The Netherland’s New Burqa Ban is a Sign of Hostility Towards the Dutch Muslim Community

The discriminatory law violates both religious freedom and freedom of movement.


Photo of Library Hall in the Rijksmuseum by Will van Wingerden on Unsplash. This is one of many buildings now off limits to people wearing burqas or niqabs.

Last June, the Upper House of Parliament passed a ban on face-covering garmates such as burqas and niqabs by 35 to 40 votes. The law came into effect early this month, banning those wearing such garmates from entering public places including government buildings, public transport, hospitals, and schools.

Amnesty International has released a statement calling the ban an infringement on women's rights to dress as they choose. The ban follows similar laws throughout Europe and will make the Netherlands the 6th country in the EU to ban burqas and niqabs in public buildings. The law does not apply to streets and other outdoor public spaces.

While the exact number of women impacted by the law is unclear, the Guardian writes that according to a 2009 study by University of Amsterdam professor Annelies Moors, an estimated 100 women routinely wear a face veil and less than 400 sometimes wear a veil. Moors, a critic of the bill, states that it has the power to interfere with women's daily lives. It restricts their access to hospitals, police stations, and schools, preventing them from accessing education, reporting crimes, and other necessary abilities.

While the Dutch government has stated that the law is a non-discriminatory effort to ensure public safety, the far-right has been quick to cite the ban as a party victory. "Finally, 13 years after a majority in the Dutch Parliament voted in favor of my motion to ban the burqa, it became law yesterday!" Geert Wilders of the far-right Freedom Party tweeted last June including the telling hashtags #stopislam #deislamize.

Al Jazeera writes that Wilders hopes to go even further with the ban."I believe we should now try to take it to the next step," he told the Associated Press. "The next step to make it sure that the headscarf could be banned in the Netherlands as well."

Under the new law, someone wearing a banned clothing item must either remove it, or face a fine from 150 to 415 euro. Police and transport officials, however, have expressed a reluctance to comply with the ban. 

After a statement from the police saying that enforcing the law is not a priority for them, transportation authorities announced that they would not be enforcing the law as police assistance would not be readily available. 

“The police have told us the ban is not a priority and that therefore they will not be able to respond inside the usual 30 minutes, if at all,” Pedro Peters, a spokesman for the Netherlands transport network told the Guardian. “This means that if a person wearing a burqa or a niqab is challenged trying to use a service, our staff will have no police backup to adjudicate on what they should do. It is not up to transport workers to impose the law and hand out fines.”

Hospitals also stated that they would continue to treat patients regardless of clothing.

The Muslim community has rallied to support those affected by the law. The Nida (Rotterdam’s islamic party) has stated that it will pay all fines imposed on those wearing niqabs. The party even created a community account where people can donate money to be used for fines. Algerian activist Rachid Nekkaz also offered to cover fines.

Despite the lack of enforcement surrounding the ban, its existence alone is a sign of hostility towards the Dutch Muslim community. According to Al Jazeera, Nourdin el-Ouali, who leads the Nida Party, called the ban a “serious violation” of religious freedom and freedom of movement, and warned that it will have far-reaching consequences.




EMMA BRUCE is an undergraduate student studying English and marketing at Emerson College in Boston. While not writing she explores the nearest museums, reads poetry, and takes classes at her local dance studio. She is passionate about sustainable travel and can't wait to see where life will take her. 


 



Canadian Inquiry Comes to a Close, Revealing Systematic Mistreatment of Indigenous Women

Three years in the making, the final report calls on authorities to institute a paradigm shift in policing practices.

Ottawa vigil for missing and murdered aboriginal women in 2014. Obert Madondo. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Over the past three years, Canada has held 24 hearings and events, engaged with more than 2,380 citizens, and spent $92 million on a massive national inquiry into the murders and disappearances of Indigenous women and girls—who make up less than 4 percent of Canada’s female population but a whopping 16 percent of females killed in the country annually. On June 3, the harrowing process came to a close, culminating in a conclusion as decisive as it is unsettling: The Canadian government and civil society is complicit in perpetrating what amounts to genocide.

