NYU Gallatin Global Fellowship in Human Rights Blog

Tackling Structural Forces that Drive Stigma, Discrimination, and Inequity

September 30, 2016 by ms9447

Mirtala Sanchez

San Salvador, El Salvador

This past summer, I spent ten weeks, five days a week, with Entre Amigos in El Salvador. During this time, I went to, sat in, observed, and participated in a galore of events and programming – the 20^th Pride March, the annual Chrysalis Human Rights Awards, the pre- and post-HIV counseling accreditation by the Pan American Social Marketing Organization (PASMO), the Radio YSUCA 91.7 interview, the raising of the rainbow flag at the Department of Labor and Social Prevision, the 131 Sexual Diversity Call Center feedback session, and the training of the National Civil Police and representatives, among many others. I witnessed the celebration of survival (in the face of unexplained violence and death, existence in of itself is resistance), the pursuit of knowledge and expertise, and the effort for structural changes.

Receiving PASMO accreditation for pre- and post-HIV counseling

131 Sexual Diversity Call Center feedback session

Recipients of the Chrysalis Human Rights Awards for promoting LGBTI rights:

Left: Dr. Violeta Menjivar, Minister of Health

Center: Lcda. Sandra Guevara, Minister of Labor and Social Provision

Right: Representative of Ignacio Roman, CEO of Digicel El Salvador

Activities during the training of the National Civil Police and representatives

Here, I want to focus on the influence of structural forces. Structures imply physical buildings, roads, and complexes, but structures also refer to omnipresent systems (i.e. governmental departments and law enforcement) that surround and shape everyday lives. These often-invisible structures, as systems that construct and re-construct the social and cultural world, benefit some and marginalize others. These structures have the power to subtly produce stigma that then legitimizes discrimination and inequity. For example, in El Salvador, the fact that a large number of LGBTI individuals are unemployed or work in informal settings, such as sex work, is a reflection of the lack of employment opportunities because of discriminatory hiring practices. The reality that, in El Salvador, crimes and violence against the LGBTI community are repeatedly not investigated, therefore unpunished, and sometimes even perpetrated by the police, is a manifestation of the systematic violence that law enforcement legitimizes. This is why it is imperative to understand stigma and discrimination beyond individual attitudes and interactions and recognize how the actions of structures (i.e. laws, policies, education, and healthcare delivery) drive stigma, discrimination, and ultimately inequities. Having said that, effective responses are not only gaining access to those structures, institutions, and systems, but also changing them to become more equitable for the realities of all people.

Elie Wiesel said in his Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech in 1986, “action is the only remedy to indifference: the most insidious danger of all,” and the twenty-two employees at Entre Amigos choose action. They compelled the Department of Labor to support job fairs, job interview, resume, and professionalism trainings for the LGBTI community. They strategized and implemented sexual diversity sensitizing trainings for the National Civil Police. They are tackling structural forces in the face of stigma, discrimination, inequity, and injustice. Acceptance and respect for LGBTI human rights is demanded – not simply tolerance.

Final Reflections

September 12, 2016 by sa3833

Sadia Alam
Bangladesh National Woman Lawyers’ Association
Dhaka, Bangladesh

My time spent at BNWLA this past summer greatly transformed my views of Bangladeshi law and its place in the lives of ordinary citizens. I had entered the summer with a critical view of the legal system and its treatment of women. Yet, through my experiences at the legal center, I learned that the focus of many NGOs here (including BNWLA) is not on drafting new laws, but is instead on providing access to the rights that are already guaranteed. My initial confusion regarding the statement that the law does support women was mitigated when I saw how many laws were created to help women and how many women actually simply did not know that they had rights. There are indeed rights protecting women from physical abuse, property “theft”, dowry abuses, etc. yet so many women were living with these problems quietly with the thought that nothing could be done.

man with baby in office — A client’s husband meets their newborn baby at the office for the first time due to custody issues

The problem, I have come to realize, lies in the implementation of the laws that protect women. The poor implementation of such laws results in the lack of knowledge and understanding of these rights. For example, dowry is clearly prohibited in Bangladeshi law, yet there were multiple cases at the office regarding dowry – even to the extent of murder of a young woman by her husband due to arguments regarding dowry. Would the woman have lived if she had reported to the police that her husband was demanding dowry from her family? Was she aware that her husband’s demands would cause him to be punished by the law? Through my experiences, however, I have also learned how difficult it is to convince people that you are there to help them. People are simply so skeptical of their surroundings that they are not easily convinced that they can receive free legal aid from NGOs let alone that the legal system is actually in favor of them – especially those who are poor.

