Abolish the Israeli Juvenile Military Court

by Smadar Ben-Natan*


The Israeli public was outraged in December when a video of Ahed Tamimi, a 16-year-old Palestinian girl from Nebi Salah in the occupied West Bank, went viral. The video documents her and her cousin, Nour Tamimi, slapping and kicking Israeli soldiers out of their house. The soldiers’ justified restraint towards young unarmed girls was nonetheless portrayed in Israeli media as impotence, an insult to masculinity and national dignity. Little was said about the fact that shortly before that, Ahed’s 15-year-old cousin, Mohammed Tamimi, was shot in the face by an Israeli soldier, and while the Israeli soldiers positioned themselves in front of Ahed’s house he was fighting for his life. The revenge of the military was not served cold: Ahed, Nour, and Ahed’s mother Nariman, a longtime activist who filmed the incident and posted it on Facebook, were promptly arrested in the middle of the night. This is a routine procedure for the arrests of Palestinian minors, who are often brutally pulled from their beds in their pajamas.

Ahed and Nariman are still detained by the so-called “world’s most moral army.” Ahed is facing charges of assault, while Nariman is charged with incitement (for posting the video), and they will both stand trial in an Israeli military court, where detention pending trial is the default, even for minors. The arrests are being protested by a widespread #freeahedtamimi campaign. In the media and public opinion, young Ahed has already won the battle, but she is paying a dire price, celebrating her 17th birthday on January 31 in prison.

Ahed’s arrest comes as no surprise to many who know the Israeli mechanisms of arrest and prosecution of minors in the West Bank. For over 50 years, Israel has held Palestinians under military occupation. In the Israeli military courts, the army is the legislator, the prosecutor, and the judge. Palestinian minors are routinely and sometimes brutally arrested, isolated from parents and lawyers, interrogated in the middle of the night, pressured to confess and incriminate others, convicted in around 99% of cases, and sentenced to prison terms ranging from months to years.

In the United States, Congresswoman Betty McCollum, together with 19 other co-sponsors, has introduced the Promoting Human Rights by Ending Military Detention of Palestinian Children Act, HR 4391. The bill seeks to ensure that US military aid does not support these practices, which are subject to fierce human rights criticism by UNICEF, other dedicated NGOs, and foreign governments. The United States has also detained and violated the rights of children in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Guantanamo. However, the Israeli military detentions and courts, affecting thousands of minors as young as 12, are still full steam ahead.

Responding to growing criticism, the Israeli army established a Juvenile Military Court in 2009, promulgating it as yet additional proof of its high moral commitment. However, the changes that the military juvenile court introduces to the ordinary military procedure are so minor that it doesn’t resemble any decent juvenile justice system. The Juvenile Military Court’s jurisdiction is limited only to the trial phase. All detention and (extremely rare) bail issues are still in the hands of the adult military courts, where detention pending trial is the rule rather than the exception. Minors thus typically arrive to trial and sentencing by the juvenile court after they have already been detained as adults for the duration of their trial. Evidence is predominantly based on middle-of-the-night confessions and incriminatory statements by terrified teenagers who have just been pulled from their beds. There are no alternatives to imprisonment, which is the default punishment. The Juvenile Military Court is thus undeserving of its deceptive title.

Israel defends its military courts by the claim that the Fourth Geneva Convention allows and even mandates military courts during belligerent occupation. Human rights advocacy accepts this claim and is thus trapped in a limbo, where only fair trial and due process are the focus of advocacy and challenge. It is time to change course: The Geneva conventions do not mandate military courts of occupation, but only allow for them. The convention never envisioned a 50-year-old occupation, and thus never intended to allow military courts that in fact replace ordinary civilian courts. The rule in human rights law is that civilians should not be subjected to military courts. At least since the Palestinian Authority had established its own legislative council and justice system in 1996, there is no justification or legal ground for the continued operation of the Israeli military courts. The Juvenile Military Court should be the first to vanish.

I propose to demand that Israel should completely renounce the prosecution of children and teenagers in military courts, abolishing the Juvenile Military Court altogether. Two alternatives are available: handing minors over to the Palestinian Authority, or, in cases that implicate the security of Israel, charging minors in Israeli civilian juvenile courts, where Israeli children, Palestinian children from East Jerusalem, as well as settlers’ children are charged. Obviously, under current circumstances, the power to decide which cases implicate Israeli security remains in Israeli hands, which use that discretion expansively to justify violence and violation of fair trial rights. But hopefully, such violations would diminish under a more inclusive juvenile justice system that is not set up only for Palestinians. Each of these alternatives is far better than the Juvenile Military Court. The oversight of civilian courts, I expect, would also reflect on detention and interrogation mechanisms. Ahed Tamimi would not have been detained beyond 24 hours by Israeli civilian juvenile courts, since in these courts, detention of minors is in fact the exception rather than the rule.

While the abolition of a court may sound unrealistic, Israel has actually already done something very similar in the past. I uncovered this untold piece of legal history in my research of Israeli military courts. From 1949 to 1966 Israel put its Palestinian citizens under a military regime and subjected them to military courts. Following the 1967 occupation, the Israeli military established another military court inside Israel. This court continued to prosecute Palestinian citizens of Israel and Palestinian residents of annexed East Jerusalem for over 33 years, until it was abolished in 2000. However, it had stopped prosecuting minors long before that, in 1978, after attorney Felicia Langer petitioned the Israeli Supreme Court, arguing that her Palestinian youth clients were entitled to due process in a civilian juvenile court. In its decision Abu Rob v. Damon Prison Warden, the Supreme Court ruled that every minor is entitled to stand trial in a civilian juvenile court. This long forgotten decision ended the sweeping prosecution of Palestinian minors in the Israeli internal military court. Minors were thus not subjected to a mock military juvenile court but actually drawn out of the jurisdiction of the military court. The US forces in Iraq also transferred minors arrested by them to face charges in the civilian Iraqi legal system. Finally, both the Israeli internal military court and the US military courts in Iraq were abolished.

With these historical precedents, there are even more reasons now to support HR 4391, Promoting Human Rights by Ending Military Detention of Palestinian Children Act, and to send a clear message to the government of Israel: Abolish the Juvenile Military Court and release Ahed and Nariman Tamimi.

• • •

*Smadar Ben-Natan is currently a visiting scholar at UC Berkeley, Center for the Study of Law and Society, and a PhD candidate at Tel-Aviv University. Her research centers on national security prosecutions in military and civilian courts. She has been a practicing human rights and criminal defense lawyer in Israel for 18 years, representing many Palestinian prisoners.

Hurricane Maria: Puerto Rico’s Unnatural Disaster

by Hilda Lloréns, Ruth Santiago, Carlos G. Garcia-Quijano,
and Catalina M. de Onís

Image source: panopticopr.com

Image source: panopticopr.com

Hurricanes are thought of as “natural” disasters, but the social and environmental devastation wrought upon Puerto Rico by Hurricane María last September is really an unnatural disaster resulting from a long history of colonial subjugation, economic hardship, environmental injustice, infrastructural neglect, and, at the local level, a broken rule of law. Hurricane María affected all of Puerto Rico to some degree, but in doing so the disaster also exposed the vulnerabilities created by ubiquitous socioeconomic inequality and the differential neglect of the island’s rural regions.

Faraway from San Juan’s hub of government, politics, and power, Puerto Rico’s South has developed a singular and often overlooked trajectory. The establishment of sugarcane plantations after the island’s conquest by Spain, and later by the United States, marked the South as a site of extraction and exploitation. Indeed, the legacy of the now defunct industry still characterizes this rural coast. Local residents overwhelmingly descend from both the enslaved Africans brought to toil in the fields and the indigenous Taíno who dwelled there. The plantation economic model, which benefitted the owners and dispossessed the workers, is also evidenced in the area’s historically high unemployment levels and poverty rates.

The mid-twentieth-century industrialization plan known as Operation Bootstrap marked a turning point for Puerto Rico. This plan, which aimed to modernize the island and stimulate its economy, offered only marginal gains to the citizenry and instead set it on a path of depopulation, unsustainable development, heavy reliance on imported fossil fuels, and even greater economic dependency on the United States. The steady decline of the island’s sugarcane industry and the increasing dependency on food imports meant that thousands of agricultural workers were rendered unemployable. At the same time, in conjunction with the local government, stateside industrial farms began to recruit and employ Puerto Rican agricultural workers. By the end of the twentieth century, Puerto Rican migration to the mainland—both seasonal and permanent—had become a way of life.