Justin Trudeau giving a speech on missing and murdered Indigenous women in 2016. Delusion23 via Wikimedia Commons. CC BY-SA 4.0

At the closing ceremony in Gatineau, Quebec, Indigenous youth presented the final report, wrapped in a traditional cloth, to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau. All told, the report is over 1,200 pages long and includes 230 recommendations. It describes a historical failure on the part of the police and the criminal justice system, systems that have ignored the concerns of Indigenous women and viewed them “through a lens of pervasive racist and sexist stereotypes”—behavior that has in turn fostered mistrust of the authorities among the Indigenous population. In beginning to mitigate these chronic injustices, the report suggests, authorities should expand Indigenous women’s shelters and improve policing in Indigenous communities; increase the number of Indigenous people on police forces; and empower more Indigenous women to serve on civilian boards that oversee the police.

In addition, it calls for a shift in the criminal code to classify some killings of Indigenous women by spouses with a history of violent abuse as first-degree murder, regardless of premeditation. Addressing the less tangible issue of cultural discrimination, the report also requested that the federal and provincial governments afford Indigenous languages the same status as Canada’s official tongues of English and French.

Regardless of future success in creating a safer and more equitable situation for Indigenous women, helping Canadians understand the historical narrative of violence will remain crucial. As such, the report addresses teachers and post-secondary institutions, asking them to educate the public about missing and murdered Indigenous women and the root causes of their plight, and to bring attention to the state laws, policies, and colonial practices that catalyzed the genocidal conditions. In an interview for Quartz, Carol Couchie, co-chair of the National Aboriginal Council of Midwives, spoke to the lasting effects of structural discrimination: “Family structure has broken up, tribal structure has broken up, leadership has been weakened, the self-esteem has been reduced to on the ground, and these things have all affected our ability to care for young people, to care for women.” Marion Buller, chief commissioner of the inquiry and a retired Indigenous judge, expressed a similar sentiment in her succinct statement to the New York Times: “An absolute paradigm shift is required to dismantle colonialism in Canadian society.”

Woman performing at 2017 National Aboriginal Day in Regina. Ted McGrath. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Trudeau, for his part, guaranteed a thorough review of the report, and committed to creating a National Action Plan “with Indigenous partners to determine next steps.” Yet even with promises of legislative change, some Indigenous Canadians point to harmful attitudes that may undermine the reality of reform on the ground. For instance, according to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, most of the violent crimes against Indigenous women are perpetrated by people within their own communities—a statistic that, according to Indigenous author Niigaan Sinclair, “has become the linchpin for arguments that murdered and missing Indigenous women and girls are not a Canadian problem, but an Indigenous one.” In a piece for the Winnipeg Free Press, Sinclair notes that former minister of Aboriginal affairs Bernard Valcourt used this argument to refute the prospect of the inquiry in the first place, and addresses the systemic factors that invalidate Valcourt’s position: “Indigenous women and girls do not join the ranks of the murdered and missing because of Indigenous men, but because of the contexts they are in. Most of these are dangerous situations imposed from circumstances brought on by poverty, abusive cycles and systems, and oppression.”

The REDress Project, on display in Winnipeg, serves as a reminder of missing and murdered Indigenous women. Ted McGrath. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Still, the very existence of the report and the promises of action it has engendered are cause for optimism, however cautious it might be. In a piece for The Conversation, Margaret Moss describes her disappointment as an American Indian woman who recently moved to Canada and has observed the same racism in the United States’ northern neighbor as she did back home. Yet her viewpoint as an American also lends her perspective and a sense of hope. “[C]ompared to the lack of moral outrage in the U.S. on this issue, I am [made] hopeful by the very fact that in Canada, after much activism, such a committee was formed and a report of the findings were released with a bold statement,” Moss writes. “Maybe this will shake people out of complacency.”





TALYA PHELPS hails from the wilds of upstate New York, but dreams of exploring the globe. As former editor-in-chief at the student newspaper of her alma mater, Vassar College, and the daughter of a journalist, she hopes to follow her passion for writing and editing for many years to come. Contact her if you're looking for a spirited debate on the merits of the em dash vs. the hyphen.









In India, Grassroots Initiatives Work to Undo the Period Taboo

For many Indians, lack of access to menstrual products is compounded by entrenched societal stigma. Across the country, women are beginning to make a change.