woman and man in office with child — A client at the office with her father and her son

Another aspect of the organization’s approach toward finding solutions to the women’s issues that I found interesting is the use and promotion of cultural normatives. Before arriving at the organization I was quite interested in seeing the dichotomy between the law and the culture, but upon arriving here I realized that the two can and should indeed work in harmony in a place like Bangladesh. The women who came to the organization were largely from poorer backgrounds, who already had a great sense of cultural and societal pressures. When mediating their problems, the lawyers often tried to explain their rights against a cultural backdrop. As a result, I did not witness any case where the women felt ostracized or helpless in society because of whatever circumstances they were under (after speaking to lawyers at BNWLA).

I am still quite shocked at how quickly the summer at BNWLA went by! The experiences were truly unforgettable and eye-opening. Everything I have learned will definitely change my approach to the work I do in my future – whether it be in human rights, medicine, or public health. I hope to be able to experience something like this again in the near future to learn more about people’s’ interactions and their narratives in different communities.

the author with Shaheda in her office — Last day at the office with Adv. Shaheda

New York vs. Sao Paulo: A Reflection

September 9, 2016 by aj1575

Anamika Jain
Instituto Pólis
São Paulo, Brazil

Coming back to New York has been really helpful in looking back at my experience in Brazil. During this first week of school, I have been discussing what I learnt in Sao Paulo with student friends and professors, allowing me to take a step back, reflect and draw comparisons between all I have learnt in the two cities.

During the class (Dis)placed Urban Histories, which I took with Becky Amato in the Spring, I learnt about gentrification in Los Sures (South Williamsburg). The class was required to produce individual oral histories for people in the community who belonged to the original largely Latino population – an exercise that I realise helped me a lot in putting faces to gentrification in Sao Paulo, described in my previous post. The parallels between the narratives of gentrification is striking considering how strikingly different New York and Sao Paulo are in terms of pace and development. That in both places, gentrification brings about this image of young, rich and white people as displacing a non-white community is also something I found really interesting – new questions that arise for me now include questions of the relationship between colonialism, race and gentrification. I can see now how I can really use this fellowship as a stepping stone to further research that intrigues me.

One of the most prominent things for me post-fellowship is just how much the things I have learnt about gentrification and right to the city apply to me in my daily life now. Coming back to the city and looking for an apartment had me questioning whether I was a gentrifier for moving into a certain neighbourhood, had me inquiring about my rent history, had me talking to real estate agents about rent control and most importantly, made me question my role in shaping or changing that community. The latter is a question I don’t have an answer for, but intend to be aware of as I navigate the neighbourhood.

All in all, this fellowship and all I have learnt through my research is, I realise, only the beginning of a journey I am very excited to take. This semester, I am taking a class as part of a scholars program about Urban Democracy which will take me back to Sao Paulo (and Bogota). During this class, I hope to build on what I have explored so far. In the coming summer, I hope to be able to go back to Brazil through the Urban Democracy Lab to explore other facets of right to the city that I could not dig into during my brief 10 weeks in Sao Paulo.

WEEK 2: Night Creature

September 6, 2016 by axc210

Akiera Xavina Charles
Groundation Grenada
St. George’s, Grenada

Moments before setting up my first writing workshop with Groundation Grenada, I struggled up Market Hill in town while carrying four bags full of supplies. By the time I arrived to the Priory, I had already sweated out my edges. I remember quickly …

…dabbing my baby hairs with gel praying that those pesky naps would stay down for once.

narrow street with buildings and cars — Walking towards Marketing Board in town.

Once people startled to trickle into the space immediately my vibes changed. Probably, I was super excited that people actually showed up, but regardless of who came or not I was sure during that moment of these workshops and myself.

author and participants working on patio — Participants and me in action (writing away) during our first workshop.