A Sacrifice Zone for an Extractivist Economy

Integral to Operation Bootstrap’s advancement, the mid-1950s witnessed the emergence in Puerto Rico’s South of oil refineries and the establishment of energy-generating plants. In 2002, the privately owned Applied Energy Systems began operating Puerto Rico’s only coal-powered plant. Jobos Bay, Puerto Rico’s second most significant estuary and a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA ) reserve, is home to three of Puerto Rico’s power plants. In fact, the vast amount of the electricity consumed in Puerto Rico is generated along the island’s south coast. The southeast is also home to pharmaceutical companies and to two US military training facilities, Camp Santiago and Fort Allen. Furthermore, in the last decade, over 10,000 acres of agricultural lands from Guayama to Juana Diaz have been cultivated with genetically modified seeds and are also sites for agrochemical development and testing. According to a 2017 report, several multinationals, including Monsanto, have set up operations in the region.

Residents of the southeastern coastal plain have a complicated relationship with these industrial developments. On one hand, the developments provide jobs in the formal economy; on the other, local residents are often employed only at the lowest levels of salary and managerial positions but deal with the brunt of the impact of industrial activities on local ecosystems and human health. Additionally, employment is often irregular and seasonal, leaving workers in precarious, unpredictable situations. Coupled with unjust working conditions, this situation has brought about the displacement of entire communities to make space for heavy industries in coastal areas. Respiratory health problems are common, and at least some negative health outcomes are attributable to industrial emissions from local factories. Fishers and other ecosystem resource users for decades have reported environmental degradation effects on important natural resources. In summary, local residents receive a limited share of the benefits, but most of the social and environmental costs, of industrial development.

Community Mobilizations against Toxic Coal Ash

Communities adjacent to Jobos Bay have long organized against the ecological destruction of their local environment. In the 1970s, Corporación Bahia de Jobos fought off a Monsanto pesticide plant similar to the one that wreaked havoc in Bhopal, India. Concerned about the already heavy burden of polluting industries in the region, members of Sur Contra la Contaminación (SURCO) were vocal opponents of the plans to build the AES coal plant on the Bay’s coastal wetlands. Yet the local government disregarded their concerns. In the last decade, the AES plant, which generates over 300 tons of coal ash annually, has been mired in controversy regarding the disposal of the toxic coal ash.

At the start of the 2017 hurricane season, the AES plant had accumulated a five-story-tall pile of coal ash on its premises. [For pictures of the coal ash pile at the AES-Guayama Facility, click here.In fact, just before Hurricane Irma struck, the Environmental Quality Board had ordered the company to cover the ashes. The company did not comply with this request, explaining that coal ash “hardens like a rock” when it comes in contact with water. AES was fined $75,000 for non-compliance. Two weeks later, when Hurricane María struck Puerto Rico with 155-mile-per-hour winds, the ash pile remained uncovered. The region experienced widespread destruction and flooding.

Because AES is built on a coastal wetland, when local activists went to investigate they were not surprised to find flooding on the company grounds. The coal ash pile looked smaller and cracked, leading them to speculate that the ash had been blown around and that it likely had seeped into the ground and the bay. Three months after María ravaged the island, little has been said or done about the toxic coal ash still accumulated on the premises of AES in Guayama. The company has remained silent. The national and federal governments have proved unresponsive to residents’ pleas that an investigation be conducted to study possible coal ash contamination and its effects.

Still, residents have not given up seeking answers. They demand to know whether the coal ash has spread to nearby communities, to the mangroves, or to the Jobos Bay, and whether it seeped into the ground or the aquifer. On December 10, 2017, when Philip Alston, the United Nations Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty, made a fact-finding trip to Puerto Rico, he visited the southeast and heard residents’ testimony about their experiences with environmental injustice and poverty. Similarly, the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights is documenting the ongoing environmental injustices deepened by the hurricanes. It is unfortunate that it took a hurricane the scale of María to bring Puerto Rico’s environmental and climate injustices to international attention.

A Transformation on the Horizon

Before the hurricanes struck, 97 percent of Puerto Rico’s electricity was generated using fossil fuels, and the vast majority of Puerto Ricans had little to no knowledge about how the energy they consumed was generated or where it came from. The storms, which destroyed the neglected grid, had the effect of making energy generation and consumption central to the conversation about reconstruction. Once marginal, discussions about using renewable energy sources, such as solar and wind energy, have now become crucial. If Puerto Rico is to transform, rather than rebuild, its power system, renewable energy projects, advocated for and implemented by local residents and energy experts—not by large corporations in collusion with colonial governments—must be central to building a more sustainable and just energy future.

•  •  •

Hilda Lloréns teaches anthropology in the Sociology & Anthropology Dept. at the University of Rhode Island. She is the author of “Imaging the Great Puerto Rican Family” (2014). Ruth Santiago is a community and environmental lawyer who lives in Salinas, Puerto Rico. Carlos G. Garcia-Quijano is an Associate Professor of Anthropology and Marine Affairs at the University of Rhode Island. His scholarly interests include ecological anthropology, cognitive anthropology, and the use of mixed ethnographic methods to understand complex sociocultural categories and their effects on people’s lives. Catalina M. de Onís is an assistant professor in the Department of Civic Communication and Media at Willamette University in Salem, Oregon. Her dissertation, Energy Remix: Decolonial Discourses of Decarbonization, examined Puerto Rico’s energy colonialism experiences prior to the 2017 hurricane season.

Queerly Tèhuäntin | Cuir Us

by Edward J. McCaughan & Ani Rivera*

 If going home is denied me then I will have to stand and claim my space, making a new culture—una cultura mestiza—with my own lumber, my own bricks and mortar and my own feminist architecture.—Gloria Anzaldúa, Borderlands/La Frontera

The queer aesthetic frequently contains blueprints and schemata of a forward-dawning futurity.—José Esteban Muñoz, Cruising Utopia

In the summer of 2017, San Francisco’s historic Galería de la Raza showcased the work of a group of artists who engage the question of what it means to be simultaneously Mexican or Chicanx and queer—that is, to be who they are. To be queerly tèhuäntin, Nahuatl for “us.” To be queerly us. Queer—or cuir, as the term is increasingly used in Spanish—in the sense of noncoventional sexualities and nonnormative gender expressions. Cuir us.

The artwork reveals a decade-long struggle for social justice and dignity by queer communities on both sides of the Mexico–US border. The LGBTQ and feminist movements that emerged in the 1970s in Mexico and among Chicanxs in the United States faced many formidable challenges; not least of these was how to transform a cultural politics of national/ethnic identity that rested discursively on patriarchal constructs of heterosexism and machismo, narrowly defined womanhood, and rigid binaries of gender and sexuality.

Activist art proved to be one of the movements’ most effective tools for producing counterhegemonic discourses about gender and sexuality. Since 1987, an annual art exhibition has been mounted at the Museo del Chopo in Mexico City, as part of their LGBTQ pride celebration known originally as the Semana Cultural Gay. In the assessment of the late Carlos Monsiváis, these cultural mobilizations “constituted for civil society critical proof of the way in which alternative spaces have contributed to the diversity and the democratization of Mexican life.” In addition to the significance of the social space created by these exhibitions, the hundreds of widely viewed images were important in and of themselves in producing new visual discourses about the possibilities of making a home and a future in which one could be simultaneously queer and Mexican.

The year 1987 was also a pivotal one for queer Chicanxs, marked by the publication of Gloria Anzaldúa’s groundbreaking Borderlands/La Frontera that gave us an intersectional analysis of the “borders” between cultures, genders, and sexualities. It was against her own Chicano community’s sexism and homophobia that Anzaldúa asserted her determination “to stand and claim my space.” In her “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” she declared: “I will no longer be made to feel ashamed of existing. I will have my voice: Indian, Spanish, white. I will have my serpent’s tongue—my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice.” In doing so she helped to open spaces for other queer Chicanxs. Chicana Lesbians: The Girls Our Mothers Warned Us About, for example, was published in 1991, and in 1995 Galería de la Raza hosted Mi corazón me dió un salto: A Queer Raza Exhibition. Now the new millennium has witnessed the emergence of fierce UndocuQueer artists.

With this exhibition, Galería de la Raza celebrated the 30th anniversary of the Semana Cultural Gay (now Festival de Diversidad Sexual) in Mexico City and the publication of Anzaldúa’s Borderlands/La Frontera by paying tribute to the many brave artists on both sides of the border who continue to engage the question of what it means to be queerly tèhuäntin, cuir us. The show included work by some pioneering elders—Yolanda Andrade, Ester Hernández, Taller Documentación Visual, Joey Terrill, and Nahum B. Zenil—as well as pieces by a younger generation of queer artists: Félix D’Eon, Gabriel García Román, Rurru Mipanochia, Yosimar Reyes, and Naomi Rincón Gallardo. We highlight a few of them here.