A sign in Bali, Indonesia, demonstrates stigmatization of menstruation in the Global South. dominique bergeron. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

For most people with periods in the Western world, menstruation is something of an afterthought—annoying and sometimes painful, but easily dealt with, and far from debilitating. In parts of the Global South, however, “that time of the month” is not only a serious health concern and financial impediment but also a source of profound social and cultural tension. Over the past two years, grassroots activists have brought increased attention to the plight of menstruating women in India, and begun to envision a future in which well-being and participation in society is not dictated by one’s reproductive cycle.

Shameful attitudes toward menstruation in India are deeply ingrained, and, especially in rural areas, can be actively harmful to women of all ages. Indian women experiencing their periods can be banned from entering the kitchen and preparing food, separated from family members, and removed from religious ceremonies, sometimes on the grounds of theistic tradition: In 2018, many Indian men were outraged at a ruling by the country’s Supreme Court allowing women of menstruating age to visit Sabarimala, a Hindu temple in Kerala dedicated to Lord Ayyappa, who is seen in traditional mythology to be disgusted by the concept of female fertility. Indignation at the ruling reached a peak in January 2019, when one person died and dozens were injured in protests against the judgment.

Equally dangerous, and highly imbricated with traditional views of menstruation, is the pervasive lack of access to sanitary products, which are crucial to keeping women clean and safe during their periods. An estimated 70 percent of Indian women are unable to afford such products, with 300 million resorting to unhygienic options such as newspapers, dry leaves, and unwashed rags. Menstruation is also a key driver of school dropouts among girls, 23 percent of whom leave their schooling behind upon reaching puberty.

Cost barriers can prevent Indian women from acquiring menstrual products. Marco Verch. CC BY 2.0

In a sociocultural landscape where natural bodily functions are affecting the human dignity of people with periods, education, outreach, and access are crucial. In February 2018, Indian news outlet Daijiworld reported on one person working toward these goals: the so-called “Pad Woman” of Manguluru, who has been leading a group of young students in her southwestern port to create awareness of menstrual hygiene. The Pad Woman, Prameela Rao, is the founder of non-profit Kalpa Trust, which offers students at the Kavoor government First Grade College materials to manufacture sanitary pads for women in rural areas. The completed pads are distributed free of charge to the colonies of Gurupur, Malali, Bajpe, and Shakthinagar, obviating the need for women to purchase prohibitively expensive mainstream menstrual products. The pads are made from donated cotton clothing, which the students wash, iron, cut, and stitch to create the final product.

In the western state of Gujarat, an organization known as the Aga Khan Rural Support Program (AKRSP) is directly targeting period taboos among rural communities. Activists Manjula and Sudha told the Indian magazine The New Leam that, for the girls they have educated in the villages of Karamdi Chingaryia and Jariyavada, confusion and fear regarding menstruation have given way to confidence and clarity. For the AKSRP, which emphasizes gender equality and the societal participation of women, offering rural villagers the ability to make informed choices about their own menstrual health is key. As of The New Leam’s report in April 2019, the non-profit had reached about 60 Indian villages, providing information about sanitary pads of various designs, longevities, and price points.

While pads are a far more hygienic choice than rags or newspaper, they are not the only option: Back in Manguluru, two German volunteers have initiated a menstrual cup project known as “a period without shame.” In their pilot run, Nanett Bahler and Paulina Falky distributed about 70 menstrual cups free of charge to Indian women, as well as leading workshops on effective use for recipients. The cups, which are made of silicone and emptied around twice per day during one’s period, can be used for up to 10 years, making them a hygienic, eco-friendly, and potentially more affordable option for people of all ages.

Manguluru, where Indian and German activists are working to provide menstrual products. Aleksandr Zykov. CC BY-SA 2.0

Such grassroots efforts have been instrumental in chipping away at stigma among Indians in certain cities and villages, but broader change is unlikely without widespread publicity. One potential avenue for increased awareness is the newly released documentary Period. End of Sentence., which follows rural Indian women in their battle against period stigma. To create the film, Iranian-American director Rayka Zehtabchi visited small villages outside of Delhi to inquire after women’s menstrual health, and shot extensive footage of women who have learned to create their own sanitary products. The diligent pad-makers, many of whom are housewives who have never before held a full-time job, sell their creations to locals in their area, educating women on proper use and convincing shop owners to stock the products. By the end of the time span covered by the documentary, the women had set up a factory and manufactured 18,000 pads, earning economic self-sufficiency for themselves and an Academy Award nomination for Zehtabchi.