With the backyard location of the Priory, almost feeling like a picture from Solange’s wedding photos, everything about this space ended up feeling “Black Girl Magical.” I even recall there being a lot of laughter and smiling in the space, which spoke wonders to my spirit. After everyone opened up with introductions, we proceeded on having conversations about topics ranging from sexual orientation, asexual desire, lipstick, sleeping with professors and Broadway shows. We wrote letters, talked about our least favorite animals, whispered into each others’ ears, and wrote responses to how we imagine Grenadian women.

author writing notes at table — Me in the process of writing.

While now reminiscent of this moment, I still think back to the week before this event when I became a creature of the night; nighttime was our “friend-enemy.” It cloaked our sins and identities, but also made us vulnerable to the many forms of evils lurking around at night. I remember at night was when I would met up and flirt with other women loving women and queer women in Grenada. During these nighttime retreats I also noticed how gay and men loving men would move more freely throughout these LBTQ kickback fetes by wining up on so or tongue kissing so. Only after we left these fetes would we remember our morning selves – timid souls cloaked by secrecy. Nonetheless, before night became morning, I left the party having gotten five numbers for different ladies (yay).

Some notes from my journal…

Wi-Fi-fly

…goes buzz into the night …

buzz…

young people walk around like zombie looking for Wi-Fi

maybe under a mango tree … Or

down by the ravine …buzz

ehhhhhh … Wi-Fi connection is good down here boi

…ehhh

I lost me Wi-Fi

Papa God…

…buzz…

author eating mango — Me attempting to eat a mango, while trying to take a flattering picture.

Akiera Xavina Charles. As a senior in Gallatin School of Individualized Study, Akiera is concentrating in “Understanding How Visionary Futurism and Spatial Geography Shapes the Afro-diasporic Imaginary.” While describing herself as an Afro-Caribbean, queer mango-loving, soon to be landscape architecture with a knack for throwing shade on “Whiteness,” as well as, documenting the dreams and desires of Afro-diasporic folks, Akiera on the side also likes to write Black Feminist manifestos and cook vegan food.

WEEK 1: Re-memorying Grenada

September 6, 2016 by axc210

Akiera Xavina Charles
Groundation Grenada
St. George’s, Grenada

Being in Grenada was very uncomfortable for me. I felt my privilege everywhere I went … The dotish old man finally stared at his daughter’s face after fifteen years of absenteeism violently streaked across his face. He ran to his 30 year-old girl friend, frantically looking for his wash towel the obeah woman blessed the day before. After all, she warned him that I was coming back full of vengeance. Meanwhile afraid to touch or hug me, my father instead stare at she-me-her-they at the airport; through me he saw all the woman he ever womanized and cheated on.

looking towards front seat of car and road — In my father’s car on our way to St. Patrick’s.

Even with my mashed-up-Southern-drawl-meets-New-York-Black-millennial-slang (with a touch of Caribbean somewhere in between), I felt unable to fully fit in there – Grenada. Either my too-glammed-up attire, iPhone, or my double nose piercings gave me away as a foreigner or indicated my class. Eventually I ended up blaming “my American citizenry” for this unwarranted exotification and attention attached with being a Black foreigner able to “move.”

Sometimes I would feel the eyes of those secondary school girls zoom in on me when I walked pass the Andall shopping center in town. I guess they’re just taking note of my sunglasses, shoes, lipstick, demeanor, and face, but still I felt uncomfortable knowing that I was the center of their attention.

However, now looking back unto my experience in Grenada, the most difficult part initially was revealing to my family and other Grenadians my reasons for coming there. Instead leaving them with roundabout answers, mentioning in drips and drops about something: “women,” “community,” and “organizing work,” I usually left most conversations feeling deceptive and “fake.” In my heart they knew and I knew that my sojourn back to Grenada meant something more, besides doing quaint community organizing work.

For some reason, the words “women loving women” and “lesbian” hid in the deepest part of my mouth too frightful to make any grand appearances. Yet, one day I noticed it came out in whimpers, after my cousin’s eyes decidedly spoke its same language. I was shock that we spoke our desires through our eyes, it almost felt too dangerous – too R rated for that house. Eventually, I realized her mom understood our shared language; patiently she waited for the truth to part ways through my mouth, but fortunately it never did.

I miss her eyes … round …oh … very round full of our truths

shhhh … Don’t tell them you saw our many liberations through her eyes.