Photographer Yolanda Andrade (b. 1950, Villahermosa) received a Guggenheim for her project on Mexico City, which included photos of participants in the capital’s annual LGBTQ pride celebrations. The three we selected for this show reveal a range of Mexican genders and sexualities. We also included Andrade’s portrait of the late Nancy Cárdenas, a writer, actor, theater director, filmmaker, and lesbian rights activist who in 1974 cofounded Mexico’s first gay organization, the Frente de Liberación Homosexual. Journalist and gay rights activist Braulio Peralta wrote that Andrade’s photos give us the opportunity to experience “difference, presence, not being absent, remembering the taste of what’s real: that we are all equal because without political freedom there is no sexual freedom!”

Yolanda Andrade, La Alas del deseo, photograph, 1993

Yolanda Andrade, La Alas del deseo, photograph, 1993

Gabriel García Román (b. 1973, Zacatecas) describes himself as a Mexican-Americón, born in Mexico and raised in Chicago. He is a multimedia artist best known for his Queer Icons series, whose subjects are drawn from many facets of the gender and queer spectrum. Several of his Queer Icons were exhibited, including a portrait of undocumented trans rights activist Jennicet Gutiérrez. García Román explains: “Much like traditional religious paintings conferred a sense of safety and meditative calm on a home, the works in this series aspire to provide a similar sense of refuge that’s drawn from the inner grace of the subjects and projected outwards onto a world that might not always be safe.”

Gabriel García Roman, Jennicet, photo printed on collaged paper, 2017

Gabriel García Roman, Jennicet, photo printed on collaged paper, 2017

Ester Hernández (b. 1944 Dinuba, California), an internationally acclaimed visual artist based in San Francisco, was born in California’s San Joaquin Valley to a Mexican/Yaqui farm worker family. Two of Hernández’s iconic portraits of queer women were included in this exhibition. Renee, La Troquera is a sexually alluring female truck driver whose sleeveless shirt reveals strong arms as her tongue licks the index finger of her leather gloved hand. In Hernández’s erotically charged La Ofrenda, the Virgin of Guadalupe might be read as “Our Lady of Lesbian Desire.” La Ofrenda graced the cover of the groundbreaking 1991 anthology Chicana Lesbians: The Girls Our Mothers Warned Us About, edited by Carla Trujillo.

Ester Hernández, La Ofrenda, screenprint, 1990

Ester Hernández, La Ofrenda, screenprint, 1990

Rurru Mipanochia (b. 1989, Mexico City) received a prestigious Young Creators grant from Mexico’s Fondo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes (FONCA) in 2016. The artist, who avoids gendered pronouns in self-descriptions, claims to be “a cyborg built in Nibiru, but discarded to the Earth by defects in its operating system, reborn in Mexico City.” Rurru’s work plays with Mesoamerican iconography representing abject deities, bodies, and sexualities. In Rurru’s images of Tlaltecuhtli, a Mexica diety traditionally represented with female characteristics despite its male name, the god is endowed with both penis and vagina. Rurru’s artwork was made available by ArtSpace Mexico.

Rurru Mipanochia, Tlaltecuhtli 2, acrylic, stylograph, and markers on amate paper, 2017

Rurru Mipanochia, Tlaltecuhtli 2, acrylic, stylograph, and markers on amate paper, 2017

In the life and art of Los Angeles native Joey Terrill (b. 1955, Los Angeles), the Chicano and gay movements are inseparable: “Since my high school student days . . . social activism and Chicano politics have played a pivotal role in my life while at the same time I embraced the politics of the Gay Liberation Movement and challenged the societal oppression of homosexuality.” His La Historia de amor turns the classic Mexican kitsch calendar image of Popocatépetl and Itzaccíhuatl into gay lovers promoting solidarity with “your bothers with HIV.” His Still-life with Viracept speaks to the ways HIV meds became part of daily life, a presence as common as striped Mexican table cloths, Catholic icons, and sliced bread. And his He Wore Ray-Ban Glasses, a Rolex Watch and He Used to Eat My Ass boldly asserts the centrality of same-sex desire even in the face of a homophobic culture and STDs.

Joey Terrill, He Wore Ray Ban Glasses, a Rolex Watch, and He Used to Eat My Ass, acrylic on canvas, 1985

Joey Terrill, He Wore Ray Ban Glasses, a Rolex Watch, and He Used to Eat My Ass, acrylic on canvas, 1985

Nahum B. Zenil (b. 1947, Chicontepec) is a painter and poet who played a leading role in establishing Mexico City’s annual LGBTQ exhibitions. Zenil gained international acclaim in the 1980s as one of the foremost exponents of a school of art that critics called “neo-Mexicanism,” which also included Enrique Guzmán, who committed suicide in 1984, and Julio Galán, who died in 2006. These gay men inserted their own body into dense fields of iconic national symbols, a queer body reclaimed from the shadowy corners of Mexicanidad. At the center of Zenil’s extensive oeuvre are self-portraits in which the artist’s body experiences the pains, pleasures, desires, and struggles of life as a gay, Catholic Mexican. In the pieces shown in our exhibition, Zenil appears as the enduring homoerotic icon Saint Sebastian, as the multitude of gay men haunted by the specter of AIDS, and as the masses demanding respect for democracy and human rights.

Nahum Zenil, El Espectro, engraving, 1994

Nahum Zenil, El Espectro, engraving, 1994

May the work of these artists guide us toward what José Esteban Muñoz called a “forward-dawning futurity.”

•  •  •

*Edward J. McCaughan, Emeritus Professor of Sociology, San Francisco State University, is the author of Art and Social Movements: Cultural Politics in Mexico and Aztlán. Ani Rivera is Executive Director of Galería de la Raza in San Francisco (http://www.galeriadelaraza.org/).

Right on Crime: The Carceral State beyond Trump

by Tony Platt & Chase Burton*


Image: Trump with leaders of the Fraternal Order of Police. From Wikimedia (edited).

While a great deal of attention is being paid to Trump’s possible impeachment or removal and to his unvarnished bigotry and bombastic rhetoric, his government is transforming carceral policies at the state as well as the federal level. Whether it’s President Trump or President Pence in the White House, the changes are consequential, reverse the modest reforms of the Obama era, and will have a lasting impact.

Despite Donald Trump’s mercurial temperament, he honed his ideas about criminal justice in the 1980s, long before he made law and order a centerpiece of his 2016 campaign. In The America We Deserve, ghostwritten in 2000, he cribbed from his “favorite crime expert,” James Q. Wilson of broken windows fame, and from the Heritage Foundation’s screed against indulgent judges and efforts to diversify police departments.

As president, Trump made “Standing Up for Our Law Enforcement Community” one of his six political priorities, and he issued executive orders encouraging police to “perform the functions of immigration officers” while making “a chargeable criminal offense” grounds for deportation without a conviction.

Trump successfully nominated a strict constructionist to the Supreme Court and a virulent reactionary for attorney general. The long-term threat to civil liberties, however, lies in his appointment of several extremists to lifelong positions as federal appellate judges. Trump’s nominees are mostly white men recommended by the Federalist Society, and they include candidates who are rated “not qualified” by the American Bar Association, support “conversion therapy” for gay youth, describe transgender children as part of Satan’s plan, and compare Roe v. Wade to the Dredd Scott decision.

Jeff Sessions piled up such a monumental record of racist practices as the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Alabama, including characterizing the NAACP as “communist-inspired,” that even the Republican-controlled Senate in 1986 refused to confirm his appointment as a federal judge, despite Ronald Reagan’s endorsement. As Trump’s attorney general, Sessions has steered the Department of Justice away from modest efforts begun by his predecessor to reign in lethal violence and racist abuse by urban police departments. He opposes consent decrees on the grounds that they might “reduce morale of the police officers” and advocates the view that police malpractice is the doing of a few “bad apples” rather than a systemic problem. Sessions also reversed the Obama administration’s decision to decrease the federal government’s use of costly and abusive private prisons.

Despite Obama’s unprecedented record of deporting more than three million immigrants, the Trump administration encourages agents from Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), the largest investigative agency in the Department of Homeland Security, to round up more folks, including those who have only committed minor criminal and immigration infractions. “Before, we used to be told, ‘You can’t arrest those people,’ said a 10-year ICE veteran. “Now those people are priorities again. And there are a lot of them here.”

In the first six months of 2017, arrests of undocumented immigrants increased by almost 38% over the previous year. Many families are now reluctant to report sexual assaults and domestic violence, to drop off their children at school, and to attend church. “People leave their loved ones in the emergency room and run away,” reported the chief executive of a New York hospital.

