a woman was allegedly strangled by her husband in Afghanistan, and then a high-profile charity in the United States decides to withdraw funds to screen women for breast cancer.

There are two things that struck me as noticeable about these events and their news coverage.

The first is that in all of these cases, different as they may be, women are being punished for being women. The Canada killings were allegedly motivated by the girls' dating and wearing girly clothes. The woman in Afghanistan was supposedly killed because she had given birth to three girls in a row. And it is hard to think of a gesture that more clearly targets women for just being women, in my opinion, than defunding screenings for breast cancer.

The second thing that is noticeable about coverage of these recent events is that many people have expressed their outrage over them, making me feel tentatively optimistic about the future for women's rights. With that in mind, I am hoping that more people will start caring -- and expressing outrage -- about these three very common ways in which women are being punished for being female.

Limited workplace support for pregnancy. Dina Bakst's recent piece in the New York Times put it succinctly: "few people realize that getting pregnant can mean losing your job." Several reports and books describe the devastating effects of limited or weak support for pregnancy on women's careers, health and finances. Contrary to what some might suggest, providing support for pregnant women and new mothers through flex-time, job-protection and paid parental leave is not just good for women: it is good for their families, their employers and ultimately society as a whole. Leaving that aside for a minute, though, regardless of the overall beneficial effects of better work-life policies, women should not be punished for the biological fact that they can get pregnant and men cannot.

Assumptions about female weakness. Despite the fact that many women are the sole or main providers for their families, and despite women's advances as middle managers, women continue to be underrepresented in top leadership roles: in 2010, only 2.8 percent of Fortune 500 companies were led by women. Research repeatedly points to assumptions about women's "nature" as key barriers to promotion: women aren't thought to be as assertive as men, and are seen to lack vision and strength. It is telling that many job adverts suggest that "qualified women" are encouraged to apply. Men, this seems to imply, are qualified just by being male.

Punitive laws related to women's sexuality. Societies have viewed and regulated women's sexuality differently than men's for as long back as we can dig up evidence about. The ancient Greek city-states, for example, expected Greek women to be chaste and demure, and punished or ridiculed those who were not. Today, laws to punish women for having sex with the wrong persons at the wrong time for the wrong reasons persist in almost all countries in the world, ranging from the criminalization of female adultery and of abortion over laws that punish drug use during pregnancy to social services provisions that punish poor unmarried women with more than one child. At the basis of all of these laws is one main thought: Women should not really want to have sex.

All of these three issues are intimately related to the anti-women news items of this month. As long as women are undervalued, expected to bear the entire price of reproduction, and at the same time required to be outwardly asexual, we will see more women and girls killed, maimed and their health needs discarded. Hopefully, we can continue to muster outrage and actually generate change.

The complacency over unsafe abortions must end

@guardian

The results of the latest study on global abortion are no surprise – the shock is policy-makers have ignored such data for decades

The astounding thing about the global abortion debate is not that some people have deeply held views about what a pregnancy is and when a human existence begins. After all, both of these questions are closely related to that most ubiquitous of philosophical questions: what is the meaning of life? The astounding thing is that policy-makers continue to ignore carefully amassed information about the actual outcome of programmes and laws related to sexuality and reproduction.

In that context, one could only wish that the latest figures on induced abortion rates and unsafe abortion came as more of a surprise. The analysis, carried out by the US-based Guttmacher Institute and published in the Lancet, has two main conclusions: first, when governments fail to provide contraception for those who want it, abortion figures stay the same; and second, where abortion is illegal the procedure is predominantly unsafe. The foreseeable consequence – continued high levels of maternal mortality – also plays out in the data.

None of this is new or surprising, and we have, as one health advocate pointedly noted, known it for decades. The aggregate data, however, hides additional details the discerning policy-maker should take into account.

First, overall abortion and fertility rates present the consolidated result of millions of very personal decisions.

It is not an accident that abortion rates are higher and procedures more unsafe in poorer countries generally, and for poorer women everywhere. Because even though decisions about abortion are personal, the context in which they are made is not. In this sense, the frequency with which women and girls need abortions and the conditions in which they feel compelled to access the procedure is in many cases an expression of exclusion, stigma and discrimination.

This is most clearly illustrated by the seeming anomalies in the Guttmacher study. Take a country like India. Abortion is generally legal, and modern contraceptive methods are, in theory, available. Even so, the study found that two thirds of the 6.5m induced abortions that occurred annually in India were unsafe. The reason for this is the combination of available health infrastructure, poverty, moral condemnation of sex outside marriage and severe gender inequities in the labour market. This is the context in which the women and girls make their decisions. Those who are most likely to need an abortion – young or unmarried women, those pursuing education or those engaged in subsistence farming – either cannot afford a legal procedure or fear the stigma attached to going to a recognised clinic for care. As a result, they end up having unsafe abortions, not because the government doesn't allow legal care, but because it does not enable women to effectively access it.

Second, the 70,000 women who die annually as a result of unsafe abortion didn't just die because abortion was illegal in the country they live in. They died because their lives were seen as dispensable by those in charge. Maternal mortality caused by unsafe abortion is, in fact, entirely resource-specific. This is the very reason policy-makers can and do continue to ignore facts: the only women who die as a result of restrictive abortion laws are poor. Case in point: Mississippi, the US state with the highest poverty rate, also has incredibly restrictive abortion access and – not surprisingly – soaring levels of maternal mortality.

Finally, the study hides massive levels of complacency (or resignation), even among those of us who care. How is it that we don't ask for more informed positions from our policy-makers? Regardless of whether we identify as pro-choice or pro-life, or neither, we should all require some sort of plausible explanation for why the suggested solutions actually would generate the change we want. In this sense, if a key goal is lowering the number of abortions, we should not accept policies that police women's sexuality based on particular conceptions of morality.

In fact, we should accept nothing less than what the data for decades has shown to be effective: a policy package of comprehensive sexual and reproductive healthcare, including support for parenting, gender equality and poverty reduction.