After the dotish old man realized that his daughter was interning for and staying with another Grenadian woman who is an advocate for LGBTQ+ rights in Grenada, something in his head finally clicked; no longer was this man dotish. Fear gripped his eyes when he first encountered Malaika Brook-Smith Lowe. From then on, he knew what we were – zamies.

people with fruit on a sidewalk — Market vendors by Andall Supermarket in town.

With the days leading up to my workshops, spent liming (hanging out) and feverishly making lesson plans after lesson plans worrisome thoughts began to tie up my mind. As result, I ended up feeling super awkward during my collaborative yoga/afro-futurism film screening workshop with the co-founder of Groundation Grenada, Malaika.

Since all eyes were on me as I waited for my “magical facilitating skills” to come alive, I instead felt my lips quiver from nervousness as I read aloud parts of Alexis Pauline Gumbs’s short story in Octavia’s Brood. When four minutes passed with me still reading from the book, I was sure everyone had lost interest in everything I was saying – becoming blah…blah …blahhh.

In this case, having thought that cultural barriers were what made it difficult for me to explain afro-futurism to the audience, I later on realized that perhaps my initial facilitating style was to blame. My readings came off “too teacher-like” and “jargony.” Now reminiscing on what writing friend from NYC pointed out to me on the phone, I reckon how this writing series became successful after I made it more organize, interactive and relatable (yay).

car passing by bay where people wait under a tree — Driving by the Carenage close to town.

To be a domestic worker in Jordan

September 6, 2016 by lkq203

Layla Quran
Adalah Center for Human Rights Studies
Amman, Jordan

A couple of days before I left Amman, I entered the Terra Sancta school gymnasium, where hundreds of members of the Filipino community gathered for their annual basketball/volleyball league award ceremony. The gym was packed and Filipinos in Amman, working in various fields, including domestic work, cheered as awards were given out. Earlier that month, I attended the summer Sri Lankan music festival, and before that, spent the Muslim Eid holidays celebrating with the Indonesian community. Wherever I looked, I saw strong, vocal domestic workers living life, and also becoming increasingly aware of their rights as workers through the Domestic Workers Solidarity Network and Adaleh Center’s legal trainings.

While it is important to recognize that many domestic workers in the Middle East do face repulsive conditions, branding domestic workers as sad, pitiful women subject to the whim of both their employers and the looming global economy does little for the cause of the workers themselves. It is, frankly, much more nuanced than that – and domestic workers deserve a more critical analysis of their working conditions and their struggle for change in the Middle East. By speaking out about their conditions, domestic workers make public what is private: the work they perform within the private realm of the house and the ways in which their employer and other entities attempt to infringe upon their rights.

The Domestic Workers Solidarity Network will continue to meet, and will garner more members. As one of the founding members, Joy, told me, the Network has become a place where workers can turn to, where they can receive legal advice and voice their grievances, and where they can develop their relationships with other domestic workers in the country.

Understanding the rights of a domestic worker in Jordan

September 6, 2016 by lkq203

Layla Quran
Adalah Center for Human Rights Studies
Amman, Jordan

On a recent Friday morning, dozens of Sri Lankan domestic workers gathered around a large table at the Adalah Center for Human Rights in Amman. The workers came with questions.

At the head of the table was a lawyer from the center and a leader from the Sri Lankan domestic workers’ community in Amman who served as a translator. He explained how there are parties in Jordan, ranging from recruitment agencies to employers themselves who either do not know or do not want to share with workers the rights they have in the workplace, and that it was important for workers to understand that they could turn to the Adaleh Center for legal advice. This is the first year the Adaleh Center has hosted these legal trainings for domestic workers, and workers often come in large numbers.

Jordan is in a unique position in the Middle East in that it is the only Arab country to have labor laws that include domestic workers. In 2008, it introduced new regulations concerning the rights of domestic workers and the responsibilities of employers and recruitment agencies. However, a 2011 Human Rights Watch report, “How Jordanian Laws, Officials, Employers, and Recruiters Fail Abused Migrant Domestic Workers” found that, despite these regulations in place, migrant domestic workers still face the same abuse they face in other countries without these laws.