If you’re worried about where President Trump is taking the country, worry as much about a President Pence. He rose to national prominence as a congressman (2002–2011) and then governor of Indiana who helped build the right-wing evangelical Christian base of the Republican Party by campaigning for restriction of birth control to married women and for criminalization of abortion. In Congress, he made a case for teaching “intelligent design” alongside evolution and became a leader of the far right caucus. As governor, he was an ardent advocate of the Religious Freedom Restoration Act that would have legalized discrimination by businesses against gays and lesbians. A leading proponent of unregulated capitalism, he has close ties to the Koch brothers, who have bankrolled his political career and envision him as presidential material. In return, Pence helped to bring into the Trump administration 16 high-ranking officials with ties to the Kochs.

Beyond the carceral policies supported by Trump and Pence, many state governments are adopting more punitive policies and cracking down on dissent. Although the federal government shapes priorities and provides funding and other incentives, the majority of routine everyday policing and punishing is the responsibility of state and local governments. The decentralized nature of American punishment means that state-level changes are likely to leave lasting impacts on our everyday lives.

State governments have adopted a range of policies that increase punishments for protest and civil disobedience, restrict access to abortions, and whittle away what is left of immigrant rights. Most legislation is concentrated in areas of the South and Midwest that were also Trump territory. Also, a coalition of conservative organizations, Right on Crime, has been effective at the state level in coopting a liberal reform agenda by advocating a reduced prison population as a cost-saving measure, increased financial restitution to victims of crime, and a higher level of proof against corporations charged with crime.

A particularly important trend in state-level carceral politics is the wave of “back the badge” bills that increase penalties for assaulting cops, including petty assault enhancements that are likely to be used as tools to punish protestors. Encouraged by the Heritage Foundation and nationally known right-wing ideologues, including Reagan’s Attorney General Edwin Meese and former New York police chief Bernard Kerik, to go after Black Lives Matter groups, states such as Kentucky, Mississippi, Georgia, Arkansas, Utah, Nevada, North Dakota, South Dakota, and Kansas lead the way in “blue lives matter” legislation. Oklahoma, in response to the Dakota Access Pipeline protests, has significantly increased penalties for trespass or vandalism against refineries, pipelines, and oil/gas processing plants.

These laws provide county and state prosecutors with additional tools to coerce protestors into accepting plea deals and to increase the punishment of those who unsuccessfully try to fight charges. The message of this swath of legislation is clear: Don’t organize, don’t protest, and don’t cause trouble.

The state-level conservative crackdown has also included efforts to restrict reproductive rights, especially abortion: Arizona passed a law imposing new and burdensome restrictions on abortion providers, while Iowa and Kentucky have passed 20-week abortion bans. Missouri restricted the ability of people on Medicaid to have insurance payments for birth control and other reproductive health services.

No matter what happens to Donald Trump or his administration, the slow, uneven progress that began in criminal justice reform under the Obama administration has already been significantly rolled back. Although the current regime represents a clear and present danger to democratic rights and legal safeguards, the consolidation of rightwing policies at the state as well as national level poses an enormous challenge to the progressive movement for the next decade.

•  •  •

* Tony Platt, a founding member of Social Justice, is a Distinguished Affiliated Scholar, Center for the Study of Law & Society, UC Berkeley. He is completing a book, Beyond These Walls: A Genealogy of American Injustice, for St. Martin’s Press. Chase Burton is a doctoral candidate in the Jurisprudence and Social Policy Program at UC Berkeley. His dissertation research concerns the history of American criminology and its precedents in popular and literary discourse.

#MeToo, Rape Culture and the Paradoxes of Social Media Campaigns

by Bianca Fileborn & Rachel Loney-Howes*


Image by For All Womankind (edited)

The allegations of sexual harassment and sexual assault perpetrated by Harvey Weinstein led to a powerful and widespread social media campaign, with Twitter and Facebook feeds flooded with the hashtag #MeToo. Within 24 hours, at least 4.7 million people made over 12 million posts. Individuals from around the world participated in this online conversation, declaring that they had also experienced sexual harassment or assault, demonstrating both the pervasiveness of sexual violence and an unwillingness to stay silent any longer.

#MeToo provides a timely example of how survivors of sexual violence are using social media and communication technologies to speak out and as a mechanism for achieving a sense of justice. At the same time, there are substantial limitations and challenges associated with online justice that need to be taken into account.

The positive response to the #MeToo campaign has been phenomenal, demonstrating widespread validation and recognition of survivors’ experiences. Online communities and collective disclosure provide solidarity and support to victim-survivors, serving as  an alternative form of justice that expresses victims’ justice needs and fosters cultures and spaces of support outside of mainstream criminal justice vehicles.

Additionally, online spaces can provide subaltern or counter-public spaces to challenge rape culture in ways that the normative “public sphere” has denied. Survivors coming out and claiming or disclosing their experiences in these online spaces challenge the scripts that govern what rape and trauma ought to look like. In particular, these online campaigns demonstrate that rape is widespread, not necessarily violent, and that traumatic responses vary.

Clearly, the power of a viral social media campaign has potentially opened up a space for productive and meaningful dialogue about sexual violence. Yet, in other respects campaigns such as #MeToo, and the search for justice online more broadly, raise some critical questions regarding whose justice needs are fulfilled in the online realm, and who, precisely, is able to harness these spaces effectively to have their experiences and victim status recognized.

Participation in these campaigns is inherently performative and problematic, as recent feminist critiques have raised. Public representations of trauma, which are a central feature of #MeToo, can be read as reinforcing notions of women as vulnerable victims. Moreover, why does it take a social media campaign to give credibility to women’s campaigns given that the pervasiveness of sexual violence has been well documented for some time now?

We also need to be aware that there is a certain type of privilege that comes from being able to speak out. It is often white middle-class women who occupy online spaces, and victim-survivors from diverse demographic groups may be actively excluded. Survivors vary in their capacity and willingness to engage in online disclosure, and to effectively harness these spaces in disclosing. Some voices are privileged above others online, with subsequent implications for who is recognized as a survivor and who is able to achieve a sense of justice. Also eclipsed in much of the discussion on #MeToo is the potential for further victimization. Online disclosure can lead to validation and support, but it can equally result in dismissal, disbelief, and further harassment and abuse.

Rarely acknowledged is the amount of emotional labor that goes into sustaining these cultures of support and justice in online spaces. This is more than just “keeping out the trolls” but speaks more broadly to the effort of providing therapeutic support in these spaces. Survivors are burdened with the responsibility of raising awareness about sexual violence, generating broader social and cultural change, and providing support to other survivors.

The extent to which online disclosure and viral campaigns can generate substantive change is also open to question. The phrase “going viral” is itself instructive here, as “viral” also connotes something that needs to be eradicated. “Viral” campaigns are typically ephemeral and unlikely to maintain the momentum needed to generate longer-term change. This has lead to critiques of online activism as “slacktivism.” That said, with US congressperson Jackie Speier introducing a Me Too bill addressing sexual harassment policies in US government, there are signs that the campaign may transcend mere “slacktivism.”

Ultimately, #MeToo merely underscores what feminist activists have been trying to “convince” society of for years: that sexual violence is pervasive, often perpetrated by someone known to the victim, and that such behavior is condoned or at least tolerated because of a pervasive rape culture. #MeToo is therefore not a new phenomenon, although it is occurring in a new space. What we are seeing, though, is the impact digital technologies are having on shortening the time between waves or cycles of anti-rape activism. Moreover, these online spaces are able to sustain networks of solidarity across time, space, and place, making mobilization much faster, dynamic, and palpable and bringing seemingly “private” troubles to the public sphere to be witnessed.

However, the critiques and limitations of #MeToo illustrate a need to pay close attention to the power dynamics shaping speech acts, the subjectivities of those who engage in this type of activism, and the discourses that manifest in these spaces. Failing to do so will lead to backlash within and external to the movement, ultimately undermining the potential of campaigns like #MeToo to move beyond rhetoric and engender meaningful change.

•  •  •

Recommended Readings

Fileborn, B. 2017. Justice 2.0: Street Harassment Victims’ Use of Social Media and Online Activism as Sites of Informal Justice. British Journal of Criminology 57(6): 1482–1501.

Loney-Howes, R. Forthcoming. Shifting the Rape Script: “Coming Out” Online as a Rape Victim. Frontiers: A Journal of Women’s Studies.

Powell, A. 2015. Seeking Rape Justice: Formal and Informal Responses to Sexual Violence through Technosocial Counterpublics. Theoretical Criminology 19: 571–88.

Salter, M. 2013. Justice and Revenge in Online Counter-Publics: Emerging Responses to Sexual Violence in the Age of Social Media. Crime Media Culture 9: 225–42.