The work of these Delhi entrepreneurs, along with that of the AKSRP and Pad Woman Prameela, has made a positive difference for countless people—but, according to Mumbai-based journalist and author Puja Changoiwala, education and access must rise above the grassroots level and reach the legislative in order to create enduring change in attitudes toward menstruation. In a piece for Self, Changoiwala suggests that the Indian government should distribute free pads and launch an “aggressive nation-wide awareness program,” engaging celebrities and the press to address the dire consequences of long-held stigma. For anyone in India with a period, such a moment cannot come soon enough.






TALYA PHELPS hails from the wilds of upstate New York, but dreams of exploring the globe. As former editor-in-chief at the student newspaper of her alma mater, Vassar College, and the daughter of a journalist, she hopes to follow her passion for writing and editing for many years to come. Contact her if you're looking for a spirited debate on the merits of the em dash vs. the hyphen.








Indigenous Communities in Brazil Protest Encroachment on Land Rights

The annual Free Land protest takes on a new sense of urgency under Bolsonaro’s far-right government.

Photo of the Brazilian flag by by Rafaela Biazi on Unsplash.

Last week, more than 4,000 indigenous people from over 300 tribes across Brazil gathered in Brasilia to set up camp in front of government buildings for three days of cultural celebrations and protest.

While the Free Land protest is an annual event, it has taken on a new significance this year under president Jair Bolsonaro and his far-right government’s encroachment on the rights of native people and their territories. Al Jazeera writes that according to The Articulation of the Indigenous People of Brazil (APIB), the central organizer of the gathering, this year the event occurs in a "very grave context".

Recently, Bolsonaro promised to stop the development of new indigenous reserves, and to revoke the protected status of established land reserves. Bolsonaro has even gone so far as to publicly question the need for indigenous reserves at all.

The Guardian writes that among the new far-right government’s projects is a movement to enable commercial farming and mining on indigenous reserves. One of the reserves targeted is the Yanomami territory, Brazil’s largest reserve which already experiences threats from illegal gold miners.

“We are defenders of the land, we are defenders of the Amazon, of the forest,” Alessandra Munduruku, one of the representatives of the Munduruku tribe told the Guardian. “The white man is [...] finishing off our planet and we want to defend it.”

Instead of directly handling the demarcation of Brazil’s indigenous reserves, the government has given the project to the agriculture ministry, a branch controlled by the farming lobby, a powerful organization which has been known to oppose indigenous land rights (Guardian). Joenia Wapichana, the first indigenous congresswoman in Brazil, told Al Jazeera that during her time in office she had become aware of just how deeply the government was to indigenous rights. “The government is completely anti-indigenous,” she said, “[Jair Bolsonaro] is only open to those who defend mining and land grabbing, which is his intention.”

After days of encampment outside government buildings, indigenous groups began their annual march last friday. Protestors wore body paint and feathered headdresses, while beating beating drums and holding bows and arrows (Reuters).

The Guardian writes that last week Bolsonaro’s justice minister Sérgio Moro, requested the presence of Brazil’s national guard at the event, foreshadowing possible clashes with protestors. While Moro said that the guard would be working to “secure the public order and the safety of people and patrimony,” the guard said in a statement to Al Jazeera that it would use force “if necessary” to protect the “safety of the patrimony of the Union and its servers.”

In response to growing concern, the APIB released a statement saying that “our camp has been happening peacefully for the past 15 years to give visibility to our daily struggles. [...] We are not violent, violence is attacking our sacred right to free protesting with armed forces.”

In a statement to Reuters, David Karai Popygua, a native person from the state of Sao Paulo, summed up what is at stake for protestors. “Our families are in danger, our children are under threat, our people are being attacked,” he said. “In the name of what they call economic progress they want to kill our people.”

EMMA BRUCE is an undergraduate student studying English and marketing at Emerson College in Boston. While not writing she explores the nearest museums, reads poetry, and takes classes at her local dance studio. She is passionate about sustainable travel and can't wait to see where life will take her.

 



VENEZUELA : A Country in Darkness

And why the lights were flickering in the first place.