Despite laws on paper, employers and recruitment agencies still take advantage of domestic workers, sometimes because the workers do not know their legal rights or are too afraid to speak out. The onus should also not have to lie solely on workers to stand up for their rights. Employers and agencies should respect their workers and there should be harsher consequences for those who do not. Legal trainings held by the Adaleh Center are important because they give workers another opportunity to learn about what is and is not acceptable for their employer or agency to do. They empower workers to speak out against abusive conditions, and to take the proper steps when their rights are infringed upon.

Jordan’s Domestic Worker Solidarity Network

September 6, 2016 by lkq203

Layla Quran
Adalah Center for Human Rights Studies
Amman, Jordan

On a sunny Friday morning a few weeks ago, I shared a taxi with Joy, a Filipina domestic worker living in downtown Amman. The streets were quiet, as Friday is a day off for most residents of Jordan’s capital city. And for many domestic workers in Amman, Friday is a day of gathering; a time when they can take a break from their often arduous schedules and come together as a community.

We were headed to a meeting for the Domestic Workers Solidarity Network, Jordan’s first domestic workers’ rights group founded and led solely by domestic workers. As we entered the Jordanian Women’s Union office, we could hear the excited chatter of women as the meeting set to begin. Domestic workers from the Filipino, Bengali, Sri Lankan, Indonesian, and Ethiopian communities in Amman gathered around breakfast pastries and coffee before settling into their seats in the meeting room.

The main topic of discussion for the meeting was the structure of the Network, including a discussion of what it means to be a member of the Network, setting of bylaws, and how to expand the group in the future. Questions raised included if the group should include undocumented domestic workers, and workers who may have started as domestic workers but now work in another field. Workers chimed in on how they want the Network to look in the future.

At the end of the meeting, workers formed a line behind a small table where a lawyer from the Adaleh Center for Human Rights advised each worker on legal issues they were facing. The lawyer answered questions from workers about how to obtain confiscated passports from employers, best steps to follow in dealing with abusive employers, and how to legally leave Jordan to return to their home countries. Although many of the workers were in challenging situations, they knew they had legal rights in the country that were meant to protect them, and they took the initiative to be at the Network meeting to demand their rights as workers.

There’s Hope

September 6, 2016 by sck351

Sudhanshu Kaushik
Haryana Human Rights Commission
New Delhi & Haryana, India

As I look through what I have written on this blog post throughout the past summer, I realize, now in my time of reflection, that I have managed to stay incredibly cynical about my time working with the HHRC on societal issues that plague India. It is true: India has a lot to work on in the field of human rights as practitioners struggle to work through the bureaucracy and political hurdles.

man standing in front of crops — Rambir, a land-owning upper caste who gives fair wages, benefits and education to the children of dalits, poses with some of his crop

I do think, however, that private and public organizations have made great strides on a personal and larger level in bringing considerable change to the status quo to the norms that harms society, albeit it might not be enough, but there has been change nonetheless. Analyzing my time spent, I have realized that, even though I chose to focus on the wrongs we (the organization) couldn’t solve, there had been so many instances that organizations, especially HHRC, was able to solve through other organizational means. I would like to share some of those with you:

Under the contemporary caste-system, there are several different castes who focus on agriculture–specifically farming. The lowest–often referred to as peasant farmers–are migrants from less developed parts of India working on slave labour prices. They are typically from lower-castes, but are degraded further for their looks, origins, habits, etc. For decades, many suffered under the elites, but the Government, working with other private organizations, have started a policy to empower Dalits to give them free land, loans without interest for equipment and a fast-track policy for bureaucratic hurdles to cater to these people. Because of these policies, once who were slave-wage labors are being able to sustain their families from the assistance that the human right’s practitioners have worked simultaneously with the government to provide these opportunities.

the author on a tractor — Sitting on a tractor with some of the members of community that have benefited from the new schemes from the government to provide dalits the tools and means to start farming.

Another example is the decision to launch an employment guarantee called National Rural Employment Guarantee Act for the lowest members of the society. This monumental policy would have zero effect on grassroots level individuals if it wasn’t for the work of the HHRC and other organizations who refer individuals that quality for employment and state their case for them. A little more reading on NREGA can be found here in relation to dalits.