Wanggren, L. 2016. Our Stories Matter: Storytelling and Social Justice in the Hollaback! Movement. Gender and Education 28(3): 401–15.

•  •  •

Dr. Bianca Fileborn is a Lecturer in the School of Social Sciences, University of New South Wales (UNSW), Sydney. Her research examines intersections of identity, space/place, culture, and sexual violence. Her current research focuses on justice responses to street harassment, and sexual violence in licensed venues and music festivals. She is the author of Reclaiming the Night-Time Economy: Unwanted Sexual Attention in Pubs and Clubs (Palgrave Macmillan, 2016). Dr. Rachel Loney-Howes is a Research Officer in the School of Global, Urban and Social Studies at the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), Melbourne. Her research examines the nature, history, and scope of anti-rape activism with a particular focus on the impact digital technologies have on the movement. She is currently working on project examining the use of a sexual assault reporting app (SARA).

•  •  •

Recovering Dignity: An Indigenous Woman’s Independent Campaign for Mexico’s Presidency

by R. Aída Hernández Castillo*


Image: María de Jesús Patricio (Marichuy). Source: presencianoticias.com [edited].

An extraordinary phenomenon is taking place in Mexico: an Indigenous woman representing an Indigenous Governing Council has launched a campaign to run as an independent candidate for the nation’s presidency in the 2018 elections. In a racist and machista country, where electoral parties monopolize the political spaces and social imaginaries, her candidacy is poised to destabilize the practices and discourses of power.

María de Jesús Patricio, known as Marichuy, is a Nahua traditional healer. Since the Zapatista uprising in 1994, she has gained national recognition as a voice for Indigenous women and their peoples and for her denunciations of the violent and destructive effects of capitalist development on nature and Mother Earth. Her voice is a collective one, as is her candidacy, which challenges many of the fundamental principles of liberal democracy—a liberal democracy that speaks of equality while promoting economic policies that deepen inequality, and that calls for the individual, free, and secret vote by way of political parties whose members have blood on their hands. Given the political parties’ corruption and complicity with the violence and impunity that plagues the nation, an important sector of Mexican society is seeking other forms of understanding and exercising power outside the party system.

The concept of dignity has been central to the Zapatista struggle as a political principle for confronting racism and the disqualification of the Indigenous citizenship. This concept encompasses the demand to respect life in all its manifestations, as the basis for confronting multiple forms of violence. Marichuy, inspired by the Zapatista women’s struggle, reminds us that “dignity is helping a new world to be born in the midst of the destruction, pain, and rage of our peoples, those of Mexico de abajo, the underdogs in the countryside and the cities.”  Her voice speaks for the dignity of those excluded from the national project.

An Anticapitalist, Antiracist, and Antipatriarchal Agenda

We are in a historical moment when pragmatism leads political parties to dilute their agendas and programs, when the Right and the pseudo-Lefts are willing to overlook their differences in order to create united fronts in complicity with impunity. In contrast to this “political relativism,” Marichuy speaks to us about an anticapitalist, antiracist, and antipatriarchal agenda. Her reflections arise from her own experience as a poor Indigenous woman who has lived firsthand this intersection of exclusions. In a recent speech to a Zapatista community, she pointed out: “We Indigenous women, in our triple condition as women, Indigenous, and poor, experience the greatest of the oppressions in this system called capitalism: we are exploited and assaulted in our homes, at work, in all spaces of society. The current system subjects us to the crudest exploitation and treats us as mere commodities every day.”

But Marichuy also speaks from a collective experience of plunder and violent dispossession of land and natural resources. Her political agenda arises from Indigenous communities’ experiences, but it is a proposal for all Mexicans who are concerned by what she denounced as “big business’s theft, plunder, and destruction of our Mother Earth, which is accompanied by the domination and control of we women.”

Her speeches not only denounce the violence we women experience, but they also lay claim to our political power by talking about the role played by the mothers of the disappeared “in their tireless struggle to find truth and justice within the debris.” She reminds of the role played by Indigenous and peasant women in defending land and territory, and she called on all women to “organize ourselves, yes, to demand respect for our own rights, but also those of everyone else, because we have the power to push forward this enormous struggle.” As a woman, as a feminist, and as a Mexican citizen, I feel called upon by her message, which gives me hope during these dark times. To recover dignity is to dare to imagine other paths and other possible futures.

The Obstacles of Technological Racism

Political parties are in crisis, and citizens are increasingly looking to independent candidates, a phenomenon that further threatens the establishment parties that benefit from the budgets allocated by the country’s electoral system. As a result, lawmakers have established rules to make it ever more complicated for independent candidates. The electoral law requires that in order to become a presidential candidate, Marichuy must gather by February 1, 2018 a total of 866,593 signatures distributed among at least 17 states that represent a minimum of 1% of the electorate in each state.  However, unlike in the past when written signatures could be collected using a photocopy of the electoral roll, now the collection must be done using a smartphone with two gigabytes of memory—that is, an Android 6 or Iphone 6 or higher. In a country like Mexico marked by profound social inequalities, this requirement effectively excludes entire segments of the population who have neither the technology nor access to the Internet service needed to download the National Electoral Institute’s app and upload the photos of their voting credentials.

In response to protests by the legal team supporting Marichuy, this requirement has been removed in some Indigenous municipalities characterized by extreme poverty. However, this does not resolve the problem in the majority of poor rural and urban areas of the country.  Currently, the campaign has more volunteers ready to gather signatures than it has the necessary equipment.

I dare to talk about technological racism because technology is being used not to build bridges and articulate struggles but to exclude those who have the fewest resources, which in Mexico includes the majority of the Indigenous population. In the context of racialized geographies characterized by the unequal distribution of public spending and violence, many of the municipalities most affected by the violence of the narco-state are also those without the resources to access this type of technology. We are in a race against technology and bureaucracy in a political terrain marked by racism and inequality.

However, the very fact that in Mexico today a movement is gathering around an antiracist, anticapitalist, and antipatriarchal agenda is a very important first step. It is a movement that puts respect for Mother Earth at the center, that opens possibilities to imagine other forms of doing politics and of understanding power, and in which mandar obedeciendo (to lead by obeying the people) and community service are fundamental to exercising authority. This blog is an invitation to support the nomination of María de Jesús Patricio so that the voices that until now have been excluded and silenced in the electoral arena can be heard.

• • •

Aída Hernández Castillo is a researcher and professor at the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores de Antropología Social in Mexico City.

Note: A previous version of this article was published in the Mexican newspaper La Jornada on October 26th, 2017. Translated from Spanish by Edward McCaughan.

On the Brink of an Authoritarian Turn: The Catalan Uprising

by José A. Brandariz, Manuel Maroto, and Cristina Fernández-Bessa*

Police charge protesters in the Eixample, Barcelona. Source: eldiario.es.

Police charge protesters in the Eixample, Barcelona. Source: eldiario.es.

Spanish conservatives have not ever been interested
in winning over their political contenders,
they are just interested in defeating them.
Guillem Martínez, journalist and writer

The resurgence of the Catalan independentist movement, recently culminated in a successful referendum for independence and its subsequent overturn by the central government of Spain, cannot be disconnected from the austerity period launched by the European Union (EU) in May 2010. A significant number of European countries has witnessed a conservative turn in recent years, featuring the electoral success of right-wing and authoritarian-populist political formations. By contrast, the southern European nations hardest hit by the Great Recession have taken a very different path. In 2015, immediately after the two electoral victories of the left-wing coalition Syriza in Greece, a promising progressive government came into office in Portugal. In Spain, the new left party Podemos gained substantial traction in 2014–15, which led to the electoral success of Podemos-like coalitions in a number of key local administrations—including Madrid and Barcelona—after the municipal elections of May 2015. The Catalan pro-independence movement took center stage especially since 2012, when the newly elected conservative government of Mariano Rajoy started to implement extremely harsh austerity measures. Therefore, the Catalan movement should be regarded, at least in part, as a reaction against the conservative and “austericide” measures promoted by Rajoy’s right-wing Popular Party (PP). This is unsurprising, since Catalonia has been—at different historical conjunctures—a stronghold of anarchist, leftist, and anti-dictatorship political movements.


Map of Catalonia.