Venezuelan migrants wait at the Columbian boarder to join the millions who have already fled the country. UNICEF Ecuador. CC2.0

The streets are littered with planks of wood and broken glass from storefronts destroyed by looters. The smell of rotting food from useless refrigerators fills the air of the city’s neighborhoods. At the local hospital, groans can be heard from patients in pain without medicine and the dead appear to be multiplying.

This was Venezuela for six days in the lucky towns, and eight days in cities on the edge of the electric grid such as Maracaibo. The city of Maracaibo, about 200 miles west of Caracas, regularly experiences power outages as a result of its high energy consumption and position on the power grid.

The country’s economy has struggled throughout the past few years, and hyperinflation plagues Venezuelans’ day to day lives. Food is often scarce, and basic items such as toiletries can be costly. According to United Nations statistics, three million Venezuelans have left the country since 2014 when the economic crisis started to worsen. The blackout highlighted the systemic nature of Venezuela’s problems.

Venezuelans all over the country didn’t just lose power- they also lost the assurances that come under living in a country with rule of law. Storefronts were plundered as food became an even greater concern in a country already going hungry. “The shop owners were trying to defend their stores by opening fire, not to kill, but I think there were many dead,” Omar Chavez, a citizen of Maracaibo, told New York Times. “No one was controlling this mob.”

In Caracas, citizens resorted to drinking the heavily polluted water of the river that runs through the capital. Without electricity, hospitals had problems running equipment and suffered from shortages of medication. Citizens of the oil rich country lined up around blocks waiting for gasoline.

The blackout, while a nightmare for the citizens, has become a political battlefield for the two men who claim to be in charge of the country. Maduro, the unpopular incumbent, was first elected in 2013. In 2014, oil prices plummeted worldwide and Maduro failed to deal with the economic catastrophe that followed. Most of the county wants him out of office; according to a Gallup survey, 3 out of 4 Venezuelans view the government as corrupt. However, last May, Maduro was reelected. Many citizens claimed this election was an obvious fraud and took to the streets in protest.

Enter opposition leader Juan Guaido. In January 2019, Guaidó declared himself interim president on the grounds that the elections were rigged. Guaidó, as leader of the National Assembly, would become interim President if the role of President was vacant. The European Union and most of Latin America recognized Guaidó as the President of Venezuela. President Trump also threw his support behind Guaido, tweeting: “The citizens of Venezuela have suffered for too long at the hands of the illegitimate Maduro regime.” The US’ recognition of Juan Guaidó as the interim president led Maduro to call Guadió a Washington puppet intended to undermine Venezuelan sovereignty.

Maduro also claimed the blackout was the result of American cyber sabotage. He called the blackout an “electric war” started by “US imperialism.” But Venezuela has had problems with power since before Maduro came to the presidency. In 2010, Hugo Chavez called an “electricity emergency” after a drought caused water levels at the Guri Dam, a major hydroelectric plant, to fall dangerously low. Localized power cuts are normal, and electricity rationing comes as no surprise to the citizens. Experts say that this blackout was due to a key section of the country's national grid being taken out, possibly by a bush fire. The power system of Venezuela has also suffered from neglect as a result of years of underinvestment in infrastructure. The highest positions at Corpoelec, the state owned power company, are occupied by government loyalists. In reality, the power grid is run by soldiers instead of technicians.

Many skilled engineers have joined the three million Venezuelans who have fled to countries where lunch doesn’t cost a month’s salary. More are due to leave soon, as the power still flickers on and off. According to a Gallup survey, 36% of remaining Venezuelans said they would leave if they could. This number has more than doubled from the 13% who reported they would leave before Maduro took office.

Those who stay will have to deal with the aftermath of the devastating blackout. Pharmacies have few supplies, and grocery store shelves are sparse. In Maracaibo alone, vandals destroyed 562 businesses. Pharmacy owner Marianela Finol spoke to El País after the blackout. He compared the power outage to a natural disaster. “I feel like a tornado has passed,” he remarked. His pharmacy, robbed by a mob of strangers, remains in splinters.




EMILY DHUE is a third year student at the University of Virginia majoring in media. She is currently studying abroad in Valencia, Spain. She's passionate about writing that makes an impact, and storytelling through digital platforms.