I also noticed and met people who understand the negative effects of the caste-system who are working on their individual level to change. For example, Rambir, a farmer in Northern Haryana who belongs to an upper-caste land-owning community, provides fair wages, housing and free education for the children for everyone working on his lands and farms. Initiatives like these, through the community, are what India and human right’s organization desperately need to succeed in their mission of bringing equality no matter your gender, caste or creed.

Plotlines (Gegensätze)

September 2, 2016 by cji219

Charissa Isidro
borderline-europe
Berlin, Germany

She tapped me on the shoulder, and as I turned around, she looked at me with her kind eyes, a ripe banana sitting in her hands. She offered it to me, and I said, “Nein, danke.” But she insisted.

This woman, who a mere 10 minutes prior had been sobbing as she told my translator the tragedy of her brother, who passed away during the violence in Syria. My heart broke for her, she who barely had time to mourn for her lost family members as she undertook this difficult journey into Germany. Even if I could not understand her words, I had no need to translate her grief.

We found this woman outside the ICC (Internationales Congress Centrum). She had been sleeping on the streets of Berlin with her husband and four children, alongside a few other families and dozens more young single men. Tents and makeshift shelters made of sheets lined the steps leading to the ICC, with luggage bags piled a top each other. They did this in protest of the living conditions at Tempelhof, where they were scheduled to be moved by officials at the LaGeSo.

Written on a piece of cardboard was “Wir wollen Deutsch lernen und gute schlafen, und gute Essen. Dankeschön Deutschland” (We want to learn German, and good sleep and good food. Thank you Germany). To anyone, these would seem like reasonable requests. To human rights advocates, these would seem like the bare minimum, the very basic needs that should be guaranteed to refugees. But bureaucracy in Germany has made it even difficult to honor the bare minimum.

One of the participants wrote on our survey (loosely translated): I protested against sleeping in Tempelhof for my dignity, and now I am sleeping in the streets like I have none.

A week before this particular protest, my translator and I came across two young men who had been homeless for almost two weeks. One told us his story, saying that his whole family had been killed in a bomb that destroyed their home. He was homeless in Damascus for months, and now in Berlin? He did not leave Syria to be homeless again in Germany.

It’s interesting that a friend of mine from Germany expressed disdain for these refugees, saying they shouldn’t sleep in the streets and they shouldn’t complain about the living conditions. Yet isn’t the right to protest one of the very pillars of democracy and freedom and liberal government? There’s a narrative out there that claims refugees are too different to integrate into our Western societies, one that simultaneously shames refugees when they exercise the very rights we claim to hold dear. Freedom of expression, freedom of religion, right to free speech, right to protest, right to education, right to decent work and living. What do these words actually mean to us, if not just to be used as an instrument to keep people othered and excluded?

For most, life in Germany is not as they imagined. Some are being reunited with family already residing in Germany. But many are here alone, hopeless, barely hanging on. Many are desperate to work, to put their children in school, to learn German and to return to living life peacefully. Many are desperate, idle, and dreaming of the day they see their loved ones again. Many are planning their journey back to Syria, disillusioned by European bureaucracy.

Others are finding ways to find meaningfulness in life again. Others are speaking out against the Assad regime. Others are critical of the countries in power who sit and watch as Syria is torn apart, ravaged by bombs and guns and hateful ideologies. Others are volunteering their time and labor, joining neighborhood initiatives and organizations. Others are doing what they can to change the many concepts and opinions of European regarding refugees.

Recently I met two refugee tour guides who volunteer widely with an organization called Giving Something Back to Berlin. The goal of their tour is to educate people on the situation in Syria, and the parallels between the War in Syria and the history of Berlin. They spoke English well, and German so confidently you’d think they were born here. One was from Damascus and the other from Aleppo. It struck me how proud they were to be from Syria, how sophisticated they were in talking about their country’s situation, and how well they had adapted to life in Berlin. Both now live in apartments in Berlin and have many German friends and connections. They are the “good” kind of refugee. They are “integrated.”

But they are also people who believe in a future for their nation. They are people who (guess what!) had probably never dreamed of living in Germany, prior to this horrible war. None of them actually want to be here. None of them chose this way. And that’s been the commonality in this whole thing. In the good situations and the bad situations, it’s this anger at the world for disrupting life and forcing these tragic decisions on them, for leaving people with no choice but to flee from their families, their homes, their careers, their educations, their futures, their lives.