But this is only one side of the story. For many centuries, Catalonia has cemented a strong national identity. Indeed, Catalonia’s secession from Spain had been set forth at least three times before, the most recent one in October 1934. In all three cases, Catalonia’s independence bid was militarily crushed by Spanish rulers. Yet, despite this long-standing separatist tradition, the current pro-independence uprising would not have taken hold without the salient window of opportunity offered by Rajoy’s autocratic and intolerant political stance. Indeed, while the pro-independence campaign was gradually gaining momentum, the central government rejected any negotiation with Catalan elected officials. In 2006, Rajoy’s PP brought the reform of the Statute of Autonomy of Catalonia before the Constitutional Court, which overturned this pivotal amendment in 2010. The first attempt to hold a referendum for self-determination, which took place in November 2014, was boycotted by the Spanish government and led to the criminal prosecution and conviction of the then Catalan president and two top-rank officials. Subsequently, the Spanish government adopted the current hard-line position in early September 2017, with the referendum for independence set to be held on October 1. The consequences of the government’s authoritarian stance are well known: the deployment of 12,000 Spanish police officers throughout Catalonia, the heavy-handed policing of voters and activists on the day of the referendum, the suspension of Catalonia’s self-government prerogatives, and the onset of penal repression against pro-independence leaders.

In order to justify its imposition of direct rule in Catalonia, the Spanish administration has resorted to a highly controversial section of the Spanish Constitution (Article 155), which states that any autonomous community must fulfill its obligations to the Spanish state or risk having its powers taken away. Despite the very feeble constitutional legitimation of this political move, on October 28 Rajoy’s cabinet ousted the Catalan government and around 1,400 Catalan officials, dissolved the Catalan parliament, and called for new regional elections to be held on December 21, 2017.

Even more concerning is the penal dimension of this conundrum. Around 20 Catalan political and civic leaders have been indicted for two quintessentially nineteenth-century political crimes: rebellion and sedition. This indictment threatens Catalan officials with close-to-lifelong prison sentences. Two civic leaders of the pro-independence movement, Jordi Sànchez and Jordi Cuixart, have been imprisoned on remand on October 16, following an unambiguously politically motivated decision. In recent days, a significant part of the Catalan government moved to Brussels and does not intend to return to Spain until their right to due process is reinstated and protected. On November 2, the rest of the ousted government, with the only exception of one member who had resigned before a pro-secession parliamentary vote in late October, were sent to prison without bail. Of course, no charges have been pressed against Spanish officials for their disproportionate use of state coercion.

The pro-independence movement has undoubtedly made serious political mistakes—crucial among them, an unrealistic proclamation of independence without the support of a widespread democratic base. From a radical social justice and human rights perspective, though, this is not the most critical point. The eventual scenario in which part of the ousted Catalan cabinet may apply for political asylum in Belgium points to other political aspects of the current conflict, the most significant of which is arguably related to the content and scope of a democratic regime in twenty-first-century Europe. Concretely, these recent events raise the question of why and to what extent a legitimate political claim—which was peacefully and democratically debated in countries such as Scotland and Quebec in the recent past—may be addressed within a European jurisdiction as a law enforcement and criminal justice issue. Two interpretative lenses may provide an answer to this dilemma.

First, the unstated values and long-standing inertias of the Spanish political regime should be taken into account. According to mainstream ratings such as the World Bank’s Worldwide Governance Indicators, Spain represents what may be defined a “regular” European democracy. Based on indicators measuring the prevalence of the rule of law, political stability, and political accountability, Spain ranks lower than the major EU nations and Portugal, but higher than other Southern European countries such as Greece and Italy. Yet, this perspective is somewhat distorted. In international assessments on the effectiveness of human rights against penal repression (see www.politicalterrorscale.org; www.humanrightsdata.com), Spain features either the worst or second-worst record of all EU jurisdictions in key areas such as political imprisonment. As a manifestation of a persistent Schmittian political mentality, Spanish hegemonic elites have time and again claimed the existence of “internal enemies” (nowadays located in Catalonia) to legitimate the transformation of political conflicts into penal issues. These authoritarian tendencies have also targeted social movements. For example, in the mid-1990s more than 1,500 anti-military activists were jailed for advocating the abrogation of military conscription. Today, Spanish courts are indicting and convicting hundreds of people for speech crimes allegedly perpetrated via social media. In short, Spain is to a great extent an effective embodiment of what Michel Foucault defined sovereign governmentality—that is, a technology of power that essentially rules through the law, the stipulation of prohibitions, and the enforcement of punishments.

Secondly, the dilemma mentioned earlier may be addressed by taking into account the conservative surge throughout Europe. Spain has been widely considered as an exception within the European political landscape, since it has not witnessed the consolidation of electorally successful far-right political parties. Yet, such conclusion would be misleading, since it fails to understand the meaning of authoritarian politics in Spain. The measures taken by the Spanish government are strikingly inadequate to address the Catalan question, but this is not what is at stake. Spanish power elites do not seek to win this particular political battle; rather, their actions aim to produce enduring deterrent effects that may prevent any type of political challenge in the future. In fact, the Spanish government’s measures may be especially suitable to generate a persistent downgrading of the democratic system, thereby restricting the scope of political discussion and intervention. The Spanish administration has set out to join the conservative turn affecting Europe and several other regions of the world (namely, the United States and several South American countries), articulating it with the neo-authoritarian turn that frequently haunts late-democratization polities. The incarceration of a large number of Catalan political leaders lays bare that the authoritarian brink is closer than ever.

•  •  •

* José A. Brandariz teaches Criminal Law and Criminology at the University of A Coruna, Spain, and is a member of the executive board of the European Society of Criminology. Manuel Maroto Calatayud lives in Madrid and teaches Criminal Law at the University of Castilla-La Mancha, Spain. Cristina Fernández-Bessa teaches Criminology at the University of Barcelona and is Research Fellow in Socio-Legal and Gender Studies at the Autonomous University of Barcelona.

•  •  •

US Standoff with North Korea: Why Talk Is the Only Realistic Option

by Gwyn Kirk*

Korea Map

Image: Korean Peninsula showing the 38th parallel. Source: www.teara.govt.nz

Military tensions between the United States and North Korea have intensified to alarming levels in recent months. Trump has threatened to “totally destroy” this isolated nation of 25 million people, and to “unleash fire and fury like the world has never seen,” calling Kim Jong Un “Little Rocket Man” and telling Secretary of State Tillerson that he is wasting his time with diplomacy. In response, North Korea plans to continue nuclear tests, including test firing a missile capable of reaching the US mainland.  In contrast to the blistering rhetoric of both President Trump and Kim Jong Un, some US experts are calling for talks and engagement. A “military option” cannot solve the current dangerous standoff with North Korea. Rather, we need to call for diplomacy and support Congressional initiatives like the “No Unconstitutional Strike on North Korea Act” HR.4140 initiated by John Conyers, Thomas Massie, and others, together with Senate bills S.1901 and S.2047.

Many people in the United States know little about North Korea. In April 2017, only 36% of people asked even knew where to find it on a world map. Those who did correctly locate North Korea tended to favor diplomatic and non-military strategies compared with those who did not. More education is needed about North Korea as well as about ways in which people can support diplomacy over military solutions. To meet these goals, organizations such as the American Friends Service Committee, Korea Peace Network, Korea Policy Institute, Peace Action, United for Peace and Justice, Veterans for Peace, Win Without War, and Women Cross DMZ are organizing a National Week of Action to coincide with President Trump’s visit to Japan and Korea.

National Week of Action, November 6-11
(For more information see: https://www.veteransforpeace.org/take-action/armistice-day/)

Please join us in:

  • Educating US communities on the need for diplomacy. Women Cross DMZ has organized informative webinars to counter the misinformation and distortions widely circulated by mainstream media.
  • Urging Congressional representatives to support “No Unconstitutional Strike on North Korea Act” initiated by John Conyers, Thomas Massie, and others.
  • Organizing a teach-in, visit to your elected representative, a candlelight vigil, or street demonstration to make your support for diplomacy visible in your community.
  • Signing onto the People’s Peace Treaty with North Korea.

To better understand the current situation, US-Korean relations need to be placed within a historical context. What follows are some key moments.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, from 1910 to 1945, Korea was annexed and colonized by Japan. Japan’s defeat in August 1945 resulted in liberation, and Koreans had many hopes and visions for their nation’s future. However, the United States and the Soviet Union had their own agendas. They agreed to divide Korea at the 38th parallel: Japanese troops in the south would surrender to US forces, those in the north to the Soviet Union. Later negotiations between Washington and Moscow failed to establish a single Korean government, hence the creation of two separate states in 1948: the Republic of Korea (ROK) in the south and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK) in the north.

This division led to the Korean War between 1950 and 1953. The United States commanded a UN coalition force against North Korea. Approximately 4 million people died, including Korean, Chinese, and allied troops, as well as some 2 million Korean civilians. An armistice agreement, signed in July 1953 by the United States and North Korea, created the DMZ as the new border. A peace treaty was supposed to be negotiated within three months. Over 60 years later, this has still not happened. Instead, there has been increased militarization on both sides of the DMZ and economic sanctions against North Korea that the United States initiated in 1950. While each side continues to demonize the other, some significant efforts were made to reduce the tensions, especially the Agreed Framework of 1994 and South Korea’s “sunshine policy” towards the North (1998–2007). The Agreed Framework included North Korea promising to freeze and ultimately dismantle its nuclear weapons program in exchange for the United States providing nuclear power reactors, ending economic sanctions, and normalizing relations. In the end, both sides hindered the process.

US overtures to North Korea came to a grinding halt in 2002, when President George W. Bush declared it a part of an “Axis of Evil” in his State of the Union address. In 2003 North Korea withdrew from the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and resumed development of nuclear technology. In 2006 North Korea conducted its first nuclear test, but later agreed to shut down its nuclear facilities in exchange for oil and normalization of the relations with the US and Japan. This effort failed as well. Provocation, hostility, mixed messages, and lack of trust continue to justify the military build-up on all sides.

Today, the United States maintains major military bases in South Korea and conducts regular war drills along the DMZ that date back to 1976. The most recent exercises, in August 2017, involved massing thousands of US and South Korean troops in land, sea, and air operations. In addition, South Korea constructed a new naval base that can accommodate US Aegis destroyers on Jeju Island, and the US has deployed Terminal High Altitude Area Defense (THAAD) missiles in South Korea this year.

For decades, North Korea has considered the United States an enemy nation due to its highly provocative war drills and past failures to honor agreements. This hostility long predates North Korea’s development of nuclear weapons. North Korea correctly sees itself as outgunned by US and South Korean forces and vulnerable to attack. This fear is exacerbated by the fact that no peace treaty was signed at the end of the Korean War. Today, North Korea is surrounded by major military and nuclear powers: Russia and China to the north, US/South Korea across the DMZ, and its neighbor, Japan, that is re-militarizing. The Arms Control Association estimates that as of October 2017 the US active nuclear warhead inventory is 4,018, whereas North Korea only has 10. On numerous occasions President Trump has raised his intention to expand the US nuclear arsenal even more. Observing the US invasions of Iraq and Libya and the US military intervention in Afghanistan, North Korea determined to step up its nuclear program as a deterrent to US aggression.

US efforts to stop North Korea’s nuclear weapon’s program have failed. North Korea has offered to talk with US officials many times. But it will not stop its nuclear program as a condition for talks and will only negotiate when the United States changes its “hostile policy” and ends nuclear threats and economic sanctions. The United States does not recognize North Korea as a nuclear power (unlike the case with Israel, India, or Pakistan), and it will only talk if North Korea stops its nuclear tests. As Trump fails to deliver on his domestic agenda, he is becoming more reckless in international affairs. The military option cannot solve the current dangerous standoff with North Korea. What is needed is a relaxing of economic sanctions and an offer to talk about a peace agreement to finally end the Korean War. Please add your voice!

• • •

*Gwyn Kirk is a writer, teacher, and organizer. She is a founder and member of the International Women’s Network Against Militarism. Gwyn is a Steering Committee member of Women Cross DMZ. Her co-authored work includes Greenham Women Everywhere, Women’s Lives, Multicultural Perspectives, a special issue of Social Justice on “Neoliberalism, Militarism, and Armed Conflict,” and the documentary Living along the Fenceline.


Outsourcing the Refugee “Crisis”

by Julia Morris*

Map of Nauru

Map of Nauru

Nauru, the world’s smallest island state, located in the Equatorial Pacific, has again catapulted onto the international trading scene. US officials have almost completed their vetting of up to 1,250 refugees, a deal brokered between President Obama’s administration and the Australian Turnbull Liberal Coalition. Under the deal—a “dumb deal” President Trump later Tweeted, while at the time begrudgingly agreeing to honor it—the United States will take a cohort of migrants, certified as refugees in Nauru and Papua New Guinea (PNG), in exchange for a reciprocal arrangement whereby Australia will resettle Central American refugees processed in Costa Rica.

These sorts of outlandish human swaps have become popular the world over, all the more so as the idea of refugees and asylum seekers has become fixated with a discourse of populist hostility. Whereas in the United States it is the buzzword “undocumented” that elicits the public outcry, in Australia it is “boat people” that attracts xenophobic scares; both are stirred by political fearmongering.

“We will decide who comes to this country and the circumstances in which they come,” boomed Australian Prime Minister John Howard’s legendary refrain in 2001 when cutting the ribbon on Nauru as one of Australia’s refugee processing outposts. Howard portended the right-wing populism that later burst outside the Antipodes. Trump’s pronouncement that “we must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries making our products, stealing our companies and destroying our jobs” crystallizes such xenophobic, and often racist, scapegoating ideologies. In this climate, some governments have outsourced refugee processing and resettlement into new sites far beyond their borders.

The Republic of Nauru

The Republic of Nauru

On Nauru lies one of two major Australian-built centers designed to process migrants as refugees. Anyone who makes their way by boat to Australia and puts forward an asylum claim is sent to Nauru, and until recently also PNG’s Manus Island, for refugee status determination. The majority of people take a boat from Indonesia or Sri Lanka hailing from provenances that span Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Somalia. If positively certified in Nauru by Australian and Nauruan trained officials, migrants are given a Nauru Refugee Visa for local or Cambodian resettlement.

Something very similar happens in the United States, where the outsourcing of refugee processing to Central American states such as Guatemala and Costa Rica is designed to stop migrants before arrival to the United States. The UK government similarly spent £10.4 million in 2016/17 to fund processing centers and boat pushbacks in Libya to stem the flow of migrants from North Africa to Europe. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees terms the trading schemata “regional cooperation.”

The New Nauru Courthouse

The New Nauru Courthouse

In Nauru, it is amazing the extent to which the Australian government has gone to advance a policy that appeals to its predominately rural electorate. In 2015 alone, the Nauruan government received over AU$50 million from the Australian government in addition to vast infrastructural development projects, from a new hospital and courthouse to the reinvigoration of bygone government departments and local training in refugee legislation and determination. Thirty-one percent of the local population is now employed in refugee labor forces, easily overtaking the country’s beleaguered phosphate industry. Nauru has become something of a refugee company town in miniature, designed to appease Antipodean moral panics.

In fact, Nauru is more popularly known for the Guardian’s Nauru Leaks campaign, which exploded onto the global media stage last summer. With a catalogue of over 2,000 filed incident reports, Nauru’s offshore refugee operations were characterized as an exceptionality, “a dark, wretched Truman Show without the cameras,” a “gulag archipelago” rife with “horrible mistreatment,” “squalor,” “trauma and self-harm.” Media outlets and spokespeople around the world took up this narrative, stressing the brutal conditions for refugees through discourses of suffering, persecution, and vulnerability.

The reality, I found in my fieldwork in Nauru, is really quite different. Behind these mythologies, excessive expenditures keep the operations going to produce a spectacle of border enforcement. In reality, many of the same bureaucracies, organizations, and individuals contracted into refugee work in Brisbane, Canberra, Melbourne, and Sydney (refugee determination case officers, tribunal judges, social workers, legal prosecution and defence firms, clinicians, and more) found lucrative contracts on Nauru in what was referred to me as a “mundane” tendering process. Fly-in fly-out workforces of United Nations, Red Cross, and international oversight bodies all help regulate Nauru to almost farcical extent.

Recently, Australia reached an AU$90 million settlement with 1,900 asylum seekers who sued over their treatment on PNG’s Manus Island. In the face of popular Nauru leaked reports, the Nauruan government has looked to ensure that similar court cases do not end their state revenue–propping project. They consented to every accountability measure at their disposal to make the system, in the words of President Baron Waqa, “world class and far exceed[ing] the standard of many refugee camps across the world.”

Incredibly, beneath the vast flows of capital, the numbers of migrants processed are minute: Between September 2013 and March 2016, a slim 1,355 people were sent to Nauru for “mainland-style” processing. Nor are Australia’s maritime arrivals substantial compared to cross-border movements elsewhere. In 2011, during a peak season in which there were 4,565 boat arrivals, over 100,000 migrants arrived in Yemen from Somalia outside of formal visa channels. In reality, only a small percentage of the world’s international migrants are outside of regulatory systems, and most of them are visa over-stayers—backpackers and so forth. As with practices of border control in other states, Nauru is a farcical spectacle of enforcement for a riled public fed with supremacist myths of invasion.

Refugee Welcome Campaign, Melbourne

Refugee Welcome Campaign, Melbourne

But Australia also has a strong middle-class #RefugeeWelcome movement, for whom the refugees in Nauru have become a matter of activist action. Refugee activist campaigns use tropes of vulnerability and Taliban persecution to galvanize public sympathy and bring refugees in Nauru to the mainland. But it is a woefully misguided endeavor that faces a brick wall of right-wing contempt. #RefugeeWelcome campaigns use salvational words like “refugee suffering” and “refugee empowerment” that are tainted by populist fear and compassion fatigue. Photogenic images of migrant hordes battling across stormy seas or tearing through razor wired borders contribute to the crisis imaginaries that induce public scares, inevitably leading to support for outsourced forms of regional cooperation. Certainly, under Malcolm Turnbull, the Australian government has winded down Nauru’s regional processing project. Boat turnbacks attempt to create something of a maritime fortress, as do yet more rigorous checks in airports prior to arrival.

For Nauru’s new populations, the future is uncertain. The US trade deal is only for a total of 1,250 refugees from Nauru and Manus, where reside over double that number. For those who do not hold promotional appeal—think single, adult, and male—futures are all the hazier. The deal has also very recently been in jeopardy, largely owing to similar fearmongering refugee scares. Turnbull, on the other hand, has announced that in the future Nauru will take on a permanent place as a remote processing outpost in the regional deterrence frontier. In May 2017, with the imminent closure of the Manus processing centers following a PNG Supreme Court ruling, Nauru’s Minister David Adeang said that there was extra capacity at Nauru’s processing sites, extending the invitation to PNG’s refugees.

The use of Nauru as a place to outsource, process, classify, and sort refugees is the wave of the future. Posing as a migration management solution, it does little to stop human mobility desires or “protect lives at sea.” Instead, the framework of regional cooperation places people in degrading positions, circulated to far-flung locales at vast expense. As academics and activists, we need to speak out against the policies that demonize migrants, and against what is becoming the new normal:  the outsourcing of refugee industrial sites.

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*Julia Morris is a doctoral graduate in social anthropology at the University of Oxford and a research assistant at the Oxford’s Centre on Migration, Policy and Society. She will take up a post-doctoral fellowship at the New School’s Zolberg Institute on Migration and Mobility this forthcoming academic year. She has published in Global Networks, Population, Space and Place, Space and Polity, and has contributed a chapter to Intimate Economies: Critical Perspectives on Immigration Detention (N. Hiemstra and D. Conlon, eds.; Routledge 2016). She is completing a book manuscript on Nauru’s refugee and phosphate industries.

After the French Elections, Where Do We Stand?

by Bernard Dreano*


Image: “Ni Le Pen ni Macron” [Neither Le Pen nor Macron], Paris 2017, by Denis Bocquet, used under CC BY 2.0. Edited.

In France, the unexpected and seemingly decisive victory of Emmanuel Macron’s La République en Marche! (The Republic on the Move!) and its allies, first in the presidential race, and then in the June parliamentary elections (winning 350 seats out of 577), means that the government is settled. But the political situation remains fluid and unsettled.

In our electoral system, the president exercises decisive power when his party has the majority in the Parliament. On three occasions since 1958, when this was not the case, real power has been in the hands of the Prime Minister. To be elected one needs to obtain more than 50% of the votes in the first round of voting; otherwise there is a second round in which the candidate with the most votes is elected.

Such a system favors a two-party system. For 50 years, political power has alternated between relatively stable coalitions, each being led by a major party: On the left, the Socialist Party (PS) in alliance with the declining Parti Communiste Français (PCF; 20% of the votes in the late 1960s, 2% today) and the small Green Party; on the right, Les Républicains in alliance with the small center-right party UDI.

Despite its growth since the 1990s, the extreme-right xenophobic party Front National (FN) has not been able to shake this system. Given how the electoral system works, the FN’s ability to do well in elections (with between 10% and 20% of the vote) did not translate into parliamentary representation. From 2012 to 2015, it had only two members in the Assembly. Similarly, in 2012, a leftist coalition (Front de Gauche) led by Jean Luc Melanchon received 11% of the votes, but only had ten members in the Assembly.

For two decades, France, like other countries, has been experiencing a crisis of representative democracy. Electoral participation in all elections has decreased (except in the presidential elections), especially for the working classes in the impoverished rural and deindustrialized areas where the cultural influence of the left is declining and that of the extreme right is growing.

Following the mandate of Les Républicains’ rightist/nationalist Sarkozy (2007–2012) and “socialist” Hollande (2012–2017), the political crisis has deepened. Hollande was so unpopular that he did not even try to run for reelection in 2017. The established parties feared that FN’s Marine Le Pen would be a formidable candidate in the presidential race. It didn’t turn out this way.

Faced with an increasingly alienated electorate, the major parties decided to involve citizens in the designation of their presidential champion by organizing “primaries.” The result was a success for left and right “radicals”: Les Républicains chose as their leader François Fillon, who was supported by the local Tea Party–like movement Sens Commun (Common Sense); and for the socialists, the leftist Benoit Hamon prevailed over Hollande’s Prime Minister Manuel Vals. Meanwhile, Jean Luc Mélanchon decided to go alone and created his own movement, La France Insoumise (FI, Rebellious France), while François Hollande’s Minister of Economy, Emmanuel Macron, decided to leave the Government and create En Marche!

Macron is a product of the École Nationale d’Administration (ENA), the elite of the French civil-service, a former consultant at Rothschild Bank, then a member of President Hollande’s team and later a member of his cabinet. His politics resemble a mixture of young Bill Clinton and Justin Trudeau, with a touch of Tony Blair.

Macron was shrewd and lucky. He attracted part of the rightist electorate that feared the reactionary program of Fillon and part of the leftist electorate that feared a choice between “right extremism and extreme right” (Fillon vs Le Pen). In the first round of voting, Macron came in first place with 24 % of the votes (8.6 million voters). It wasn’t a tremendous victory, but in the second round he increased his support to 12 million, the choice of an electorate that voted either for a lesser evil or for a defense of the European Union.

Macron’s government includes politicians from Les Républicains (Prime Minister Edouard Philippe and economic ministries) and the socialists (Ministry of Interior and Foreign Affairs), the small centrist MODEM party, and technocrats (often young and often women).

Macron’s political program is quite clear:

  • It will be pro-business and free trade–oriented, and it will continue to attack labor unions and the welfare state.
  • It proposes to make permanent restrictions on freedoms previously introduced under the umbrella of an anti-terrorist “state of emergency,” including limitation on the right to demonstrate, less controls on the judiciary, and an extension of police powers.
  • Although Macron reacted immediately to Trump’s withdrawal from the COP21 Paris treaty (“Let’s make the Planet great again”) and nominated to his cabinet the very popular Nicolas Hulot, icon of the ecologists, there is no evidence that there will be a strong environmental policy, and the nuclear and agro-industrial lobbies are well represented in the government.
  • It reaffirms a commitment to increasing military and defense budgets.
  • It will promote a Franco-German alliance to lead and defend the European Union.

Macron has presented himself brilliantly on the international stage, using all opportunities immediately after the election to display his presidential stature at the NATO and G7 summits.

After the elections, the rightist Les Républicains is in deep crisis, with its seats in the Assembly reduced by more than one-third. It is divided between hard-line conservatives and soft liberal-democrats. The Front National is similarly divided between social-nationalists and conservatives-nationalists. But the situation is far worse for the Socialist Party, which has gone from 290 representatives in the Assembly in 2012 to only 44 in 2017. The survival of the PS is in question.

The decline of the PS might have been an opportunity for the “left of the left,” but Jean Luc Mélanchon and FI candidates engaged in a bitter fight with other leftist candidates, communists, greens, and left-socialists. The result was catastrophic for the left. The situation was aggravated by a significant increase in abstentionism from the parliamentary elections, primarily voiced by young people and the working classes. More than 50% of the electorate refused to vote, something never previously seen in France. There were seven million votes for Melanchon in the presidential race, but only three million for FI and the Communist Party in the parliamentary elections. On the right, the FN suffered a similar fate, receiving only three million votes.

In the coming years, we can expect a profound political restructuring in France. Social and cultural conditions cry out for new kinds of leftist parties. Hamon’s and Melanchon’s presidential platforms, supported by 27% of voters, took strong positions on social policy, civil liberties, and ecological issues. But La France Insoumise, as it is constituted today, cannot unleash this political potential because it shares with Macron’s En Marche a hierarchical structure through which candidates for elections are selected.

For the time being, Macron and his government will have full power, despite lacking support from a majority of the electorate. It will take a new kind of politics and organizational forms to challenge the new status quo.

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* Bernard Dreano is Chair of the International Solidarity Studies and Initiatives Center CEDETIM, Paris.